The G File Read Online Free

Somewhere deep down inside him, of course, a voice was whispering somewhat pitifully that ten beers a day wasn’t a deal that was beyond discussion. But what the hell, he thought. Everything is relative apart from death and the anger of a fat woman. So what?
    He had read that last thought somewhere. Quite a long time ago, in the days when he could remember what he had read in books.
    He belched, and stubbed out the last cigarette of the day. Did what was necessary in the bathroom in just over a minute, then wriggled his way into his unmade bed. His pillow smelt vaguely of something unpleasant – unwashed hair perhaps, or sadness, or something of that sort. Turning it over didn’t help matters.
    He set the alarm clock for half past six, and switched off the light.
    Linden? he thought. If I book a room in a hotel, at least I won’t have to sleep in dirty sheets for a few nights.
    Five minutes later Maarten Baudewijn Verlangen was snoring, with his mouth open wide.

3
     
    Belle rang next morning just as he was coming out of the shower. As usual, the very sound of her voice set something alight in his chest. A spark of paternal pride.
    Apart from that, the call did not give him much cause to be cheerful. They had more or less agreed to meet at the weekend. To spend a day together. Possibly two. He had been looking forward to it – in the grimly reserved way he ever dared to look forward to things nowadays: but she had now been invited along on a boat trip out to the islands instead. So if he didn’t mind . . . ?
    He didn’t mind. Who was he to begrudge a seventeen-year-old daughter he loved more than anything else in the world the opportunity of going on a boat trip with like-minded friends – instead of having to trudge around with an overweight, prematurely grey-haired and frequently drunk old fart of a father? God forbid.
    ‘Are you sure?’ she wondered. ‘You’re sure you won’t be upset? Maybe we can meet up next weekend?’
    ‘Quite sure,’ he assured her. And he claimed that strictly speaking, next weekend would be better for him as well. He had rather a lot of work to get through at present.
    Maybe she believed him. She wasn’t all that old yet.
    She sent him a kiss down the line, then hung up. He swallowed to remove a small lump from his throat, and blinked away a trace of dampness from his eyes. Went down to the corner shop to buy the
Allgemejne
. Have your breakfast and read the paper, you big softie! he told himself.
    And that is exactly what he did.
    He was at Aldemarckt in Linden by a few minutes past nine, and a quarter of an hour later he had found his way to Kammerweg. He parked diagonally opposite Villa Zefyr, wound down the side window and settled down to wait.
    Linden was not much more than a small provincial town – round about twenty or thirty thousand people. A few small industries. Quite a well-known brewery, a church from the early thirteenth century, and housing estates that mainly sprang up after the war – little family houses and occasional blocks of flats, within easy commuting distance of Maardam. He recalled having met a girl from Linden when he was a teenager: she was cool and pretty, but he had never dared kiss her. She was called Margarita. He wondered what had become of her.
    But there wasn’t much more to Linden than that. The sluggish little beck Megel – no doubt also cool and pretty, and if he remembered rightly a tributary of the River Maar – meandered its way through the town and then over the plains to the north-west. To the south of the beck was a ridge, and that was the location of Kammerweg – a good four kilometres from the centre of Linden with a town hall, a police station, a square, and all the trimmings of civilized living. Plus that thirteenth-century church.
    And a brewery – he began to feel thirsty.
    Verlangen sighed, put on his dark glasses although the sun had not yet succeeded in breaking through the greyish-white clouds, and lit a cigarette. Gazed