The Inspector and Silence Read Free Page A

possibility.
    F. Krantze
     
    It must have been hanging there now for – he worked it out – six weeks. He breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, half the summer must have passed since he first saw it.
    He hesitated again before slowly walking back towards the square. Chewed at a toothpick and contemplated the Art Nouveau facades dating from the turn of the century. Weather-beaten, but still looking good. The leafy lime trees casting shade over the pavements. Yorrick’s pavement cafe on the corner. Winderblatt’s directly opposite. A large, panting St Bernard dog under one of the tables, its tongue reaching out as far as the kerb.
    Oh yes, he thought. I sure as hell could see myself living here.
    And by the time he got into his car, he had made up his mind.
    If that notice is still there in August . . . well, I’ll go ahead and do it.
    It was as easy as that.
    It was then even easier to drive hell for leather back home to Klagenburg, pickup the telephone and order a two-week package holiday to Rethymnon, Crete . . . the Christos Hotel, which had been recommended to him by a good friend. Single room. Departing 1 August, returning on the 15th.
    When he hung up, he glanced at his watch. It was 11.40, 17 July.
    Not much point going to the police station before lunch, he decided, and tried to feel a little regret. Didn’t succeed very well. He wandered around his flat, fanning himself with yesterday’s Allgemejne. Not that it did much good. He sighed. Pulled off his sticky shirt, fetched a beer from the fridge and inserted a Pergolesi CD into the hi-fi.
    Life? he wondered.
    Arbitrary or well-planned?

3
     
    ‘The heat makes people less inclined to commit crimes,’ said deBries.
    ‘Don’t talk crap,’ said Reinhart. ‘The facts are the precise opposite, of course.’
    ‘Meaning what?’ wondered Rooth, with a yawn.
    ‘They just don’t have the strength,’ said deBries.
    ‘Of course they do,’ said Reinhart. ‘The hotter it gets, the lower the defences – and human beings are criminal animals at heart. Read The Stranger. Read Schopenhauer.’
    ‘I haven’t the strength to read anything,’ said Rooth. ‘Not when it’s as hot as this, for fuck’s sake.’
    ‘And people’s urges become more urgent,’ said Reinhart, lighting his pipe. ‘No wonder. Just look at all those women running around town half-naked – it’s not surprising that frustrated studs throw their inhibitions aside.’
    ‘Frustrated studs?’ said Rooth. ‘What the hell . . . ?’
    ‘Hmm,’ muttered deBries. ‘Sex murderers will obviously be inspired to act in weather like this – but at least we haven’t had any such cases yet.’
    ‘Just wait a bit,’ said Reinhart. ‘The ridge of high pressure is only four days old. Where the hell’s the chief inspector, by the way? I thought we were supposed to have a meeting after lunch. It’s nearly half past one.’
    DeBries shrugged.
    ‘He’s probably playing badminton with Münster.’
    ‘No,’ said Rooth, tucking into an apple. ‘Münster was in my office a few minutes ago.’
    ‘Don’t speak with your mouth full,’ said Reinhart.
    ‘He’d say next to nothing if he didn’t,’ said deBries.
    ‘Shut your trap,’ said Rooth.
    ‘Exactly,’ said Reinhart.
    The door opened and Van Veeteren entered, followed by Münster.
    ‘Good morning, Chief Inspector. Slept well?’
    ‘I was somewhat delayed by the heat,’ Van Veeteren explained as he flopped down onto his desk chair. ‘Well?’
    There was a moment’s silence.
    ‘What do you mean by “Well?”?’ asked Rooth and took another bite.
    Van Veeteren sighed.
    ‘Report!’ he said. ‘What the hell are you all planning to do? Reinhart first. The Vallaste pyromaniac, I assume?’
    Reinhart knitted his brow and sucked at his pipe. Nodded rather vaguely. The arson attack in Vallaste had been occupying the police for two and a half years now, and the investigation had been put on ice several times; but when there was nothing else