Hakan Nesser - The Inspector and Silence

‘Anyway,’ said Kuijpers. ‘I gather it’s about that poor girl.’

‘Yes,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘Do you know anything about it?’

They both shook their heads. The woman hiccuped and put her hand over her mouth.

‘What a bloody mess,’ said Kuijpers. ‘No, we’ve had no contact with them. As for that creeping Jesus on the run… No, I’m at a loss for words.’

‘There was another police officer here a few days ago,’ said the woman.

‘I know,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘I just want to check a few things.’

‘Well?’ said the man, scratching at his crotch.

Suijderbeck took out his notebook and thumbed through a few pages.

‘We know nothing about it,’ said the woman nervously.

‘Don’t harp on about it,’ said the man.

‘Hmm,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘So you haven’t spoken to any of them? Not to the girls nor to the leaders? Not at all during the summer? The camp is less than two kilometres away from here.’

The man shook his head again.

‘A little group of them came here once or twice,’ said the woman. ‘Picking blueberries or something, but the dogs kept most of them away, you could say.’

She nodded her head at where the German shepherds were prowling around restlessly.

‘Most of them,’ she said again, to be on the safe side.

‘All we’ve done is drive past the summer camp on our way to town,’ said the man. ‘As for talking to ’em? No thank you… I can’t say I’m surprised at what’s happened, hell no. Randy old buggers like that fucking priest – there’s no saying what they can get up to.’

Suijderbeck began to draw a fat priest in his notebook.

‘What were you doing last Sunday night?’ he asked. ‘I’m referring to Sunday last week, the night the girl was murdered.’

‘What?’ said the man. ‘All night? I was at home of course. As usual.’

‘You didn’t have any visitors?’

Kuijpers shook his head, and looked enquiringly at his wife.

‘No,’ said the woman. ‘We were on our own here.’

‘Do you remember hearing anybody drive past during the night?’

‘No,’ said the man. ‘That other cop asked that as well, but we didn’t hear a thing. Mind you, we were asleep.’

‘I don’t suppose many cars come past your house?’ Suijderbeck asked, looking for somewhere to stub out his cigarette. He eventually hit upon a shrivelled pot plant standing next to his wooden leg.

‘Two or three a week,’ said the man, flashing his teeth. Presumably it was a smile.

‘But you don’t remember anything from that night?’

‘Not a bloody thing,’ said the man.

‘Do you have any children?’

‘Eh?’ said the man.

‘We have a daughter,’ said the woman. ‘Her name’s Ewa, and she moved out, er, how long ago is it now?’

‘Four years ago,’ said the man. ‘She’s twenty-four now. She was twenty when she buggered off.’

‘With a foreigner,’ added his wife.

‘I’m not her real father,’ said Kuijpers.

Suijderbeck noted it all down.

‘I see,’ he said, and thought for a while. ‘And there’s nothing else you could tell us that you think might be of use to us?’

Kuijpers frowned and his wife pulled anxiously at her nose ring.

‘No… No, I can’t think of anything at all.’

‘What do you do for a living?’

‘I’m off sick,’ said the man, holding his back.

‘Ceramics,’ said the woman. ‘He has a little pottery. And he paints a bit as well.’

Suijderbeck nodded and put away his notebook. Squinted up at the sky.

‘It’s hot,’ he said. ‘It must be an advantage to live so close to the lake. I suppose you have a boat, do you?’

‘Of course,’ said the man. ‘We do a bit of fishing as well, but that used to be better than it is now. What with all the effluents and the rest of the bloody shit…’

‘Yes,’ said Suijderbeck, ‘there’s a lot of shit around nowadays. No, I mustn’t impose upon you any longer.’

He stood up.

‘Anyway, many thanks,’ he said. ‘What were you inside for, by the way?’

‘Bank robbery,’ said the man, scratching at his stubble. ‘But I’ve served my time. It’s the straight and narrow for me now.’

‘I should hope so,’ said Suijderbeck ‘Otherwise I’ll have to pay you another visit.’

‘Ha ha,’ said the man, but his smile didn’t stick fast this time either.

‘Thank you for your visit,’ said the woman.

‘Bye for now,’ said Suijderbeck.

The moment he left the patio, the dogs disappeared under a corrugated iron roof at the gable end of the house. Lickspittle, Suijderbeck thought. Like owners, like dogs.

He could scarcely claim that this had been an hour well spent.

But that could be said about lots of other things in connection with this bloody case, there was no denying that. Lots of other things.

‘Where are you calling from?’ asked Kluuge.

‘Stamberg,’ said the man. ‘As I’ve already said.’

‘Okay,’ said Kluuge, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘What do you want?’

‘I told the girl on the switchboard.’

‘Could be, but now you’re talking to me. Let’s hear it one more time.’

‘All right,’ said the man. ‘My name’s Tomasz Banx, and I think I can help you.’

‘With what?’

He made a note of the name.

‘With the murder, of course. The Waldingen murder. I assume you are the man in charge, so I don’t need to explain about that all over again?’

‘Yes, I’m in charge,’ Kluuge admitted.

‘Good. Anyway…’ Kluuge could almost hear him straightening his back and bracing himself. ‘I think I know what happened – the fact is that I…’

Silence.

‘Well?’ said Kluuge.

‘Do you believe in Providence, Chief Inspector?’

‘I’m not a chief inspector yet, but never mind that. What do you mean by providence?’

‘You mean you don’t know what Providence is? It’s what guides and governs our lives, of course. What brings about justice, and something we can rely on without hesitation, irrespective of what-’

‘I understand,’ said Kluuge. ‘Will you come to the point now, Mr. ..’ He checked his notebook. ‘Mr Banx. We are very busy and time is short.’

‘Yes, harrumph, I’m sure it is. Anyway, I can explain how this murder came about, and what its purpose was.’

‘Purpose?’

‘Yes, purpose. The Lord moves in a mysterious way as far as we normal, simple people are concerned, but there is always a purpose – a plan and a meaning. In everything, Chief Inspector, and I really do mean everything.’

‘That’s enough,’ said Kluuge. ‘Would you mind coming to the point instead of rambling on about all sorts of other things, or I shall hang up on you.’

‘I’ve had a vision,’ the man explained. ‘And in that vision I saw how everything took place and how it all hangs together.’

‘Hang on,’ said Kluuge, ‘hang on a minute! What’s your religion, Mr Banx, can you tell me that?’

‘I believe in the only one true God.’

‘Are you a member of the Pure Life?’

‘From the start,’ said Tomasz Banx excitedly. ‘From the very beginning.’

Kluuge groaned and kicked off his shoes under his desk. These damned blockheads! he thought.

‘Do you know who murdered Clarissa Heerenmacht?’ he asked.

Mr Banx cleared his throat solemnly.

‘Nobody murdered Clarissa Heerenmacht,’ he stated in a serious tone. ‘Nobody at all. She was taken home by the Lord. It was a promise and a punishment combined into one – and an amazing grace.’

‘Many thanks, Mr Banx,’ said Kluuge, and realized that what he had just said sounded like an idiotic rhyme from a children’s book or some such thing. ‘I’ve made a note of everything you’ve said.’