Black Widow. Isadora Bryan
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can’t say.’
Tanja showed her badge. ‘I need to speak to him.’
The girl straightened up. She was quite tall; gravity had yet to drag her down. It would, of course. This thing she had now – it would pass quickly. And then she would have to perfect some other trick, as all women did. Tanja didn’t envy her at all, because the trick was hard to master.
‘You’ll find him across the street, ma’am,’ the desk officer said after a brief pause. ‘There’s a bar –’
‘I know it,’ Tanja said, and she was already on her way out the door.
She ducked behind one of the ugly brick sculptures which fronted the building, to check her reflection in her compact. She didn’t wear much in the way of makeup, but maybe a little more lipstick would be advisable. That done, she adjusted the line of her skirt, undid a button, tweaked the cleft of her cleavage, felt a bit tarty but who cared, then jogged across the road.
It wasn’t much of a bar, but it was convenient. The majority of customers had the look of police officers. Some were still in uniform.
She saw Alex across the bar. He was part of a small group. Two other men, and a woman, gathered around him in a snug alcove.
He saw her, gave a little start, then crossed the floor to join her. She felt his lips brush her cheek.
‘Hi,’ she said coolly, employing all the self-control at her disposal. God, she wanted to kiss him! ‘I hope you don’t mind? I know we are getting together on Saturday – we’re still okay for that, right? – but I was just passing, and thought, well, you know.’
Alex’s smile was gentle. ‘Well, it’s certainly a surprise seeing you here. But a good one!’
‘Yeah?’
‘Of course it is!’
Alex looked at her for a long moment. His grey eyes had that familiar, lighthouse glint which came with each slow blink.
She steeled herself; it needn’t be this complicated.
‘This is Detective Inspector Pino!’ Alex informed the others as he steered her back to the alcove. ‘A good friend of mine! Tanja, say hello to Ricky, Wim and Margarete.’
‘Hi,’ said Tanja. Her tone was light, but her thoughts were heavy. She knew what they were thinking, particularly with Alex in attendance: that she was little more than a middle-aged nympho, who was so obsessed with the notion of energetic sex that she found it impossible to form relationships with men her own age.
But the sad thing was, she would rather they think of her in those terms than as the woman who had let the Butcher of the Bos escape.
A space was made for her, opposite Alex. She lowered herself into it. She rested her hands on the table, and listened as the others continued with a story about a local blind man, who had got himself into trouble with a length of cheese wire.
‘Anyway,’ Ricky elaborated, ‘he’d just wrapped the wire about his cock –’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Margarete.
‘You’d have to ask him that,’ Ricky answered with a shrug. ‘So, there he is, happily exploring the limits of his pain threshold, or whatever, when – boom! – he has a fit. Yeah, he’s an epileptic, too. Did I mention that part?’
‘Ouch,’ Alex winced. ‘I think we can guess the rest!’
‘That’s not the worst bit,’ Ricky drawled. ‘No, the worst bit is – get this – his guide dog ate it.’
‘Christ!’ Margarete exclaimed. ‘Really?’
‘Honest,’ Ricky affirmed. ‘I know the paramedic. Seems that not only is the poor guy blind, and epileptic – and into weird forms of self-abuse – but he’s also a strict veggie. Won’t allow meat in his house. Not even for his dog. So when the mutt sees the treat on the floor, she can’t help herself.’
And so it continued. The conversation alternated between the ridiculous, and the deadly serious, the tone hardly changing from one topic to the next. This was how police officers dealt with the pressures of work, generally. You either made light of it, or you went mad. Or joined Interpol.
Tanja listened without contributing, just happy to be a part of Alex’s circle. This was the sort of thing that couples did.
‘So how’s your day been?’ Alex asked her suddenly.
‘Oh, busy,’ Tanja answered haltingly, aware that the others had broken off their conversation; that they were waiting for her to say something contentious. ‘They’ve given me a new partner.’
‘It was bound to happen eventually,’ Alex said. ‘Is he any good?’
‘He’s not awful,’ she answered, as she struggled to divine a note of jealousy in Alex’s voice. But there was nothing there; his expression was quite neutral.
‘High praise indeed!’ he said.
Tanja nodded, but she suddenly felt drained. Disconcertingly so. She stood. ‘I should probably be off,’ she said.
‘So soon?’ Ricky protested.
‘I’m sure we’ll meet again,’ Tanja responded.
Alex had stood with her. She motioned him apart a little. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of days, then?’
Alex nodded. ‘Looking forward to it! Do you want me to see you to your car?’
‘No, I’ll be fine.’
She waited for a few moments outside, but it seemed he’d taken her at her word.
She drove back to her flat, going over each aspect of the evening in her head. She didn’t think she had made any progress. But neither, to be fair, had she lost any ground.
She was greeted at the door by an old ginger cat. Gember peered up at her, his tail twitching to express his irritation at her late arrival.
He made no attempt to head outside, as another cat might. He’d been run over twice in his youth, and seemed to have decided that no mouse was worth the ignominy of spending another week at the vet’s. Either that or he was agoraphobic. It was possible: Tanja had heard that, human beings aside, cats were more prone to mental instability than any other animal.
She was hungry now. Padding into the kitchen, she tugged open the fridge, hoping that something edible might have appeared. But no, there was nothing save a portion of pickled nieuwe haring, which she kept as a treat for Gember. She mashed the herring onto a plate (he had sore gums, nowadays, and struggled to chew), then sat back to watch him eat. She’d had him nearly fifteen years. He’d been in her life longer than anyone save her mother. She loved him, and just between the two of them, had no problem admitting it.
Tanja took the photo from the dresser. Ophelie sitting on her shoulders, the Eiffel Tower perfectly to scale in the background. Anton had taken it on the final day of their holiday in 1990, and his thumb was slightly obscuring the corner of the picture. It hardly mattered.
The first time Alex had come to hers, she’d taken down all the photos of her former husband, but not the ones of her daughter. And Alex seemed interested in her past, his questions sensitive rather than prying. He knew instinctively just where to tread.
‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ she said, placing the photo back.
Afterwards, she sipped a glass of wine while Gember sat on her lap, purring imperiously as she stroked his soft little head. He claimed this affection by right. And Tanja gave it willingly, because she knew that he would never throw it back at her.
‘So what do you reckon, Gember?’ she asked. ‘With regards to Alex, I mean? You remember Alex? Of course you do. You like him. He feeds you spiced cheese when he thinks I’m not watching. So, am I being foolish, wanting him back? After all, it got pretty tricky,