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couldn’t swallow the premeditation, and she got three years’ ‘re-education’ and what the good of it all was nobody would ever know, and from that moment Van der Valk had told himself that he was a clown. He should resign from the police and hang out a charlatan’s plate. ‘Neuro-sociologist’ in polished brass.
    The Volkswagen stopped with a jolt in the little village and Van der Valk got out stiffly with his stick. The neuro-sociologist would now begin diagnosis. His driver went off thankfully to drink coffee with the local boys-in-blue, and he went in search of his doctor.
    Doctor Maartens was, he was glad to see, a man who seemed both sensible and competent. So many doctors are neither that this was a welcome rock to stand on. Youngish, a round face, grey flannel trousers, a navy-blue blazer. The white chalky hands of all doctors – it comes from washing too often in hard water. He smoked cheap Dutch ‘brown’ cigarettes with a healthy air, not at all worried about his lungs, and had a hard no-nonsense handshake.
    â€˜Come on into the torture chamber. I hope you’re not furious – I dropped a monstrous clanger, letting anybody see I wasn’t happy, but’ – obstinate look – ‘I’m still not happy. I saw nothing disquieting up there – they called me, and I came of course, had a waiting-room full of sniffles and miseries, all most indignant though it’s not good form to show it. All I could do there was agree officially that the chap was dead – I had him brought down here.’ Doctor Maartens was talking too much, and plainly had guilty wishes to explain, to justify: Van der Valk went on saying nothing.
    â€˜I felt a bit disturbed, uh, because the head injury wasn’t quite what I’d been led to expect. I don’t want to be technical, but it didn’t seem the right shape. Well – I didn’t want to make a fool of myself – I rang our local vet, who handles these horses when they cough or whatnot. Asked him about characteristics of kicks and so on. He agreed with me, and it was then I told the local police I wasn’t ready to sign the certificate without more thought, or evidence, or both, and that they’d better take him – means town, I suppose, since naturally we’ve no mortuary here. I don’t know whether that will automatically mean an official autopsy – doesn’t lie within my experience – be glad to have your thoughts on the subject and that’s why I’m pleased you saw fit to come.’
    â€˜I can arrange all that’s necessary, but will you give me a brief untechnical outline of your not-quite-happiness?’
    â€˜Certainly. It’s the kick. Nothing fundamentally improbable about the kick. The first thought was a momentary vertigo, a dizzy spell – Bernhard was overweight, blood pressure and so on. It’s possible, though I doubt it, for reasons I’ll give you. But he could easily have been standing stooped or bent behind the horse, I suppose, and made it nervous or irritable in some way. I would accept that, I imagine, if I was told that had happened. But a horse kicks upwards, hm, or horizontally as it were, at knee level – Patty, the vet, my esteemed colleague, I should be saying,’ – he had an engaging grin – ‘can explain much better than I can. Now this bump on Bernhard’s head has characteristic of a downward slant, hm? I was stupid – you’ll find me indiscreet – but I went to the smith, and he found me a shoe, and I messed about for quite some time hitting a plank of soft wood from every angle … look, I’ll show you – in my garage, we can go out this way – if you don’t mind.’
    â€˜I don’t mind a bit.’
    â€˜What’s wrong with your leg?’
    â€˜Rifle bullet. Went in here and came out here.’
    â€˜Ow. War?’
    â€˜No – woman.