They both pointed with their paintbrushes, and giggled modestly.
“Why are you painting the tree white?”
They looked at him in surprise.
“Dunno. . It’s what we were told to do.”
Presumably to discourage the male dogs in the neighbor-hood from peeing on it, he thought as he opened the door.
It was some time before he was able to talk to Miss Kempf.
She had three more tests to mark, and it was impossible to break off until the whole damned lot was finished, if he didn’t mind.
He didn’t. He sat in an armchair behind her back and watched her as she completed her task. A well-built woman in late middle age, more or less as old as he was, in fact. He wondered if di Barboza had been right to pair her off with Eva Ringmar-there must have been at least fifteen years between them?
But it was correct. Eva Kempf put the kettle on for tea, and explained. “Friends” was probably a bit too strong a word: Miss Ringmar was not the type to open her heart up, but it had seemed that she felt the need for. . an elder sister? Yes, more or less. Eva and Eva. A big one and a small one. And they lived next door to each other, after all. What did he want to know?
For the hundredth time he asked the same question and received the same answer.
No, she hadn’t seen a man around. Miss Kempf was lesbian herself, there was no point in pretending otherwise. . Or rather, had been: she had now withdrawn for good from the battlefields of love.
And it was a damned good feeling, she could assure the chief inspector.
No, Eva Ringmar hadn’t had the slightest lesbian tendencies, you could see that kind of thing right away.
But men?
No. Not that she knew of. But she didn’t know everything, of course. Why was he sitting like that? Something wrong with his back? If he lay down on the bed she could massage his muscles for a while.
Presumably he had other things to ask about while she was doing that?
Van Veeteren hesitated. But not for long.
She couldn’t make it any worse, surely?
“So there! Fold the waistband of your trousers down a bit so that I can get at you. That’s better!”
“Ouch! For Christ’s sake! Fire away, Miss Kempf!”
“What about, Chief Inspector?”
“Anything at all. Did she go away sometimes? Did she receive any letters? Mysterious telephone calls in the night. .?”
She pressed her thumbs into his spine.
“She received letters.”
“From a man?”
“That’s possible.”
“How often?”
“Not all that often. She didn’t get much mail at all.”
“Where were they posted?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Domestic or from abroad?”
“I don’t know. From abroad, perhaps.”
“But she received a number of letters from the same person?”
“Yes. I think it was a man.”
“Why do you think that? Ouch!”
“You can tell.”
“Travels?”
“Yes. She did a fair bit of traveling. Several times to her mother. Or so she said, at least.”
“But?”
“She might have been lying.”
“So it’s possible that she received letters from a man, and it’s possible that she occasionally went off to meet this man?”
“Yes.”
“How strong is the possibility?”
“I don’t know, Chief Inspector. She was a bit. . reserved.
Secretive. I never pressed her. People have a right to a life of their own-believe you me! I’ve been lesbian since I was seventeen!”
“Aaagh! Christ Almighty! Be careful. . that’s where it’s worst.”
“I can feel that, Chief Inspector. What kind of a litter did you spend last night on? Go on.”
“How often?”
“How often did she go away, do you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Two or three times a term, perhaps. Just for the weekend, a few days.”
“Vacations?”
“I don’t know. I’m always away during the holidays. But I don’t think she stayed here. She went on a package holiday once. Greece, I think. But she liked traveling, that’s for sure.”
“Her husband. . Andreas Berger?”
“No, it wasn’t him, she never mentioned him.”
“Could he have been the letter writer?”
“I suppose so, but I doubt it. .”
“What about her son? The son who died. Did she tell you about him?”
“Yes, but only once. . I’ll have to stop now, Chief Inspector. My fingers are going to sleep. How does it feel?”
Van Veeteren sat up. Not bad. He moved tentatively. .
bent forward. . to the right, to the left. It was actually feeling better.
“Excellent! A pity I have to sit behind the wheel again.
Many thanks, Miss Kempf. If you ever find yourself in jail, just give me a call and I’ll come and get you out.”
She smiled and rubbed her fingers.
“Not necessary, Chief Inspector. I’ll find my own way of breaking out. But I have a lesson in ten minutes, so I think we’ll have to stop now.”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“I’d like to ask you just one more question. I can see that you are a lady of good sense, Miss Kempf. I’d like you to use that, and refrain from answering if you are doubtful.”
“I understand.”
“Okay. Do you think it’s possible that all the time you knew her, there was a man in Eva Ringmar’s life. . a man who, for whatever reason, she kept secret?”
Miss Kempf removed her oval glasses. Held them up to the light and examined them. Breathed heavily on the lenses and rubbed them with a corner of her red tunic.
He realized that it was a ritual. A ceremony performed while she formed her conclusions. What a waste, this lesbian love business, he thought.
She replaced her spectacles and met his gaze. Then she answered.
“Yes,” she said. “I think that’s possible.”
“Thank you,” said Van Veeteren.
He left Gimsen at about three, and ran into rain as soon as he reached the A64 trunk road. Darkness was also closing in rapidly, but he didn’t put any music on. Devoted his mind to thoughts and guesses instead, and lapped up the monotonous sound of rubber tires on a wet road.
He tried to conjure up a picture of Eva Ringmar, but he was unable to pin her down-just as nobody else seemed to have managed to do. He regretted not having tried to get more information out of Mitter, but that was water under the bridge now. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been possible anyway.
Mitter had only really known her for six months. He’d married her on some inexplicable impulse, and probably knew no more about her background than Van Veeteren had managed to piece together by this time.
It was in the background, somewhere in the past, that the murderer was hiding. There could be no doubt about that anymore. He had been there for a number of years, at the very least since the Thursday before Easter, 1986; but there was nothing to exclude the possibility that it had all started much earlier than that.
Or? Surely that must be the case?
But what did he actually know? How much were all these guesses worth, when it came to the crunch?
If Eva Ringmar was a shadowy figure, the murderer’s outline was even more blurred. The shadow of a shadow.
Van Veeteren cursed and bit the end off a toothpick. Was there anything at all to suggest that he was on the right track?
Wasn’t the fact of the matter that he was groping his way through the dark, in far more than one sense?
And what the hell was the motive?
He spat out the splinters of wood and wondered what he should do next. There were several possibilities, each one vaguer than the one before. The safest bet, of course, would be to place all his hopes on Munster and Reinhart. With a little bit of luck they ought to be able to tighten the net around Bunge High School to such an extent that one or two ugly cus-tomers would be trapped inside it, worth studying in more detail.
Always assuming that they were fishing in the right place. .
Ah well, he would find out soon enough. In any case, there were a few questions they must not overlook. He assumed the interrogations would begin the following day. They could hardly have done any more today than putting headmaster Suurna under the cosh, and drawing up procedures. He checked his watch and guessed that Munster would be back home by now. He also recognized that he himself had no great desire to drive another four hundred kilometers that evening.