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up, and go into hiding if you are innocent?
 I hid myself away because I gathered the police were
looking for me.
 The first wanted message wasn t broadcast until noon
yesterday. You d already gone into hiding several hours before
then.
 No, I had problems with the car. I d gone away for the
weekend, but I couldn t get back.
 Where were you?
 Up north.
 Where did you spend the night?
 In a motel.
 Name and location.
 I can t remember.
 Why didn t you let the school know?
 I tried to ring, but I couldn t get through.
 If you can t produce better answers than that, Mr. Ferger,
I suggest that you d be better off holding your tongue. You re
making a fool of yourself.
Van Veeteren paused.
 Would you like a cigarette?
 Yes, please.
Van Veeteren took a pack out of his pocket and shook out a
cigarette. Stuck it into his mouth and lit it.
 You re not going to get a cigarette. I ve had enough of
you.
He stood up and turned his back on Ferger. Ferger looked
up for the first time. It was only for a brief moment, but even
so, Münster had time to register the expression in his eyes. He
was scared. Completely and absolutely scared stiff.
 Just one more thing, said Van Veeteren, turning to look
at Ferger again.  What does it feel like, drowning a child? He
2 6 7
must have put up a bit of resistance. How long did it take?
What do you imagine he was thinking while it happened?
Ferger was clasping his hands tightly now, and his head was
shaking slightly. He said nothing, but Münster wouldn t have
been surprised if he d broken down at that very moment.
Flung himself on the floor, or overturned the table, or simply
bellowed and howled.
 He s in your hands now, said Van Veeteren.  I ll be away
for three hours. He mustn t leave this room, he s not to have
anything to eat or drink. He s not allowed to smoke. Ask him
questions if you like. It s up to you.
Then he nodded at Reinhart and Münster, and left the
room.
The closer he came, the slower he drove.
With only a couple of kilometers to go, he stopped in a
parking lot. Got out of the car. Stood with his back to the
squally wind and smoked a cigarette. He d almost got used to
it now, smoking. He couldn t recall any other case that had
induced him to smoke so many cigarettes. Not in recent years,
at least.
No doubt there were reasons. But it was all over now, more
or less. Just this final dotting of the i. The final pitch-black
brush-stroke to complete this repulsive painting.
He wondered about how necessary it was. He d been won-
dering ever since he set off. Tried to think of ways of getting
around it, of avoiding this final step.
Sparing both himself and her this final degradation.
Maybe him as well?
Yes, perhaps even him as well.
But it was all in vain, of course. It was no more than the
usual, familiar reluctance that he was always forced to deal
m i n d  s e y e
with when he rang the bell and had to inform the wife that
unfortunately, her husband. . . . Yes, sad to say, he had no
choice, he would have to tell her. . . .
There was no escape.
No extenuating circumstance.
No way of easing the pain.
He tossed his cigarette into a pool of water and clambered
back into the car.
She opened the door almost immediately. She d been expect-
ing him.
 Good morning, he said.  Well, here I am.
She nodded.
 I take it you ve been following the news these last few
days?
 Yes.
She looked around, as if to check that she hadn t forgotten
anything: watering the flowers, or switching off the cooker.
 Are you ready to come with me?
 Yes, I m ready.
Her voice was just as he remembered it. Firm and clear,
but flat.
 Can I ask you something? he said.  Did you know what
the real situation was? Did you know about it, even then?
 Perhaps we should leave now, Chief Inspector?
She took her overcoat from a coat hanger, and he helped
her on with it. She wrapped a silk shawl around her head,
picked up her purse and gloves from the basket chair, and
turned to face him.
 I m ready, she said.
. . .
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The journey back was much faster. All the time she sat erect
and immobile in the front passenger seat beside him. Hands
crossed over her purse. Staring straight ahead.
She didn t say a word, nor did he. As everything was
absolutely clear now, all done and dusted, there was nothing
more to say. He understood this, and the silence was never
awkward.
Even so, he might have preferred to ask her a question,
make an accusation: but he recognized that it would have
been impossible.
Don t you see, he d have liked to ask her, don t you see,
that if only you d told me everything that first time, we could
have saved a life? Possibly two.
But he couldn t ask that of her.
Not that she would answer him now, anyway.
Nor that she should have done so then.
When they entered the room, nothing had changed.
Reinhart and Münster were sitting on their chairs, on
either side of the door. The murderer was hunched over his
table in front of the opposite wall. The air felt heavy, possibly
slightly sweet: Van Veeteren wondered if a single word had
been exchanged here either.
She took three strides toward him. Stopped behind the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]