Wolf Angel by Mark Hobson (best e reader for manga .TXT) 📕

pieces together, which isn’t easy as she’s in a complete state and probably has mild hyperthermia to boot. And she’s also still a little drunk. But what we know is that your father, Hansje, decided he wanted to do a spot of fishing and so the pair of them took his boat out there –“

“In the middle of the night?” Pieter cut in sharply.

“Famke says that your father said that was the best time to go, through the night. That’s when they bite the most. The fish. She tried to stop him, or at least that’s what she has told us, but he insisted. And so she tagged along with him. Anyway, they carried on drinking, did a bit of fishing, getting drunker and drunker. The blokes out on the boat,” he nodded at the figures on board dad’s houseboat, “they’ve found a load of empty cans and bottles, enough for them to be pretty sozzled. Anyway, somehow your dad fell or tripped, or maybe the boat was rocked by a heavy swell, and he ended up in the water. Famke jumped in after him and tried to get him out, but it was dark and she couldn’t find him… After that she managed to climb back on board, and rang you…”

“The stupid old fool. After everything he’s gone through, in Bosnia and in and out of rehab, to die like this.”

“I know mate. The post mortem will confirm her story and everything.”

“Just one of those things, eh?” Pieter answered back somewhat unfairly, and then he climbed out of the car and walked over to where his dad’s body lay on the pavement. Beumers caught up with him, and a hush descended amongst the police and rescue people, for they all knew who Pieter was.

Crouching down, he peeled back the edge of the sheet and looked down on his dad’s face. A heaviness seemed to descend on him, crunching him on the inside, pressing his soul down and down.

He stood and walked silently away.

Pieter went straight back home.

The city was just starting to come to life around him but he barely noticed during the drive. A strange tingling sensation was gently vibrating through his body which he knew was the onset of delayed shock, mostly a result of seeing his dad like that and the implications of the whole sorry affair. He also guessed it was partly due to the break-in and subsequent fright it had caused. Oh, and not forgetting his confrontation with Bart. All in all the last few hours had been one long shit-storm of emotions, so much so that he felt physically and mentally exhausted.

Parking in the garage, he locked up and set the alarm and then went back up to the third floor. The house was silent and still and felt empty, but he carried out the most cursory of checks in each room just to be sure the intruder hadn’t paid a second call. He was too weary to fret about it just yet, and to be honest he didn’t care too much one way or the other. For the same reasons, he’d chosen not to mention the break-in to his colleagues. Nothing had been taken or damaged, and he also wanted to think about the incident first as there were aspects to it which he just couldn’t fathom. But now wasn’t the time.

There was no point in going back to bed. He wouldn’t sleep anyway, even though he felt drained. Instead he made himself a strong coffee and sat at the small table in the kitchen. Watching the sunrise through the lace curtain, Pieter went over events.

The tragic passing of his dad, horrible and wretched as it was, nonetheless somehow felt preordained. His life over the last twenty-odd years had been one of steady decline, through a failed marriage and family feuds and booze, everything intertwined and twisted into a mess of bad choices and stupid mistakes, with it all stemming from his time in Bosnia. Pieter had moved heaven and earth to intervene, seeking help wherever he could find it, but all of the programmes and rehab that his dad had gone through – some of it unwillingly – had ultimately come to naught. And deep down inside, Pieter had always known this was how it would end. Not necessarily with his dad dying, but in a failure of his dad’s willpower. All of the time and effort thrown back into Pieter’s face.

He thought back to the previous afternoon and that brief glimpse of his dad and Famke in Leidseplein Square. Wondered whether anything he could have done differently might have made a difference. Instead of driving on to rush to Lotte, perhaps if he’d climbed out of the car? Taken his dad home to get him sobered up? Would he still be alive now? Or would it have merely delayed the inevitable?

Even as he contemplated these things Pieter knew it was a pointless exercise. None of it would change what had happened. Blaming himself for his dad’s own self-destructive personality would only let guilt eat him away inside.

But he still felt empty and hollow to the pit of his stomach.

His thoughts and ruminations were interrupted just then by a call on his phone. He answered it. This time it was Daan Beumers – did he ever sleep? Pieter wondered.

“Hey mate. I’ve been asked by the powers-that-be to tell you not to come in today. Actually, with it been Saturday tomorrow I reckon you should have the whole weekend off. We can handle things here for a few days.”

“Yeah ok Daan. I guess it make’s sense.”

“If there are any major developments with the case I promise I will be straight on the blower to you. We should be getting the results on the British victim sometime today, so I will email you the details, but there’s no need for you to go over it too much. And the same applies to your father. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”

Pieter suddenly felt