Borkmann's Point Read Online Free PDF

Kropke.
It would be no bad thing if we solved this business before a
new chief of police takes over, thought Van Veeteren.
“What was he doing in the woods?”
“On his way home,” said Beate Moerk.
“Where from?”
“The Blue Ship restaurant. He’d been there from half past
eight until eleven, roughly. There are several witnesses. Went
for a stroll through the town, it seems. The last people to see
him alive were a couple of women in Fisherman’s Square—at
about twenty past eleven, give or take a minute or so.”
“What does the pathologist’s report say about the time of
death?”
“The final version is due tomorrow,” said Bausen. “As
things look at the moment, between eleven and one. Well, half
past eleven and one, I suppose.”
Van Veeteren leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.
“That means there are two possibilities,” he said, and waited
for a reaction.
“Precisely,” said Beate Moerk. “Either the murderer was
lying in wait by the path, ready to have a go at whoever came
past, or he followed Simmel from the restaurant.”
“He might have just bumped into him,” said Kropke. “By
accident, in other words—”
“And he had an ax with him—by accident?” said Moerk.
Good, thought Van Veeteren. I wonder if Bausen has entertained the idea of having a female successor? Although it’s not
up to him, of course.
Four reporters were lying in wait by the front desk, but Bausen
was clearly used to sending them packing.
“Press conference tomorrow morning, eleven o’clock
sharp. Not a word out of us until then!”
Van Veeteren declined Bausen’s offer of a modest meal and
a lift back to the hotel.
“I need some fresh air. Thought I’d buy some newspapers
as well.”
Bausen nodded.
“Here’s my phone number in case you change your mind. I
expect I’ll be in all evening.”
He handed a business card to Van Veeteren, who put it in
his breast pocket. The chief of police clambered into his somewhat battered Toyota and drove away. Van Veeteren watched
him go.
Nice fellow, he thought. I wonder if he plays chess as well.
He looked at his watch. Half past five. A couple of hours’
work in his room, and then dinner. That sounded like a good
way of passing the time. That was just about the only skill he’d
managed to acquire over the years: the ability to kill time.
Well, plus a certain aptitude for finding violent lawbreakers, of course.
He picked up his briefcase and set off in the direction of the
harbor.
Fourteen cassettes and three folders.
    They were all that constituted the material concerning the
Eggers case. He tipped them onto the bed and hesitated for a
moment. Then he rang reception and ordered a beer. He
tucked the folders under his arm and went to sit on the balcony.
    It took him several minutes to adjust the parasol so that he
wasn’t troubled by the evening sun, but once he’d sorted that
out and the girl had brought his beer, he sat out there until he’d
read every single word.
    The conclusion he drew was simple and straightforward,
and perhaps best expressed in Inspector Moerk’s words: “We
don’t know a damn thing.”
    He wasn’t exactly looking forward to listening to the
recordings of all the interviews. In normal circumstances, if
he’d been on home ground, he would have had them typed out
as a matter of course; but as things were, it was no doubt best
to take the bull by the horns and put the earphones on. In any
case, he decided to postpone that chore until later, or even
tomorrow. Instead, he moved on to the next murder, as
depicted in the newspapers. He’d acquired four—two national
ones and two issues of a local rag, today’s and yesterday’s.
    The national dailies had suitably large, fat headlines, but
the text was decidedly thin. They evidently hadn’t sent any
reporters to Kaalbringen yet. No doubt they would turn up at
the press conference. The man in charge of the case, Chief
Inspector Bausen, had issued a