The Square of Revenge Read Online Free PDF Page A

earnestly. “I suggest one of you help him put together an inventory of the damaged goods. In the meantime, if you could can call one of the forensic guys at the National Institute for Criminalities, Sergeant, that would be much appreciated.”
    They stood there a like a bunch of schoolboys caught red-handed. Even Versavel, who was rarely short for words, was speechless. This was the moment Hannelore had long been preparing for. Finally she had the chance to exercise her authority and reap the benefits of the degree she had worked so hard to obtain.
    “Of course, ma’am,” said Versavel. He knew her affability with them wouldn’t last. But how would he behave if they had made him Deputy? It was a stubborn thing, class difference.
    Just then, Degroof appeared from the back.
    “I need to make a phone call. Will you excuse me?”
    Versavel retreated, and Degroof sat down at his desk. He looked exhausted and dismayed. He had taken off his jacket. His left cuff was soaked with aqua regis. His eyes were bloodshot, and what remained of his hair stuck to his balding scalp. He was sweating like a marathoner, but that had nothing to do with the millions he had lost in the robbery. Degroof was afraid of what daddy would say.
    “Let’s go outside for a moment, gentlemen,” said Hannelore diplomatically. The exercise of authority pleased her more with every passing minute. Degroof thanked her with an inconspicuous nod.
    Once outside, she lit a cigarette. She offered the others the chance to join her, but only Decoster accepted. Both Versavel and Vermeersch were zealous non-smokers.
    “Strange business,” said Hannelore after taking her first drag and inhaling deeply. “If you ask me, magistrates should do more ‘on the scene’ work.”
    The three men smiled politely.
    “We’re not dealing with an amateur, that’s for sure,” Versavel observed. Decoster and Vermeersch appeared to have been struck dumb. “It’s the motive that intrigues me. The whole thing seems absurd. Don’t you agree, ma’am?” he asked.
    A group of laughing Japanese tourists gaped at them inquisitively from the other side of the street. Their guide had made up one or other story on the spot. Guides always make something up if they don’t know what’s going on.
    The Japanese immediately recorded the façade of Degroof Diamonds and Jewelry for posterity. The cameras and camcorders clicked and whizzed to their heart’s content.

3
    P IETER VAN IN’S TELEPHONE STARTED to ring after he had been in the shower for five minutes. He cursed under his breath, but didn’t hurry himself. He took the time to rinse the suds from under his arms. He then stamped his feet nominally dry on the rubber mat, stood in front of the mirror in a cloud of steam, and shook his head. The fuzzy image in the steamed-up mirror wasn’t a pretty sight.
    He wrapped himself in his old, checkered bathrobe with a sigh of resignation.
    It was Sunday morning, nine-fifteen. The light of the sun charily penetrated the faded curtains. Eight years of chain-smoking had given them an extraordinary patina, or was that too fine a word for nicotine deposits? The ivory ceiling and the drab wallpaper were no better off. They had once been white.
    Van In dragged himself downstairs. The telephone was still ringing. The white beech stairwell connected the bedroom to the living room on the ground floor where the only telephone in the house was located. Van In hated telephones in the bedroom. He lit a cigarette before lifting the receiver.
    “Van In,” he barked.
    “Hello, Van In, De Kee here, good morning.” Nothing sounded more sarcastic than your boss wishing you good morning on a Sunday. “Sorry for bothering you so early.”
    The chief commissioner’s sarcasm apparently knew no bounds. Van In took a bad-tempered drag of his cigarette. There was trouble on the way.
    “I’ve just had a call from Ludovic Degroof. You know who I’m talking about?”
    “Of course,” Van In replied