Free Black Widow by Isadora Bryan Page B

herself than a fatty. The pervasive atmosphere of any gymnasium was one of resentment and desperation.
    He looked disconsolately at the biscuits, wondering if there might be anything in this anti-fat pill he’d heard so much about.
    Or maybe he could simply send for Tanja. Ten minutes in her strenuous company was the equivalent of going for a ten mile run, Harald Janssen argued. Not that
he
would know anything about that sort of thing.
    Well, slimming aid or otherwise, Anders needed to speak to Tanja. He was still feeling a little dazed from the fallout of her recent meltdown. He couldn’t let it happen again.
    He opened his door. ‘Tanja!’ he called out, half hoping that she was out of the office.
    A hard little shape detached itself from the softer fuzz of rubber plants and monitors. She seemed as trim as ever, Wever noted sourly.
    He’d known Tanja, what, twenty-two years? Through her husband first, but later they’d stayed close. And in that time she’d always frustrated him intensely. Surprised and occasionally delighted him with some unexpected act of kindness, yes, but frustration was the main thing. She could be rude, snappy, and dismissive of the chain of command. She doubtless had a persecution complex. And yet he
still
worried about her. It was the main reason, in fact, he’d invested so much time in selecting her new partner. Young Kissin had many qualities, not the least of which was an imposing physical presence. He also had one of the highest recorded clean-kill percentages at the Academy firing range. He would keep Tanja safe if anyone could.
    Wever was unashamedly old-fashioned in that regard. Pulling a trigger required no special skill, but aiming did, and the simple truth was that women weren’t very good at it. Take their gun away, and things were even worse. He remembered the first time Tanja had been hurt in the course of her work, when she’d been set upon by the suspected arsonist she’d been trailing. It was soon after she’d lost Anton and her daughter, and her mind was probably elsewhere. He’d ripped the gun from her hand before she could get off a shot, then proceeded to beat her senseless. He’d left her for dead.
    Wever smiled grimly, as he considered the arsonist’s fate. Being burnt alive in one of his own fires was too good for him.
    Tanja entered his office, coffee in hand. She still had that commemorative Janis Joplin mug, chipped and faded now, yet she wouldn’t drink out of anything else. And they said
he
was set in his ways! She was smiling, probably for his benefit. She wanted him to think that everything was going smoothly. He really hoped it was.
    ‘Any luck?’ he asked.
    ‘Well, not as such,’ she answered. ‘We
think
Ruben left the bar with an older, blonde-haired woman, but we’ve yet to confirm it.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘The barman was a bit vague,’ Tanja explained.
    ‘No doorman?’
    ‘Yes,’ Tanja replied. ‘I’ve left a message for him to call me. But he hasn’t done so yet. I’ve tried ringing the bar owner to find out why, but no answer. It’s still a bit early for people like that, I suppose.’
    Wever grunted, and glanced at the brief summary of the witness statements which sat on his desk. No one save the Asian night clerk had seen Ruben and Hester Goldberg arrive. And the girl had no recollection of seeing the woman leave. But her statement, tenuous as it was, tended to confirm that Tanja was on the right track. The main details of the woman being middle-aged, and blonde, were the same in each case.
    ‘This club sounds like a fascinating place,’ Wever said. ‘I must visit.’
    ‘Trust me, Anders, you wouldn’t be welcome. Not unless Ms Faruk has a few octogenarians stashed away in the cellar.’
    ‘This Sophia, then. Tell me about her.’
    Tanja shrugged. ‘Blonde-haired. Fifty-ish, maybe. A little bit guarded.’
    ‘You think we should run a check?’
    ‘Probably,’ Tanja replied. ‘Although she claims she was elsewhere when Ruben