The Inspector and Silence Read Free Page B

of a serious nature going on, he usually unfroze it again. He had been the officer in charge, and it was his reputation that suffered as long as the culprit remained at large.
    There were not many officers left in the force who thought along those lines, as Van Veeteren knew only too well; but he knew that Reinhart did.
    ‘I have a few loose ends,’ he admitted. ‘I thought it might be worthwhile looking a bit more closely at them. Unless there’s something else that craves the attention of a somewhat bigger brain than the average . . .’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Münster.
    ‘Certain parts of the body swell in hot weather,’ said deBries.
    ‘No doubt,’ muttered Van Veeteren. ‘Okay start rummaging around among the loose ends.’
    He leaned back and contemplated his subordinates with a resigned expression. They were a bit of a motley crew, in outward appearance at least. DeBries had got divorced a month ago, and had made use of his first few weeks of freedom to renew his wardrobe in an attempt to make himself look younger – the result had been something reminiscent of an ageing and depraved yuppie from the eighties. Or a resuscitated and semi-detoxicated rock artist from the sixties, as Reinhart had suggested. The Woodstock Mummy. As for Rooth, possibly as a reaction to the heatwave, he had finally got round to shaving off his straggly beard, and the lower part of his face, now as smooth as a baby’s bottom, stood out in sharp contrast to the tanned cheeks, forehead and whisky-fuelled wrinkles.
    He looks like the missing link, Van Veeteren thought.
    As for Münster – well, he looked like Münster, albeit with sweaty patches under his arms; and Reinhart had always reminded the chief inspector of what he no doubt really was, deep down: an intellectual docker.
    Van Veeteren himself was hardly a thing of beauty. But luckily one has an inner self, he consoled himself, and yawned.
    ‘And when do you gentlemen intend going on holiday?’ he asked. ‘Take it in turns.’ He might get more sense out of them than asking them to report on their work plans.
    ‘The fifth,’ said Reinhart.
    ‘Next week,’ said deBries. ‘I’d be grateful if you don’t put me on some case or other.’
    ‘Same here,’ said Münster. ‘But no doubt Jung and Heinemann will be able to run the show in August, if something crops up. And Rooth and Moreno, of course.’
    ‘Natürlich,’ said Rooth.
    ‘Can you speak French?’ deBries wondered. ‘Maybe you’ve done a correspondence course?’
    Rooth scratched at his phantom beard.
    ‘Fuck off,’ he said. ‘That’s a German proverb. Shall we continue with this hotel burglary or do you have something else lined up for us?’
    ‘Be off with you,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘But make sure you arrest Pompers and Lutherson. Everybody knows they did it.’
    ‘Thank you for the tip,’ said deBries.
    He and Rooth left the room.
    ‘People get irritable in this weather,’ commented Münster when the door had closed behind them. ‘It’s not surprising, really.’
    ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been saying,’ said Reinhart. ‘Is there anything else, or can I leave? You can always phone if anything crops up.’
    ‘Be off with you,’ said Van Veeteren again, and Reinhart trudged off.
    Münster walked over to the window and looked out. Over the town, and the heat trembling over the rooftops.
    ‘Let’s hope we don’t suddenly find ourselves with a murder on our hands now, or something of the sort,’ he said, leaning his forehead against the glass. ‘Just before the holiday. I remember what it was like two years ago—’
    ‘Shush!’ The chief inspector interrupted him. ‘Don’t wake up the evil spirits. Incidentally, I’m booked up for the first half of August. Impossible to change it. I shall delegate every corpse that turns up during the next few weeks to you and Reinhart.’
    Perhaps for ever in fact, he thought. He kicked off his shoes and began leafing listlessly through the piles