A Cold Death In Amsterdam (Lotte Meerman Book 1) - Plot & Excerpts
My desk was a picture of emptiness, naked and exposed like never before. The grain in the wood was visible for the first time in a while. Lines came together and veered apart as if they were attracted and repelled at irregular intervals by magnets at either side of the desk. My papers and files had disappeared. Where yesterday my reports on the Wendy Leeuwenhoek case and my photos had marked out part of our shared office as mine, today my space looked as if it was ready for somebody new to move in. Could they have found out about my father so quickly? Or had they finally found out the truth about Wendy? I traced the lines of the wood grain with a finger and wondered if I was touching my desk for the last time. I hugged my pink folder to my chest with the other hand, afraid to put it down and have it swallowed up as seemed to have happened with everything else I owned. In the shadow of my PC monitor, my pen holder with seven blue biros and a pencil stood alone on the desk like a solitary scarecrow in a field.
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