sockets. He had the look of a man who had spent his life in a dark cave. He glanced at the receipt, and the photograph, then screwed his eyes shut as he struggled to remember. Sophia looked at him for a moment, then drifted away, ostensibly to study her mobile. But it was obvious that she was listening intently.
‘Yeah, he was definitely here,’ the barman said. ‘We talked about the game on Saturday – did you see it? What the hell was Jol doing? Honestly, we’d have been better off sticking with van Basten. You don’t counterattack against Feyenoord – you
pound
em, you understand, like the scum they are. It’s the only way –’
‘What time did he leave?’ Tanja interrupted.
‘Oh, not late. Ten, maybe? No, that’s not right. Earlier. Because I remember talking to another customer about
De Klassieker
later, and he asked me the time, and it was nine-thirty. So, it would have been, oh, twenty minutes before that?’
‘And did he leave on his own?’ Pieter asked.
‘No,’ the bartender answered, drawing the syllable out as he pondered the question. ‘Don’t think so. I
think
I saw him talking to a woman, if only for a minute or so. I’ve an idea they went out together. They usually do!’
Pieter was making notes. ‘What did this woman look like?’
‘Sorry,’ Frank replied, ‘I really couldn’t say. Blonde hair, maybe? But it gets real smoky as the evening wears on. And of course Ms. Faruk turns the lights down low. Sometimes it’s hard to keep a track of who’s who.’ He winked. ‘Besides, I’m told not to stare.’
‘She didn’t order a drink?’ Tanja enquired.
‘I don’t think so. It’s mostly the men who buy the drinks round here.’ He lowered his voice a little. ‘Although there are some ladies who prefer a more hands on approach, if you know what I mean.’
‘Where do you keep your copies of the bar receipts?’ Tanja asked.
‘In here,’ Frank answered. He opened a manila folder, leafing through in dextrous fashion. ‘Ah, here we are,’ he said. ‘I believe this is Mr Ruben’s. He ordered, yes, two Grolsch.’
‘May I?’ Pieter asked.
Frank handed Pieter the folder. He flicked through, noting that the bartender was right: perhaps four-fifths of the names on the receipts were male. All part of the ritual, he supposed. There was certainly no record of a Hester Goldman.
‘Do you have a membership roster, something like that?’ Tanja asked. ‘We’ll need to speak to your patrons.
Someone
must have got a decent view of this woman.’
‘There’s nothing like that.’ Sophia said quickly as she moved back over to join them. ‘As I say, we are very discreet. We rely on word-of-mouth. No one has to sign in. There are no membership fees. My only recompense is whatever passes through my till. That and the satisfaction of knowing that I am providing a valuable service, of course.’
‘Good for you,’ Tanja said shortly. ‘So you’ve nothing else to tell us?’
‘No. I don’t think so. Though obviously I will call you if anything occurs.
Tanja handed Sophia a card. ‘Thank you, then. Oh, and if you could ask your doorman to call me as soon as he gets in. Jacobus, was it?’
‘Yes. I’ll tell him.’
Tanja strode away, climbing the spiral stairs in a vibration of ringing iron. She hurried through the coffee shop, Pieter struggling to keep up.
‘What I can’t understand,’ Tanja suddenly blurted, ‘is the promiscuity.’
‘Oh?’ said Pieter carefully.
Tanja dragged her foot across the dusty pavement. ‘I’ve only had, oh, eight boyfriends in my life. And
never
more than one at the same time.’
‘You think these women sleep around, then?’
‘I reckon!’
They shared a look. Pieter nodded, to express his understanding. Tanja wasn’t like the women who came to the Cougar Club; fine, he got it. But he supposed he could understand her sensitivity, under the circumstances. Janssen had told him all about Tanja and Alex Hoekstra, his similarly
‘Yeah, he was definitely here,’ the barman said. ‘We talked about the game on Saturday – did you see it? What the hell was Jol doing? Honestly, we’d have been better off sticking with van Basten. You don’t counterattack against Feyenoord – you
pound
em, you understand, like the scum they are. It’s the only way –’
‘What time did he leave?’ Tanja interrupted.
‘Oh, not late. Ten, maybe? No, that’s not right. Earlier. Because I remember talking to another customer about
De Klassieker
later, and he asked me the time, and it was nine-thirty. So, it would have been, oh, twenty minutes before that?’
‘And did he leave on his own?’ Pieter asked.
‘No,’ the bartender answered, drawing the syllable out as he pondered the question. ‘Don’t think so. I
think
I saw him talking to a woman, if only for a minute or so. I’ve an idea they went out together. They usually do!’
Pieter was making notes. ‘What did this woman look like?’
‘Sorry,’ Frank replied, ‘I really couldn’t say. Blonde hair, maybe? But it gets real smoky as the evening wears on. And of course Ms. Faruk turns the lights down low. Sometimes it’s hard to keep a track of who’s who.’ He winked. ‘Besides, I’m told not to stare.’
‘She didn’t order a drink?’ Tanja enquired.
‘I don’t think so. It’s mostly the men who buy the drinks round here.’ He lowered his voice a little. ‘Although there are some ladies who prefer a more hands on approach, if you know what I mean.’
‘Where do you keep your copies of the bar receipts?’ Tanja asked.
‘In here,’ Frank answered. He opened a manila folder, leafing through in dextrous fashion. ‘Ah, here we are,’ he said. ‘I believe this is Mr Ruben’s. He ordered, yes, two Grolsch.’
‘May I?’ Pieter asked.
Frank handed Pieter the folder. He flicked through, noting that the bartender was right: perhaps four-fifths of the names on the receipts were male. All part of the ritual, he supposed. There was certainly no record of a Hester Goldman.
‘Do you have a membership roster, something like that?’ Tanja asked. ‘We’ll need to speak to your patrons.
Someone
must have got a decent view of this woman.’
‘There’s nothing like that.’ Sophia said quickly as she moved back over to join them. ‘As I say, we are very discreet. We rely on word-of-mouth. No one has to sign in. There are no membership fees. My only recompense is whatever passes through my till. That and the satisfaction of knowing that I am providing a valuable service, of course.’
‘Good for you,’ Tanja said shortly. ‘So you’ve nothing else to tell us?’
‘No. I don’t think so. Though obviously I will call you if anything occurs.
Tanja handed Sophia a card. ‘Thank you, then. Oh, and if you could ask your doorman to call me as soon as he gets in. Jacobus, was it?’
‘Yes. I’ll tell him.’
Tanja strode away, climbing the spiral stairs in a vibration of ringing iron. She hurried through the coffee shop, Pieter struggling to keep up.
‘What I can’t understand,’ Tanja suddenly blurted, ‘is the promiscuity.’
‘Oh?’ said Pieter carefully.
Tanja dragged her foot across the dusty pavement. ‘I’ve only had, oh, eight boyfriends in my life. And
never
more than one at the same time.’
‘You think these women sleep around, then?’
‘I reckon!’
They shared a look. Pieter nodded, to express his understanding. Tanja wasn’t like the women who came to the Cougar Club; fine, he got it. But he supposed he could understand her sensitivity, under the circumstances. Janssen had told him all about Tanja and Alex Hoekstra, his similarly
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