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involved.
    “So you know the ways of the world, and that it’s sometimes better not to stir the shit.”
    De Kee started to run his fingers through his hair again. Vera had dyed it only the day before with one or other expensive coloring. He didn’t mind paying for it, nor for the Renault Clio and the apartment in Zeebrugge.
    “I think I understand what you’re trying to say, Commissioner.” Van In felt like a schoolboy, and his teacher was a short, arrogant asshole.
    “I hope you do, Pieter.” He put on his glasses and stared Van In in the eye. De Kee liked to stare people in the eye. He was convinced that it gave him an air of authority.
    “Do we have a deal?”
    Van In moistened his lips.
    “Do I have a choice?” he asked.
    De Kee shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you don’t, Pieter.”
    Van In thought back for a moment to his youth, to the unforgettable sixties, when he had never been forced to compromise. Those were the days. Nowadays he was burdened with alimony payments and a mortgage that was beyond his means.
    De Kee got to his feet and looked out over Beurs Square. He had done what had been asked of him. If Van In screwed up, he could use him as the perfect scapegoat. Deleu’s absence wasn’t that bad after all. De Kee had a sixth sense that helped him steer clear of tricky situations.
    “Shall we take a look at the scene?” he suggested. He checked the enormous clock above the door. It was nine-fifty. “Your colleague will be happy to be relieved of duty.”
    Van In stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and made his way to the door. De Kee picked up the internal phone and dialed the cafeteria.
    “Hello, Gerard. We’re leaving immediately.” De Kee’s voice became thin and nasal and sounded like a slowly turning blender.
    Gerard Vandenbrande was De Kee’s private chauffeur. The chief commissioner had created the function himself the day after the mayor and his elected officials appointed him chief commissioner for life.
    Gerard greeted De Kee and Van In in the prescribed fashion and dutifully held open the passenger door of the black Ford Scorpio. The Scorpio was just short of two years old. Nothing unique: De Kee had a right to a new official car every four years. The Scorpio’s number plate, on the other hand, was unique: DKB-101. “De Kee Bruges,” followed by the national police emergency number. The man’s vanity was boundless.
    “How’s the baby?” asked Van In as he got into the car.
    Gerard’s wife Kaat had given birth to a child with Down syndrome six months earlier. De Kee was aware of the fact but hadn’t gone to the trouble to get his own car out of the garage. Had he done so, Gerard would not have had to call his in-laws at the last minute and have them babysit. Kaat was a nurse and worked two weekend shifts a month.
    Gerard discreetly shrugged his shoulders and took his place behind the wheel, a look of sadness on his face. Van In watched De Kee nod and Gerard stepped gently on the gas pedal.
    The bronze fountain on Zand Square spouted powerful jets of water against a turquoise sky. The water splattered with comforting regularity into the basin. The enormous square was more or less empty, ready to catch the unsuspecting agoraphobe unawares.
    Gerard turned into Zuidzand Street at a snail’s pace. Zuidzand Street ran into Steen Street, a Mecca for Bruges’s spoiled consumers. Degroof had set up business in an unexceptional building, although his collection was exclusive and as a result exorbitantly priced. It was said that Degroof junior designed the collections himself, but Van In knew from a reliable source that the man had a couple of young designers in his employ who were willing to sell him their inspiration and craftsmanship for a pittance.
    A Volkswagen police van with revolving beacons had stationed itself in front of the store. Decoster and Vermeersch weren’t averse to a bit of show now and again.
    “Who’s in charge of the investigation?” Van In asked as