The Department of Sensitive Crimes

by Alexander McCall Smith

  “Ah,” said Ulf. Saabs were beautiful—or had been.

  Blomquist looked wistful. “It was one of the originals, you know. It was made back in 1950. They started production in 1949.”

  “1949?”

  “Yes,” said Blomquist. “The engine was two-stroke, and it was mounted transversely. It used the thermosiphon method.”

  “Ah,” said Ulf. He wondered what a thermosiphon looked like, or had. “A thermosiphon?”

  “Yes. A thermosiphon works by letting cold liquid sink and hot liquid rise. That’s how it circulates fluids.”

  Ulf tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. They were now almost back at the spa. “Blomquist,” he said. “How do you know all this?” He wanted to say why do you know all this, but he did not.

  Blomquist shrugged. “I just do.” And then he added, “I thought everybody knew about the Saab 92. Didn’t you?”

  “No,” said Ulf. “I did not. But I do now, obviously.”

  For a few moments Blomquist was silent. Then he said, “Of course, knowing a lot of stuff might make me suitable for detective work, rather than staying in the uniformed branch. I would have thought that might be taken into consideration, wouldn’t you?”

  Ulf decided that he should give no encouragement. There was no point in raising hopes that would only be dashed later on.

  “No,” he answered. “The force doesn’t work like that, Blomquist. There are lots of other factors involved.”

  “Such as?” challenged Blomquist.

  “Experience. Manpower needs at the time. A hundred things, actually.” He paused. “But look, we were talking about what somebody in Angel’s position might do. Let’s accept that she doesn’t like Baltser. Let’s accept that she’s having an affair with the Lillebäck man. Let’s imagine that our Lillebäck friend would like to buy a better hotel because his own hotel is having a rough time of it. In such circumstances he might look around for a hotel that’s going on the market cheaply because...”

  “...because bookings have been slow,” interjected Blomquist. “Because there have been strange goings-on and people are put off...”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Ulf.

  “So she—Angel, that is—knows her husband is a werewolf...”

  Ulf corrected him. “Alleged werewolf, please. Werewolves don’t exist, you see, but I believe there are people who behave like werewolves for some reason or other.”

  “All right,” said Blomquist. “Alleged werewolf. So she does nothing and lets him go out and howl and so on—knowing, of course, that this will hasten the sale of the spa...”

  “...to her lover. Yes.”

  Ulf nodded silently. He was parking the car now, and their conversation would soon come to an end.

  “So what do we do?” asked Blomquist.

  “We report back to the Commissioner. We tell him.”

  “Can we have a sauna before we go?” asked Blomquist. “We’ve come all this way to a spa and I haven’t had a sauna yet.”

  “You may,” said Ulf. “I won’t.”

  “You should,” protested Blomquist. “It opens the pores. It gets impurities out.”

  Ulf shook his head. “No thank you, Blomquist.”

  Blomquist persisted. “Impurities are bad for you, you know.”

  “I know,” said Ulf. “I’ll try to avoid them.”

  “You should consider colonic irrigation,” said Blomquist.

  Ulf switched off the engine. He wanted to get back to Malmö.

  * * *

  —

  Ulf invited Blomquist to accompany him to see the Commissioner the next morning. It was the least he could do, he felt. For all his faults, Blomquist deserved his share of whatever credit there might be for solving an otherwise obscure and difficult case. And if the Commissioner should choose to express satisfaction at the result, then it was only right that Blomquist should be there to receive part of the praise.

  They were early, and had fifteen minutes or so to wait before they were admitted to the Commissioner’s office. Blomquist spent the time adjusting his tunic, making sure that the creases in his trousers were correctly aligned, and speculating as to what the Commissioner might say. “He certainly won’t ask me to call him Felix,” he said. “You’re different—you’re already on first-name terms with him.”

  “Just be natural,” said Ulf. “The Commissioner’s a very informal man.”

  “I’ll try,” said Blomquist.

  When they went in, they were given a warm welcome. “So you’re Blomquist,” said the Commissioner, shaking Blomquist’s hand. “I’ve heard good things of you.”

  Blomquist beamed with pleasure. “I do my best, sir.”

  “Please,” said the Commissioner, “call me Commissioner.”

  They sat down. “Now,” said the Commissioner, “tell me what you found out up there. Did you get to the bottom of it?”

  Ulf nodded. “We did,” he said. “We have an idea what’s going on. And it isn’t very pleasant, I’m afraid.”

  “I didn’t think it would be,” said the Commissioner.

  Ulf realised that there was no avoiding this difficult situation. “I’m afraid there is something abnormal about your cousin’s behaviour,” he began.

  The Commissioner frowned. “In what respect, may I ask?”

  “Pathological behaviour,” said Ulf. “You see, the cause of the disturbances—which are real enough, by the way—is him. He’s the one causing all this, but he doesn’t know about it, I think. It’s a medical issue, really.”

  The Commissioner had raised a hand. “Hold on, Ulf, hold on. You said he. It’s she.”

  “No,” said Ulf. “Angel is not the one causing the disturbances. It’s him—it’s Baltser.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the Commissioner. “But he’s not my cousin—she is.”

  Ulf swallowed hard. “She? Angel?”

  “Yes,” said the Commissioner, smiling at the confusion. “I thought I explained: she’s my cousin, not him.”

  Ulf thought hard. His task had suddenly become more difficult. Now he had to explain that the Commissioner’s cousin was engaged in an underhand plot—possibly criminal—to deprive her husband of his spa, all for the benefit of herself and her lover.

  He did his best, and the Commissioner listened gravely. At the end, Ulf and Blomquist waited while the Commissioner rose from his chair and went to stand in front of the window.

  “One thing that interests me,” he said, “is how you found out about my cousin’s relationship with this other man—this Lillebäck person. How can you be sure they’re lovers?”

  Blomquist intervened. “We saw them together,” he said. “And they had no clothes on.”

  The Commissioner’s eyes widened. “Well, I suppose that’s fairly conclusive.”

  “Actually,” said Ulf, “they were lying together on a—”

  The Commissioner held up a hand. “Please, Ulf, spare me the details.”

  “It’s just that—”

  The Commissioner interrupted him once again. “You’ve been very frank with me,” said the Commissioner. “And the news you’ve given me is not exactly palatable.”

  “No,” agreed Ulf. “It isn’t.” He had tried to make a full disclosure, but the Commissioner himself had prevented him from doing so. His conscience was clear in that respect.

  “So what I’m facing here,” the Commissioner continued, “is a situation where my cousin is behaving very badly and an innocent man is the victim. That’s what it boils down to, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Ulf. “I think it does. What’s more, the innocent man is ill. He needs help, I think.”

  “Of course he does,” said the Commissioner. “And it behoves me, too, to deal with my cousin.”

  Ulf looked at the floor. “That’s
for you to decide, sir...Felix.”

  “Yes,” said the Commissioner. “I shall. And I shall act appropriately.”

  The Commissioner was looking intently at Ulf. “It would be most embarrassing for me if news of this were to get out,” he said. “There are journalists who would love this. Police Commissioner’s Cousin in Attempt to Steal Werewolf’s Spa—that sort of thing. Can’t you see the headlines?”

  “Yes,” said Ulf. “I’m afraid I can.”

  “So it would be helpful, shall we say, for not a word of this to be breathed—to anyone.”

  Ulf inclined his head. “We are very discreet, Felix.”

  “Of course you are,” said the Commissioner.

  Now he turned to Blomquist. “I gather, Blomquist, that you have in the past requested transfer to the plain-clothes department.”

  “That’s correct, Commissioner,” said Blomquist.

  The Commissioner stroked his chin. “Now let me see...How about a transfer to the Sensitive Crimes Department—Mr. Varg’s unit. Will that do?”

  “It would do very well,” said Blomquist. “When? Could it be with immediate effect?”

  “Of course,” said the Commissioner. “As of now. Right now.”

  Ulf stared fixedly at the floor.

  “And as for you, Ulf,” continued the Commissioner, “we’ve been thinking of putting you up a rung or two on the ladder. Same job title—same office and all that—but a salary increase, of course.”

  Ulf thanked him, but there was something he needed to say. “We’re a bit crowded in the office, Felix. I’m not sure where we’ll be able to put Blomquist.”

  “The floor below,” said the Commissioner. “He can go in with the typists. I was having a look round there the other day—there’s plenty of room.”

  At least that was some relief for Ulf. He turned to Blomquist and managed a smile. “Welcome aboard, Blomquist,” he said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  NIHIL HUMANUM MIHI ALIENUM EST

  “This is a very strange story, Dr. Svensson,” said Ulf. “In fact, I feel a certain embarrassment in mentioning it to you.”

  The psychotherapist made a diffident gesture. “Please don’t be concerned about that,” he said. “Nihil humanum mihi alienum est, Mr. Varg. Nothing human is foreign to me. In other words, I suppose, I’ve seen it all.”

  “I thought that too,” said Ulf. “We both see—or, in your case, hear—things that would shock most people. And yet this...”

  “I do assure you, Mr. Varg, nothing would surprise me about humanity—nothing.”

  “But this is quite incredible.”

  “Is it? Try me.”

  Ulf, sitting in Dr. Svensson’s consulting room at the end of his regular session with the psychotherapist, began to recount Baltser’s story. He did not mention his real name, nor the place, nor the connection with the Commissioner; having given his word that the story would go no further, all of that was cut out. And he had explicit permission from the Commissioner to find out whether anything could be done for Baltser, and how that might be arranged. In his view, that permission justified this conversation.

  “I met a man, you see,” Ulf began, “who looked in some respects like a wolf. Hairy hands and face—that sort of thing.”

  Dr. Svensson listened impassively.

  “And he had big teeth too,” said Ulf.

  Dr. Svensson’s eyes widened slightly.

  “We talked quite normally during the day,” Ulf continued. “But at night I’m convinced we heard him howling like a wolf.”

  Dr. Svensson took off his spectacles and polished them with his handkerchief. “Very interesting,” he said. “And then?”

  “When I went to check up that he and his wife were all right, he seemed dishevelled and a bit confused. I’m pretty sure that he had been out in the bushes, howling like a wolf.”

  Dr. Svensson asked if that was all.

  “It is,” said Ulf.

  Dr. Svensson folded his hands. “This is less unusual than you think,” he said. “I’m not saying that it happens a great deal, but it is something that we are aware of.”

  “You aren’t telling me you believe in werewolves,” said Ulf.

  “No,” said Dr. Svensson. “As you know, I am a rationalist. I believe in reason and in a scientific explanation for everything. So I don’t believe in werewolves.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” said Ulf. “And yet I must say I was rather taken aback. If I did believe in them—which, of course, I don’t—I can imagine myself being extremely frightened. It was the look in his eye, I think. It was extremely disturbing.”

  Dr. Svensson nodded his agreement. “Of course it was,” he said. “Psychotic illness is very harrowing. I remember when I first encountered it as a medical student—well before my psychiatric studies. I remember being appalled by the sheer awfulness of it—the misery. People don’t necessarily know about that.”

  Ulf listened as the psychotherapist explained the features of lycanthropy. “Clinical lycanthropy is a very peculiar condition,” he said. “It refers, of course, to more than the belief that one is a wolf—it can include any delusional belief about being an animal of any sort. There have been cases of people believing they are cows and there is even a very rare form of it, ophidanthropy, where you think you’ve become a snake. The belief can be very strong. It’s no good saying to somebody, You are not a wolf. That won’t work.”

  “No?”

  “No. Because the point about a delusion is that you really believe it.”

  Ulf asked about the cause.

  “It could be hysteria or an affective disorder,” said Dr. Svensson. “Or it could be something organic—something to do with frontal lobe or limbic system lesions. I’d be inclined to look for an underlying condition—possibly schizophrenia, possibly depression, and treat it accordingly.” He paused. “This poor man—will somebody help him get treatment?”

  “I think so,” said Ulf. “His wife’s cousin is in a position to intervene.”

  Dr. Svensson looked at Ulf. “You know, Mr. Varg, your life is a very interesting one—far more interesting than mine.”

  Ulf sighed. “Sometimes I wish it were simpler. Sometimes I wish I had a simple, nine-to-five job.”

  “Do you think you’d like that?”

  “Probably not,” said Ulf. “I’d get bored, I suppose.”

  “I think you would,” said Dr. Svensson. “You need the occasions of good, as we all do—even if we don’t have a name for them.”

  “I don’t know what I need,” said Ulf. “Somebody to love, maybe. And I don’t have her. Or rather, I can’t have her.”

  Dr. Svensson was gentle. “Because you know it would be wrong?”

  “Yes,” said Ulf. “Because it would be wrong. It would destroy too much.”

  Dr. Svensson sighed. “I can’t tell you how many people I have had here in this consulting room, in that very chair you’re sitting in, telling me about their need for love.”

  “And you can’t do anything about it?”

  “I can’t. And nor, in many cases, can they. It would be nice, though, to be able to wave a wand and bring them the resolution they’re looking for.”

  “Resolution?” asked Ulf.

  “Yes, resolution. I thought you, as a detective, would understand resolution. Your work is all about that, isn’t it?”

  “Sometimes,” said Ulf. “But then sometimes not.”

  * * *

  —

  After his session with Dr. Svensson, Ulf returned to the office. Anna was engaged in paperwork, but was only too ready to take a coffee break. So she and Ulf went to the coffeehouse over the road. Their preferred table was occupied by a group of noisy students, and so they retreated to the back.

  “So you sorted everything out?” she asked.
/>   Ulf nodded. “I think so.”

  Anna knew that he was not at liberty to say much more, and she did not try to press him. But she did ask whether he had learned anything in the process. “Something about lycanthropy,” said Ulf. “And a bit about nudists. And, oh, Saab 92s and vitamin D—that was Blomquist’s contribution.”

  “Nothing much, then,” said Anna, smiling.

  He loved it when she made these witty understatements. He loved it so much. But then he remembered the conversation about metonyms, and about not going there. He could not go there. He could not. There was forbidden territory—the apple tree in the innocent garden, except that there was a snake in the garden—there always was, whether the snake was a metonym or a real serpent.

  “What about you?” he asked. “What have you been up to in the last few days?”

  Anna sipped her coffee. She thought, I should answer: Thinking about you. But she could not do that. So she said, “The girls had a swimming competition.”

  “Oh yes?” said Ulf. “And how did they do?”

  “They lost,” said Anna. “They came last.”

  Ulf looked sympathetic. “That’s a pity. But then we all lose sooner or later, don’t we?”

  “We do.”

  “And at work?” Ulf asked. “Anything happen?”

  “You won’t believe this,” said Anna. “You won’t believe it but that boy—the one who works in the coffee bar—was reported missing by his parents. He lives at home, you see.”

  Ulf stared at her. The shoes in the flat...

  “So I went straight to that flat—the one where we saw the shoes. I found him straight away. And the other boy too.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Yes. And they had no clothes on—neither of them did.”

  “How strange,” said Ulf.

  “I told him to get dressed and go and assure his parents that he was all right.”

  “The best thing to do,” said Ulf. He shook his head. “Young people!”