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designated for agricultural purposes, if you get my drift?”
    Van In didn’t understand. Vermast took a surreptitious look at the kitchen door, filled a couple of glasses with cognac, and hid the bottle where he had found it.
    â€œAccording to the letter of the law, we aren’t allowed to extend the building more than thirty percent,” said Vermast eagerly, tossing back his cognac in a single gulp. “But I don’t have to explain the law to you, do I, Commissioner?”
    Van In sipped carefully at his glass. He had to admit that the cognac tasted pretty good.
    â€œWith the money we saved on the purchase of the house, we can now afford a luxury or two. I managed to pick up a batch of Burgundian antique floor tiles last week. Not cheap but perfect for the living room. Another cognac?”
    Van In emptied his glass, a bad move after three months of enforced abstinence. The stuff burned in his stomach, but that wasn’t reason enough to refuse another glass. “Just a small one.” He couldn’t say no.
    Vermast tiptoed back to the dresser like a naughty schoolboy and refilled the glasses.
    â€œThe remote-controlled gate must come in handy too,” Van In observed in passing. The noise of the juicer in the kitchen finally stopped. Leen must have made a gallon of carrot juice.
    â€œNot really my thing, Commissioner. I’m not into gadgets. The remote was installed by the previous owner.”
    â€œA modern farmer, no doubt?”
    Vermast shook his head, tossed back his glass, and looked at Van In with imploring eyes. Van In was forced to follow his host’s example. Vermast snatched his guest’s glass and returned both to the dresser unwashed.
    â€œThe place used to be owned by a nonprofit organization.” Now that the glasses were safely back in the cupboard, Vermast seemed more at ease with himself. “Leen knows more about it than I do. Some kind of charity, I think.”
    At that moment Tine stormed into the living room with a huge glass of carrot juice in her hand. “Look what Mommy made for me,” she yelled in triumph. The girl threw herself onto the sofa whooping with delight and managed to spill a third of the juice on Van In’s freshly washed jeans.
    â€œTine, for goodness’ sake,” said Vermast, his tone mildly reproving. He jumped to his feet and gave her a symbolic little smack. The wretch burst into an uncontrollable fit of tears, attracting her mother’s immediate attention.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” she asked.
    Vermast explained what had happened. He knew exactly what his wife would do. First comfort Tine, then fetch a towel.
    â€œDon’t worry, Commissioner. Carrot juice doesn’t stain.”
    Leen got to her knees and dried Van In’s jeans without the least embarrassment. Not an unpleasant experience. He noticed from his new vantage point that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Good thing Hannelore wasn’t around.
    â€œHelping Our Own, it was called, for people in need. I think Benedict was on the board.”
    â€œBenedict?”
    â€œBenedict Vervoort, the real estate agent who arranged the sale of the house. If I’m not mistaken, they used to organize weekend camps here for scouts and the like.”
    Leen was so thorough that Van In had a hard time controlling himself.
    â€œAny idea why the charity wanted to get rid of the place?”
    â€œAccording to Benedict, they found something bigger. They had grown over the years and urgently needed more space.”
    Growing was the last thing Van In wanted to think about. “I guess that’s dry enough, Mrs. Vermast.” He did his best not to groan.
    â€œAre you sure?” she asked, still concerned.

3
    B enedict Vervoort ruled the roost at a modest real estate agency in the center of Waardamme. A neon sign above the door and display window covered the entire breadth of the facade. Van In read the sign: vervoort services . The