contemptuously.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course I didn’t.’
‘And he didn’t try to talk to you?’ said Rooth.
‘I was reading my newspaper.’
‘Quite right too,’ said Rooth. ‘You shouldn’t get involved with men you don’t know in bars.’
Jung gave him a withering look to shut him up. For Christ’s sake, he thought. Why don’t they send him on a diplomacy course?
Berke gritted her teeth and glared at Rooth as well, as if he were an unusually nasty piece of dog shit she had accidentally trodden on and which was difficult to scrape off the sole of her shoe. A male dog, needless to say. Rooth looked up at the ceiling.
‘How long did he stay?’ asked Jung. ‘This depraved rock musician.’
‘I don’t remember. Not all that long, I don’t think.’
‘What did he drink?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘But he left the bar before you did, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
Jung pondered.
‘Would you recognize him again?’
‘No. He didn’t have any features. Just a mass of hair and glasses.’
‘I understand,’ said Jung. ‘Many thanks, fröken Berke: I’ll be getting back to you, if you don’t mind. You’ve been extremely helpful.’
‘What did you mean by that last remark?’ Rooth asked when they had closed the door after Lisen Berke. ‘“Extremely helpful”? What kind of crap is that?’
Jung sighed.
‘I was just trying to apply a bit of balsam after your charm offensive,’ he explained. ‘Besides, this character in the bar could well be of interest. We must ask if the barman remembers him as well.’
‘Once chance in ten,’ said Rooth. ‘But maybe those are the best odds we can hope for in this match.’
‘Have you anything else to suggest?’ asked Jung.
Rooth thought that one over.
‘If we drive out there, we can take the opportunity of having a bite to eat,’ he said. ‘So that we can work out a few new angles of approach and so on.’
‘Depraved?’ said Jung. ‘Is “depraved” the word she used?’
Ewa Moreno flopped down in the visitor’s chair in Reinhart’s office.
‘So you’re still at work, are you?’
Reinhart looked at the clock. Half past six. He wished it had been a bit less.
‘I need to summarize a few things. I didn’t get hold of fröken Frey until quite late. How are things going for you?’
‘Not all that well,’ said Moreno with a sigh. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t think the strategy we’re following is exactly top-notch.’
‘I know,’ said Reinhart. ‘But if you have a better one you should have come out with it before you crossed the threshold. Correct me if I’m wrong.’
‘Yep,’ said Moreno. ‘No doubt I should have done. But whatever: it’s pretty hard going. We’ve chatted to sixteen friends of Erich Van Veeteren so far . . . In accordance with the list of priorities his fiancée gave us. All of them here in Maardam – we’ve sent Bollmert out into the sticks, and he’s due back on Friday. Nobody has come up with anything of interest yet, and nobody seems to be hiding anything. Nothing to do with the case, that is.’
‘Alibis?’ said Reinhart.
‘How nice of you to ask,’ said Moreno. ‘You don’t exactly make yourself popular when you ask people to provide alibis – but then, maybe it isn’t our job to make ourselves popular, as The Chief Inspector used to say. Anyway, everything seems above board so far. We haven’t had a chance to check anything yet, of course – but I suppose that’s not the point?’
‘Not so long as we don’t suspect there’s something nasty hiding in the woodwork,’ said Reinhart. ‘I take it there are a few dodgy characters among these names?’
‘There are all sorts,’ said Moreno. ‘No doubt some of them are not exactly pleased at the fact that Marlene Frey handed the address book over to the enemy without further ado. But we are ignoring everything that has nothing to do with the case. As instructed.’
‘As instructed,’ agreed Reinhart. He leaned
‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course I didn’t.’
‘And he didn’t try to talk to you?’ said Rooth.
‘I was reading my newspaper.’
‘Quite right too,’ said Rooth. ‘You shouldn’t get involved with men you don’t know in bars.’
Jung gave him a withering look to shut him up. For Christ’s sake, he thought. Why don’t they send him on a diplomacy course?
Berke gritted her teeth and glared at Rooth as well, as if he were an unusually nasty piece of dog shit she had accidentally trodden on and which was difficult to scrape off the sole of her shoe. A male dog, needless to say. Rooth looked up at the ceiling.
‘How long did he stay?’ asked Jung. ‘This depraved rock musician.’
‘I don’t remember. Not all that long, I don’t think.’
‘What did he drink?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘But he left the bar before you did, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
Jung pondered.
‘Would you recognize him again?’
‘No. He didn’t have any features. Just a mass of hair and glasses.’
‘I understand,’ said Jung. ‘Many thanks, fröken Berke: I’ll be getting back to you, if you don’t mind. You’ve been extremely helpful.’
‘What did you mean by that last remark?’ Rooth asked when they had closed the door after Lisen Berke. ‘“Extremely helpful”? What kind of crap is that?’
Jung sighed.
‘I was just trying to apply a bit of balsam after your charm offensive,’ he explained. ‘Besides, this character in the bar could well be of interest. We must ask if the barman remembers him as well.’
‘Once chance in ten,’ said Rooth. ‘But maybe those are the best odds we can hope for in this match.’
‘Have you anything else to suggest?’ asked Jung.
Rooth thought that one over.
‘If we drive out there, we can take the opportunity of having a bite to eat,’ he said. ‘So that we can work out a few new angles of approach and so on.’
‘Depraved?’ said Jung. ‘Is “depraved” the word she used?’
Ewa Moreno flopped down in the visitor’s chair in Reinhart’s office.
‘So you’re still at work, are you?’
Reinhart looked at the clock. Half past six. He wished it had been a bit less.
‘I need to summarize a few things. I didn’t get hold of fröken Frey until quite late. How are things going for you?’
‘Not all that well,’ said Moreno with a sigh. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t think the strategy we’re following is exactly top-notch.’
‘I know,’ said Reinhart. ‘But if you have a better one you should have come out with it before you crossed the threshold. Correct me if I’m wrong.’
‘Yep,’ said Moreno. ‘No doubt I should have done. But whatever: it’s pretty hard going. We’ve chatted to sixteen friends of Erich Van Veeteren so far . . . In accordance with the list of priorities his fiancée gave us. All of them here in Maardam – we’ve sent Bollmert out into the sticks, and he’s due back on Friday. Nobody has come up with anything of interest yet, and nobody seems to be hiding anything. Nothing to do with the case, that is.’
‘Alibis?’ said Reinhart.
‘How nice of you to ask,’ said Moreno. ‘You don’t exactly make yourself popular when you ask people to provide alibis – but then, maybe it isn’t our job to make ourselves popular, as The Chief Inspector used to say. Anyway, everything seems above board so far. We haven’t had a chance to check anything yet, of course – but I suppose that’s not the point?’
‘Not so long as we don’t suspect there’s something nasty hiding in the woodwork,’ said Reinhart. ‘I take it there are a few dodgy characters among these names?’
‘There are all sorts,’ said Moreno. ‘No doubt some of them are not exactly pleased at the fact that Marlene Frey handed the address book over to the enemy without further ado. But we are ignoring everything that has nothing to do with the case. As instructed.’
‘As instructed,’ agreed Reinhart. He leaned
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