Mind's Eye

by Håkan Nesser

“Do you know what happened to me today, Janek?” she’d said. “I had a proposal.”

  His blood had stood still. His smile was in cement.

  “Yes, a man I didn’t know came up to me while I was waiting for the bus and asked me to marry him. Some people certainly know how to seize the moment.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I’d think it over.”

  She had also smiled, but he knew that her womb was wide open and there was blood between her teeth.

  “Let’s get married, Eva.”

  And that was that.

  He pressed his forehead against the wall. It felt good. At any moment he could choose to be completely normal; it was an act of the will, nothing else—to choose the thinnest and most durable and grayest of all the lines of thought and cling to it like a blind priest.

  How did he not miss her?

  In the same way as you don’t miss the unbearable.

  As a young tiger doesn’t miss its own death.

  This man.

  Who existed. Who didn’t exist.

  Who kept phoning but replaced the receiver when Mitter answered. Time after time.

  Whom she spoke to when Mitter was not at home.

  Who didn’t exist, and about whom she used to have nightmares. Who made her say, “If I die soon, please forgive me, Janek! Forgive me, forgive me!”

  Whom she renounced over and over again.

  “There is no man. There is no man. There’s only you and me, Janek. Believe me, believe me, believe me!”

  It was so damned theatrical that it must be true. For it had to be the blood and the pain and her death that was the truth…not the lie. And when she welcomed him between her legs, that could be nothing but the truth. There were no questions. It must be strength, not weakness. Guilt and punishment and mercy had no place and no name in all this.

  Forget me! Let us forget each other when we’ve gone! Could we ever make love if there were no such thing as death?

  What was your quarrel about?

  What did you talk about out there on the balcony?

  He thumped his head against the wall. Roared with laughter and wept.

  16

  “What is your full name, please?”

  “Gudrun Elisabeth Traut.”

  “Occupation?”

  “Teacher of German and English at Bunge High School.”

  “You are a colleague of Janek Mitter and Eva Ringmar, is that correct?”

  “Well…I am a colleague of Mitter’s. I was a colleague of Eva Ringmar’s.”

  “Of course. Are you…were you…closely acquainted with either of them?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve been working at the school for about as long as Mitter, but we teach different subjects. We’ve never had much to do with each other.”

  “And Eva Ringmar?”

  “She joined the staff two years ago, when Mr. Monsen retired. We both worked in the modern languages department.”

  “Were you close?”

  “No, certainly not. We attended the same planning meetings, shared some examinations, stood in for one another when one of us was sick, the usual kind of thing in the languages department.”

  “But you didn’t socialize in your spare time?”

  “With Eva Ringmar?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, never.”

  “Do you know if Eva Ringmar used to meet any of the other teachers—outside working hours, that is?”

  “No, I don’t think anybody did—apart from Mitter, of course.”

  “Naturally. Miss Traut, I’d like you to inform us about an incident you told the police about, that happened on September thirtieth, three days before Eva Ringmar was murdered.”

  “You mean the episode in the staff workroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “By all means. It was after the last lesson of the day. I’d set a test in German for year two, and we’d overrun our time slightly. It was probably around a quarter past four when I got to the languages room, where we have our desks. I thought I’d be the last one there, but to my surprise I saw Eva Ringmar sitting at her desk. It’s not usual for either of us to stay on after the last lesson. You feel so tired after six or seven lessons that you simply don’t have the energy to do any work; it’s better to take home whatever needs marking and spend half the night on it. That’s the way it is for teachers….”

  “I understand. But on that particular day, Eva Ringmar was still there?”

  “Yes, but she wasn’t working. She was just sitting with her head in her hands, gazing out of the window.”

  “Did you speak to her?”

  “Yes. I asked her if she wasn’t thinking of going home, of course.”

  “What did she say?”

  “At first she gave a start, as if she hadn’t noticed me coming into the room. Then she said…without looking at me…she just kept on staring out of the window…she said that she was scared.”

  “Scared?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you recall her exact words?”

  “Of course. She said: ‘Oh, it’s just you, is it, Miss Traut? Thank goodness. I’m so scared today, you see.’”

  “You’re sure those were the very words she used?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you say anything else?”

  “Yes, I asked her if she was afraid to go home.”

  “And how did she answer that?”

  “She didn’t. She simply said, ‘No, it’s nothing.’ Then she took her bag and left.”

  “Miss Traut, what conclusions did you draw from what she said? What was your first impression?”

  “I don’t know…. Perhaps that she sounded more resigned than scared, in fact.”

  “Did she seem to have been expecting to see somebody else rather than you? The way she expressed herself seems to have suggested that.”

  “Yes, I think that’s right.”

  “You interpreted it as meaning that she was pleased to see it was you, rather than one of her other colleagues?”

  “Yes, it sounded like that.”

  “Who might that have been?”

  “Is there more than one possibility?”

  “You are referring to the accused?”

  “Yes.”

  It was only now that Rüger made his objection.

  “I insist that the last five questions and answers be erased from the proceedings! My learned friend is encouraging the witness to guess! To speculate on things she hasn’t the slightest idea about…”

  “Objection overruled!” said Havel. “But members of the jury should bear in mind that the witness drew her own conclusions on the basis of meager observations. Does my learned friend have any more questions for this witness?”

  “Two, My Lord. Do you know, Miss Traut, if Eva Ringmar had any relationship, apart from a purely professional one, with any of your male colleagues? With the exception of Janek Mitter, of course.”

  “No.”

  “Did you see, or hear, about any other man, apart from Mitter, in connection with Eva Ringmar, during the two years she was working alongside you?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you, Miss Traut. No more questions.”

  Rüger didn’t even bother to stand up.

  “Miss Traut, do you know anything at all about Eva Ringmar’s private life?”

  “No, there was no…”

  “Thank you. Do you know anything about the relationship between Ringmar and Mitter?”

  “No.”

  “If there were any other men in Eva Ringmar’s life, then, there is no reason, no reason at all, why you should know anything about it?”

  “Er, no.”

  “Thank you. No more questions.”

  “Full name and occupation?”

  “Beate Kristine Lingen. I work as a beautician at the Institut Mètre in Krowitz, but I live here in Maardam.”

  “What was your relationship with the deceased, Eva Ringmar?”

  “I suppose
you could say I was a friend of hers, although we didn’t meet very often.”

  “How did you get to know Eva Ringmar?”

  “We were in the same class at high school. In Mühlboden. We graduated at the same time. Saw a bit of each other afterward as well.”

  “And then?”

  “Then we lost contact. We moved to different towns, got married, and so forth.”

  “Are you married now?”

  “No, I’ve been divorced for five years.”

  “I see. When did you catch up with Eva Ringmar again?”

  “Just after she moved here. That was two years ago, more or less. We bumped into each other in the street, and arranged to meet—we hadn’t seen each other for over fifteen years. Well, we met occasionally after that, but not all that much.”

  “How often?”

  “Well, I suppose we saw each other about once a month, perhaps. No, maybe not as often as that. Probably about ten or twelve times in all over the last two years.”

  “What did you do?”

  “When we met? Er, it varied. Sometimes we just sat together at her place or mine, sometimes we went out, to the movies or to a restaurant.”

  “Did you go dancing?”

  “No, never.”

  “Were you, shall we say, on intimate terms?”

  “Yes, I suppose you could say that. Maybe not completely, though.”

  “Do you know if Eva Ringmar had any other women friends, or even one other woman friend, with whom she was on intimate terms?”

  “No, I’m quite sure she didn’t. She liked to be on her own.”

  “Why?”

  “I think it had to do with what she’d been through. The accident involving her son—I suppose you know about that?”

  “Yes. You mean that she chose to live a rather solitary life?”

  “Maybe not solitary, but she didn’t seem to need to be together with other people. Er, she used to say something along those lines, in so many words.”

  “What about her relations with men?”

  “I don’t think she had any. Not before Mitter, that is.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “She never mentioned anybody?”

  “No.”

  “But you did talk about men?”

  “Sometimes. There are more interesting topics, you know.”

  “Really? Anyway…during the time you used to meet, those ten to twelve occasions, did you ever notice anything to suggest that she was having a relationship with a man?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think you would have noticed, if that had been the case?”

  “Yes. And she’d have told me as well.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. She told me about Mitter, after all.”

  “When was that?”

  “In May. Around the tenth, if I remember rightly. I rang her to ask if she wanted to go to the movies, but she said she didn’t have time. She’d met a man, she said.”

  “Did she say who it was?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Did you speak to her, or meet her again after that?”

  “Yes. She phoned in the middle of September. Said she’d got married, and wondered if we could meet.”

  “What did you decide?”

  “I was about to leave for Linz—I was going on a course for two weeks—but I said I’d be in touch when I got back.”

  “But it was too late by then?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you think she sounded, when you spoke to her in September?”

  “How she sounded?”

  “Yes, did you notice anything special? Did she seem happy, or worried, or anything else?”

  “No. I didn’t notice anything unusual.”

  “Were you surprised that she’d got married?”

  “Yes, I suppose I was.”

  A brief pause. Ferrati leafed through his papers. The bluebottle woke up after having slept for four days. Buzzed around the courtroom but found nothing of interest and retired once more to the ceiling. The judge watched it for a while, as he wiped the back of his neck with a colorful handkerchief.

  “Miss Lingen,” said Ferrati eventually, “during the two years you associated with Eva Ringmar, did you ever have any reason to suspect that she might be having a relationship with a man other than Janek Mitter?”

  “No.”

  “Did she have any…enemies?”

  “Enemies? No, why on earth should she?”

  “Thank you, Miss Lingen. No more questions.”

  Rüger remained seated this time as well.

  “Miss Lingen, does the name Eduard Caen mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing?”

  “No, nothing at all.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Rüger stood up. Took a folded sheet of paper from out of his inside pocket and handed it to Havel.

  “My Lord, may I present the court with this list of dates on which Eva Ringmar met Eduard Caen from October 15, 1990, to February 20, 1992. Fourteen meetings in all. The dates are in chronological order and confirmed by Mr. Caen himself. I have no further questions.”

  17

  He woke up at twenty past five.

  Stayed in bed for a while and tried to go back to sleep, but that was impossible. Old images and memories of every possible occasion flooded into his consciousness, and after half an hour he got up. Put on a jumper and trousers over his pajamas and went to the kitchen. Looked out the window, saw that the newsstand in the square below hadn’t opened yet, and sat down at the table to wait.

  When the shutters were removed, he was standing there, ready. There was no risk. The woman who ran the stand recognized him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been there so early.

  With Neuwe Blatt under his arm, he rushed up the stairs in a series of long leaps. Locked the door behind him and spread the newspaper out on the kitchen table. Started looking.

  The report covered a whole page, and he read it twice. Folded the paper up, rested his head on his hands, and pondered.

  Loss of memory?

  Of all the possibilities he’d considered over the last few weeks, that was something that had never occurred to him.

  Loss of memory?

  After a while, he concluded that this was the only answer.

  The only one, and the right one. Mitter had forgotten him. He’d been so drunk that he quite simply didn’t remember.

  There was a twitching at the corners of his mouth, he could feel it. He felt drowsy now, after getting up so early. But surely this was an omen. Another sign that he was on the right path. He was free now, and strong. He only needed to look ahead. No need to fear anything. A lion.

  Something was nagging deep down in his stomach.

  Fear?

  Was it possible that Mitter might remember?

  He belched. A sour taste filled his mouth.

  He took two tablets to calm down his stomach. Washed them down with soda water. Went back to bed.

  The thought was already in his mind. He didn’t bother to examine it more closely. It wasn’t necessary yet. There was no hurry. He would surely be well advised to wait and see how things developed. The itch was there again, but he suppressed it. He had the strength and the determination, no doubt about that; but it was too soon. For the moment he could devote himself to other things. Other itches.

  Liz. He stuck his hand down behind the waistband of his trousers. This is what he had to look forward to. The sick goings-on of the past were behind him now. On Wednesday, it would be Liz. His woman.

  She was going to seduce him, he’d seen it in her eyes. And he would let her have her way. He’d let her do whatever she wanted until the very last moment, then he would force his way inside her and make her squeal in ecstasy. From behind and from in front and from the side.

  Eva was gone. Now it was Liz. On Wednesday.

  18


  “Why the hell didn’t we know anything about this Caen?”

  Van Veeteren started before Münster had time even to close the door. Münster flopped down on his usual chair between the filing cabinets and popped two throat tablets into his mouth.

  “Well?”

  “We were told we didn’t need to trawl through the whole of her past. I don’t understand why you are still persisting with this case. I’ve just been chatting to the chief of police downstairs in the canteen, and he said we must get down to serious work on those arson attacks now.”

  “Münster, I couldn’t give a shit what Hiller thinks we ought to be doing. If it’s of any interest to you, your pyromaniac is called Garanin. He’s Russian, and it’ll be enough if we put a man on him from the twelfth onward.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s moonstruck. He only lights fires when there’s a full moon. I had a look at the material this morning. I’ve got his address as well, but it’ll be best to catch him in the act. Just now we’re concentrating on Caen. What have you found out?”

  Münster cleared his throat.

  “I haven’t spoken to him personally: I sent a fax this morning. We’ll presumably get a reply tonight—they don’t have the same time as we do down there.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. And I also went to see Rüger. He didn’t want to say anything, of course, so I gave him a few tips in connection with the Henderson case.”

  “Bravo, Münster! Go on!”

  “Well, Caen was her therapist. He looked after her when she was in Rejmershus, and they stayed in contact after she’d been let out. Rüger doesn’t have much more than the dates of their meetings, in fact. His main intention was to clamp down on that witness who claimed she knew all there was to know about Eva Ringmar, he said.”

  “Is that all?”

  “He’s spoken to Caen on the telephone a couple of times, but he didn’t think it was relevant to the case. I’m inclined to agree with him.”

  “Leave me to decide what’s important and what isn’t, Münster! What else do you know?”

  “He moved to Australia in March this year. That was why they stopped meeting. He has a private clinic in Melbourne. His wife comes from there, so presumably that’s why…”

  “What did he have to say about Eva Ringmar?”