Marijke emerged blinking into the daylight of the police station car park. She’d reached the point where she’d scream if she didn’t get some fresh air. It felt like weeks since she’d breathed anything that hadn’t already been through twenty other pairs of lungs. She shook her hands from the wrists, then rotated her shoulders. Intellectually, she knew they were making progress, but emotionally she felt mired in a bog of paperwork and electronic communications. The sheer volume of the material that was coming in meant she could scarcely stay up to speed, never mind have the time to process it and make considered decisions. Added to that, she’d had to feed into the investigation the suggestions that Tony had made, as if they came from her alone. All morning she’d been firing off actions for the rest of the team to get on with till she’d lost track of what she’d asked for and what was still to be done. And any minute now, Maartens would swan in and demand an update.

She was leaning against the wall feeling sorry for herself when one of the civilian clerks walked out of the police station looking tentative. He peered around him and, when his eyes lit on her, smiled and headed towards her. ‘You’re Brigadier van Hasselt, right?’

Marijke nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘I’m Daan Claessens? I process the traffic tickets?’ He had the irritating habit of making every statement sound like a question.

‘Pleased to meet you, Daan,’ she said wearily.

‘Only, I was in the canteen this morning? And we were sitting with some of your detectives, and they were talking about the de Groot murder and the other killings? And they said you’d told them to look at all the CCTV film from the traffic cameras on the day of the murder? To try and spot a Golf with German plates?’

‘That’s right. It’s a line of inquiry we’re pursuing.’

‘So, I thought it might be worth looking at traffic tickets?’ He stood waiting for encouragement.

‘Yes?’ She was too weary to manage more than polite interest.

‘So I went back and checked? And I found this –’ With a flourish, he produced a sheet of paper from the folder he was carrying. He handed it over with the pride of a dog delivering a very slobbery stick.