The Unlucky Lottery

‘Of course. But why are you treating me like this? Police car and everything, I’ve never been involved in anything all my life.’

‘You’re involved in this now,’ said Münster. ‘Civil status?’

‘Eh? . . . Bachelor, of course – or widower, depending on how you look at it. We were going to divorce twenty years ago, but she died before all the papers were signed and sealed. Run over by a lorry in Palizerlaan. Bloody shocking business.’

‘Current address?’

‘Armastenplejn 42. But look here—’

‘Do you understand the seriousness of the situation?’ Münster interrupted him.

‘Yes. Well, no.’

‘We suspect you are intentionally withholding important information.’

‘I would never do such a thing,’ said Palinski, clasping his hands. ‘Not from the police, at least.’

From whom would you withhold important information, then? wondered Münster, and gave an impatient snort.

‘Is it not the case,’ he went on, ‘that together with the other three gentlemen you have won quite a substantial amount of money, and that is what you were celebrating at Freddy’s last Saturday evening?’

‘No.’

Palinski looked down at the table.

‘You’re lying,’ said Münster. ‘Shall I tell you why you’re lying?’

‘No,’ said Palinski. ‘What do you mean? Huh . . .’

‘Listen to me now,’ said Münster. ‘Last Saturday there were four of you. Now there are only two of you. Leverkuhn has been murdered, and Bonger has disappeared. There is a lot to suggest that he is no longer alive either. But you and Wauters are. There are only three possibilities.’

‘Eh?’ said Palinski. ‘What do you mean by that?’

His head had begun shaking now, Münster noted, and he realized that what was about to happen was likely to be what Moreno had predicted. It was surely only a matter of time before he threw in the towel, but it seemed only fair to let his colleague look after the confession itself. More gentlemanly, if nothing else: that was why he hadn’t wanted to draw lots, after all.

‘Three possibilities,’ he repeated slowly, holding up three fingers in front of Palinski’s eyes. ‘Either you and Wauters have done them in together—’

‘What the . . .?’ exclaimed Palinski, rising to his feet. ‘Come now, Intendent, you’ve gone far enough!’

‘Sit down!’ said Münster. ‘If you didn’t do it together, it must have been Wauters on his own.’

Palinski sat down and his jaws started moving but no words came.

‘Unless of course you did it yourself!’

‘You’re out of your mind! I want to talk to a . . . Oh no, no, no! You’re suggesting that I . . .’

Münster leaned forward over the table and his eyes drilled into his victim’s.

‘What conclusion would you draw yourself?’ he asked. ‘Four elderly gentlemen win a large sum of money. Two of them decide to get rid of the other two in order to get a bigger slice of the cake. Or perhaps it’s one of the four who intends wiping out the other three and getting the whole lot for himself. Doesn’t it make you feel a little uncomfortable, herr Palinski, knowing that two of your friends are dead? Don’t you lie awake at night wondering when it will be your turn?’

Palinski had gone white in the face.

‘You . . . you . . . you . . .’ he stammered, and Münster thought for a moment that he was going to flake out.

‘How well do you know this Wauters, in fact?’ asked Münster. ‘Isn’t he a newer member of the gang than you other three?’

Palinski made no reply. He tried to swallow, but his protruding Adam’s apple stopped halfway.

‘Because if you’re not afraid of Wauters, I have to conclude that you are the one behind it all, herr Palinski!’

‘I have never . . .’ protested Palinski. ‘I have never . . .’

But there was no continuation. Münster’s reasoning had come home to him now, and it was obvious that his paradoxical predicament was dawning on him.

‘We’ll give you five minutes to think this over,’ said Münster, pushing his chair back. ‘If I were you I’d avoid any more evasive answers when we return.’

He pressed the pause button. Stood up, left the room and locked the door.

It only took a few minutes for Moreno to conclude the business. A certain degree of feminine concern in the questioning and a hint of compassion in her eyes were evidently exactly what Jan Palinski’s soul aspired to after Münster’s bullying.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Palinski, ‘what the hell did he mean? Surely we wouldn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . .’

‘Come clean,’ said Moreno. ‘You can’t keep quiet about it any longer now. It will only do you more harm if you do, can’t you see that?’

Palinski looked at her like a dog that has disobeyed its master.

‘You think so?’

‘Yes, certainly,’ said Moreno.

Palinski wrung his hands and sucked in his lips. Then he straightened his back and cleared his throat.

‘It was Wauters,’ he said.

‘Wauters?’ said Moreno.

‘Who said we should keep quiet about it.’

Moreno nodded.

‘He thought . . .’

Moreno waited.

‘. . . He thought that we would come under suspicion if it became public knowledge that we’d won.’

‘How much?’ asked Moreno.

‘Twenty thousand,’ said Palinski, looking shamefaced.

‘How?’