The G File

by Håkan Nesser

  There followed several seconds of silence. Then the Chief Inspector stood up and walked over to the window.

  ‘I take it you gentlemen realize what this means?’ he said in a tired-sounding voice.

  ‘That he didn’t do it,’ said Reinhart. ‘Jaan G. Hennan can’t have murdered his wife.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘At least we have reached one definite conclusion. Any comments?’

  ‘Does that mean it’s time for coffee?’ wondered Rooth.

  The second half of the run-through was also an uphill struggle.

  Van Veeteren summarized the report from Horniman, and those who had not yet become familiar with it (Rooth, Jung and Heinemann) reacted in more or less the same way as those who had perused it already (Van Veeteren, Reinhart and Münster), earlier in the day. The Chief Inspector also recounted what had emerged from his conversation with the pathologist, Meusse, and a theory was produced with regard to the child that had not been mentioned in the report.

  ‘She had it while she was mixed up with that damned sect, of course,’ maintained Rooth. ‘Stillborn, presumably – they all live on roots and grasshoppers and don’t get sufficient nourishment.’

  Rooth’s hypothesis was not greeted by applause, but nor were there any serious objections.

  Münster reported that renewed contact with the insurance company F/B Trustor had revealed that fru Hennan had not been present when the policy was signed, and that current practice did not require her presence. To round things off the Chief Inspector read out a two-page report from Constable Kowalski – containing forty-two spelling mistakes, but they were not noticeable when the text was read aloud – regarding the suspect Jaan G. Hennan’s actions and doings from Thursday morning up to and including lunch on Friday of this week. No criminal (or otherwise notable) behaviour had been observed, despite careful and intensive observation – with the possible exception of a visit by the said Hennan to the jazz club Vox on Thursday evening, during which he had offered his shadow a so-called double whisky at the bar. In order to avoid any unnecessary suspicions, the shadow had accepted the drink, and had also spoken to his quarry about general and neutral matters for about ninety seconds.

  After the report from Kowalski, Van Veeteren declared the meeting closed.

  ‘It’s not going all that well,’ said Münster when he and the Chief Inspector were ensconced with a Friday beer each at Adenaar’s half an hour later.

  ‘No,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘You can say that again.’

  In both his voice and the expression on his face were a trace of resignation that Münster was not used to. A sort of introspection, in fact, which was quite unlike the usual intense concentration that Münster had grown familiar with over the years. He wondered what lay behind this. There was a purely personal aspect between G and Van Veeteren that had been hovering in the background, but just how it was more than the fact that they had been at school together thirty or forty years ago, he didn’t know. After hesitating for a while, Münster asked outright how he was feeling, and the Chief Inspector admitted that he wasn’t exactly on top form.

  ‘Mort used to talk about this,’ he added when they had tasted their beers. ‘Did you ever meet Mort?’

  ‘Just a few times, very briefly,’ said Münster. ‘I never spoke to him.’

  ‘He grew very tired during his last few years. It happened quickly, as if he had suddenly walked into a wall. He talked about it . . . but in a vague sort of way – I don’t know if he really wanted to discuss it, but in any case, it was the job that finished him off.’

  ‘What exactly was it about?’ asked Münster.

  Van Veeteren lit a cigarette and looked out through the window for a while before answering.

  ‘A case like this one, presumably. Or several of them, perhaps. Investigations in which he knew exactly what had happened, but he couldn’t prove anything. And so he had to let the perpetrator go free.’

  ‘That’s something that happens to all of us,’ said Münster. ‘It’s just a matter of finding a way to cope with it.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘But sometimes you can’t find a way. I think it was something purely personal in Mort’s case as well. I had the impression that a close relative was involved, but he never went into any details. As I said.’

  Münster thought for a while.

  ‘There’s an expression in the USA – Blue Cops: are you familiar with that?’

  Van Veeteren nodded but said nothing.

  ‘Police officers who burn themselves out,’ said Münster.

  ‘There’s an over-representation of such cases in the suicide statistics that is scary to say the least . . . I read about it a few weeks ago.’

  Van Veeteren took a swig of beer.

  ‘Yes, I know about the phenomenon. Perhaps what you need is an armour-plated soul – but unfortunately you wouldn’t get very far even with one of those. You sort of lose the ability to see, unless you have a certain kind of darkness inside you . . . I think Churchill wrote about this, in fact. He wrote that, in a way, he understood Hitler. You need to have an emphatic insight into even the most damnable of psyches, don’t forget that, Münster.’

  Münster said nothing, but thought for a while.

  ‘So G has one of those dark souls, does he?’

  Van Veeteren raised an eyebrow and seemed surprised by the question.

  ‘Without a doubt. Always assuming that he has a soul.’

  ‘And so we must . . . ?’

  Münster broke off and started laughing, but the Chief Inspector still looked serious.

  ‘Is it the case . . . ?’ asked Münster hesitantly. ‘Is it the case that there is a personal aspect in this business as well? Just as there was for Mort. Have you had dealings with Jaan G. Hennan before?’

  Van Veeteren didn’t seem keen to follow the thread, and Münster assumed he had gone too far. He took another drink of beer and leaned back on his chair. Glanced discreetly at his wristwatch and established that he ought to be setting off for home shortly.

  Or that he ought to have set off already. He had promised Synn that he would be home before six, they were expecting guests – her sister and her husband, but even so . . . And wasn’t he supposed to buy something on his way home as well . . . ?

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said the Chief Inspector interrupting his train of thought. ‘Of course I’ve had dealings with him before. Donkeys years ago, of course, but it was a woman . . . Or rather, a girl.’

  ‘A girl?’ said Münster.

  ‘A girl, yes. Nineteen, twenty years old . . .’

  ‘Really?’ said Münster, and his curiosity was so strong that he couldn’t camouflage it.

  ‘As I said,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘But we’ll take that another time.’

  I very much doubt that, thought Münster, and suppressed his curiosity. No point in persisting, obviously. He emptied his glass of beer, and prepared to leave Adenaar’s.

  ‘When are you intending to interrogate Hennan?’ he asked.

  Van Veeteren stubbed out his cigarette and also drained his glass.

  ‘Tonight,’ he said. ‘I intend to bring him in late this evening.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes. If you are interested, you’re welcome to watch the performance through the two-way mirror. About eleven o’clock. Reinhart will be there, but there’s no harm in having an extra pair of eyes and ears present, I suppose.’

  Münster thought for a moment, then made up his mind.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ he said. ‘Eleven o’clock?’

  ‘Maybe not before half past eleven,’ said Van Veeteren, getting to his feet. ‘I thought the night might be a suitable setting for this sort of lark. But only if you have time.’

  ‘I shall make time,’ promised Inspector Münster, and followed the Chief Inspector to the exit.

  17

  In addition to Reinhart and Münster, Inspector Rooth was also on parade in the cramped area in front of the two-
way mirror when the interrogation of Jaan G. Hennan was due to begin. Rooth’s so-called date had rung and announced that she was ill, he explained, and this promised to be at least as entertaining as a bad television crime series.

  Hennan had been collected from his home by Constables Kowalski and Klempje shortly before half past ten. He had accompanied them quite eagerly and with a smile on his face, and then had the doubtful pleasure of spending forty-five minutes on a chair in the stark interrogation room before Van Veeteren entered through one of the two doors and sat down opposite him.

  ‘About time,’ said Hennan, but with no trace of irritation in his voice.

  Van Veeteren didn’t respond. He messed around for a while with the tape recorder and lit a cigarette, then read out Hennan’s rights and asked if he wanted to have a lawyer present.

  Hennan leaned back, smiled broadly and announced that he needed a lawyer about as much as one needs a wart in one’s arsehole. The Chief Inspector nodded and switched on the tape recorder. Stated the time, place and nature of the interrogation, and asked Hennan to give his full name, birthplace and date of birth. Hennan obliged, smiling all the time.

  ‘Right,’ said the Chief Inspector, hanging his jacket on the back of his chair. ‘You are here because you are suspected of murdering your wife, Barbara Clarissa Hennan. You are not yet under arrest, but that’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘Murdering? Arrest?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Would you like to confess right away, or do we have to make a meal of it?’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Hennan.

  ‘I didn’t understand your reply,’ said Van Veeteren.

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Hennan again.

  ‘Now I understood it,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Should I interpret it as meaning that you are surprised at the fact that we suspect you?’

  Hennan rested his chin on the knuckles of his right hand and thought for three seconds.

  ‘Both yes and no,’ he said. ‘I am well aware of the overall incompetence of the police and have long since ceased to be surprised by it; but in this case you appear to have excelled yourselves.’

  ‘Expound,’ said the Chief Inspector.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Hennan. ‘If it needs expounding, you can do so yourself. Personally I would prefer to be driven home and go to bed.’

  ‘That’s not what we had in mind,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘How long were you married to Philomena McNaught?’

  Hennan’s response came without any obvious surprise.

  ‘Just over a year.’

  ‘She died while on a car journey in Bethesda Park, is that right?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that. She disappeared, and was eventually pronounced officially dead.’

  ‘If I were to tell you that her body had been found, would that surprise you?’

  Hennan hesitated for a moment. Then he smiled again.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘They were bound to find her sooner or later. How did it happen?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I wonder where they found her, of course. And in what circumstances. As she was most probably killed by a large beast of prey, it’s a bit surprising to hear that a whole body has been found, I’ll give you that. My God, do you really think that I haven’t been around long enough not to know when a member of the filth is sitting there lying to me?’

  Van Veeteren sat in silence for a while, gazing at a point on the wall just above Hennan’s head. He didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘Are you so stupid,’ he said in the end, ‘so incredibly stupid, that you think you can get away with the same ruse twice? We know that you have killed two women, and that you will be in jail for the next twenty-five years of your life. I suggest that you get yourself a lawyer without delay, since you don’t seem to understand the situation you find yourself in.’

  ‘Crap,’ said Hennan. ‘I don’t need a lawyer. But on the other hand, I do need to go to the loo.’

  ‘Five minutes,’ said Van Veeteren, and switched off the tape recorder.

  ‘I must disappoint you on one point,’ said the Chief Inspector when Hennan had returned.

  ‘Really? How sad.’

  ‘Even if you hadn’t been caught, you wouldn’t have been able to collect any insurance pay-out.’

  ‘You don’t say?’ said Hennan with a smile. ‘Well, I suppose I shall have to listen to your insinuations since we are sitting here. Go on, I’m all ears.’

  ‘Thank you. We shall prove that it wasn’t an accident – the murder of your second wife, that is – and hence the appropriate clause in your insurance policy kicks in.’

  Hennan shrugged.

  ‘You have every right to try to prove whatever you like, of course. Don’t let me get in your way. But it would astonish me if you were to succeed.’

  ‘She was unconscious before she was pushed down into the empty swimming pool,’ said Van Veeteren, lighting another cigarette. ‘But you have evidently decided to carry on pretending to be stupid – I must say I had expected rather better opposition.’

  ‘Opposition?’ said Hennan in histrionic surprise. ‘What the devil are you rambling on about now, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘You’re boring me,’ said Van Veeteren with a yawn. ‘You raped your little sister regularly for five years, is that right?’

  ‘What?’ said Hennan.

  ‘I asked if you raped your sister, Elizabeth Hennan, regularly for five years. Or was it for longer than that? Why did you stop? Do you think fifteen-year-olds are too old?’

  It took several seconds before Hennan was able to gain control over his facial expression. Then the smile reappeared, albeit a thinner version of it.

  ‘Perhaps I ought to have a lawyer after all,’ he said. ‘You seem to have taken leave of your senses.’

  ‘Perhaps you prefer to answer that question at the trial instead,’ suggested the Chief Inspector. ‘Do you still meet at all? Like brothers and sisters usually do, I mean?’

  Hennan made no reply.

  ‘Can you give me the names of some of your friends and acquaintances?’ asked Van Veeteren.

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Perhaps you could do with somebody to speak up on your behalf, for instance. Can you give me the names of a few people who can confirm your good character?’

  ‘No,’ said Hennan. ‘It’s up to the police to find witnesses.’

  ‘Maarten Verlangen, perhaps?’ suggested the Chief Inspector.

  ‘Verlangen? Who the hell is he? – Oh, do you mean that ex-copper? What have I got to do with him?’

  ‘You met him the evening your wife died.’

  Hennan thought for a moment.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. We had a few drinks. A sad type – he’s gone down in the world.’

  ‘How come you are acquainted with him?’

  Hennan burst out laughing.

  ‘You know that full well. We had a score to settle a few years ago. He had me locked up –I was innocent, but I spent some time in jail thanks to him. But that’s all forgotten now. I don’t hold grudges.’

  ‘I take it you know what he does for a living nowadays?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Hennan. ‘I’d like a cigarette now.’

  ‘By all means,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Verlangen works as a private detective.’

  Hennan looked surprised.

  ‘A private eye? He didn’t say anything about that. Still, I suppose it’s not easy for sacked coppers to find a decent job.’

  Van Veeteren allowed a few seconds to pass in silence.

  ‘But no doubt you knew that your wife was also acquainted with him?’

  ‘My wife? Acquainted with whom?’

  ‘With Verlangen.’

  Hennan almost succeeded in concealing his surprise by lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Rubbish,’ he said. ‘Why should Barbara be acquainted with somebody like Verlangen?’

  ‘If she were still alive, she could have explained it to you. But of cou
rse Verlangen will fill us in at the trial.’

  Just for a moment, for a fraction of a second, Van Veeteren had the impression that Hennan was about to give the game away. Perhaps it was an illusion, but for an instant the Chief Inspector felt that he could see right through Hennan – and if he had ever had the slightest doubt that he was guilty, that unguarded moment would have been sufficient. Jaan G. Hennan had Barbara Clarissa Delgado’s life on his conscience, alongside that of Philomena McNaught. He thought quickly about how one could put into words that all-embracing revelation, that all-embracing guilt reflected in those eyes – for a jury, for instance: but all he could envisage was the deep abyss that separates insight and action. It wasn’t the first time.

  He was brought back down to earth by Hennan clearing his throat.

  ‘Is it full steam ahead for the police to make up any lies they like during an interrogation nowadays?’ he asked.

  Van Veeteren snorted.

  ‘G,’ he said. ‘Sitting with and talking to a murderer are one thing; but I find that having to converse with a hopelessly stupid murderer is extremely boring. We’ll take a break for half an hour.’

  Hennan shook his head and made as if to stand up.

  ‘No, no,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘You will stay here. There’s a floor if you want to lie down for a while.’

  ‘I’m reluctantly impressed,’ said Inspector Reinhart during the break. ‘But I think it might be as well if we didn’t go out of our way to broadcast our methods.’

  ‘How did you rate his reaction to Verlangen?’ wondered the Chief Inspector. ‘There was some uncertainty there – I didn’t notice it until afterwards.’

  ‘Uncertainty?’ said Münster. ‘What kind of uncertainty?’

  The Chief Inspector shook his head and stuck a toothpick into his mouth.

  ‘I had the impression that he was pretending to be surprised – but only half pretending . . . And I’m wondering which half was genuine.’

  ‘That Verlangen . . .’ sighed Rooth. ‘We have no idea what he said and didn’t say at the restaurant. He was presumably pretty drunk – Hennan might have extracted God only knows what out of him.’