[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
a bit long, even so. . .
My car broke down, said Van Veeteren. Shall we go?
Yes, said Bausen. Let s.
V
October 2
52
The beach was endless.
Van Veeteren paused and gazed out to sea. There were big
waves, for once. A fresh wind was gathering strength, and on
the horizon a dark cloud bank was growing more ominous. No
doubt it would be raining by evening.
I think we should go back now, he said.
Münster nodded. They d been walking for more than half
an hour. Synn had promised a meal by three o clock, and the
children would no doubt need some cleaning up before they
would be allowed at the table.
Bart! yelled Münster, waving. We re going back now!
All right! shouted the six-year-old, completing his final
attack on the enemy buried in the sand.
I m tired, said Münster s daughter. Carry me!
He lifted her onto his shoulders, and they started walking
slowly back along the beach.
How is he? asked Münster when he felt that Marieke had
fallen asleep and Bart was sufficiently far ahead.
Not too bad, said Van Veeteren. He s not that concerned
about the future. The main thing is that he s done what he had
to do.
Did he want to be caught?
b o r k m a n n s p o i n t
No, but it didn t matter very much either. He was in an
impossible position once Moerk started on his trail, of course.
Münster thought for a moment.
How many lines were there about Brigitte Bausen in the
Melnik report, in fact? he said. There can t have been all that
much
Exactly one page. About that year they were living to-
gether, that is. Her name was mentioned twice. Melnik had no
idea, of course; not even he can know the names of every chief
of police in the country. If he d had a bit more time Bausen,
that is he could have substituted another name instead of
removing a whole page. If he had, he might have gotten away
with it. But we were standing waiting for him, more or less,
and for Christ s sake, we were bound to have noticed that
something funny was going on.
Münster nodded.
I find it hard to see that what he did was so dreadful, he
said. Morally speaking, I mean
Yes, said Van Veeteren. You might say that he had every
right maybe not to cut the heads off three people but to do
something about his enormous sorrow.
He fumbled around in his pockets and produced a pack of
cigarettes. Was forced to stop and cup his hand around the
lighter before he could produce a flame.
Enormous sorrow and enormous determination, he said,
those are the main ingredients in this dish. Those are Moerk s
words, not mine, but they re pretty good as a summary. Sor-
row and determination and necessity. The world we live in is
not a nice place but we ve been aware of that for quite some
time, haven t we?
They walked in silence for a while. Münster remembered
3 1 9
something else Beate Moerk had said about her conversations
with Bausen in the cellar.
Life imposes certain conditions upon us, she reported that
he said. If we don t accept the challenge, we become petrified.
We don t have any real choice.
Petrified? Was that right? Was that really what it looked
like this vain battle against evil? Where the result, no matter
how puny and unsuccessful it might turn out to be, was never-
theless the important thing; where only the deed itself, the
principle, had any significance?
And the only reward was to avoid petrification. Only?
Perhaps that was enough.
But the lives of three people ?
What do you think? Van Veeteren interrupted his train of
thought. What punishment would you give him if it were up
to you?
In the best of all worlds?
In the best of all worlds.
I don t know, said Münster. What do you think?
Van Veeteren considered for a while.
Not easy, he said. Lock him up in the cellar, perhaps, like
he did with Moerk. But in rather more humane conditions, of
course a lamp, some books . . . and a corkscrew.
They fell silent again. Walked side by side down to the
water s edge and let their summaries sink in. The wind was
growing stronger. It came in gusts, which you could almost
lean into at times, Münster felt. Bart came running up with
some new finds for his collection of stones. He off-loaded
them into his father s pockets and raced ahead again. When
the low whitewashed cottage came into view once more, Van
Veeteren cleared his throat.
b o r k m a n n s p o i n t
In any case, he said, he s the most likable murderer I ve
ever come across. It s not often you have an opportunity of
mixing so much with them either before you put them
behind bars, that is.
Münster looked up. There was a new tone in Van
Veeteren s voice, a totally surprising hint of self-irony. Some-
thing he d never detected before, and could barely imagine. It
was suddenly hard to hold back a smile.
How did the chess go? he asked.
I won, of course, said Van Veeteren. What the hell do
you think? It took some time, that s all.
A few hours later he went to the water s edge one last time. He
lit his last cigarette as well, and stood there all alone until it was
finished, contemplating the agitated breakers rolling in toward
the shore.
Things were breathing again. Both sky and sea the same
threatening gray-violet combination, the same irresistible force;
and when he felt the first drop of rain in his hand, he turned his
back on it all and made his way up toward his car.
Time to get away from here, he thought.
The curtain has fallen. The tragedy is over.
Exit Oedipus. Exit Van Veeteren.
He started the car. Switched on the headlights as darkness
fell rapidly, and set off inland.
And yet, it might not be for good. Perhaps Kaalbringen would
have the pleasure of entertaining his presence again. . .
For even retired Axmen must eventually be allowed time
3 2 1
out on parole. And even the narrowest of leads at chess must
allow a challenge.
What wouldn t one do for a decent glass of wine?
Thought Detective Chief Inspector Van Veeteren as he
started groping in the glove compartment for Penderecki.
a note about the author
Håkan Nesser was awarded the 1993 Swedish Crime Writers
Academy Prize for new authors for his novel The Wide-Meshed
Net; he received the best novel award in 1994 for Borkmann s
Point and in 1996 for Woman with a Birthmark. In 1999, he was
awarded the Glass Key Award by the Crime Writers of Scandi-
navia for the best crime novel of the year, Carambole. His novels
have been published to acclaim in nine countries. Nesser was
born in 1950 in Sweden, where he still lives.
a note about the trans lator
Laurie Thompson taught Swedish at the University of Wales
and was editor of Swedish Book Review from its launch in 1983
until 2002. He has been a full-time literary translator for several
years and has translated nearly forty books from Swedish. He
was born in York, but now lives in rural west Wales with several
cats and a Swedish wife.
a no te o the t y p e
n
This book was set in Monotype Dante, a typeface designed by
Giovanni Mardersteig (1892 1977). Conceived as a private type
for the Officina Bodoni in Verona, Italy, Dante was originally cut
only for hand composition by Charles Malin, the famous Parisian
punch cutter, between 1946 and 1952. Its first use was in an edi- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl rafalstec.xlx.pl
a bit long, even so. . .
My car broke down, said Van Veeteren. Shall we go?
Yes, said Bausen. Let s.
V
October 2
52
The beach was endless.
Van Veeteren paused and gazed out to sea. There were big
waves, for once. A fresh wind was gathering strength, and on
the horizon a dark cloud bank was growing more ominous. No
doubt it would be raining by evening.
I think we should go back now, he said.
Münster nodded. They d been walking for more than half
an hour. Synn had promised a meal by three o clock, and the
children would no doubt need some cleaning up before they
would be allowed at the table.
Bart! yelled Münster, waving. We re going back now!
All right! shouted the six-year-old, completing his final
attack on the enemy buried in the sand.
I m tired, said Münster s daughter. Carry me!
He lifted her onto his shoulders, and they started walking
slowly back along the beach.
How is he? asked Münster when he felt that Marieke had
fallen asleep and Bart was sufficiently far ahead.
Not too bad, said Van Veeteren. He s not that concerned
about the future. The main thing is that he s done what he had
to do.
Did he want to be caught?
b o r k m a n n s p o i n t
No, but it didn t matter very much either. He was in an
impossible position once Moerk started on his trail, of course.
Münster thought for a moment.
How many lines were there about Brigitte Bausen in the
Melnik report, in fact? he said. There can t have been all that
much
Exactly one page. About that year they were living to-
gether, that is. Her name was mentioned twice. Melnik had no
idea, of course; not even he can know the names of every chief
of police in the country. If he d had a bit more time Bausen,
that is he could have substituted another name instead of
removing a whole page. If he had, he might have gotten away
with it. But we were standing waiting for him, more or less,
and for Christ s sake, we were bound to have noticed that
something funny was going on.
Münster nodded.
I find it hard to see that what he did was so dreadful, he
said. Morally speaking, I mean
Yes, said Van Veeteren. You might say that he had every
right maybe not to cut the heads off three people but to do
something about his enormous sorrow.
He fumbled around in his pockets and produced a pack of
cigarettes. Was forced to stop and cup his hand around the
lighter before he could produce a flame.
Enormous sorrow and enormous determination, he said,
those are the main ingredients in this dish. Those are Moerk s
words, not mine, but they re pretty good as a summary. Sor-
row and determination and necessity. The world we live in is
not a nice place but we ve been aware of that for quite some
time, haven t we?
They walked in silence for a while. Münster remembered
3 1 9
something else Beate Moerk had said about her conversations
with Bausen in the cellar.
Life imposes certain conditions upon us, she reported that
he said. If we don t accept the challenge, we become petrified.
We don t have any real choice.
Petrified? Was that right? Was that really what it looked
like this vain battle against evil? Where the result, no matter
how puny and unsuccessful it might turn out to be, was never-
theless the important thing; where only the deed itself, the
principle, had any significance?
And the only reward was to avoid petrification. Only?
Perhaps that was enough.
But the lives of three people ?
What do you think? Van Veeteren interrupted his train of
thought. What punishment would you give him if it were up
to you?
In the best of all worlds?
In the best of all worlds.
I don t know, said Münster. What do you think?
Van Veeteren considered for a while.
Not easy, he said. Lock him up in the cellar, perhaps, like
he did with Moerk. But in rather more humane conditions, of
course a lamp, some books . . . and a corkscrew.
They fell silent again. Walked side by side down to the
water s edge and let their summaries sink in. The wind was
growing stronger. It came in gusts, which you could almost
lean into at times, Münster felt. Bart came running up with
some new finds for his collection of stones. He off-loaded
them into his father s pockets and raced ahead again. When
the low whitewashed cottage came into view once more, Van
Veeteren cleared his throat.
b o r k m a n n s p o i n t
In any case, he said, he s the most likable murderer I ve
ever come across. It s not often you have an opportunity of
mixing so much with them either before you put them
behind bars, that is.
Münster looked up. There was a new tone in Van
Veeteren s voice, a totally surprising hint of self-irony. Some-
thing he d never detected before, and could barely imagine. It
was suddenly hard to hold back a smile.
How did the chess go? he asked.
I won, of course, said Van Veeteren. What the hell do
you think? It took some time, that s all.
A few hours later he went to the water s edge one last time. He
lit his last cigarette as well, and stood there all alone until it was
finished, contemplating the agitated breakers rolling in toward
the shore.
Things were breathing again. Both sky and sea the same
threatening gray-violet combination, the same irresistible force;
and when he felt the first drop of rain in his hand, he turned his
back on it all and made his way up toward his car.
Time to get away from here, he thought.
The curtain has fallen. The tragedy is over.
Exit Oedipus. Exit Van Veeteren.
He started the car. Switched on the headlights as darkness
fell rapidly, and set off inland.
And yet, it might not be for good. Perhaps Kaalbringen would
have the pleasure of entertaining his presence again. . .
For even retired Axmen must eventually be allowed time
3 2 1
out on parole. And even the narrowest of leads at chess must
allow a challenge.
What wouldn t one do for a decent glass of wine?
Thought Detective Chief Inspector Van Veeteren as he
started groping in the glove compartment for Penderecki.
a note about the author
Håkan Nesser was awarded the 1993 Swedish Crime Writers
Academy Prize for new authors for his novel The Wide-Meshed
Net; he received the best novel award in 1994 for Borkmann s
Point and in 1996 for Woman with a Birthmark. In 1999, he was
awarded the Glass Key Award by the Crime Writers of Scandi-
navia for the best crime novel of the year, Carambole. His novels
have been published to acclaim in nine countries. Nesser was
born in 1950 in Sweden, where he still lives.
a note about the trans lator
Laurie Thompson taught Swedish at the University of Wales
and was editor of Swedish Book Review from its launch in 1983
until 2002. He has been a full-time literary translator for several
years and has translated nearly forty books from Swedish. He
was born in York, but now lives in rural west Wales with several
cats and a Swedish wife.
a no te o the t y p e
n
This book was set in Monotype Dante, a typeface designed by
Giovanni Mardersteig (1892 1977). Conceived as a private type
for the Officina Bodoni in Verona, Italy, Dante was originally cut
only for hand composition by Charles Malin, the famous Parisian
punch cutter, between 1946 and 1952. Its first use was in an edi- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]