Black Widow (12 page)

‘There are channels of communication,’ Pieter answered carefully.

‘Right, right. Of course. Until next time, then, Detective.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Berger.’

Anita headed back over to her daughter. She bent her mouth to Maria’s ear, to whisper something that Pieter could not make out. Then mother and daughter moved away, to Anita’s car, a grey Ford Focus. Pieter would have expected something more flamboyant.

But for now, well, he had a little time to himself. And Amsterdam – there really was so much to see. He nodded; the Museum Quarter it was. He’d visited the
Rijksmuseum
before, of course, but he’d barely scratched the surface of its lustrous skin.

*

Gus de Groot’s phone let out a plaintive beep. A text message. It was from Sophia Faruk, asking if he would like to meet her again. Rather charmingly, she didn’t use the usual textual abbreviations; in that regard, if no other, she was quite prim and proper.

Well, he certainly would like to see her again. And not only because he was sure that she had more to tell him about Mikael Ruben. He made a mental note, to buy her a present. Women liked that sort of thing. It made them more pliant. What though? He knew that she liked screwing, but buying her a vibrator would probably seem a bit tacky.

Ah, of course. She’d mentioned something about going on holiday, soon, to England. So, he would buy her a nice teapot, something like that.

Despite his initial misgivings, it had turned out to be one hell of a night. Sophia Faruk was
wild
. And what a body! Toned as a greyhound, smooth as a waxed penguin. With tits like – he frowned, struggling to think of an animal that came even close to matching her in that regard.

Gus frowned, a little cross at himself for getting so carried away. The heir to Hunter S Thompson did not
enthuse
. The soon-to-be-new-king-of-gonzo did not
gush
.

Maybe
, he sent.
I’ll call you
.

He returned his attention to the monitor, his mouth set in that familiar grin as he scanned the pages of an internet chatroom Sophia had put him in touch with. It was
top
secret; only the chosen few were aware that it existed. Sophia had made him swear, before giving him the web addreess and password, that he would never reveal it to anyone, under any circumstances.

He would, of course. It would provide a further dollop of colour, when he finally broke his story.

In that regard, he was sure he was onto something. Something big. He’d been very discreet, but Sophia, turned chatty in the warmth of afterglow, and never in a million years guessing he was a journalist, had painted an intriguing picture of the after-hours world Mikael Ruben inhabited. These women were
filthy
. The men, of course, were merely showing initiative.

So, the site was a chatroom, for lonely hearts.

Actually, loneliness had nothing to do with it. This was all about sex; no more, no less. Gus almost felt humbled by the honesty.

There were no pictures, but there were vivid descriptions of the patrons. And in some ways it was better, having to rely on one’s imagination.

He input his details into the site, telling a few fibs as he did so. So, he wasn’t really six-two. But he seemed it. It was a special kind of honesty, after all. The sort he understood better than anyone.

He sat back in his chair, waiting for someone to get in touch. He was confident that it wouldn’t be long.

*

Jasper Endqvist had thought about cancelling the date. As the day wore on, and the appointed hour drew near, he found himself growing ever more anxious. He knew himself to be a creature of profoundly ordered habit. It wasn’t sexy, but it was a fact; the very thought of stepping beyond his comfort zone made him itch. Throw in the possibility, however remote, that the evening would end with a bout of casual sex, and it seemed as if his whole body had been wrapped in fibreglass.

There was no logic to it. Women didn’t tend to find him attractive. Kind, yes, clever yes, hard-working, definitely. But hardly stud material. That being so, he couldn’t get comfortable with the notion that Hester wanted to go out with him.

‘It isn’t
really
a date,’ he muttered to himself as he stood awkwardly to attention beside the Chinese restaurant. ‘She’s just a lonely woman looking for company. So don’t you flatter yourself! Just think of it as a chance to make a new friend. You don’t have enough of those.’

Still, he probably
would
have cancelled, if he’d only had her number. But he didn’t – she’d called him from a phone booth – and he couldn’t in all good conscience stand her up.

His stomach was rumbling. He normally ate an hour earlier, and his digestive tract wasn’t happy at the delay. And did it really have to be Chinese? He’d not had Chinese food in two years, since he’d split up with his last girlfriend.

Split up
was probably too definite a term for it. No parting words had been uttered; they’d simply drifted apart, emotionally, physically, geographically. And now he believed she was living in Groningen, with a man who taught jazz at the
Prince Claus Conservatoire
Jasper didn’t know how such a thing could be taught – jazz was a worryingly freeform medium, which he didn’t get at all. Still, if it made her happy.

‘Jasper?’

He turned to see Hester draw near. He nodded, surreptitiously wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers in case she should offer her hand. She didn’t; instead, she kissed him on the cheek.

‘Hi,’ he said. He’d rehearsed a few lines, but they seemed inane. Better, he supposed, to adopt the laidback air.

‘Isn’t this fun!’ Hester beamed. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to come out this evening.’

‘Hey, it’s nothing.’ Jasper returned her smile; it wasn’t so hard, actually. ‘Shall we go in, then?’

Hester didn’t seem to hear. She was peering through the plate glass. Abruptly, she turned to him, her smile yet broader. ‘You know, I’ve just had the craziest idea. What say we go Italian instead?’

‘But I’ve been practising with my chopsticks all day!’ he protested. ‘And you’ve made a reservation. The restaurant will lose business.’

She laughed at his expression, then rested her hand in the crook of his arm, tugging him off along the busy street. ‘Life’s all about being spontaneous, Jasper!’

‘It is?’ He looked at her anxiously, but her eyes were so bright, and her manner so open and engaging, that he could hardly deny her. She seemed younger than before, he considered, as he sneaked a look at her out the corner of his eye.

She took him to a trattoria, which was located just around the corner, amidst the narrow nooks and twists of the Langebrugsteeg. It was one of Jasper’s favourite parts of the city, and he knew it intimately, from the mounted statue of old Queen Wilhelmina at the junction with Rokin, to the secretive intersection with the Nes. He’d lived round here as a student, which had easily been the best time of his life. His somewhat obsessive attention to detail had paradoxically endowed him with a certain cool. His one and only one-night stand had been staged at the flat of a dance student, who’d professed to finding his left-brained bias the perfect antidote to her right-brain neuroses.

‘So how do you know of these places, if you are new in the city?’ he asked lightly.

‘Oh, I have a guide book.’

‘And a good sense of direction!’

‘Yes indeed.’

He started to relax. Hester was doing most of the talking, relieving him of that burden. They really had nothing in common as yet except a chance collision, but she was acting as if she’d known him for years. It was a comfortable feeling, like navigating the twists and turns of a familiar policy document.

They didn’t have to wait for a table. Feeling a little self-conscious, Jasper held her chair as she sat down, taking the opportunity to study her in greater detail. She was wearing a summer dress of pale green, and smelt vaguely of wildflowers. Or, at least, the wildflowers of Jasper’s imagination. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d headed out into the countryside.

‘So what do you do, Jasper?’ Hester asked as the waiter brought the menu.

‘What? Oh, nothing interesting.’

‘Your card says you are a “chief loss adjuster.”’

‘Dull, eh?’

‘No,’ she disagreed, ‘it’s fascinating. What does it involve?’

He sat up a little straighter. His job
was
fascinating; it delighted him that she saw it. ‘Well, put simply, I try to lessen my company’s liability in the event of a claim being made against it.’

‘So if someone asks you for a thousand euro to repair their car, you’ll try and fob them off with five hundred?’

‘Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that!’ He dabbed at his lip with his napkin. ‘But I don’t really deal with the smaller claims any more.’

‘Because you’ve moved onto bigger things?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose. I’ve just been promoted.’

‘And at such a young age!’

‘I’m thirty. Hardly a kid.’ He took a sip of water. His throat was a little dry. ‘So what about you?’

Hester waved a hand. ‘Oh, I work for a furniture manufacturer. We’ve just set up office here. We’ve offices all over. I’m off to Sweden, in the morning.’

‘Oh.’ Jasper supposed he was quite disappointed at that.

‘But I’ll be back by evening!’ She reached out, and brushed her fingers to his hand.

Jasper glanced down at his menu, his heat racing as he considered the possibility that yes, she might actually be flirting with him.

‘So when you’re not adjusting losses?’ Hester continued. ‘What do you do then?’

‘Oh, lots of things.’ He cast about for something that would make him seem at least slightly interesting. ‘I go to the cinema quite a lot.’

‘Me too!’

There was a beeping in Jasper’s pocket. His blackberry. A message from his boss. Of course there was; Tom was
always
calling him. Day or night.

With a gloomy feeling, Jasper excused himself, and headed to the toilet, to read the message in private. It seemed there had been a problem with an important case he was working on. A legal document that was due to be presented to the claimant’s legal team first thing on Monday had gone missing. Even worse, the backup disk couldn’t be found. Tom was panicking, thinking they might be a victim of industrial espionage. And now he was demanding that Jasper should come in immediately, and redo the whole thing. Never mind that it was Saturday night, that the original had taken a week to put together; he wanted it ready for Monday morning.

‘Fuck it,’ Jasper cursed, pushing his glasses up his nose in furious fashion. ‘Fuck it to hell.’

He felt terrible as he made his way back to the table, even more so when Hester seemed so disappointed. He still couldn’t work out why she should be so interested in him, but for now the basic thrill of it was enough.

‘I’ll make it up to you,’ he promised. ‘Just let me know when you’re back from Sweden.’

‘I will,’ Hester answered after a fractional pause. ‘It won’t be a long trip.’

*

Qin Shi Huang’s was Tanja and Alex’s special place. They’d come here on their first date, when Alex had professed to a love of Chinese food, which Tanja had professed to sharing. It was a lie, actually; she found it all a little creepy. Whatever it said on the menu, she could never quite escape the suspicion that she was actually being invited to eat leftovers, and somewhat repugnant leftovers at that. She would tell him, one day. But not tonight.

She looked at Alex across her menu, his dark hair flopping forward as he considered his options. His skin seemed darker than usual in this light. There was an olive tinge to his complexion, which she’d always liked to attribute to a Mediterranean forebear. He still seemed exotic to her.

She took a mouthful of wine. Her first glass was almost gone already and they hadn’t even ordered their food. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t drink tonight, to better manage their interaction. But with his lighthouse eyes already doing their thing, it wasn’t so easy. Each time he blinked, in that slow, hypnotic way of his, she felt her mouth go a little drier.

So she poured another glass. He looked up at the sound, and glanced at the bottle, now half empty. Tanja pretended that she hadn’t noticed.

‘Think I’ll have the soy-braised Mandarin fish,’ he said. ‘You?’

‘Oh, I don’t know! I can never seem to make up my mind.’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Why don’t you choose?’

Alex shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want.’ He gestured to the waiter, who swaggered over to their table, with none of the obsequiousness that might have been expected; as if he might actually be a descendant of Qin himself.

‘So are you working on anything at the moment?’ Tanja asked when the waiter had taken their orders.

‘Oh, nothing as interesting as
your
case, I’m sure.’

‘You’ve heard about that?’

‘Of course.’ He took a small sip of wine. ‘You want to talk about it?’

‘Just like the old days?’ She looked down; that was a stupid thing to say. This was all about new beginnings. All that other stuff – the nights cuddled up in front of the TV, watching reruns of German sitcoms, the weekends in the Frisian islands, making love amidst the dunes of the nature reserve, a hundred thousand gulls squawking all around – they would have to pretend that none of that had happened. Because the postscript to those happy times had been utterly miserable.

Blame the wine for her sloppiness! Or perhaps the lack of it. There was a perfect level of drunkenness, and she’d yet to attain it.

‘So what have you got, so far?’ Alex asked.

‘Oh, not much. A name, probably false. And we think the killer was in a club with her victim beforehand. Only our most likely witness in that regard – the doorman – has gone missing, and we haven’t got a clue where to find him. Harald’s found out that he has a brother in Groningen, but they apparently haven’t spoken in twenty years.’

‘Do you think he’s important?’

‘Lucky doesn’t seem to think so,’ Tanja replied. ‘He’s probably right. He usually is, when you get right down to it.’

‘Anything else?’