As I hit the A9 again I find out. Apparently the dog likes to bark at cars as we pass, and as I tend not to be a slow driver there are a lot of cars to bark at. Carice had said not to let him get away with anything I didn’t want him to do, and this barking is driving me insane. Not to mention the very real threat of permanent hearing loss. So I try out my best No!, which only results in him barking more. It worked for Carice, but clearly I’m missing something. This is not good.

I try Jansen again. This time his phone’s on and he answers.

‘Back yet?’

‘Yes, sir, just walking into the station right now. What’s that noise?’

‘It’s a pet cat.’

‘I didn’t know they barked, sir.’

‘Neither did I. Maybe I should take it to a vet. Listen, I’ve got something for you. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in half an hour.’

Halfway through the journey, just as we’re pulling into Amsterdam, the dog gives up looking out of the window and curls up on the seat. His ribs expand, then he lets out a massive sigh.

I might have just saved a life, but does that make up for my mistake?

Because from what I can see in Wilders’ notebook, the odds that I did are starting to look overwhelming. A mistake that has had deadly consequences and could have led directly to the death of Marianne Kleine.

Disturbance in the Force

‘That’s not allowed in here,’ the desk sergeant tells me as I’m trying to sign in.

‘He’s a highly trained dog,’ I tell him. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah? So why’s he peeing on that chair?’

I turn to see the dog cock-legged. He swings his head round. From the way he’s holding his mouth, teeth visible, I swear he’s grinning.

‘I dunno. I don’t know anything about dogs.’

Jansen saves the day and this time we go to the canteen, leaving the desk sergeant muttering that the last time he checked his contract it didn’t say anything about mopping up dog piss.

‘What’s this about, sir?’

‘I’m not going to tell you unless you stop calling me “sir”.’

‘Okay, s—’

‘There, not too hard is it?’

Once I’ve taken him through everything he gets his phone out.

Five minutes later we’re in the incident room upstairs and I’m telling the story again, this time to Vermeer. The dog takes a liking to her instantly, rubbing against her leg and nuzzling her hand. She pushes him away.

‘So Robert Huisman’s alibi could be false?’

‘It was never corroborated properly; doesn’t actually mean it is false. But given how Marianne Kleine died it’s starting to look like a very strong possibility.’

‘You liked him for it at the time?’