The Midas Murders by Pieter Aspe Page A

on the mayor’s face.
    â€œIs the letter signed?” Van In continued.
    Carton took off his glasses and handed Van In the sheet of paper.
    â€œTerrorists usually leave a signature,” said Van In after reading the letter. “Call me old-fashioned, but your average bomber doesn’t usually have a laser printer in his arsenal.”
    Moens nodded enthusiastically. So it was true what they said about Van In and his Sherlock nose.
    â€œAnd why the French?”
    Van In held the letter up to the light to check the watermark.
    â€œThis is the work of either a crazy person or a bunch of hot-headed Walloons,” he said flatly.
    The mayor sat down and gaped at him open-mouthed. Carton folded his arms over his belly and leaned backward. “So the watermark is French.”
    Van In folded the letter, making sure not to rub over the paper. “Do you have a plastic bag?” He carefully picked up the envelope by one of its corners.
    Moens jumped to his feet and rummaged around in his desk. “Will a shopping bag do?”
    They could immediately tell where the mayor bought his fish. Van In slipped the letter and the envelope into the bag with the greatest of care.
    â€œI’ll know by tomorrow if there’s a useable fingerprint, at least if the mayor has no objection to my involving the technical boys at the judicial police lab.”
    â€œCan you guarantee the necessary discretion, Van In?” asked Moens, still clearly unsettled.
    â€œLeo Vanmaele is a good friend. I’d even trust him with my love letters,” said Van In nonchalantly.
    Moens refreshed his whiskey and greedily emptied the glass.
    The mayor is scared , Van In thought to himself.
    â€œFine, Commissioner, but on the condition that the contents of the letter are not leaked.”
    Moens shouldn’t have repeated his condition. Van In had the impression he was shaking.
    â€œWhat made you think of Walloons, Commissioner?” asked Carton out of the blue.
    The crafty old dog sensed instinctively that Van In knew more than he wanted to share.
    Van In lit a cigarette, self-assured and without asking permission. He filled his lungs and fired straight ahead.
    â€œEveryone knows that the Walloon community is having a hard time. Advances in federalization are hurting them. They’re afraid the Flemish are going to split social security. That would cost them more than a hundred billion, money they simply don’t have. Belgium must be the only country in the world that never turned its ethnic issues into bloodshed; but if the Flemish stop the flow of money and the Walloons begin to feel the pinch, it wouldn’t surprise me if certain extremists resorted to violence. The letter refers explicitly to Turkey and Egypt, where terrorists have been trying to intimidate tourists. Bruges is the most visited city in Flanders. And why do you think they chose Gezelle as their first target?”
    â€œJesus,” Moens muttered. “Do you think … ?”
    â€œYour analysis is alarming to say the least, Van In,” Carton interrupted. “But I have to admit that such a scenario does sound plausible.”
    Van In relished the compliment. He had invented the entire theory on the spot.
    â€œState Security should have more news for us tomorrow. If there’s an anti-Flemish movement at work, that’s where we need to concentrate our efforts.”
    â€œExcellent idea, Commissioner,” said Moens enthusiastically.
    â€œIn the meantime, I suggest we place the mayor under around-the-clock surveillance.”
    â€œExcellent, Van In.”
    â€œBut there’s one more problem.”
    Carton and Moens were all ears, like children listening to a fairytale.
    â€œDoes it make sense to involve the other police services, or do we prefer to go it alone?”
    Carton flushed hot and cold. Van In was playing with fire.
    â€œI promised the Federal and judicial police that we would cooperate,”