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blue murder. They’ll be selling Gezelle statues in three pieces next week, mark my words.”
    â€œMayor Moens apparently doesn’t share your opinion,” said Versavel matter-of-factly. “Don’t forget that the business community put him where he is.”
    â€œDid Carton tell you all this?” asked Van In, amused.
    Versavel sipped his coffee, unruffled. He was long used to the commissioner’s sarcasm. “Moens wants a discreet investigation, come what may,” he said resolutely.
    â€œIf they spotted a man-eating shark off the coast of Zeebrugge, he’d still try to keep it under wraps,” Van In scoffed.
    â€œThe politicians are calling it an ‘incident.’ For the time being, at least.”
    Versavel stroked his moustache. Van In was always going to be an awkward customer, he thought to himself.
    â€œHas anyone claimed responsibility?” Van In asked.
    â€œNot so far.”
    â€œEven better,” Van In sighed. He got to his feet, walked to the windowsill, and poured himself a second mug of coffee.
    â€œThey’ll probably pin it on a bunch of schoolkids.”
    Van In sniffed and imitated a tearful voice: “Mommy, I flunked my Dutch exam, so I stuck a bomb under Guido Gezelle.”
    â€œIt might have been vandals,” said Versavel.
    â€œVandals, my ass,” Van In grunted.
    â€œThat’s what the Federal Police are saying, their working hypothesis.”
    â€œDitto Croos, I suppose,” Van In flared up. “Don’t they have enough on their plate with the dead Hun?”
    â€œThe bomb attack is for us, Commissioner. Moens is insisting that we handle the investigation.”
    â€œIs that a fact?”
    Versavel’s words seemed to calm Van In. The sergeant stood at the window and did some abdominal exercises on the sly.
    â€œDid you visit the scene?”
    Versavel turned and shook his head. “Bomb disposal has just arrived. I’m expecting more details any minute.”
    â€œSo why do you think they chose Gezelle?” asked Van In out of the blue. “If I was given the chance to blow up a statue, I’d pick someone else.”
    â€œSurely not Michelangelo’s Madonna ?”
    Van In froze. The photo of the Madonna with the pokeweed in the background had been following him around in his mind since the day before.
    â€œShit. Why didn’t I think of that earlier? Two statues in the same number of days. That can’t be a coincidence.”
    â€œNo such thing, Commissioner.”
    â€œExactly. It’s high time we checked out the scene of the crime.”
    Van In gulped down the remains of his coffee, lurched energetically toward the coat stand, and put on his jacket.
    â€œLet’s go,” he said impatiently.
    As the two descended the stairs, Versavel couldn’t stop himself from teasing his boss a little.
    â€œEverything hunky-dory with the pretty Hannelore?”
    Van In gave him a withering look.
    â€œOr did you have a visit from your elderly auntie from Oostende last night?”
    Van In slowed down and held out a threatening finger. “I happen to know that you go to see the Chippendales of a Thursday,” he said affably. “A little birdie told me where you keep the tickets in your jacket. If I were you, I’d mind my words, Versavel, buddy.”
    â€œSorry, Commissioner. If I’d known you wanted to join me, I’d have ordered two tickets.”
    â€œLaugh. Go ahead,” Van In snapped.
    â€œAt your command, Commissioner.”
    A couple of young junior officers climbing the stairs pretended not to have heard the conversation.
    â€œIs that Van In?” whispered the younger of the two when they had disappeared from view.
    â€œThink so,” the other whispered.
    â€œIs it true that he’s a bit… ?” The younger man tapped his temple with his forefinger.
    â€œSo they say,” said the other timidly.
    â€œAnd