Rosa

designs.”

Taubmann was still trying to process the badge. “Inspector?”

“Yes. You’ve been so helpful in the past. I hope that’s all right?”

Taubmann struggled to find an answer. “Questions about lace?”

“Yes.” Hoffner needed to move this along. “I know you have an appointment tonight, but this shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

Taubmann’s nervousness turned to shock. “How do you know about my appointment?” he said tensely.

Hoffner raised a hand. “I don’t,” he said in his most pacifying tone. “I merely assumed. There was a note at your counter. You were closing early.”

Taubmann’s relief was immediate. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. The note. I–It’s a dinner for my mother. Once a year. We celebrate her birthday. I always leave a few minutes early. Saves an enormous amount of time back here. You can’t imagine. Half an hour at least.”

It amused Hoffner to see how much information the innocent were willing to volunteer. “Of course,” he said. “How nice for you. But could I steal just a few minutes of your time?”

Taubmann was again running through the last half-minute in his head. “You still want the gloves from Bruges, yes?” The salesman was returning.

Hoffner smiled. “Of course.”

“Good.” Taubmann was recovering beautifully. “That’s good. And this is. .?”

Hoffner turned to Fichte. “My partner. Detective Fichte. Herr Taubmann.”

Fichte offered a quick nod.

“Oh, yes,” said Taubmann. “I trust your doctor’s visit was a success?”

Naturally, Taubmann would have remembered that. Fichte nodded again, with a forced smile.

“Very good,” said Taubmann. He was slightly less efficient out of his perfect suit. He seemed aware of it himself as he motioned for Hoffner to take a seat. Hoffner did so, and pulled out the pages from van Acker’s files.

“If you can,” said Hoffner, “I’d like to know what these are.”

Still not sure what was going on, Taubmann took the sheets. “All right,” he said tentatively. He brought the pages up to his face. As with the gloves, his expression changed instantly. His head began to dart from row to row as he studied the sketches with great intensity. After nearly two minutes he said, “This is marvelous work. Really. Not another aunt, is it, mein Herr?”

“Another. .?” Hoffner remembered his first lie. “No. Not another aunt.”

Taubmann nodded, his eyes still fixed on the sketches. “No, I wouldn’t imagine something this unusual as a gift.”

“Unusual?” said Hoffner.

Taubmann looked up. “A point tude. It’s exceptionally rare. It applies to only a handful of meshes.”

“I see,” said Hoffner.

Gazing at the drawings again, Taubmann said, “Am I right in guessing that you want to know if we can make pieces from them?”

Hoffner found it oddly charming how everything for Herr Taubmann revolved around the sale of lace. A detective had just invaded his changing room, with mysterious sheets of paper, and all Taubmann saw was an order for unusual gloves. The man was perfect. Hoffner could ask him anything without wondering if Taubmann might see beyond the question. It made it all very safe.

“Once again,” said Hoffner, “you’ve guessed correctly.”

Taubmann’s smile was only slightly self-congratulatory. “Thank you, mein Herr, but I’m not quite clear why it’s so. . pressing.” He was doing his best to be accommodating. “After all, I will be in tomorrow morning.”

“Yes.”

“Not that I’m not keen on the sale,” Taubmann said eagerly. “But. . you understand.”

“Of course,” said Hoffner, easing himself back into character. “It’s just that I came across it-this. . point tude, as you say-quite by accident, and I’m simply fascinated by it.” Hoffner decided to lead the man. “Much the way you are, I suspect?” He saw Taubmann begin to waver. “Just two minutes, Herr Taubmann. You’ll allow me that brief imposition, won’t you?”

Taubmann stared uncertainly until, with a long exhalation, he nodded.

“Wonderful,” said Hoffner. “Is it some kind of blueprint for different meshes?”

“Some kind of-oh, I see what you mean. Well, yes and no. I suppose one could call them blueprints, but they’re more variations on each design.”

“Variations?” Hoffner had figured that out for himself back at the Alex. “But each row looks identical. I thought it might be some sort of exercise?”

Taubmann’s smile returned. “To the untrained eye, perhaps, mein Herr. But a point tude is not meant for the untrained eye. It comes from the French. ‘Point study.’ Of course, the term is inaccurate. A better way to describe it would be ‘flow study,’ or perhaps ‘path study.’ Even those don’t capture the art one finds in these.”

Hoffner had been right. It was the way in which Wouters had drawn them that differentiated each sketch. “I don’t understand,” he said.

Taubmann invited Hoffner to bend over the page more closely. “Identical in design, yes, but not in the way they are drawn.” Taubmann leaned in to illustrate as he spoke. “Each of these drawings begins at a different point on the mesh. The needle, or in this case the pen, then follows the path of the design using very specific directional markers that tell the artist when to loop back, when to bring the thread under or over, so forth and so on. Those shifts in movement occur at the picots, or knots, throughout the design.” Taubmann sat up. “The point of origin determines the movement of the needle throughout the entire mesh. Change the point of origin, and the design-even though seemingly identical-is nonetheless subtly and significantly altered.”

Hoffner nodded. He had been listening with only half an ear since Taubmann had mentioned the words “directional markers.” It suddenly struck him how close he had been to unmasking the design, all along. He had always understood it best through movement, in the ebb and flow of the city, and here it was, that very movement reflected in the twists and turns of the needle. It was not enough to take the little pins in his map and search for the pattern. One had to understand the flow of the design. That was the key to the placement.

More than that, the design itself told the “artist” where to go, which meant that the design, in some way, knew where its next crucial change in direction would be. In other words, all Hoffner needed to do was to find the point of origin for the diameter-cut design, and he would be able to follow its flow to Wouters’s next dumping site. At least that was the theory.

“So, if you have the point of origin,” said Hoffner, “you know which direction the needle will always move, and which major knots along the way it will hit.”

“Precisely,” said Taubmann. He was now enjoying himself. “But it gets even better. Most lacemakers believe that these kinds of rare designs also have an optimal point of origin-that is, a singular point of entry that will create the ideal mesh.” Taubmann once again had Hoffner’s full attention. “That’s why there are so many versions of the same design in each row. The artist is looking for the ideal mesh. Or, rather, he is waiting for the ideal mesh to reveal itself. In a way, the point tude turns a mesh into a living, breathing thing, with the key to its own perfection hidden within it. Remarkable, wouldn’t you say? That’s why they spend so much time on these points tudes. Or at least why they used to. These days, machines churn out the designs with no care for optimal mesh. Shame, really.”

An ideal mesh, thought Hoffner. Living and breathing. Of course. He remembered van Acker’s first interview with Wouters: It took time to find the ideal. It was perfect. In Wouters’s twisted mind, the diameter-cut-originated at its optimal point-was actually breathing life into his victims.

Taubmann picked up the pages. “In this particular study, the artist achieves the ideal mesh always on the seventh sketch. That’s a bit odd, I suppose, but it does make for a very nice symmetry.” He extended one of the pages to Hoffner. “I’m sure you can see the difference in the last ones in each of the rows. They’re slightly more- well, perfect.”