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the verdict. He seemed to be even more hunched than usual,
and blew his nose twice before speaking.
 We didn t make it, he said.
 Really? said Mitter.  We didn t make it.
 No. But they settled for manslaughter. The jury was unan-
imous. Six years.
 Six years?
 Yes. With good conduct you could be out after five.
 I d have nothing against that, said Mitter.
Rüger paused.
Then he said:  You ll have to undergo a little mental exam-
ination. Unfortunately, it s all to do with your present state of
mental health. Perhaps we should have taken another line, but
nobody thinks you were not responsible for your actions at the
time of the crime.
 I see, said Mitter. He was beginning to feel really tired
now.  Please say what you have to say as briefly as possible. I
think I need to catch up on some sleep.
 If they find you competent, it will be the state prison. If
not, it will be the secure institution in Greifen or Majorna.
 Majorna?
1 1 3
 Yes, in Willemsburg. Do you know the place? It s an old
lunatic asylum from the nineteenth century. Perhaps Greifen
would be better.
 Hmm. I don t think it makes any difference to me.
 If you recover your mental health while in the institution,
you will be transferred immediately to a prison but your
time spent in the institution will count toward the length of
your sentence. Anyway, that s the way it looks. Are you tired?
Mitter nodded.
 You ll be moved from here tomorrow. I hope you get a
good night s sleep in any case.
He held out his hand. Mitter shook it.
 I m sorry we didn t make it. Really sorry . . .
 It doesn t matter, said Mitter.  Please leave me alone
now. No doubt we ll have an opportunity to talk some other
time.
 I m sure we shall, said Rüger, blowing his nose one final
time.  Farewell, and good luck tomorrow, Mr. Mitter.
 Farewell.
The man has verbal diarrhea, he thought as the door
closed behind his lawyer. I must make sure I can keep him
brief and to the point another time.
20
 Well, said Münster,  so that s that, then.
 Really? said Van Veeteren.
 Where have they sent him?
Van Veeteren snorted.
 Majorna. Hasn t Caen answered yet?
 No, but we have lots of other things to see to.
 Oh yes? What, for example?
 This, to start with, said Münster, passing him the news-
paper.
The case of the black street girl who was discovered nailed to a
cross in the fashionable suburb of Dikken kept Van Veeteren
and Münster busy for thirty-six hours without a break. Then
a neo-Nazi organization claimed responsibility and the
whole business was handed over to the national antiterrorist
squad.
Münster went home and slept for sixteen hours, and Van
Veeteren would have done the same had it not been for Bis-
marck. The dog was now in such a bad way that the only
option left was to have it put down. He phoned Jess and
explained the situation, whereupon his daughter was suddenly
afflicted by an attack of sentimentality and begged him to
1 1 5
keep the dog alive for two more days, so that she could be
present at the end.
It was her dog, after all.
Van Veeteren spent those two days half crazy with ex-
haustion, shoveling gruel into one end of the bitch, and
wiping her clean at the other end with a wet towel. By the
time Jess finally turned up, he was so purple with anger and
fatigue that she felt obliged to remind him of the fifth
Commandment.
 Oh, Daddy, she said, giving him a kiss.  Might it not be
just as well to take you, too, while we re at it?
This induced from Van Veeteren a bellow so loud that Mrs.
Loewe, a widow who lived in the apartment below, felt it
incumbent upon her to ring the police. The duty officer, a
young and promising constable by the name of Widmar
Krause, recognized the address and had a fair idea of the cir-
cumstances. On his own authority, he canceled the police
response he had promised the complainant.
Jess took over Bismarck, drove her to the vet s, and a few
hours later the dog breathed her last in Jess s lap.
Van Veeteren took a shower, then chased down Münster
on the telephone with unusual enthusiasm.
 Has Caen replied? he roared into the receiver.
 No, said Münster.
 Why the hell not?
 How s Bismarck? enquired Münster, refreshed after his
rest.
 Hold your tongue! yelled Van Veeteren.  Answer my
question!
 I ve no idea. What do you believe the reason might be?
 Belief is something you have in church, and God is dead!
Give me his telephone number this instant, and shove the fax
up Hiller s ass!
m i n d  s e y e
Münster looked up the number, and half an hour later, Van
Veeteren got through to Caen.
 Caen.
 Eduard Caen?
 Yes.
 My name is Detective Chief Inspector Van Veeteren. I m
phoning from Maardam, in the Old World.
 Yes?
 I d like to ask you a few questions. I m sorry we re so far
apart.
 What s it about?
 Eva Ringmar. I assume you are familiar with that name.
There was silence for a few seconds.
 Well?
 May I remind you of my oath of professional secrecy. . . .
 The same here. May I remind you that I have the author-
ity to summon you to Europe for interrogation, if I want to. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]