The Square of Revenge Read Free

other stupid and arrogant people, fostered an almost blind respect for his superiors.
    “Might as well take a look for myself,” she said with confidence, “now that I’m awake.”
    “Righto, ma’am. Would you like me to inform the owner?”
    “Please. Tell him I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
    “Okay, ma’am. I’ll inform my people that you’ll be taking personal charge.”
    Before she could say “thank you,” De Keyzer hung up. The excitement made her shiver. She took off her dressing gown and headed for the bathroom behind the kitchen: nothing more than a cramped shower and an old-fashioned washbasin.
    Her neighbor opposite, a retired postmaster with all the time in the world, slurped at his first cup of coffee. He was an early riser. The opportunity to admire Miss Martens’s elegant silhouette in all its glory for a couple of seconds was an added, if unforeseen, bonus that morning. He never looked across the street on other days.
    It seemed to take even more than an eternity for Ghislain Degroof to answer the phone, but De Keyzer let it ring for close to five minutes. If Deputy Martens hadn’t been on her way, he would probably have given up earlier.
    “Degroof,” the man grouched. His legs were like lead and his voice hoarse from too many cigarettes.
    “Bruges Police, Mr. Degroof. Duty officer De Keyzer. I’ve bad news, I’m afraid.”
    De Keyzer paused for a second to add extra weight to his message.
    “A report has just come in from our night patrol. There’s reason to believe your shop on Steen Street has been burgled,” he said in a bureaucratic tone.
    Degroof started to choke on his own saliva and turned away from the phone for a good cough.
    “Mr. Degroof, are you still there?” De Keyzer asked after a couple of seconds.
    “Of course I’m still here,” Degroof rasped. “What in Christ’s name does ‘reason to believe’ mean?”
    “The duty sergeant informs me that the window and the display cabinets inside the shop are empty. He’s not sure if that’s normal. There’s also broken glass and a pair of gloves on the floor.”
    “Of course it’s not normal,” Degroof croaked at the top of his voice. De Keyzer held the receiver away from his ear.
    “Nonetheless, there’s no sign of breaking and entering,” he continued with caution. De Keyzer knew the Degroofs; or rather his father knew them. They were rich and extremely powerful. That’s why he didn’t consider it strange that Versavel had asked him to bring the Deputy up to speed. You could never be careful enough with the Degroofs and their like.
    “The Deputy public prosecutor is on her way,” he added with a degree of pride.
    Degroof’s head started to spin like carousel. He sat down and tried to assess the damage. Fortunately he was insured for every penny. The only reason his head was spinning was because he hadn’t completely sobered up from the night before.
    “Fine,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

2
    G HISLAIN DEGROOF AND HANNELORE MARTENS arrived at more or less the same time. She had just parked her navy-blue Renault Twingo behind the police van when Degroof drove up in his pitch-black Maserati.
    Versavel took note of their arrival. It was five past seven.
    Hannelore Martens was wearing a white T-shirt and a long dark-brown skirt with an ample side split revealing a pair of shapely calves as she stepped out of her car.
    “Good morning, Sergeant,” she said brightly.
    “Deputy Martens?” he asked in disbelief. He had heard that they were appointing magistrates young these days, but this specimen didn’t look much older than twenty-five.
    “Hannelore Martens,” she said with as much polite firmness as she could muster. “How do you do, Sergeant?”
    Versavel tapped his cap with his fore and middle fingers. At least she knew her police ranks. Not a bad sign. They were shaking hands when the final rumble of Degroof’s Maserati made them turn their heads. Degroof had parked like a drunken