Borkmann's Point (18 page)

The lactic acid arrived early. No wonder, she thought, and
slowed down a little at last. It was unnecessary to make herself
so weary that she ended up staggering through the woods.

A newspaper headline appeared in her mind’s eye:
woman police inspector catches axman!

And an introductory paragraph along the lines of: “Despite
the presence of criminal experts from outside, it was Kaalbringen’s own Beate Moerk who solved the case of the ax murderer, which has made headlines all over the country. Our
town is deeply grateful to her, now that our citizens can once
again walk the streets at will and sleep peacefully in their beds
at night.”

It was not possible to control the flush of satisfaction, and
she stepped up the pace again.
borkmann’s point

However, she didn’t have very long to take pleasure in what
was written about her before another heading came into her
mind, totally unexpected. This time it was the title of a book, a
book she’d never read, but she could remember holding it in
her hand during a book sale back home in Friesen many years
ago. It was an English book.

The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner.
She lurched to one side and almost fell on the sand.
How on earth had the title of this book floated up to the

surface of her mind just now?
She dropped the thought and glanced over her shoulder.
The beach was deserted. Just as empty behind her as in front of
her. She checked the time. Twenty-five past seven—a few more
minutes and she’d come to the big rock and the tunnel under
the road. Then the gentle climb into the woods, and back
home...
Beate Moerk solves the riddle of the ax murderer!
The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner.
As she approached the top of the last hill, she felt very tired.
The lactic acid was making her thighs ache, and her heart was
pumping salvos of blood into her throat... nearly at the top
now. Pure willpower: clench your fists, grit your teeth and
force yourself up those last few yards. Then, once over the top,
it’s downhill again—a chance to take it easy, let your body
recover, prepare for the last lap, the gently sloping stretch
through the beech wood down to the smokehouse and the
parking lot...
Thinking about the easy finish, the waiting car and a hot
shower carried her to the top and gave her a good start on the
downward slope; but even if she’d been a little less tired, and
even if the light had been a bit more favorable that warm September evening, it is highly unlikely that she would have
noticed the dark steel wire in time.
It was stretched across the track at just below knee height
and right at the bottom of the hill—just where the leaves of a
lime tree added another layer to the gathering darkness. She
fell headlong to the ground, and before she had even registered
what was happening, he was over her.
“I think we’ll have to ask the press to leave us on our own for a
while,” said Van Veeteren, putting his hand on Cruickshank’s
shoulder. “But I can take your chair.”
Münster looked up. Van Veeteren had the Melnik report
under his arm, and he looked determined. The network of
burst blood vessels had changed from red to blue. The bags
under his eyes had prominent black edges. Positive signs, no
doubt about it.
“Godammit!” said Cruickshank. “So the breakthrough has
come after seven hard years? May I be the first to congratulate
you. What’s his name?”
“Who?” asked Münster.
“The Axman, of course,” said Cruickshank.
“You can have a ringside interview tomorrow morning,”
Van Veeteren promised him. “Provided you’re a good boy and
go to bed now.”
Cruickshank swallowed the remains of his whiskey and
water and stood up. Swaying noticeably and looking as if he
might be forced to make an emergency landing on the chair
again, he managed to recover. He shook his head and cleared
his throat. “All right,” he said. “Gentlemen’s agreement. Good
night, gentlemen. You know my room number.”
He thanked Münster for his company, and walked
unsteadily out of the bar.
“Poor devil,” said Münster.
“Why?” asked Van Veeteren. “I’ll have a large beer, please.”

“Well?” said Van Veeteren, sucking the foam from the top of
his tankard. “Youth before beauty. What have you found?”

Münster picked up the bundle of pages and leafed through
them.
“Well,” he said. “There’s this Podworsky—”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“Eugen Podworsky, yes. What about him?”
“I know nothing about him,” said Münster. “But there’s a
link, in any case. I assume the others, Bausen and the inspectors, can make a better judgment. If he’s known in Kaalbringen, that is...”
Van Veeteren lit a cigarette.
“I’ve just spoken to Bausen,” he said. “He says it’s not
impossible, at least. Seems to be the right type—a loner who
lives out in the boonies, on the way to Linden. About four
miles inland in a straight line from the coast. He’s been inside
for manslaughter as well, although that was an age ago. Yes,
this could be an opening; it could be him.”
“Violent?” asked Münster.
“Has a long memory, in any case, according to Bausen. Not
quite right in the head either, it seems. He doesn’t have much
contact with other people. Took early retirement in 1975, I
think it was. Anyway, we can look into that tomorrow—it
would probably be as well to prepare ourselves a bit before we
land on him. He could certainly stir up a lot of trouble if it
turns out not to be him, says Bausen.”
borkmann’s point

Münster nodded. Van Veeteren drank deeply, and smacked
his lips in contentment.
“Dammit all, Münster,” said Van Veeteren. “I only have to
set eyes on his type, and I’ll be able to tell if he did it or not. It’s
time we went back home, don’t you think?”
Münster shuffled around on his chair.
“What’s the matter?” asked Van Veeteren. “Are you about
to lay an egg?”
“Just a little detail, that’s all,” said Münster hesitantly. “No
doubt it’s not important. I had a message from Inspector
Moerk. She’d come across something and asked me to ring
her—”
“And?”
“Well, she doesn’t answer. She was supposed to be home by
eight or so. I’ve tried several times.”
Van Veeteren checked his watch.
“Five past eleven,” he said. “Try one more time before you
go to bed. It’ll just be a man, no doubt.”
Yes, thought Münster. It’s just a man, of course.

September 24–27

Bausen looked unshaven but energetic. He hung his dirtbrown jacket over the back of his chair and rolled up his shirtsleeves to well above the elbow.

“Eugen Podworsky,” he said, pointing at Kropke with a
yellow pencil. “What do we know about him?”
“Quite a lot,” said Kropke enthusiastically. “Shall we start
from the beginning, or—”
“Yes,” said Bausen. “I don’t suppose anybody’s managed to
miss the fact that he is involved in two of the cases, but it’s
probably just as well to establish a comprehensive background
before we get going.”
“One moment,” said Van Veeteren. “I think we need to discuss Inspector Moerk first.”
Bausen looked around the table, as if he had only just realized that not everybody was present.
“What’s the matter with Moerk? Why isn’t she here?”
“Hmm,” said Van Veeteren. “I think Münster had better
explain.”
Münster took a deep breath.
“Well,” he said, “I received a message at the hotel last
night... from Inspector Moerk. She asked me to call her.
Something had struck her in connection with the Melnik
report, the note said, but she doesn’t seem to have been home
since yesterday evening. I haven’t been able to contact her.”
“What the hell?” said Bausen. “Something had struck
her...Podworsky, you mean?”
Münster flung his arms out wide.
“I don’t know. Presumably, but it’s not certain. She was
going to check it out, the message said.”
“Check it out?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Münster.
“Do you still have the note?” asked Bausen.
Münster nodded and produced the envelope from his inside
pocket. From the corner of his eye he noticed that Van
Veeteren was watching him closely, and he knew he was blushing. There was nothing he could do about it, of course, and
naturally, it didn’t mean anything in the circumstances. He certainly hadn’t slept for more than two hours, and ever since getting up, he’d had this image of the conference room in his
mind’s eye. Either she would be sitting there in her usual place
in front of the bookcase...or she wouldn’t. Either it had just
been a man, or it had been... another sort of man. He hardly
dared to admit, even to himself, that he had felt a faint glow of
satisfaction on discovering that it was not the first alternative.
Just a man! Of course that reaction had immediately been
swamped by all the possible implications of the other alternative, but it had certainly been there, and undeniably gave him
something to think about.
Bausen read the note. Passed it on.
“I’ve already seen it,” said Van Veeteren when it came to
him. Münster took it back.
“ ‘Home by about eight,’ ” said Bausen. “Hell and damnation! You don’t think that—?”
“What did it say?” asked Kropke. “ ‘Rather bizarre’?”
“ ‘Pretty bizarre, but I need to check it out,’ ” said Münster.
Bausen took out his pipe and sat there with it in his hand.
The silence in the room was almost tangible. Bang was chewing gum. Van Veeteren was devoting meticulous attention to
two toothpicks, comparing them in detail, before dropping
one into his breast pocket and sticking the other between his
front teeth. Kropke was drumming his fingertips against one
another, and Mooser was gazing out the window.
Good Lord! thought Münster. They’re all seeing her in
their mind’s eye! He swallowed, and felt something cold and
wet creeping up into his throat. There was a cramplike convulsion in his diaphragm.
“Excuse me,” he managed to blurt out as he stood up and
hurried to the toilet.
“Kropke,” said Bausen, “go to your office and phone her.”
Kropke did as he was bidden. Van Veeteren removed the
toothpick.
“Not much point,” he said. “We’ve already tried twice from
the hotel. You noticed the form of address, I suppose?”
Bausen nodded and went over to the window. He rubbed at
his stubble as he contemplated the back courtyard, breathing
heavily. Münster and Kropke returned. Kropke shook his head.
“No reply,” he said. “What does everybody think?”
“Podworsky?” said Bausen, turning around to face the
room. “Do you really think that she’d get it into her head to
drive out to Podworsky’s place?”
Kropke cleared his throat.
“No,” he said. “That would be most unlike her, in fact—”
“Sheer lunacy,” said Mooser. “Nobody in his right mind
would go there of their own volition. Not even in normal circumstances. If in addition you suspect he might be the Axman,
I can’t understand why—”
But now Münster had had enough.
“Stop!” he yelled, hitting the table with his fist. “Dammit,
it’s time we did something instead of sitting here chewing the
cud! All we need to do is to get in a car and drive out to this bastard! What are we waiting for?”
Bausen looked at him with eyebrows raised.
“I really believe—” he began.
“Bravo, Münster!” interrupted Van Veeteren. “I’m inclined
to agree with you. A bit of action is called for.”
Münster leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“That’s OK,” said Bausen. “This is really ugly. If we’re
going to—”
“Just a minute,” said Van Veeteren, leaning over the table. “I
think we need to clarify a few things before we take any action.
In the first place, I don’t think it’s especially likely that Inspector Moerk did, in fact, drive out to Podworsky’s place. In fact,
I’d go so far as to say it was out of the question.”
“Why?” asked Kropke.
“The time,” said Van Veeteren. “She didn’t have enough
time. She left here when the rest of us went, didn’t she?
Around about half past four, or thereabouts?”
Kropke and Mooser nodded.
“She had the Melnik report in her briefcase just like we all
did. At twenty past six, according to the receptionist, she
handed over the message at The See Warf. It said she intended
to check something out. Notice that she hadn’t yet done so—
she wouldn’t have had time to do anything but read through
the report and change into her tracksuit between half past four
and twenty past six.”
“True,” said Bausen.
“Whatever it was she intended to check out, she did it after
leaving the hotel—between half past six and a quarter past
seven, roughly. Forty-five minutes, in other words.”
“A quarter past seven? How do you know that?” asked
Kropke.
“Because I saw her,” said Van Veeteren.
“Saw her?” bellowed Bausen. “Where?”
Van Veeteren bit off the toothpick.
“I saw her on the beach...at a quarter past seven.”
“What was she doing there?” wondered Mooser.
“Running,” said Van Veeteren. “Westward.”
Silence again.
“Expected to be back home by eight,” said Münster.
“Was she alone?” asked Kropke.
Van Veeteren shrugged and looked at Münster.
“Yes,” he said. “All by herself—I think it might be a good
idea for Münster and me to go and take a look. Maybe we
could take Mooser with us?”
Bausen nodded.
“Back in two hours?” he suggested. “I think Kropke and I
will take a little trip out to Podworsky’s place in the meantime—to see how the land lies, if nothing else.”

“Is that it?” asked Van Veeteren.
Mooser nodded.
“Sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” said Mooser. “It’s hers. Mazda 323—

I’ve even helped her change the fan belt.”
“It’s hers,” muttered Münster.
“Hmm,” said Van Veeteren. “It was more or less down

there that I saw her—two or three hundred yards from here, I
should think.”

He pointed toward the beach. It was no longer the deserted
stretch of sand it had been the evening before. It was Saturday,
and masses of men, women and children were sauntering
about down below. A group of long-haired youths were playing football, dogs were romping around, and several kites were
bobbing about in the wind—yellow trembling lumps of butter
against the practically clear blue sky. The clouds, the mist and
showers of the last few days seemed to have blown away during the night; the gulls were soaring high again and the air felt
pure. Salty and invigorating.