The Boarding House Horror

1. Body on Pluvierstraat

My overtaxed brain didn't process the news very sharply. "Body. You want me on it?"

"You."

"But what about the court briefs and the—"

"Get down to the garage. Flip is waiting." The Chief Inspector's grizzled head disappeared from the doorway.

I groaned to myself. The surface of my new desk had already disappeared under paperwork. Who knew Inspectors were so busy? It was too late to reverse my promotion, I supposed. But it wouldn't have mattered if I was still a Sergeant. Providing security at the big Peace Palace trial had eaten half our men. Those of us left at the Municipal Police of The Hague had no choice but to pick up the slack.

I shrugged into my long rain coat and hat. I snatched up my forensic kit and headed for the garage. Flip grunted at me and fell in step as we walked among the cars. The typical Dutchman was slender, but Flip was shaped like a bear. A September bear, not a February bear.

"You got the address, Flip?"

"Ja."

We drove in silence, listening to the whir and clack of the windshield wiper. The brown-gray morning echoed my oppressed mood. I couldn't afford a dead body today. I felt queasy just thinking about it. Furthermore, today was Friday. If I didn't get that brief to the prosecutor's office by quitting time I'd be in boiling water come Monday. I wasn't ready to be an Inspector. I hadn't been ready to be a Sergeant, either.

I sighed long. "I hope it's something simple. A heart attack. Or somebody fell off a ladder."

The hulking Flip sent me a dour look, then returned to squinting through the rain.

I replied to his silence. "You're right. On a day like this, it'll be something complicated. I'm doomed." The car ride continued in silence. I twitched and my leg bounced, but Flip steered with one heavy arm, content with the universe.

Flip spun the wheel and we turned. Beyond rain-clouded windows the Pluvierstraat sign drifted by. Flip hunched forward and peered through the droplet-covered glass. Brakes whined as he pulled to the curb.

The gray curtain of rain dissolved into the outlines of a boarding house. A low stone wall separated the pavement from a small front yard. High walls hemmed in the sides, and back yard, too. From the back yard, a gigantic, ancient oak leaned over the roof of the two-story boarding house like a gnarled old giant.

"Very private, but no canal view," I said. "Cheaper place, then."

Its two stories loomed mossily. Ivy covered carved columns a century old. Most of the windows were original, foggily faceted with diamond-shaped panes glued together with lead. A few modern panes lurked brazenly amongst them, transparent, functional, and out of place. Cables for electricity and telephone arced in, equally alien.

I stepped from the car into the drizzle and gazed at the depressing structure. Inside, earlier this morning, someone had ceased to breathe.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose. My eyes darted here and there until they found a shadow, small and eerie. A black cat blinked green eyes at me from the porch rail.

A shiver ran through me.