Tracksuit refuses to even look at them. Suddenly Jansen jumps up from his chair, shoots his hand across the table, cups the man’s skull and forces his head forward so his nose is millimetres from the images. Fair to say Jansen’s just switched roles to bad cop.

‘And you see that time stamp?’ he shouts at him. ‘Can you see that? Huh? It fits exactly. Exactly.’

He releases him and sits back as if nothing’s happened, flips further through his file.

‘And the money that was found at your flat …’ Jansen is all calm business now, as if he’s a civil servant rubber-stamping traffic-light legislation. He finds the photo he’s after and slides it across. Rashid and I lean forward, just enough to catch the image of two evidence bags with fat rolls of notes. ‘This money, where did it come from?’

Tracksuit sucks his teeth, but just stares at the wall behind Jansen.

When it’s clear Tracksuit has nothing to say, Jansen exits the room and pops his head into ours.

‘Okay, zero hour. I’ve got to charge or release. But what we’ve got is pretty circumstantial and without something else I’m most likely going to have to release him.’ He gives Rashid an expectant look.

‘If he convicted, do I get money back?’ Rashid asks.

‘That’s hard to say at this stage, but to be honest it will take a while for this to get to court and –’

‘Yes,’ Rashid says, still staring through the mirror. ‘It is him. He is man who assaulted me and stole my coffee machines.’

Rashid seems to have gone from unsure to very sure in a quick space of time. Jansen throws a questioning glance my way. The only answer I can give is a shrug.

‘Okay. We’ll charge him now.’

By the time it’s all wrapped up and I’ve sent Rashid off into the night Jansen suggests we get a drink. Up in the deserted canteen we grab a seat by the window overlooking the intersection. The glass is frosted with condensation and changes colour with the traffic lights just outside.

‘So …’ Jansen says as he blows on his coffee.

The Red Bull hisses as I pull the ring. I take a couple of large gulps. Tastes of chemicals, but they’re always promising wings, and right now I need all the help I can get; flashbacks and a lack of the one thing capable of stopping them, cannabis, is not a good combination. Coming here was a mistake, and I should have left just now with Rashid. But I can’t unsee what I saw.

‘The case you’re working is the Marianne Kleine case?’

Jansen nods and very discreetly checks his watch.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you heard of Lucie Muller?’

‘No, should I have?’

One of the canteen staff drops a tray, and cutlery jangles and clatters to the ground.