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clinging on to his trouser leg. Reinhart looked around. Wondered if a woman ought to put in an appearance from somewhere or other before long.
    “Not a bad apartment you have here,” he said. “Is there anywhere we can talk in peace and quiet?”
    “Follow me,” said Wolff, clearing a way through a corridor to a room that evidently served as a library and study. He closed the door and locked it. Invited Reinhart to sit down on one of two armchairs by a low smoking table, and sat down heavily in the other one.
    “Too awful,” he said again. “Have you any idea who might have done it?”
    Reinhart shook his head.
    “Have you?”
    “Not the remotest.”
    “Did you know him well?”
    “Inside out,” said Wolff, holding out a pack of cigarettes. Reinhart took one. “Would you like anything to drink, by the way?”
    “No thank you. Go on.”
    “Well, what can I say? We've worked together for sixteen years. Ever since we started the firm. And we knew each other before that.”
    “Did you mix privately as well?”
    “Do you mean families and so on?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, not really. Not since I met Mette, my new wife, at least. It must be absolutely awful for Ilse. How is she? I've tried to call her …”
    “Shocked,” said Reinhart. “She's still in the hospital.”
    “I understand,” said Wolff, and tried to look diplomatic. Rein-hart waited.
    “She can be a bit nervy,” Wolff explained.
    “I've heard it said, yes,” said Reinhart. “How's the firm going?”
    “So-so. We're keeping going. A good niche, even if it went better in the eighties. But what the hell didn't?”
    He started laughing, then checked himself.
    “Can it have something to do with work?” Reinhart asked. “The firm, I mean?”
    The question was badly formulated, and Wolff didn't understand it.
    “Can the murder of Malik have some connection with your business?” Reinhart spelled it out.
    Wolff shook his head uncomprehendingly.
    “With us? No, how could that be?”
    “What do you think it could be, then? Did he have a mistress? Any dodgy business deals? You knew him better than anybody else.”
    Wolff scratched the back of his head.
    “No,” he said after a while. “Neither of those things. If Malik had been seeing other women I'd have known about it. And I can't imagine him being involved in anything illegal.”
    “So he's a model of virtue, then,” Reinhart established. “How long have you known him, did you say?”
    Wolff tried to work it out.
    “We met for the first time about twenty-five years ago … that was through work as well. We were both with Gündler and Wein, and eventually we pulled out and started up on our own. There were three of us to start with, but one left after six months.”
    “What was his name?”
    “Merrinck. Jan Merrinck.”
    Reinhart made a note.
    “Can you remember if anything unusual has happened recently? If Malik behaved oddly in some way or other?”
    Wolff thought it over.
    “No. No, there hasn't been anything as far as I can recall. I'm sorry, but there doesn't seem to be all that much I can help you with.”
    Reinhart changed tack.
    “What was his marriage like?”
    “Malik's?”
    “Yes.”
    Wolff shrugged.
    “Not all that good. But he hung in there. My first was worse, I reckon. Malik was strong. A confident and reliable man. A bit dry, perhaps. My God, I can't understand who could have done this, Inspector. It must be a madman, don't you think? Some lunatic? Have you got a suspect?”
    Reinhart ignored the question.
    “What time did he leave the office yesterday?”
    “A quarter to five,” answered Wolff without hesitation.
“A
bit earlier than usual as he had to collect his car from a repair shop. I stayed there on my own until half past five.”
    “And he didn't behave unusually in any way?”
    “No. I've said that already.”
    “This Rachel deWiijs, who works for you. What have you to say about her?”
    “Rachel? A treasure. Pure gold, through and through. Without