Free The G File by Håkan Nesser Page B

lovely?’
    Sachs took off his glasses and rubbed his thumb and index finger over the bridge of his nose.
    ‘He’s a bit vague on that question,’ he said. ‘I thought so, at least. Presumably she had drunk several gin and tonics plus quite a lot of sherry; but Hennan maintains that she didn’t normally drink anything like as much as that. He admits that she did sink a few glasses now and then– even when she was on her own – but not that kind of quantity.’
    ‘1.74 per mil is a pretty high percentage,’ said Münster.
    ‘It certainly is,’ said Sachs. ‘And Hennan let slip that she tended to lose control when she’d had too much to drink – which suggests that it must have happened before. He said she had more body than head when she was drunk. That seemed to mean that she was capable of standing up straight and walking, but not so good at thinking straight.’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Münster. ‘That would fit in with her being able to climb up to the top of the tower and dive down, without checking to see if there was enough water in the pool.’
    ‘Yes indeed,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘It fits in exactly. But I don’t think we should forget the source of all this information.’
    Münster nodded, and Sachs turned over a few more pages in his notebook.
    ‘As far as Hennan himself is concerned,’ he continued, ‘he was in that restaurant. The Columbine. It’s just behind the town hall. From about half past seven until half past midnight, he maintains. We haven’t got round to speaking to the staff there yet, but that is being organized. I’m expecting a report from Inspector Behring later this afternoon. He may well have an alibi. It would take at least half an hour to drive from there to Kammerweg and back – maybe forty minutes. Anyway we’ll see what they have to say. Barbara Hennan died at some time between half past nine and half past ten, if I understand it rightly.’
    He looked inquiringly at Van Veeteren.
    ‘That’s correct,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I phoned Meusse, and he guesses around ten o’clock. He’s rarely more than half an hour out. What was your overall impression of Hennan? Is he concealing something?’
    Sachs closed his notebook and placed his hands in his armpits. Leaned back in his chair and thought for a while.
    ‘God only knows,’ he said eventually. ‘He was drunk when I spoke to him, but nevertheless . . . well, incredibly calm and collected, somehow. If he was in shock or something of the sort – and let’s face it, he ought to have been – he didn’t show it at all. But . . . Well, I have to say that I’m not at all sure about my impression of him. I’m grateful for the fact that you are here and will draw your own conclusions as well. As I said, I’m inclined to think that it was an accident, of course – but you never know.’
    ‘And there were no indications in the house suggesting that she’d had a visitor? Somebody else, that is.’
    ‘Nothing that we found, at least. There was just one used glass, and it had her prints on it. But of course we haven’t been through the house with a fine-tooth comb. There wasn’t . . . There didn’t seem to be any need.’
    Van Veeteren nodded, and took hold of the arms of his chair.
    ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what Inspector Münster and I come up with. If there is anything of immediate importance maybe we can call in here on our way home. Otherwise we’ll be in touch by phone.’
    ‘You’re always most welcome,’ said Chief Inspector Sachs, thrusting out his arms. ‘Good hunting, as they say.’

8
     
    A few seconds before coming face to face with Jaan G. Hennan, an old Borkmann rule came into Van Veeteren’s head.
    It was not the first time. Chief Inspector Borkmann had been his mentor during the early years up in Frigge, but at that time he had not realized how many of the old bloodhound’s understated comments would accompany him throughout his career.
    But they did. Irrespective of the type