Mind's Eye: An Inspector Van Vetteren Mystery (1) (Vintage Crime/Black Lizard)
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Håkan Nesser is firmly established as one of the world's bestselling crime novelists. And now the novel that introduced Chief Inspector Van Veeteren is available for the first time in English.
The swift conviction left Van Veeteren uneasy: Janek Mitter woke one morning with a brutal hangover and his wife dead in the bathtub. With only the flimsiest defense, he is found guilty and imprisoned in a mental institution. But when Mitter is murdered in his bed, Van Veeteren regrets not following his gut and launches an investigation into the two murders. As the chief inspector delves deeper, the twisted root of these violent murders will shock even him.
lawyer-client relations. “Janek Mitter?” Mitter nodded. “A nasty business.” He wriggled out of his overcoat. Shook water off it and hung it on the hook by the door. The warder double-locked before going away down the corridor. “It’s raining out there. Much pleasanter in here, to be honest.” “Have you got a cigarette?” Rüger produced a pack from his jacket pocket. “Take as many as you like. I don’t understand why they won’t even let you smoke.” He sat down at the table. Put his thin
well be, but even so, I’d like you to think about it. The way things look, in my judgment your chances would be just as good if you don’t go into the witness box.” “Why?” “Because there’s nothing you can add. You can’t even make a case for yourself. The bottom line is that you can’t provide any proof to show that it wasn’t you who killed her. The only thing you can say is that you don’t remember, and that really isn’t a convincing argument, as you must be able to see yourself. We would have
back on the line. “That kind of what?” asked Van Veeteren. “Insinuation,” said Caen. “I’m looking for a murderer,” said Van Veeteren, unmoved. “A man. Can you give me any suggestions?” There was a pause. “No…” Caen said hesitantly. “No, I don’t think I can. To tell you the truth—can I rely on you, Inspector?” “Of course.” “To tell you the truth, I didn’t get anywhere with her. But she got better even so. The reason I was brought in was the problems caused by the death of her son…. But
that was not numb and tingling underneath him. Yes, there was a bedside table. A telephone and a glass. A newspaper. An alarm clock. He picked it up, but halfway it slipped through his fingers and fell onto the floor. He fumbled around, took hold of it again, and held it up, close to his face. The hands were slightly luminous. He recognized them. Twenty past eight. Presumably in the morning. He still had no idea who he was. He didn’t think this had happened before. He had certainly
last. Tomorrow. In a new place. 39 “What the hell are you doing here?” said Suurna. “I’ve come to say hello to my old school,” said Van Veeteren. “When did you start swearing, Headmaster?” “We’re here to pick up a murderer,” said Reinhart. Suurna opened and shut his mouth a few times, but no words emerged. He grabbed hold of his desk, and once again Münster had the impression he was about to faint. “Do sit down, Headmaster,” he said. “There, that’s it.” “We’re looking for Carl