The Midas Murders (23 page)

Hannelore gently massaged his “stomach muscles.”

“Don't say that. The people of Bruges will never forget what you did for their city.”

“Crap.”

“A bet?”

Van In took her hand. “You know the wager,” he said with a lecherous grin.

“It's a deal, but I choose the position.”

She grabbed the remote and zapped to the local TV station. News bulletins on the half hour. Van In tried to stop her.

“They're still talking about you, I'm certain of it,” she stubbornly insisted.

“Give it a rest, Hanne. The whole business is twenty-four hours old.”

“Okay, you choose the position,” he conceded with a snigger.

Van In let go of her hand and eased his head deep into the cushion.

A commercial break.

“I've been thinking about the Michelangelo,” she said.

Van In listened with half an ear.

“Don't you think it's strange that no one seems to be interested in checking out Frenkel's story?”

“Who wants to know the truth at this stage of the game?” Van In sighed.

“Every year, millions of tourists flock to see Michelangelo's
David
in the Uffizi Palace.”

“You mean the
copy
of Michelangelo's
David
,” she corrected. “The real thing's in a museum nearby.”

“Precisely,” Van In nodded. “And no one is interested.”

“God almighty,” she groaned.

“Is something wrong?”

“Jesus H. Christ.”

Van In sat up straight and Hannelore gulped at her champagne.

“The city of Bruges is reeling today at the discovery of a horrifying double murder.” The newsreader did her best to present the information as serenely as she could. “The judicial police are at a complete loss. The renowned industrialist Georges Vandekerckhove was found dead this afternoon in his villa in Middelkerke. The victim had been tied to his bed.” They showed a photo of the villa. “An hour later, they found the remains of Investigating Magistrate Joris Creytens.” The newsreader gulped. “Both men died in horrendous circumstances. The perverted killer garroted his victims and then stuffed a gold chain in their mouths.”

Van In grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. “Jesus H. Christ. Who would have thought?”

“Commissioner Croos of the judicial police has denied any connection between the murders and the recent bomb attack. Commissioner Van In was unavailable for comment.”

“That's on your conscience, Pieter,” she said coolly. “You let the killer go free.”

“Can I help it if the scum kill each other? Vandekerckhove and Creytens were responsible for Frenkel's murder, don't forget. And who knows what else they had to answer for.”

Hannelore shrugged her shoulders. He was right, of course. Any judge would have acquitted the two men for lack of evidence.

“But don't worry,” said Van In. “Before we withdrew into our little nest, an international arrest warrant was issued for Scaglione. That loser has nowhere to go, and if the skin Timperman found under Fiedle's fingernail fits his DNA profile, then we've totally got him by the balls.”

Van In threw his arms around her. She put down her glass, closed her eyes, and let him have his way.

“Let's do it missionary style,” he said with a wink.

Now wasn't the moment to tell her that he had invented the police report about Vandekerckhove and the hit-and-run on Scaglione's mother. Versavel had banged out the whole thing on his old typewriter and Scaglione had walked right into it. The Belfort had been saved and Hannelore still loved him. What more could a man want?

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