Free The Midas Murders by Pieter Aspe

hands together.
    â€œYou’ve had your fun, Vanmaele.”
    Leo grinned like a runaway chimpanzee. “Don’t panic, Pieter. I’ll take care of the cognac,” he assured him.
    â€œJust the coffee for me,” Versavel shouted to the athletic barkeeper’s chiseled back.
    â€œCookie with that, or fudge?”
    Ronald stopped for a second, but even Leo didn’t laugh at the tasteless allusion.
    â€œMake it a cappuccino,” said Versavel, ever the sport.
    They found a table by the window. The bomb squad still had plenty to keep them busy. There wasn’t a war on, so there was no need to rush.
    Was Ronald trying to redeem himself, or was he always so generous? The ample snifters of cognac almost sloshed over the rim, and the aroma of the cappuccino was close to authentic.
    â€œSemtex is in fashion,” said Leo. “Lieutenant Grammens heads the bomb squad, and we’re both certain it was Semtex.”
    Leo almost burned his tongue on the coffee.
    â€œA professional job?” asked Van In.
    â€œMaybe,” Leo answered cautiously.
    He tried to soothe his singed tongue with a swig of cognac, which wasn’t exactly smart of him.
    â€œSome water?” Van In asked when he saw the tortured expression on Vanmaele’s face.
    â€œOr a Duvel?” Versavel sneered.
    A hefty top-loader and a tow truck arrived outside at the same time. Six laborers consulted one another on how to tackle the job. The foreman stared with envy through the window of the Gezelle Inn, but Ronald deliberately ignored him.
    â€œAccording to Lieutenant Grammens, the bomber didn’t set out to destroy the statue. He rolled the explosives into a long sausage and stuffed it between the pedestal and the foot.”
    â€œSo it was professional,” Versavel concluded.
    â€œOr someone who knew absolutely nothing about explosives,” Leo suggested.
    â€œHow much does that thing weigh?”
    â€œNo idea,” said Leo.
    â€œIf the car hadn’t been there, the statue would have smashed to smithereens,” said Van In. “In other words, whether the culprit wanted to destroy the statue or just knock it over is irrelevant. Is there news from the door-to-door?”
    â€œEveryone in the neighborhood heard the bang.” Versavel had checked before they left the station. “Four teams questioned residents within a half-mile radius, but they didn’t come up with much. And not a single eyewitness.”
    â€œMiracles are rare,” Van In sighed.
    â€œBut the bomber carefully timed the explosion,” Versavel continued unperturbed. “At three in the morning, Bruges is about as busy as the top of Mount Everest.”
    â€œ Bruges la Morte ,” said Leo theatrically. “Yesterday somebody snuffs a German and last night some crazy guy blows up Gezelle? Bruges is alive and kicking, if you ask me.”
    â€œHas Croos made any progress in the Fiedle case?” Van In asked, out of the blue.
    â€œI suspect you know more than I do,” Leo grinned.
    Both Van In and Versavel stared at the portly court expert in bewilderment.
    â€œDidn’t Hannelore whisper anything in your ear last night?” said Leo, feigning innocence.
    â€œNot you too, Leo!”
    â€œBut she called me yesterday,” Vanmaele protested. “She insisted on talking to you, so I figured….”
    Versavel buried his nose in his half-empty coffee, his shoulders shuddering from bottled-up laughter. Van In blushed, and Leo stared at the pair in confusion.
    â€œSergeant Versavel just threw away his ticket to the Chippendales,” Van In growled.
    â€œSorry, Pieter, but I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
    â€œNever mind,” said Van In with a wave of the hand. “Ignore Versavel. When the police reports start to pour in later, he’ll be singing a different tune.”
    â€œExcellent image, Commissioner, honestly. But beware of hidden agendas,”