LITMIR.BIZ

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– well, I’d rather not know.’

      ‘Do you have security cameras?’ Pieter asked. ‘A tape we can study?’

      ‘No,’ Sophia answered. ‘The last thing my customers want is to be filmed. At least not here.’

      Pieter found that he was starting to enjoy the process. This was much more like it. ‘So tell me, Ms Faruk, what exactly is the Cougar Club?’

      ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

      ‘Let’s assume it isn’t.’

      That laugh again. ‘You aren’t from round here, are you, Detective? It’s very simple. Some women prefer the company of younger men, just as some men prefer the company of older women. This is where they like to meet.’

      ‘Was anyone else working last night?’ Tanja asked. ‘A bartender, perhaps?’

      ‘Just Frank,’ Sophia answered, quite sullen now.

      ‘Do you have a doorman?’

      ‘Jacobus, yes. He won’t be around for another hour, though. We aren’t officially open yet.’

      ‘And Frank?’

      ‘He’s in the cellar, doing a stock check.’

      Frank was duly summoned. There was a pale sheen of sweat on his skin, and his eyes bulged from deep-set sockets. He had the look of a man who had spent his life in a dark cave. He glanced at the receipt, and the photograph, then screwed his eyes shut as he struggled to remember. Sophia looked at him for a moment, then drifted away, ostensibly to study her mobile. But it was obvious that she was listening intently.

      ‘Yeah, he was definitely here,’ the barman said. ‘We talked about the game on Saturday – did you see it? What the hell was Jol doing? Honestly, we’d have been better off sticking with van Basten. You don’t counterattack against Feyenoord – you pound em, you understand, like the scum they are. It’s the only way –’

      ‘What time did he leave?’ Tanja interrupted.

      ‘Oh, not late. Ten, maybe? No, that’s not right. Earlier. Because I remember talking to another customer about De Klassieker later, and he asked me the time, and it was nine-thirty. So, it would have been, oh, twenty minutes before that?’

      ‘And did he leave on his own?’ Pieter asked.

      ‘No,’ the bartender answered, drawing the syllable out as he pondered the question. ‘Don’t think so. I think I saw him talking to a woman, if only for a minute or so. I’ve an idea they went out together. They usually do!’

      Pieter was making notes. ‘What did this woman look like?’

      ‘Sorry,’ Frank replied, ‘I really couldn’t say. Blonde hair, maybe? But it gets real smoky as the evening wears on. And of course Ms. Faruk turns the lights down low. Sometimes it’s hard to keep a track of who’s who.’ He winked. ‘Besides, I’m told not to stare.’

      ‘She didn’t order a drink?’ Tanja enquired.

      ‘I don’t think so. It’s mostly the men who buy the drinks round here.’ He lowered his voice a little. ‘Although there are some ladies who prefer a more hands on approach, if you know what I mean.’

      ‘Where do you keep your copies of the bar receipts?’ Tanja asked.

      ‘In here,’ Frank answered. He opened a manila folder, leafing through in dextrous fashion. ‘Ah, here we are,’ he said. ‘I believe this is Mr Ruben’s. He ordered, yes, two Grolsch.’

      ‘May I?’ Pieter asked.

      Frank handed Pieter the folder. He flicked through, noting that the bartender was right: perhaps four-fifths of the names on the receipts were male. All part of the ritual, he supposed. There was certainly no record of a Hester Goldman.

      ‘Do you have a membership roster, something like that?’ Tanja asked. ‘We’ll need to speak to your patrons. Someone must have got a decent view of this woman.’

      ‘There’s nothing like that.’ Sophia said quickly as she moved back over to join them. ‘As I say, we are very discreet. We rely on word-of-mouth. No one has to sign in. There are no membership fees. My only recompense is whatever passes through my till. That and the satisfaction of knowing that I am providing a valuable service, of course.’

      ‘Good for you,’ Tanja said shortly. ‘So you’ve nothing else to tell us?’

      ‘No. I don’t think so. Though obviously I will call you if anything occurs.

      Tanja handed Sophia a card. ‘Thank you, then. Oh, and if you could ask your doorman to call me as soon as he gets in. Jacobus, was it?’

      ‘Yes. I’ll tell him.’

      Tanja strode away, climbing the spiral stairs in a vibration of ringing iron. She hurried through the coffee shop, Pieter struggling to keep up.

      ‘What I can’t understand,’ Tanja suddenly blurted, ‘is the promiscuity.’

      ‘Oh?’ said Pieter carefully.

      Tanja dragged her foot across the dusty pavement. ‘I’ve only had, oh, eight boyfriends in my life. And never more than one at the same time.’

      ‘You think these women sleep around, then?’

      ‘I reckon!’

      They shared a look. Pieter nodded, to express his understanding. Tanja wasn’t like the women who came to the Cougar Club; fine, he got it. But he supposed he could understand her sensitivity, under the circumstances. Janssen had told him all about Tanja and Alex Hoekstra, his similarly youthful predecessor. It really didn’t bother him, though, and even if it had, he would have kept his mouth shut. Tanja’s private life was none of his business.

      They rode in silence back to the station. Pieter was left to reflect that it had actually turned out to be an unsatisfactory interview. They hadn’t really learned anything new. Ruben had probably left with another woman, but they’d suspected that anyway.

      All in all he felt that he’d learned more about Tanja in the last few hours, than Mikael Ruben’s killer.

      *

      Harald Janssen had never really understood his sobriquet. Lucky? It was an insult, really. Professionally speaking, everything he’d achieved had been a product of hard work. And expertise. He was clued-up. He took his statutory two days’ study leave each year, and remembered almost everything he’d learned.

      And in a private sense, well, he’d had no luck at all. Three messy wives, and three messy divorces, and three messy kids who would rather stay with their grisly mothers than hop on a tram and visit him occasionally. And the alimony! He was getting poorer each year.

      He stretched, yawned, and decided that he would take a nap as soon as the opportunity presented itself. The murder had messed up his sleep patterns. He was supposed to have switched over to nights, yet seemed to have been awake for at least a day and a half.

      He was at Mikael Ruben’s apartment on Vossiusstraat, overlooking the pleasant expanse of the Vondelpark. This was Tanja’s case, of course, but she could not be everywhere at once, and he’d been happy to help out with the preliminary legwork. She would want to come here herself soon enough, but someone needed to check it out right away, just in case. Someone trustworthy, with an eye for detail.

      The apartment was impressively large, but Ruben clearly hadn’t been one for furnishings, either soft or hard. Tellingly, there was nothing in the way of cushions, nor candles, nor any of that other crap that women tended to like. If Maria (or whoever) had ever spent the night here, then she certainly hadn’t been allowed to linger. There were no extra toothbrushes in the bathroom, no hidden stash of tampons, no secret hordes of emergency shoes.

      Harald approved of the minimalist approach. The place must be a joy to clean, he considered

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