The Square of Revenge Read Free Page A

cowboy.
    “Degroof, I presume?”
    Versavel spotted her derisive tone. “The very one,” he said with a wink.
    “Let’s introduce ourselves to the injured party first, shall we?” she said cheerfully.
    Versavel followed her. He found it hard to understand how a woman like her could wind up in the judiciary. She could have made a lot more money as a model.
    Degroof junior was a tall thin man. His expensive designer frames half concealed an uneven pair of bulging eyes. His pointed angular shoulders protruded through his jacket. He walked with a stoop and looked ten years older than he actually was.
    “Deputy Martens,” she introduced herself with confidence.
    Degroof seemed just as surprised as Versavel.
    “I got here as fast as I could,” she said.
    “That’s very kind of you, Deputy Martens.” Degroof was clearly the perfect gentleman.
    “My name is Degroof, Ghislain Degroof, Jr., to be precise, proprietor of Degroof Diamonds and Jewelry.”
    Versavel almost burst out laughing. Who else had they been expecting: Snow White?
    “What in God’s name is going on?” asked Degroof with an expression of painful indignation on his face.
    “We should ask Sergeant Versavel,” said Hannelore Martens. “He has all the details. Right, Sergeant?”
    Versavel reported what they had observed in short sentences, prudently avoiding any mention of their real reason for stopping at the jewelry shop.
    “It’s common for night patrols to carry out the occasional routine checkup on their rounds,” he lied straight-faced. Fortunately, Petitjean was out of earshot.
    “There are no signs of breaking and entering. Everything appears to be locked up as it should,” Versavel concluded with caution. “Perhaps Mr. Degroof could open the door for us. I’m sure there’s more to be learned inside.”
    “Good idea,” said Deputy Martens. “No point in hanging around. Let’s take a look inside.” She wanted to stay in control and be the one giving the final orders.
    Versavel watched the jeweler carefully as he rummaged for his keys. He was wearing a crumpled pinstriped suit, casual moccasins without socks, and a hideous tie. His facial features were limp, his beard negligible, and he had serious bags under his frog-like eyes. There was the smell of strong drink on his breath. That explained the parking job, Versavel chuckled to himself.
    As Degroof was unlocking the metal roller shutters, Hannelore Martens gave Versavel a knowing glance. Her first impressions of the jeweler didn’t differ much from those of the sergeant. She didn’t like the look of him one bit. It wasn’t the hangover. Something disingenuous.
    “Stay here,” said Versavel to Petitjean when he made a move to go inside. “And don’t let anyone through without my permission.”
    Petitjean nodded and did what he was told.
    The roller shutter rattled upward with ease. Degroof opened the door, switched on the lights and made a beeline for an inbuilt cupboard, which was almost invisible between a pair of display cabinets.
    “First the burglar alarm,” he mumbled.
    Hannelore Martens’s intuition told her to stay where she was, but Versavel signaled that she was free to go inside.
    “The alarm has a delay mechanism,” he explained. “Degroof has one hundred seconds to disarm the system.”
    Degroof punched a four-digit code into the miniature keypad: 1905.
    “There we are,” he said, as if he’d just done something extremely complicated. “The coast is now clear.”
    Idiot , Versavel thought to himself. Who says “the coast is now clear” after a break-in? But the coast was indeed very clear. There was nothing left.
    “Mon Dieu,” Degroof whimpered as he looked around the shop. “They’ve taken everything!”
    “Does that mean there’s nothing under lock and key? That you didn’t take anything home for safekeeping?” Versavel asked, surprised.
    “With such an alarm system, that’s no longer necessary, Sergeant. It cost me one and a half