Wolf Angel, Mark Hobson [best free ebook reader for pc .txt] 📗

had quietly told him, before moving away to serve another customer. Pieter smiling.

Their first introduction.

He stayed to have another beer. He told himself it was because of the hot summer weather and his long, tiring day at the station, but he knew it was really because he wanted her to serve him again just so their little encounter could happen again. And he’d found him asking himself what the heck? Aren’t you a little old to become besotted with the new girl behind the bar? But then he’d glanced down towards where she was standing by the till and caught her peeking at him from the corner of her eye, and he had given a little laugh and she had given a little laugh and everything was good.

So from then on Pieter had popped in once or twice a week, especially after his divorce finally came through, usually in the evenings when he knew she’d be here, and although they’d never dated or anything and only ever saw each other here in the bar, he was sure that each time he walked through the entrance her face would light up when she saw him arrive. It was a cool and lovely friendship, both of them really enjoying each other’s company, for he soon discovered after breaking through her natural shyness she was quite possibly the sweetest person he’d ever known.

                                                        The Newcastle Bar

Sitting here now, at a little after one in the morning and coming from the horror of the murder scene, he was in dire need of hearing her soft voice and seeing her little gestures, the touch of her fingers on his hand as she talked freely, bringing him up to speed on her day.

At the moment she was busy with a large group of backpackers who had put in a big order, and she was rushed off her feet pouring a glass of this and a glass of that, and so she glanced down towards him and pulled a face and raised her eyebrows and whispered sorry.

While he waited he watched the soccer on the TV above the bar, vaguely listening to two drunken Irishmen trying to pluck up the courage to go and see one of the girls in the windows next door.

He was pretty sure that, apart from Lotte, nobody who frequented the bar knew he was a cop, not even the bar owner, a fat bloke called Bart. He preferred it that way. Not because he liked to be incognito, surreptitiously listening in to people’s conversations, constantly on the lookout for any collars he could feel. No, when he called in for a drink and a chat, he was strictly off-duty, and didn’t care less for the low-key illegal activity that might be playing out around him. Short of actually witnessing a murder Pieter was more than happy to turn a blind eye to the pub’s varied patrons and their comings and goings.

Lotte eventually broke away from the other end of the bar and sashayed towards him mischievously.

“Hey”

“Hey” he smiled back, the weariness in his body temporarily lifting.

“The usual?”

“Best make it a large one”

Lotte stuck out her bottom lip. “That kind of day?”

“Aren’t they always?”

She poured his beer, looking up at him through her blonde fringe. “I heard there was something bad going on over behind the church. Half the place cordoned off.”

“Yep I just came from there.” He sipped at his drink, sighing as the cold liquid hit the spot.

“There’s all kinds of rumours going around. A shooting, or possibly a tourist getting stabbed. Very gory they say.”

“News travels fast”

“But then Bart, he told me he was heading down Sint Annenstraat on his way here, and there was all kinds of chaos in the next street over, shouting and stuff, so he cut through to have a look, and he said this guy, who he thought was one of the pimps, he was puking up all over the place, and so Bart says it must be one of the girls.” Lotte looked at him closely. “Is it one of the girls?” She shuddered at the thought.

“Ah, you know what Bart’s like, full of crap most of the time”

Lotte didn’t seem to hear him. She was just shaking her head and saying “poor thing” to herself.

Over near the door the two Irish blokes were having a whispered conversation and counting out their euro notes. Then one of them slipped away, sliding around the door with his collar turned up. His buddy returned to his seat, had a sip from his glass, and then continued tallying up his money. Pieter turned back to Lotte.

“Do you think it’s the same person who killed that girl a few years ago?” she was saying. “The police never caught anyone for that. What was she called?”

“Berti. But I don’t think so. That was a good few years ago now, and her killer will be long gone. He was probably on a plane at Schiphol before her body was even discovered.”

“So it is another girl then?” She looked at him earnestly.

Pieter couldn’t help but smile, for he knew her concern was genuine. “Have you ever considered switching careers?” he joked.

Lotte grinned back. “And miss working here? In this classy establishment? Serving all of these sweet people living on the fringes of society?”

“Present company excepted,” Pieter pointed out.

“I didn’t say that.” With a wink, Lotte scooted off to see to another customer.

Pieter took a long sip of beer, which helped to banish thoughts of the murder scene and further settled his head. He knew from experience that the next few days would be full-on unless they made an early arrest, and so this quick visit to catch up with Lotte was akin to the calm before the storm, a last piece of normality before the work began in earnest tomorrow.

He