Conversation · Klaasje (Miss Oranje Disco Dancer)

"Look." She greets you, taking a drag. "It's dark outside, the dogs are barking and I'm still here, drinking my coffee -- just like I promised." She smiles faintly.

She did promise she'd be here at night if you don't arrest her... Good girl.

Pff... It's surely an act. Ask questions. Tough ones, preferably.

"Can you tell me more about Lely, the hanged man? My partner needs to hear this."

"Ruby is definitely not at her old crash pad anymore."

"That doesn't surprise me... She's careful. But -- before you ask -- I really have no clue where she could've gone."

"She's in dire straits. Could she have hidden in a place to which she has some kind of emotional attachment?"

"Ruby's certainly passionate, but sentimental -- no, not really... Except maybe about radios -- all kinds of radio technology. So sorry I can't be of any more help to you..."

A cornered animal might seek a hiding place that has some sentimental value.

"Her situation is pretty bad, wherever she is. Maybe she'd hide some place that's meaningful to her?"

"Now that Kim isn't here -- let's talk about Sunday night."

"Can you tell me more about the victim? General information, I mean."

In god's name, wake up!

"Let's get back to those lies you told."

"Lies, I..." She repeats -- then trails off. It's unclear what she intended to say.

Yes! We demand she be punished for deceiving us. We demand her anxiety. We demand her fear.

"I have more questions about the deceased, but I need my partner here before I ask..."

"Sure." She smiles, smoke trailing from the cigarette between her fingers. "Do whatever you need to do."

"I found your buoy. It was empty. Just seawater."

Her eyes widen. "Oh..."

"Did you take the documents?"

He's trying to throw her off with the bluntness of the question.

"No, of course not. As I said, it would have been too risky for me to use those documents anyway -- my employer gave them to me. In truth, I should have destroyed them."

She doesn't seem to be lying -- she's genuinely spooked by their disappearance.

"I'm afraid you may be in danger."

She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "Yes, I am -- regardless of who took the documents."

"It was probably just an accident. I was worried I'd been too careless with the latch. The documents were probably just," she waves her cigarette, "washed away..."

The words washed away sound distant and strange suddenly. Somewhere far away, a dog barks.

"I'll file this under a theft of some kind."

"Thank you, but actually -- now that I think about it -- you mentioned sea water? I was worried I'd been too careless with the latch mechanism... The documents were probably," she waves her cigarette, "just washed away..."

"Perhaps the people who are after you took it."

She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "They couldn't know where I put it. I'm absolutely sure I was not followed. And I've told no one but you..."

"You mentioned sea water? I was worried I'd been too careless with the latch. The documents were probably," she waves her cigarette, "just washed away..."

"My working hypothesis is that there is a cosmic conspiracy of some kind -- and it's out to get us all."

She flashes you a sudden half-smile. "Yes, that must be it. Thank you. I feel better already."

"Now that I think about it -- you mentioned sea water. I was worried I'd been too careless with the latch. The documents were probably," she waves her cigarette, "just washed away..."

"I have this strange feeling that it was an undiscovered cryptid that took your documents."

"Cryptid? Of course. That must be it." She takes a drag of her cigarette, warm amusement in her eyes. "Thank you, I feel better already."

"Did you take the documents?"

"No, of course not. As I said, it would have been too risky for me to use those documents anyway -- my employer gave them to me. In truth, I should have destroyed them."

"We have concluded our autopsy and would like to ask questions about Lely."

"Yes, miss. I hope you don't mind." The lieutenant hands you his notes.

"Let's see. I wrote down the nickname 'Lelystad'." The lieutenant has taken out his notebook. He moves his finger across the page…

...then tears one out and hands it to you. "We have questions that might help solve some gaps in our field autopsy. I'm sure my colleague has a few of his own while I take notes."

"What is your name, miss? For the record."

"Sure." She takes a drag.

"And where are you from?"

"Vredefort, Republic of Oranje."

Wasn't the tattoo on the hanged man an Oranjese Map of the Waterways? The thought begins to form in your head, then dissipates -- something for later.

The victim's ethnicity could have been Oranjese... -- something for later?

"Oranjese lit -- what do you do with it?"

"Nothing. I do nothing with it."

"How do you make money then? Money is very important." (Show her some money.)

"Cool." She looks at the black note in your hand. "I've made more money by just being than I have with Oranjese lit."

"Cool."

"It's not very cool, but what can you do?"

"Being what?"

"Many things. A roller skating instructor, a secretary, Miss Oranje '37." She smiles.

It's the world's most tired smile.

Miss Oranje? Now there is something you should linger on.