Borkmann's Point Read Online Free PDF Page B

statement but had only revealed
the alleged fact that the police were following up several lines
of inquiry.
Oh, really? thought Van Veeteren.
The local rag was called de Journaal, and the coverage was
    more substantial: pictures of Bausen, the place where the body
was discovered and the victim—albeit one from when he was
still alive. And a photograph of Eggers. The headline on the
front page said the axman strikes again. town terror
stricken, and on an inside page a couple of questions were
highlighted: “Who’ll be the next victim?” and “Are our police
up to it?”
    He skimmed through the articles and read the obituary of
Ernst Simmel, who was something of a local stalwart and honorary citizen, it seemed—a member of the Rotary Club, a
director of the local football club and on the board of the bank.
He had held several offices previously, before moving to live in
Spain...no sooner is he back home than he’s brutally murdered.
    De mortuis . . . thought Van Veeteren, and threw the newspaper onto the floor. What the hell am I doing here?
He took off his shirt and padded into the bathroom. What
was the name of that restaurant?
The Blue Ship?
    The assumption that representatives of the national press
would turn up proved to be well founded. As he walked
through the hotel foyer, two middle-aged gentlemen darted
out of the bar. Their ruddy complexions were a telltale indication of their trade, and Van Veeteren paused with a sigh.
“Chief Inspector Van Veeteren! Cruickshank from the
    Telegraaf !”
“Müller from the Allgemejne !” announced the other. “I think
we’ve met—”
“My name’s Rölling,” said Van Veeteren. “I’m a traveling
salesman specializing in grandfather clocks. There must be
some mistake.”
“Ha ha,” said Müller.
“When can we have a chat?” asked Cruickshank.
“At the press conference in the police station at eleven
o’clock tomorrow morning,” said Van Veeteren, opening the
front door.
“Is it you or Bausen who’s in charge of the investigation?”
asked Müller.
“What investigation?” said Van Veeteren.
    The main color used for the interior decoration of The Blue
Ship was red. The bar was no more than half full, and there
were plenty of empty tables in the dining room. Van Veeteren
was seated right at the back, with no near neighbors; but even
so, he hadn’t even started his main course before a thin gentleman with gleaming eyes and a nervous smile materialized in
front of him.
    “Excuse me. Schalke from de Journaal. You’re that chief
inspector, aren’t you?”
Van Veeteren didn’t respond.
“I was the last person to speak to him. I’ve been interviewed by Bausen and Kropke, of course; but if you’d like a
chat, I’d be happy to oblige.”
He glanced down meaningfully at the empty chair opposite
the chief inspector.
“Could we meet in the bar when I’ve finished eating?” proposed Van Veeteren.
Schalke nodded and withdrew. Van Veeteren started to
work his way listlessly through something described cryptically on the menu as “Chef ’s Pride with Funghi and Mozzarella.” When he’d finished his meal and paid his bill, he still
had no idea what he’d been eating.
    “He sat on the same chair as you’re on now,” said Schalke.
“Very much alive. One thing is certain. He had no idea he was
going to have his head chopped off. He acted exactly the same
as he always did.”
    “And how was that?” asked Van Veeteren, sucking the froth
off his beer.
“How was that? Well...a bit distant and supercilious, to
tell you the truth. Not easy to talk to. He was always like that.
His mind was sort of... elsewhere.”
That doesn’t surprise me, thought Van Veeteren.
“He seemed to be trying to flirt a bit with one of the girls
sitting over there.”
He pointed.
“Flirt?”
“Well, maybe that’s exaggerating it. But he was giving her
the eye all right.”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“Are you saying that Ernst Simmel was a...