Woman with Birthmark Read Online Free PDF Page B

smooth down the creases in his tie. Reinhart contemplated his pipe. Van Veeteren inserted a toothpick between his lower front teeth and gazed up at the ceiling.
    “Hmm,” he said eventually. “Quite a story, I must say. Has Hiller been informed?”
    “He's away by the seaside,” said Reinhart.
    “In January?”
    “I don't think he intends to go swimming. I've left a message for him in any case. There'll be a press conference at five o'clock; I think it would be best if you take it.”
    “Thank you,” said Van Veeteren. “I'll need only thirty seconds.”
    He looked around.
    “Not much point in allocating much in the way of resources yet,” he decided. “When do they say his wife is likely to come around? Where is she, incidentally?”
    “The New Rumford Hospital,” said Heinemann. “She should be able to talk this afternoon. Moreno's there, waiting.”
    “Good,” said Van Veeteren. “What about family and friends?”
    “A son at university in Munich,” said Reinhart. “He's on his way here. That's about all. Malik has no brothers or sisters, and his parents are dead. Ilse Malik has a sister. She's also waiting at the Rumford.”
    “Waiting for what, you might ask?” said Rooth.
    “Very true,” said Van Veeteren. “May I ask another question, gentlemen?”
    “Please do,” said Reinhart.
    “Why?” said Van Veeteren, taking out the toothpick.
    “I've also been thinking about that,” said Reinhart. “I'll get back to you when I've finished.”
    “We can always hope that somebody will turn himself in,” said Rooth.
    “Hope springs eternal,” said Reinhart.
    Van Veeteren yawned. It was sixteen minutes past three on Saturday, January 20. The first run-through of the Ryszard Malik case was over.
    Münster parked outside the New Rumford Hospital and jogged through the rain to the entrance. A woman in reception dragged herself away from her crochet work and sent him up to the fourth floor, Ward 42; after explaining why he was there and producing his ID, he was escorted to a small, dirt-yellow waiting room with plastic furniture and eye-catching travel posters on the walls. It was evidently the intention to give people the opportunity of dreaming that they were somewhere else. Not a bad idea, Münster thought.
    There were two women sitting in the room. The younger one, and by a large margin the more attractive of the two, with a mop of chestnut-brown hair and a book in her lap, was Detective Inspector Ewa Moreno. She welcomed him with a nod and an encouraging smile. The other one, a thin and slightly hunchbacked woman in her fifties, wearing glasses that concealed half her face, was fumbling nervously inside her black purse. He deduced that she must be Marlene Winther, the sister of the woman who had just been widowed. He went up to her and introduced himself.
    “Münster, Detective Inspector.”
    She shook his hand without standing up.
    “I realize that this must be difficult for you. Please understand that we are obliged to intrude upon your grief and ask some questions.”
    “The lady has already explained.”
    She glanced in the direction of Moreno. Münster nodded.
    “Has she come around yet?”
    Moreno cleared her throat and put down her book. “She's conscious, but the doctor wants a bit of time with her first. Perhaps we should … ?”
    Münster nodded again: they both went out into the corridor, leaving Mrs. Winther on her own.
    “In deep shock, it seems,” Moreno explained when they had found a discreet corner. “They're even worried about her mental state. She's had trouble with her nerves before, and all this hasn't helped, of course. She's been undergoing treatment for various problems.”
    “Have you interviewed her sister?”
    Moreno nodded.
    “Yes, of course. She doesn't seem all that strong either. We're going to have to tiptoe through the tulips.”
    “Hostile?”
    “No, not really. Just a touch of the big-sister syndrome. She's used to looking after little sister, it