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Authors: Nicolas Freeling
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in Austria, might take a bit longer, but Van der Valk knew well enough that he would find his man. The frontiers were being watched; Stössel had sent a signal about the missing girl to the police of Innsbruck. He would find him easily enough, and then he would make a phone call, and that would be the end of it. Canisius would come, or send a confidential minion, for a little chat with Jean-Claude. The German girl would be sent home, and any possible criminal charge concerning abduction would be politely forgotten. An incident ⦠Jean-Claude Marschal was not a criminal. There had been no crime.
And Anne-Marie? Would she thank him for all that? She had not been any too enthusiastic at a policeman, however responsible, however experienced, however tactful and discreet, running after her husband. She had yielded eventually, become more open, but she had not lost all suspicion. She had agreed that Marschal should be followed up, but she had made a clear hint that Jean-Claude was not an ordinary person, and a clear appeal to him to make an effort to understand, not to accept everything he was told. Just because he had had some vague clue about those statues, some vague notion about the famous Hepplewhite furniture? Of course not, but she had thought him a little more able than most to realize that this was a peculiar bird. âI really do believe â¦â she had said ⦠What was it exactly that she really did believe?
Was it possible that � Why, exactly, had Canisius sent an inspector of the criminal brigade? Could there be something more to all this than met the eye?
No, no, and no. He knew nothing, he was simply going to obey orders, follow instructions, Jean-Claude Marschal has notcommitted any crime, not even that of abduction; Marschal was not a criminal.
Jean-Claude Marschal has committed no crime ⦠It was a bit like the famous phrase in
Liberty Bar
. William Brown was murdered â¦
The plane bumped very slightly on concrete, taxied, turned, roared its engines, and relapsed into silence; everybody hustled for the door. The air was stinging cold and there were mountains all around. This was Innsbruck.
*
First of all, Innsbruck was a great deal fuller than he had thought. He got a hotel room, but not without a struggle. Next week, apparently, there would be the final big international competition of the ski season, and the whole of the âwhite circusâ would be on parade. The place would swarm with lookers-on and hangers-on, there would be journalists and photographers. And there were, still, any amount of holidaymakers. March or no March, there were forty centimetres of snow right here, and a hundred and twenty on the slopes â¦
There he was, too, deep in the forty centimetres, with town shoes, and a silly light overcoat that had looked perfectly all right in Köln, but here was absurd. Very well, the Sopex was paying the expenses. He was supposed to find Mr Marschal, but nobody had warned him that he might have to paddle in the snow. He went into the first shop he came to in the Maximilianstrasse, and bought himself a mighty pair of boots, and a lovely loden âcanadienneâ jacket. They tried to sell him the whole damn shop, scenting a novice.
âI could do with a St Bernard dog.â That shut them up.
Once equipped he had to make his routine call on the police. They werenât a bit interested.
âFine place youâve picked. Weâve got all the hotel registrations, naturally, but the valleyâs full of chalets and houses that would take a year to check. You donât see that, but all these mountain districts are the same. People own a house, good. We know theirname. They let it for a month, the tenants sublet, the subletter camps a dozen pals in the kitchen â do you think we know their names? We donât even get the tourist tax half the time.â
The commissaireâs name was Bratfisch. He was rough and tough; rough blond hair, a
And Anne-Marie? Would she thank him for all that? She had not been any too enthusiastic at a policeman, however responsible, however experienced, however tactful and discreet, running after her husband. She had yielded eventually, become more open, but she had not lost all suspicion. She had agreed that Marschal should be followed up, but she had made a clear hint that Jean-Claude was not an ordinary person, and a clear appeal to him to make an effort to understand, not to accept everything he was told. Just because he had had some vague clue about those statues, some vague notion about the famous Hepplewhite furniture? Of course not, but she had thought him a little more able than most to realize that this was a peculiar bird. âI really do believe â¦â she had said ⦠What was it exactly that she really did believe?
Was it possible that � Why, exactly, had Canisius sent an inspector of the criminal brigade? Could there be something more to all this than met the eye?
No, no, and no. He knew nothing, he was simply going to obey orders, follow instructions, Jean-Claude Marschal has notcommitted any crime, not even that of abduction; Marschal was not a criminal.
Jean-Claude Marschal has committed no crime ⦠It was a bit like the famous phrase in
Liberty Bar
. William Brown was murdered â¦
The plane bumped very slightly on concrete, taxied, turned, roared its engines, and relapsed into silence; everybody hustled for the door. The air was stinging cold and there were mountains all around. This was Innsbruck.
*
First of all, Innsbruck was a great deal fuller than he had thought. He got a hotel room, but not without a struggle. Next week, apparently, there would be the final big international competition of the ski season, and the whole of the âwhite circusâ would be on parade. The place would swarm with lookers-on and hangers-on, there would be journalists and photographers. And there were, still, any amount of holidaymakers. March or no March, there were forty centimetres of snow right here, and a hundred and twenty on the slopes â¦
There he was, too, deep in the forty centimetres, with town shoes, and a silly light overcoat that had looked perfectly all right in Köln, but here was absurd. Very well, the Sopex was paying the expenses. He was supposed to find Mr Marschal, but nobody had warned him that he might have to paddle in the snow. He went into the first shop he came to in the Maximilianstrasse, and bought himself a mighty pair of boots, and a lovely loden âcanadienneâ jacket. They tried to sell him the whole damn shop, scenting a novice.
âI could do with a St Bernard dog.â That shut them up.
Once equipped he had to make his routine call on the police. They werenât a bit interested.
âFine place youâve picked. Weâve got all the hotel registrations, naturally, but the valleyâs full of chalets and houses that would take a year to check. You donât see that, but all these mountain districts are the same. People own a house, good. We know theirname. They let it for a month, the tenants sublet, the subletter camps a dozen pals in the kitchen â do you think we know their names? We donât even get the tourist tax half the time.â
The commissaireâs name was Bratfisch. He was rough and tough; rough blond hair, a
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