‘So,’ he says, tapping a closed file on his desk like he’s sending out Morse code, ‘I asked for a report from your therapist, and although she’s not one hundred per cent keen for you to be back in action she did mention that you are being appropriately medicated?’

I think of the rainbow of pills swirling round and round the white porcelain before disappearing forever, maybe to be gobbled up by some daring, or just plain hungry, fish. I hope they’re better for them than they were for me. Otherwise they’ll be floating around in a daze with shit dribbling out their asses. I can picture it now, each squirt propelling them forward into another location. Those fish must be bewildered …

‘Did I say something funny?’

Quick snap back to reality.

‘Er, no. I am being appropriately medicated so I think I’ll be fine,’ I tell him, suddenly paranoid he can smell cannabis on me. I use it so much I’ve noticed it sometimes comes out in my sweat, a deep herbal odour which is pretty much unmistakable. I wonder if that means I should cut back a little. Then I think of what happened at the prison.

‘You think you’ll be fine,’ Beving is saying, nodding his head gently whilst continuing to stare with his freaky eyes.

‘I’ll be fine. Really.’

He takes a few more moments as if to emphasize the gravity of the whole situation before speaking again.

‘There’s one thing I’d like to discuss with you before I consider allowing you back on. Whilst you’re on this case I need you to report directly to me, is that understood?’

So that’s what all this has been about. I knew it had all felt way too easy.

‘Not to Inspector Vermeer?’ I ask in my best puzzled way.

‘You will of course be reporting to Inspector Vermeer on a day-to-day basis, yes. But you will also report to me.’

I’m getting a significant look. Very significant. Even a dullard would get his message; he wants me to spy on her. The question is, why? Is Vermeer plotting to take his job? Or is he just paranoid and wants to be prepared? She’s smart, much smarter than he is, and also ambitious. Beving has every right to be worried.

‘Is that understood?’

It seems like I don’t have a choice.

Back at the houseboat I go through Hank’s notes again, this time focusing not on Huisman but Akkerman. I find what I’d missed the first time, on page forty-three in the margin. An address is scrawled followed by the name ‘Akkerman’ and a question mark.