here a little longer.”
Leo nodded.
“Then I’ll be going. By the way, according to Versavel, Degroof gave the keys to the shop to Officer Decoster. I’ll tell him to wait until you’re ready, then he can close up.”
“Okey-dokey,” said Vanmaele. “I can come back tomorrow with a van and a couple of helpers to bring the tank with the golden gunk to the lab. Then we can determine precisely how much gold was dissolved. I figure that’s what Degroof wants to know more than anything else.”
“So that’s agreed.” Van In got to his feet.
“I presume we’ll meet again,” he said to Hannelore.
“I very much hope so, Commissioner. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she purred. Van In was never going to understand women. She shook his hand and held it firm for a moment. “And don’t forget the radio,” she winked. “I’m certain an appeal will lead to something, and apart from that I insist that it happens,” she added sternly. “If they don’t broadcast it tomorrow morning, I’ll take care of it myself. On the record, of course.”
Outside, Decoster and Vermeersch were having a hard time keeping the curious at a distance. The street was crawling with tourists and everyone wanted to know what was going on.
A thin young gentleman watched events unfold with evident amusement. His short, bald, and unstoppable sidekick took photos of the scene. He was a local reporter who never left the house without a camera. He had bought the story for a thousand francs from one of the officers keeping the crowds at bay.
Van In wriggled his way outside, doing his best not to draw attention. The heat of the summer sun coiled like a burning snake between the rows of houses. It was going to be a sweltering day. Festive flags hung unruffled from the city’s façades, ready for the annual celebration of the Flemish Community the following day. Van In tried to pick up his pace but it was hopeless. There were tourists everywhere, slowing everything down, and they got out of the way for no one.
He kept close to the house fronts, using the walls as cover. His thoughts still fluttered around Hannelore Martens, like a butterfly over a bed of flowers. Van In was angry with himself. He had behaved like an idiot.
Okay, a bit of an idiot, he corrected himself. She hadn’t exactly played the respectable Deputy public prosecutor either.
Versavel was in room 204, his back to the window, sweating over an old-fashioned mechanical typewriter.
“Aren’t you tired yet?” asked Van In as he walked in the door. The sergeant barely looked up from his work. His coarse fingers continued to batter the broken-down Brother without pity.
“Another five minutes,” he groaned.
Van In collapsed into the chair behind Versavel’s desk and lit a cigarette. He ignored the “No Smoking” signs. They were for visitors only.
“And did you wangle a date out of her?” asked Versavel dryly.
“Jesus H. Not you too. Leo spent the whole time winking at me. Why should I? She was just out to impress. Beginners are always a bit weird.”
“She couldn’t keep her eyes off you,” said Versavel, unperturbed. “I’d watch my ass if I were you, buddy.”
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the clatter of the typewriter. Van In wasn’t really sure why he was making a fuss. If it had been up to him, he would have taken her out that very night.
“So, done and dusted,” said Versavel, relieved. He rolled a densely typed sheet of paper from the typewriter and placed it carefully on top of the pile he had completed earlier. “Well-earned overtime. It’s all yours.” He stood and stretched.
“You on duty tomorrow?” asked Van In. “De Kee insists that I take personal charge of the case, and it would be good if I could rely on your assistance.”
“No problem,” Versavel answered.
It was clear that he felt honored by the commissioner’s request. He may only have been a sergeant, but he had proved himself more than
Leo nodded.
“Then I’ll be going. By the way, according to Versavel, Degroof gave the keys to the shop to Officer Decoster. I’ll tell him to wait until you’re ready, then he can close up.”
“Okey-dokey,” said Vanmaele. “I can come back tomorrow with a van and a couple of helpers to bring the tank with the golden gunk to the lab. Then we can determine precisely how much gold was dissolved. I figure that’s what Degroof wants to know more than anything else.”
“So that’s agreed.” Van In got to his feet.
“I presume we’ll meet again,” he said to Hannelore.
“I very much hope so, Commissioner. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she purred. Van In was never going to understand women. She shook his hand and held it firm for a moment. “And don’t forget the radio,” she winked. “I’m certain an appeal will lead to something, and apart from that I insist that it happens,” she added sternly. “If they don’t broadcast it tomorrow morning, I’ll take care of it myself. On the record, of course.”
Outside, Decoster and Vermeersch were having a hard time keeping the curious at a distance. The street was crawling with tourists and everyone wanted to know what was going on.
A thin young gentleman watched events unfold with evident amusement. His short, bald, and unstoppable sidekick took photos of the scene. He was a local reporter who never left the house without a camera. He had bought the story for a thousand francs from one of the officers keeping the crowds at bay.
Van In wriggled his way outside, doing his best not to draw attention. The heat of the summer sun coiled like a burning snake between the rows of houses. It was going to be a sweltering day. Festive flags hung unruffled from the city’s façades, ready for the annual celebration of the Flemish Community the following day. Van In tried to pick up his pace but it was hopeless. There were tourists everywhere, slowing everything down, and they got out of the way for no one.
He kept close to the house fronts, using the walls as cover. His thoughts still fluttered around Hannelore Martens, like a butterfly over a bed of flowers. Van In was angry with himself. He had behaved like an idiot.
Okay, a bit of an idiot, he corrected himself. She hadn’t exactly played the respectable Deputy public prosecutor either.
Versavel was in room 204, his back to the window, sweating over an old-fashioned mechanical typewriter.
“Aren’t you tired yet?” asked Van In as he walked in the door. The sergeant barely looked up from his work. His coarse fingers continued to batter the broken-down Brother without pity.
“Another five minutes,” he groaned.
Van In collapsed into the chair behind Versavel’s desk and lit a cigarette. He ignored the “No Smoking” signs. They were for visitors only.
“And did you wangle a date out of her?” asked Versavel dryly.
“Jesus H. Not you too. Leo spent the whole time winking at me. Why should I? She was just out to impress. Beginners are always a bit weird.”
“She couldn’t keep her eyes off you,” said Versavel, unperturbed. “I’d watch my ass if I were you, buddy.”
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the clatter of the typewriter. Van In wasn’t really sure why he was making a fuss. If it had been up to him, he would have taken her out that very night.
“So, done and dusted,” said Versavel, relieved. He rolled a densely typed sheet of paper from the typewriter and placed it carefully on top of the pile he had completed earlier. “Well-earned overtime. It’s all yours.” He stood and stretched.
“You on duty tomorrow?” asked Van In. “De Kee insists that I take personal charge of the case, and it would be good if I could rely on your assistance.”
“No problem,” Versavel answered.
It was clear that he felt honored by the commissioner’s request. He may only have been a sergeant, but he had proved himself more than
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