It’s far from sexy. A single bare bulb hangs from the ceiling. Along one wall is an assortment of bondage gear. On the bed is a man, ankles bound, wrists tied above his head to the metal bed frame. He’s lying on his side so that the fat Asian woman sat on a wooden chair next to the bed, dressed only in panties and a bra, can slowly jerk him off whilst reaching over and giving him the odd whip. Pink lines in pale, hairy flesh. Like I said, it’s far from sexy.

‘Jansen was talking about a sad handjob,’ I say, and the man jumps.

‘I’d say this is a classic example.’

We walk round so the man can see us. I pull out my phone and snap a photo despite his verbal protests. The fat Asian woman doesn’t seem to get the situation; she’s just carrying on, not bothered by the audience as if the world’s a bewildering nonsense to her anyway. Which it must be to anyone whose primary mode of employment is the use of her hand to rub a man’s cock whilst the other whips their backside. This was probably not a profession mentioned in those well-meaning career advice lectures you had at school. Mind you, nowadays you probably need a degree even for this.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘Police,’ answers Vermeer, ‘and assuming you’re Bastiaan Polman we need to ask you a few questions. And, you, stop that and get out.’

The woman stops.

‘This is legal, so I don’t have anything to say. And who told you to stop? Carry on.’

She starts up again, her expression neutral, like it’s all the same to her.

‘Get out,’ Vermeer tells the woman.

She stops again and stands up.

‘Sit down,’ Polman tells her before directing himself at me. ‘I’m not talking to anyone until I’ve come.’

He’s on coke; you can see it in his eyes, and from the aggression and false bravado.

The woman’s caught between authorities.

‘Just go,’ I say to her.

She makes her decision and starts to leave.

‘Hey, come back,’ he yells. ‘Come back and finish –’

Last night I lost my boat, and my dog died a horrible death. Today I’m standing in a brothel where the man lying on the bed in front of me potentially has some information that I need to know. Only he is refusing to speak until he’s been jerked off by someone. I grab the whip off her as she walks past me and crack it hard across his buttocks.

‘That’s police brutality,’ he gasps once the scream dies down in his throat.

‘You’ll have a hard time proving that.’

I show him the photo I’d taken.

‘Wife like to see this?’

He shrugs.