The Unlucky Lottery

‘Just a quick question,’ he said. ‘When did Clara Vermieten take maternity leave?’

‘Just a moment,’ said deBuuijs, and he could hear her leafing through some ledger or other.

‘The end of October,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s when it was. She had a little girl about a week later.’

‘Thank you,’ said Münster, and hung up.

He removed the top cassette from the stack and took out the one dated 25/10. Saturday, the 25th of October. Went back to the desk chair, sat down and started listening.

It took barely ten minutes before he got there, and while he was waiting he recalled something Van Veeteren had once said. At Adenaar’s, as usual: probably one Friday afternoon, when he usually liked to speculate a bit more than usual.

‘You’ve got to get to the right person,’ the chief inspector had asserted. ‘In every case there’s one person who knows the truth – and the frustrating thing is, Intendent, that they usually don’t realize it themselves. So we have to hunt them down. Search high and low for them, and keep persevering until we find them. That’s our job, Münster!’

He recalled what Van Veeteren had said word for word. And now here he was, having found one of those people. One of those truths. If he had interpreted the evidence correctly, that is.

—Where are you now? asked Clara.

—I’m at home, said Irene.

—Whereabouts at home?

—I’m in my bed, said Irene.

—You’re in your bed. In your room? Is it night?

—It’s evening.

—Are you alone?

—Ruth is in her bed. It’s evening, but it’s late.

—But you’re not asleep?

—I’m not asleep, I’m waiting.

—What are you waiting for?

—I want it to go quickly.

—What do you want to go quickly?

—It must go quickly. Sometimes it goes quickly. It’s best then.

—You’re waiting, you say?

—It’s my turn tonight.

—Is there someone special you’re waiting for?

—His cock is so big. It’s enormous.

—His cock?

—It’s stiff and big. I can’t get it into my mouth.

—Who are you waiting for?

—It hurts, but I have to be quiet.

—How old are you, Irene?

—Ruth couldn’t keep quiet yesterday. He prefers me. He comes to me more often. It’s my turn this evening, he’ll be here soon.

—Who’s coming?

—I’ve rubbed that ointment into myself, so that it won’t hurt so much. I hope it will go quickly.

—Where are you, Irene? How old are you?

—I’m in bed. I’m trying to make my hole bigger so that there’s room for his cock. It’s so big, his cock. He’s so heavy, and his cock is so big. I have to keep quiet.

—Why do you have to keep quiet?

—I have to be quiet so that Mauritz doesn’t wake up. He’s coming now, I can hear him. I have to try to be bigger still.

—Who’s coming? Who are you waiting for?

—I can only get two fingers inside, I hope it goes quickly. His cock is terrible.

—Who’s coming?

—. . .

—Irene, who are you waiting for?

—. . .

—Who is it that has such a big cock?

—. . .

—Irene, tell me who’s coming.

—It’s Dad. He’s here now.

38

Jung was standing by Bertrandgraacht, staring at Bonger’s boat for the hundred-and-nineteenth time.

It lay there, dark and inscrutable – but all of a sudden he had the impression that it was smiling at him. A friendly and confidential smile, of the kind that even an old canal boat can summon up in gratitude for unexpected and undeserved attention being paid to it.

What? You old boat bastard, Jung thought. Are you telling me it was as simple as that? Was that really what happened?