The Unlucky Lottery

But Bonger’s boat didn’t reply. Its telepathic powers evidently didn’t run to more than a discreet smile, so Jung turned his back on it and left. He pulled down his cap and dug his hands deeper into his coat pockets; a biting wind had blown up from the north-west, putting an end to the fraternization.

‘I’ve had an idea,’ he said when he bumped into Rooth in the canteen not long afterwards.

‘I’ve had a thousand,’ said Rooth. ‘But none of them work.’

‘I know,’ said Jung. ‘Red-headed dwarfs and all that.’

‘I’ve dropped that one,’ said Rooth. ‘Nine hundred and ninety-nine, then. What are you trying to say.’

‘Bonger,’ said Jung. ‘I think I know where he is.’

Münster remained in the room with the cassette player for a quarter of an hour after switching it off. Stared out of the window at the deserted grounds again while the jigsaw pieces inside his mind joined together, one after another. Before he stood up he tried to ring Synn, but she wasn’t at home. Of course not. He let it ring ten or so times, hoping that the answering machine would kick in, but evidently she had switched it off.

‘I love you, Synn,’ he whispered even so into the dead receiver; then he went back to Hedda deBuuijs’s office.

She was dealing with a visitor, and he had to wait for another ten minutes.

‘How did it go?’ she asked when Münster eventually sat down on her visitor chair.

For one confused second he didn’t know what to say. How had it gone?

Well? Exceedingly well? A disaster?

‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘I discovered quite a bit. But there are a few things I need some help with.’

‘I’m at your service,’ said Hedda deBuuijs.

‘Clara Vermieten,’ said Münster. ‘I need to speak to her. A telephone call would do.’

‘Let’s see,’ said deBuuijs, leafing through a couple of lists. ‘Yes, here we are. There’s something I need to follow up, so you can talk undisturbed. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.’

She left the room. Münster dialled the number, and as he waited he worried that Clara Vermieten might have gone away on an open-ended visit. To Tahiti or Bangkok. Or the north of Norway. That would be typical.

But when she answered he immediately recognized her silky voice and her slight Nordic accent from the tape. It took a few moments for her to realize who he was, but then she recalled having given him permission to listen to the cassette recordings, via Hedda deBuuijs.

‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I’m being pestered by a couple of little kids. They tend to wear you down.’

‘I know how it is,’ said Münster.

He only had two questions in fact, and as he could hear the whining and whimpering quite clearly in the background, he came straight to the point.

‘Do you know about the murders of Waldemar Leverkuhn and Else Van Eck down in Maardam?’ he asked.

‘What?’ said Clara. ‘No, I don’t think so . . . Maardam, did you say? There are so many . . . What was the name again?’

‘Leverkuhn,’ said Münster.

‘Good Lord!’ said Clara. ‘Is it . . .?

‘Her father,’ said Münster.

Silence.

‘I didn’t know,’ said Clara after a while. ‘I don’t know . . . When did it happen?’

‘October,’ said Münster. ‘The same week as you had your last conversation with Irene, in fact.’

‘I was in the maternity ward from the second of November,’ said Clara. ‘Gave birth on the fifth. Good Lord, does she know about it? No, of course she doesn’t. Have you met her?’

‘Yes,’ said Münster. ‘And I’ve listened to the tapes. Several of them. Towards the end.’

Clara said nothing for a while again.

‘I understand,’ she said eventually. ‘What you must have heard. But I don’t really understand why it should be of any interest to you. Surely you don’t mean it could have something to do with what happened? With the goings-on in Maardam? Did you say murder?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Münster. ‘It’s all very complicated. We won’t go into that now, but I’d like to ask you something that’s very important for our investigation. I hope you can make a correct judgement – but I’m sure you can,’ he added. ‘I must say I have the deepest respect for what you have managed to achieve with Irene Leverkuhn.’

‘Thank you,’ said Clara.

‘Anyway,’ said Münster. ‘What I’m wondering is whether she – Irene, that is – can remain in that state . . . in those childhood experiences . . . even after you’ve concluded your conversation. Or do you have to return her to the present every time, as it were?’

A few seconds passed.

‘Do you understand what I’m getting at?’ Münster asked.

‘Of course,’ said Clara. ‘I was just thinking . . . Yes, she could well recall it, what we were talking about. For a while, at least . . . If somebody were to strike the right chord, so to speak.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘As sure as one can be. The soul isn’t a machine.’

‘Thank you,’ said Münster. ‘I now know what I need to know. But I’d like to talk to you again at some point, if that’s possible.’

He could hear her smiling as she replied.

‘You’ve got my number, Inspector. I have a brother in Maardam, incidentally.’