Amsterdam’s Central Recherche bureau receives an oddly formal anonymous letter from someone who claims to be able to connect a prominent neurologist, Dr. Hubert Van der Post, with a capital crime. The letter is passed to Inspector Pieter Van der Valk, who accepts the cloak-and-dagger rendez-vous and meets with a well-placed city official. The man believes that Dr. Van der Post has killed an aging, alcoholic painter who had once tried to blackmail the official, and likely attempted the same bite on the doctor. The official’s wife is Van der Post’s patient, and the detective believes he can see a triangle forming.
In a way, Criminal Conversation builds onto the conceit that author Nicolas Freeling explored in the previous year’s novel, 1964’s Double-Barrel. In both books, Inspector Van der Valk begins a book-long conversation with a key figure in the case: in Double-Barrel it is Besançon, an old man with a deep memory; here it is the amused, self-important Dr. Van der Post. The inspector has been tasked with looking into the accusation unofficially, since there is no evidence against the suspect and social landmines are strewn everywhere. So Van der Valk arrives at the doctor’s office in the guise of a patient and begins to play the role of examiner, dropping hints and pushing buttons to see what the reaction might be.
The novel’s second part takes the form of a written journal from Van der Post. The professional medical man enjoys dissecting and transcribing his interactions with the unofficial policeman, and he also takes pleasure in talking about himself. We learn of the man’s childhood and family circumstances, his Jesuit school education and his feelings of inadequacy towards girls while a teen. The relationship that is formed between potential criminal and playacting cop becomes complicated, and as Van der Valk concludes at the very end of this book, the doctor is interested to create an intimate bond because the detective’s confessor figure may be the only friend he has in an otherwise solitary and lonesome life.
Freeling is, I think, not exactly a writer inspired by conventional psychology as much as by character study and detail. He and his detective are not looking for answers; they are more interested in fleshing out people the way a portrait painter would take care – through the shadow under the eyes, the slope of the nose, the thinness of the pursed lips – to capture the truth in a subject’s face. It is an admirable approach, and often interesting. Occasionally though, as it does here and with the first Van der Valk book Love in Amsterdam, the character biography slows the story (so fascinating to the self-satisfied subject relating his own history; of less interest to the reader who wants to get back to the present plotline).
In a way, Criminal Conversation builds onto the conceit that author Nicolas Freeling explored in the previous year’s novel, 1964’s Double-Barrel. In both books, Inspector Van der Valk begins a book-long conversation with a key figure in the case: in Double-Barrel it is Besançon, an old man with a deep memory; here it is the amused, self-important Dr. Van der Post. The inspector has been tasked with looking into the accusation unofficially, since there is no evidence against the suspect and social landmines are strewn everywhere. So Van der Valk arrives at the doctor’s office in the guise of a patient and begins to play the role of examiner, dropping hints and pushing buttons to see what the reaction might be.
The novel’s second part takes the form of a written journal from Van der Post. The professional medical man enjoys dissecting and transcribing his interactions with the unofficial policeman, and he also takes pleasure in talking about himself. We learn of the man’s childhood and family circumstances, his Jesuit school education and his feelings of inadequacy towards girls while a teen. The relationship that is formed between potential criminal and playacting cop becomes complicated, and as Van der Valk concludes at the very end of this book, the doctor is interested to create an intimate bond because the detective’s confessor figure may be the only friend he has in an otherwise solitary and lonesome life.
Freeling is, I think, not exactly a writer inspired by conventional psychology as much as by character study and detail. He and his detective are not looking for answers; they are more interested in fleshing out people the way a portrait painter would take care – through the shadow under the eyes, the slope of the nose, the thinness of the pursed lips – to capture the truth in a subject’s face. It is an admirable approach, and often interesting. Occasionally though, as it does here and with the first Van der Valk book Love in Amsterdam, the character biography slows the story (so fascinating to the self-satisfied subject relating his own history; of less interest to the reader who wants to get back to the present plotline).
Taken in microcosm, Criminal Conversation offers many literary (and, yes, psychological) page-to-page pleasures. The premise is intriguing and masterful in its representation of rarefied Dutch social circles and the entitled characters who move within them. The anonymous note and assignation let the inspector, the highly amused outsider, play a Raymond Chandler PI for a moment, drolly dubbing himself “Philip Van der Marlowe”. The plot is good – e.g., both the official’s wife and his Lolita-like daughter could be involved with the good doctor and/or the murdered painter to complicate that triangle – and Van der Valk’s talents as an observer and interpreter of his fellow humans are once again enjoyable to see on display. If the secret journal feels a bit labored as a narrative device, it is very much part of the criminal conversation to which the title alludes. A good entry in the excellent series featuring Freeling’s unassuming and very human Dutch detective.
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