1 Mind's Eye by Hakan Nesser

Author:Hakan Nesser
Language: eng
Format: mobi, pdf
ISBN: 9780307377586
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2008-06-10T04:00:00+00:00

“It’s Friday already, dammit!” Van Veeteren announced as they elbowed their way through to the bar.

Carrying two foaming tankards, he wriggled into an almost nonexistent space between two young women on a bench. He lit a cigarillo, and after a couple of minutes there was room for Münster as well.

“Bunge or a good friend,” said Van Veeteren. “And we can no doubt forget about the good friends. Any snags?”

“Yes,” said Münster. “At least one. An unusual name.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you have an unusual name, letters get through to you no matter what. Dalmatinenwinckel, or something like that…”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“Dalmatinenwinckel. I once had a girlfriend called that. It was enough to write her name and the town; a street address wasn’t necessary.”

“A good job you didn’t marry her,” said Van Veeteren. “But I expect you’re right. We’d better send somebody to check at the post office.”

He drank deeply and smacked his lips in appreciation.

“How are we going to go about it?” Münster asked. He suddenly felt exhausted again. He was slumped down in a corner of the bench, and the smoke was making his eyes hurt. It was already half past one. If he added up the time it would take them to drink the beer, then to drive V.V. home, drive out to his own suburb, get undressed, and take a shower, he concluded that it would be three o’clock at the earliest before he could snuggle down beside Synn….

He sighed. The thought of Synn was much more persistent than the murder chase just now: still, no doubt that was a healthy sign, when all was said and done.

“You can take Bunge,” said Van Veeteren. “You and Reinhart. I suppose you won’t be able to get started before Monday.”

Münster nodded gratefully.

“The letter is the first thing, of course. It’s possible that we won’t be able to track it down at all, obviously, but if we have an amazing stroke of luck…Well, if somebody remembers it, we’ll know. We’ll have him, Münster, and it’ll be all over there and then!”

Münster said nothing.

“But I don’t think we’re going to have an amazing stroke of luck; I can feel it in my bones. Check the mail procedures at the school in any case—who sorts out incoming mail, if they put stuff in different pigeonholes, that kind of thing. You’ll get an envelope from Majorna to take with you, of course, but there’s nothing special about it, unfortunately. It looks like any other bloody envelope. And be careful—it’s not necessary for all and sundry to know about this letter.”

“How many teachers are there?” asked Münster.

Van Veeteren pulled a face.

“Seventy, I think. And the bastards get half a ton of mail every week.”

Münster wasn’t sure if Van Veeteren was exaggerating or not.

“What about the pupils?”

“Seven hundred of them,” sighed Van Veeteren. “I don’t suppose they get many letters sent to them at school, but still: seven hundred. Bloody hell!”

“I read a detective story once, about a pupil who started executing his teachers.

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