Tretjak Read Online Free PDF

table, and the seat of the bench as well, was covered with piles of paper, books, newspaper clippings, files, all neatly arranged, flush at one side, obviously following some kind of order.
    On the left side of the room, the other island looked a little bit like the cockpit of an airplane. That is where Tretjak was sitting now, on a simple, grey office chair, with three flat screen monitors arranged on a sort of crescent-shaped base. The connected hardware, modems and printer were hidden underneath, behind light grey lacquered panels.
    Tretjak had turned his chair to the left, moved the mouse with his right hand and looked at another over-sized monitor mounted on the wall. It was showing the official University of Rotterdam photograph: Professor Doctor Harry Kerkhoff, 50, Vice-President of the university, Dean of Faculty for Bio-chemistry. On the smaller desktop screens Tretjak had called up several files. Kerkhoff’s bibliography, a podcast of his appearance in front of the ethics commission of the EU when he was asked about stem cell research, and media reports about the discovery of his body yesterday. One monitor showed the minutes of their last meeting. That had been eight years ago.
    When the brain receives information it immediately processes it, and it will always learn from it. You cannot turn back the clock to the moment when the brain did not have that information. It had been Kerkhoff’s great talent to condense his knowledge into short messages, which were easy to understand.
    When do you give what information to whom – and what is the result? And the effect? That had been the theme of their meetings over the years: Tretjak had provoked the scientist with questions – and had noted down his answers, analysed them, used them to fine-tune his techniques. When does who get what information?
    Maybe his ‘No’ in answer to the inspector’s question about whether he knew Kerkhoff had been a reflex. The reflex of a man who liked to have the advantage over his opposite as far as information was concerned. Tretjak regretted his answer. Maybe it had been the fault of the tax inspector that he had made the spontaneous decision not to reveal that information.
    He rolled his chair back and got up. The wall behind him concealed one single, big cupboard. All the files about his clients and their special cases were contained here. An archive full of connections and intrigue, full of personal secrets, full of information, which at some point somewhere had been useful – and could be again.
    Behind one of the doors was a fridge. Tretjak opened it and took out a small bottle of still Hildon mineral water and a strip of tablets marked Tavor. He swallowed two and drank the water in one gulp. He closed the door, placed the bottle on the floor and sat down in front of the monitors again. He looked into the eyes of the scientist on the big screen and wondered: what were you doing in a horsebox, Harry? What has your death got to do with me? Who called me? You?
    Our brain is constantly looking for order. It wants to recognise structure – in everything which life dishes up. Kerkhoff had written a remarkable book on that very subject: On the Correlation of Emotion and Structural Thought . We search for the structure of a story, of a movie, the structure of the character of a person we meet, we want to understand a sequence of events by recognising its pattern. ‘Feed the brain of a human being with structure,’ Kerkhoff had said, ‘then you take away his fear.’
    Tretjak decided he would call the inspector whose card was still lying on the kitchen counter later and tell him the truth: yes, he had known Kerkhoff. In fact, he had known him well.
    The digital clock below the screen was showing 7.20pm; it was time, he had to go. The table in the Osteria was booked, as per usual the second booth from the entrance. A client was waiting there. Or to be precise: a man who wanted to become his