‘I suppose there is a risk, though,’ said Münster. ‘That she might be here, I mean. If she was already in Athens when we got there, as Krause maintains, well. . I have to say that I don’t honestly know what she might do.’
‘Hmm,’ muttered Van Veeteren, adjusting his straw hat. ‘Maybe it isn’t all that complicated. It’s not deFraan she’s been shadowing, it’s us, my dear Watson. You and me. A couple of thick detective officers who book flights and hotels backed up by a fanfare of trumpets, and using their own names. DeFraan has no doubt done all he can to prevent her from catching up with him, but so what when we have been as obvious as brightly coloured hippos in a chicken run?’
Münster frowned, then relaxed again.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘No doubt that’s the way things are. But if we happen to catch sight of her in among all the crowds of people, what do we do then? Arrest her?’
‘For what?’ wondered Van Veeteren. ‘As far as I’m aware she hasn’t even acquired a parking ticket.’
Münster thought for a moment.
‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘But what do we do, then?’
‘We wait,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I tried to explain that to you. Have you already forgotten your Pascal?’
Hell’s bells, thought Münster, gritting his teeth. Here we are, wandering around in peace and quiet — like brightly coloured hippos! — although in fact we’re on the trail of a lunatic who has killed at least four people with his bare hands. And of a totally obsessed woman. And he goes on about Pascal! Life in the antiquarian book world has made its mark, it seems.
He adjusted his gun, which was chafing against his armpit, and ducked under a red awning to a stall where Van Veeteren had just slipped in to taste some unusually large and fat olives.
‘Watch out for the stones,’ thought Münster — but said it out loud.
‘What?’ said Van Veeteren. ‘These are not bad at all. What did you say?’
‘It was nothing,’ said Münster.
She saw him out of the corner of her eye — she’d been a hair’s breadth away from missing him completely.
Niko’s Rent-a-car. On the extreme northern edge of the little town, where the road started to climb up the mountain towards Argostoli. She continued a few metres past the office, then stopped.
He was standing inside. Maarten deFraan. Him. Her heart rose up inside her chest, and suddenly she could feel a strong taste of metal on her tongue. It was strange. For a few seconds she just stood there, in the middle of the pavement, while the ground seemed to be revolving under her feet as the cicadas sawed away at her eardrums. It was as if something — or possibly everything — was about to burst.
It soon passed. She took two deep breaths and regained control of herself. Concentration surged into her like a fast-flowing river. No, she thought. We’re nearly there. There’s not far to go. . But what’s he doing?
He intended to hire a car. Or some kind of motorbike. That was as clear as day.
But why? What was he going to do? What was he doing on this confounded island in any case?
And what would she do?
She looked round. A white-and-green taxi was approaching slowly along the road, and she automatically raised her hand. The driver stopped and she jumped into the back seat.
At that very moment the car rental assistant — a flabby young man in a large-patterned shirt unbuttoned down to his navel — emerged from the office together with deFraan. The necessary papers had evidently been signed. All was in order. They walked over to a purple-coloured scooter that was standing by itself, slightly to the side of the other two-wheelers lined up on the pavement. She realized that deFraan must have picked out that one before entering the office. The assistant handed over a couple of keys and gave his customer some simple instructions. DeFraan nodded, and sat astride the scooter. Adjusted his rucksack and exchanged a few more words with the young man. Then he turned the ignition key and started the engine. He checked the road situation before gingerly negotiating the kerb edge and spluttering off in the direction of Argostoli.
‘Where are we going, miss?’ asked the taxi driver, looking at her enquiringly in the rear-view mirror.
She took a one thousand-drachma note out of her handbag and pointed at the scooter.
The driver hesitated for a moment, then took the note between his index and middle fingers, put it into the breast pocket of his white shirt, and set off.
‘I understand,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘He’s been located, but is still at large, is that right? Okay, we’ll wait for your next report.’
He handed the mobile to Münster.
‘You can switch it off. I don’t know where the button is.’
Münster did as he was bidden, and put the phone in his breast pocket.
‘Was it Yakos?’ he said. ‘Have they found him?’
‘Not really.’
Van Veeteren paused and looked out over the whitewashed buildings that filled the whole of the western side of the bay. They had crossed over the narrow stone bridge and were on their way back. It was half past eleven, and the sun had started to become really warm.
‘No,’ continued the Chief Inspector. ‘Apparently they’ve found the hotel, in Lassi as we expected, but the bird had flown the nest. He went out at about ten o’clock, they thought. Perhaps he’s lounging back in a deckchair somewhere, or maybe he has something else in his sights.’
‘What, for instance?’ wondered Münster.
Van Veeteren put his foot on the low stone balustrade and gazed out over the glittering water. Said nothing for a while.
‘God only knows,’ he said in the end, straightening his back. ‘But he must have gathered that we are at his heels — and that a certain woman is hot on his trail as well. He knows the game is almost up, but perhaps he wants to have a hand in setting up the final showdown — or what do you think?’
Münster sat down on the balustrade, and thought that one over.
‘It’s hard to figure out the logic behind his behaviour,’ he said. ‘In many respects he’s as mad as a hatter, but in other ways he seems to be acting more or less normally.’
That’s not an especially unusual phenomenon,’ said Van Veeteren, lighting a cigarette. ‘We all have a few screws loose, including you and me; but it’s a bit more complicated in the case of deFraan. He’s presumably hyper-intelligent, and if there’s anything we like to use our intelligence for it’s trying to explain away those loose screws. To find motives for our peculiar behaviour and our murky instincts. . If we didn’t do that we would never be able to put up with ourselves.’
Münster nodded.
‘Yes, I’ve never understood how certain people have the strength to carry on living. Rapists and wife-beaters and child murderers. . How the hell can they look themselves in the eye the following morning?’
‘Defence mechanisms,’ said the Chief Inspector in a weary voice. ‘That applies to you and me as well. We create safety nets over the abyss, and in deFraan’s case he has presumably been forced to devote the whole of his abilities to making things work. . We’ll have to see if we ever get to the bottom of it all.’
‘We’ll also have to see if we ever catch him,’ said Münster. ‘I hope Chief Inspector Yakos can handle this.’
Van Veeteren shrugged and they started walking back to the harbour.
‘I’m sure he can,’ he said. ‘Just as well as we could, in any case.’
Chief Inspector Yakos looked tired when he came to sit at their table shortly after nine o’clock that night. He beckoned to the waiter, ordered Greek coffee, beer, ouzo and peanuts. Stubbed out a cigarette and lit another.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but we haven’t managed to catch him.’
‘Things sometimes take time,’ said Van Veeteren.
‘He hasn’t been at the hotel since this morning. I’ve had a constable posted outside Odysseus all afternoon, and he’d have been bound to see him.’