Free The Square of Revenge by Pieter Aspe Page B

Degroof came toward him with a broad smile on his face.
    “Commissaire Van In!” He welcomed him with open arms. “Such a pleasure to see you again,” he said in the mangled accent he reserved for common folk like Van In. Van In shook his dry but limply slippery hand.
    “I didn’t want to bother you any more than necessary yesterday, Mr. Degroof. But I’m sure you understand that I’m duty bound to ask a couple questions. For the records,” he added with a hint of sarcasm.
    “Mais bien sur, I’m completely at your service.” His French accent was equally painful.
    Degroof was wearing high-quality, loose-fitting beige slacks, a white open-neck shirt, a pair of walnut docksides, and no socks. He seemed relaxed and ten years younger than the day before.
    “Shall we take a seat on the terrace, Commissaire?”
    “Of course,” said Van In.
    The Indian was standing immediately behind him and helped him take off his jacket. He was grateful that the room had no mirrors. His jacket was his camouflage.
    The terrace was the same size as the lounge. A pergola with a splashing fountain cooled and refreshed the air. It’ll be hot outside the shade , he thought. The oval impregnated mahogany table was still set for breakfast. Condensation dripped from a bottle of champagne resting in a silver ice bucket. He spotted of a couple of sun beds almost completely concealed by the commanding table.
    Van In was taken aback, to say the least, when he suddenly caught sight of a woman’s head sticking out above the table.
    “Do we have visitors, Guy?” From the tone of her voice, she clearly hadn’t been expecting anyone. She got to her feet and looked Van In up and down, evidently put out.
    “May I introduce my wife Anne-Marie, Commissaire?”
    Van In was frozen to the spot and Degroof’s drivel was instantly transformed into background noise. Anne-Marie was wearing nothing more than a tiny bikini bottom. She walked toward him unashamed. Van In’s eyes were glued to her form for a couple of seconds. He had little alternative. She was now just a few feet away. She had the body of a twenty-year-old girl, shapely everything, tight, tanned skin, an angular jaw line, a straight nose, and big gray eyes.
    “My wife is a former model,” said Degroof with the emphasis on “former.” Her eyes appeared to flicker for a second.
    Van In flushed hot and cold when she shook his hand. She was so close, her breasts touched his shirt.
    “I’m here about, er … yesterday,” he jabbered.
    Anne-Marie could see that Van In was flustered and it seemed to amuse her.
    “You should have told me we were expecting someone, Guy,” she said reprovingly.
    “Mais cherie, I announced it to you.”
    The fact that his wife was almost naked in front of Van In didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. Worse than that: it looked as if he had orchestrated the entire tasteless scene.
    “Perhaps we could use the table, Commissaire,” he said finally after a couple of uncomfortable seconds.
    “As you please.” Van In tried to look the other way.
    “Coffee?”
    Anne-Marie turned and made her way back to the sun bed, deliberately swaying her hips.
    “Or would the Commissaire prefer a glass of champagne?”
    She moved out of eyesight and Van In breathed a sigh of relief.
    “Why not,” he said gratefully. The sweat was streaming down his back, and it wasn’t only because of the sun.
    “You too, ma chère?” Degroof sneered. His wife rolled over, lying on her side now facing the table.
    The Indian draped a spotless napkin around the champagne bottle’s neck and poured three glasses. He served Anne-Marie first, followed by Van In and Degroof. He then withdrew discreetly.
    “Santé, Commissaire.” Degroof raised the glass to his lips and sipped sparingly.
    “Your health.” Van In followed his host’s miserly example. Champagne wasn’t designed to quench the thirst.
    “Surely you’re not here to tell us that the case has been solved,