The Inspector and Silence Read Online Free PDF Page A

newspapers.’
    That was the point at which Kluuge felt the first pang of panic. He gulped, and his mind was racing.
    ‘How do you know that a girl has disappeared? I’ve investigated the matter. Nobody is missing from the camp at Waldingen.’
    ‘You mean you’ve called them and asked? Of course they’ll deny it.’
    ‘We’ve carried out certain checks.’
    He thought that was quite a good line, but the woman wouldn’t be fobbed off.
    ‘If you don’t do something, they’ll kill some more.’
    There was a click as she hung up. Kluuge sat there for a while with the receiver in his hand, before replacing it and diverting his attention to the portrait of Lilian Malijsen in her bridal gown, in a gilded frame at the far end of the desk.
    My God, he thought. What if she’s telling the truth?
    He had heard quite a bit about the Pure Life. And read a lot. As he understood it, they got up to all kinds of things.
    Speaking in tongues.
    Exorcizing devils.
    Sexual rituals.
    Mind you, the latter was probably just a malevolent rumour. Wagging tongues and the usual upright envy. Rubbish! Kluuge thought, and returned to contemplating the blossoming elders. But somewhere deep down – perhaps at the very core of his emotions, to borrow one of Deborah’s latest pet expressions – he recognized that this was serious.
    Serious. There was something about that woman’s voice. There was also something about the situation in itself: his own disgracefully well-organized existence – Deborah, the terraced house, his stand-in duties as chief of police, the perfect mornings . . . It was only fair and just that something like this should crop up.
    There has to be a balance, as his father used to say. Between plus and minus. Between successes and failures. Otherwise, you’re not alive.
    He stuck a pencil in his mouth. Began chewing it as he tried to imagine Malijsen’s reactions if it turned out that a little girl had been found murdered on his patch, and the police had been tipped off but ignored it. Then he imagined the consequences of disturbing the divine peace that ruled over the heavenly fishing grounds. Neither of these options produced especially cheerful visions in Merwin Kluuge’s mind’s eye. Nor especially useful ones with regard to his possible future career prospects.
    The Pure Life? he thought. A little girl missing?
    It wouldn’t surprise him.
    Not at all, dammit.
    He’d made up his mind. Picked up the telephone and dialled the number of the police station in Maardam.

5
     
    ‘A hand grenade?’ said the chief of police.
    ‘No doubt about it,’ said Reinhart. ‘A seven-forty-five. He chucked it in through an open window, it rolled along the floor and exploded under the stage. Incredibly lucky, only eight injured and they’ll all pull through. If it had gone off on the dance floor we’d have had a dozen corpses.’
    ‘At least,’ said deBries, adjusting his wine-red silken cravat that had become slightly awry.
    ‘Do you need any help with your scarf?’ Rooth wondered.
    ‘And then what happened?’ Münster was quick to intervene.
    ‘He peppered some parked cars with an automatic weapon,’ Reinhart continued. ‘A nice chap, no inhibitions to speak of.’
    ‘My God,’ said Ewa Moreno. ‘And he’s still on the loose?’
    ‘Getting ready for this evening, no doubt,’ suggested Rooth. ‘We ought to go after him.’
    ‘Professional soldier?’ wondered Jung.
    ‘Very possibly,’ said Reinhart.
    ‘Excuse me,’ said Heinemann, who had arrived late. ‘Could we start from the beginning again? I’ve only heard about it on the radio.’
    Chief of Police Hiller cleared his throat and wiped his temples with a tissue.
    ‘Yes, that’s probably best,’ he said. ‘Reinhart, you’ve been there, so I think you ought to give us the full story. Then we’ll have to decide how to allocate available resources.’
    Reinhart nodded.
    ‘Kirwan Disco,’ he began. ‘Down at Zwille, alongside Grote Square. Full of