Gini made no comment. She was listening to the alarm bells in her head. On something, or more than that? Out of the shadows around Star she could see a word emerging—sociopath.

“Anything else, Fricke? How did they spend their time? They traveled around, but Anneke wouldn’t say where.” She flicked back through her notes. “They listened to music, smoked a little grass… what else?”

There was one other activity that was an obvious addition to that list, and Gini knew she was going to have to ask about it eventually. She waited. Fricke was frowning, trying to think.

“He had this thing about being clean,” she said at last, surprising Gini. “That’s it. Because Anneke was laughing about it. She said when he spent time with the travelers he’d let himself go, but the second they left them, he was a fanatic for washing. He’d take baths, three, four times a day. Shower, go to bed, get up in the middle of the night and shower again. She said that. What else? He read. He read a lot. She mentioned that.”

“Did she say what kind of books?”

“Yes. She said he liked war books. Books about weaponry.”

“Weaponry?” Something cold moved along Gini’s spine. “Fricke—you’re sure? Tarot cards and books on weapons? That doesn’t seem to fit.”

“That’s what she said. She was boasting, telling me how clever he was. Like he had this fantastic memory. He had this book with hundreds of pictures of guns, different kinds of guns, some catalogue thing, and they used to play this game. She’d test him. She’d cover up the name and the details so he could see just the picture, and then he’d identify them. Every single one. And not just that, he knew their—what would you call it?”

“Technical specifications?”

“Yeah—that. Their size, the kind of ammunition they used, how many rounds they could fire in what time. He knew all that. No mistakes. He was word perfect, every time.”

More alarm bells, much louder now. Gini bent over her notebook, anxious lest Fricke read the reaction in her face.

“But he didn’t actually have a gun, Anneke never said that? He just liked looking at pictures of them, right?”

“Oh, no. He didn’t have a gun. It wasn’t serious. Just like a party trick.”

“Fine. Fricke, this is very helpful. It gives me a profile. A shape. And I know Anneke met him in Paris—that’s a strong lead. I have this address book. I’m just wondering… When Anneke was due to meet him here, when he came to Amsterdam for her—she didn’t mention where she was meeting him?”

“No.”

“Suppose she’d been selecting the meeting place, where might she have chosen?”

Fricke deliberated for a few minutes. “The Antica,” she said finally. “It’s a coffee house. They sell grass there. It’s licensed. Anneke used to go there with the boy who broke up with her. It’s cool—it’s got a good atmosphere. She might suggest that. Or she might just suggest they meet on some street.”