The G File Read Online Free PDF

thought, switched on the engine and drove off.
    Although he had more time than was available in the forecourt of Hell, Verlangen chose not to drive back to Maardam. The alternative of clean sheets was too tempting, and at a quarter to five he checked in at the Belveder, a simple but clean hotel in Lofterstraat, behind the town hall.
    Between seven and eight he had dinner in the sepia-brown dining room together with a swimming club from Warsaw. Some sort of ragout that reminded him vaguely of his former mother-in-law. Perhaps not so much of her as of the Sunday dinners she used to prepare, and it was a memory he could have done without. He bought two dark beers to take up to his room, managed to overcome an increasing desire to telephone his daughter, then fell asleep in the middle of an American police series some time between eleven and half past.
    The sheets were cool and newly ironed, and even if the day ended up being somewhat less alcohol-free than originally envisaged, at least he was not quite up to the limit of ten beers a day.
    Quite some way short of that, in fact.

4
     
    The restaurant was called Columbine, and after two swigs of beer it looked like any other restaurant in any country of the world.
    It was evening at last. The old Maasleitner clock hanging over the bottles of whisky at the bar showed twenty-five to eight. On this completely cloud-free Thursday Hennan had stayed on at the office until seven o’clock, for some damned reason or other. Verlangen had been feeling worn out since about four.
    But he was used to exhaustion. It had been his constant companion for the last four years, and sometimes it felt as if it was time – nothing else – that got on top of him. A sort of old, smelly item of clothing that he couldn’t wait to cast off. To sleep off the hangover, wake up to something different and at long last put on a new era. In which the seconds and minutes actually tasted of something.
    But there was never a new era the following morning. Just the same old unwashed garment that clung stickily to his skin, day after day, year after year. There was nothing he could do about it, and the few evenings he dared to go to bed in a sober state it was always impossible to get a wink of sleep.
    He drained his glass and looked over towards Hennan. There were only two tables between them, but sitting at one of them was an unusually loud and exuberant group: four chubby young men aged around twenty-eight, each with a moustache, who repeatedly broke out into roars of laughter, leaning back on their chairs and slamming their fists down on the table. Judging by their broad accents Verlangen concluded that they came from somewhere down among the southern provinces. Groenstadt, most probably. Or Balderslacht, somewhere of that sort.
    There were quite a lot of other customers, so a certain degree of concentration was needed in order to keep a close eye on the object of his surveillance. Despite everything. But on the other hand, it seemed fairly obvious that Hennan intended to have a meal and stay put for quite some time. He had hung his jacket over the back of his chair, and was working his way through the menu while sipping away at a colourless drink – presumably a gin and tonic – and seemed to be in no hurry at all. Perhaps he was waiting for somebody: the seat opposite him at his table for two was empty. Maybe a woman, Verlangen thought. That would be the most likely possibility, after all. And that was the outcome he had predicted from the start.
    Anyway, all he could do was remain where he was, and see what happened. Verlangen decided to have a meal as well. He attracted a waiter’s attention, ordered another beer and asked for a menu. The way things looked, he might well be sitting there for quite some time.
    Two hours later Jaan G. Hennan was still alone at his table. Verlangen had passed close by him twice on the way to the gents, and established that his quarry seemed to have indulged in a substantial