In my World Lit course in high school we read a really pulpy crime novel about a narcotics cop in Amsterdam tracking down somebody-or-other, including, but possibly not limited to, the wealthy party girl daughter of some influential, rich American. All I remember is he found her chained and drugged in a basement or a warehouse or something. She might have been hanging by her wrists – she might have been dead.
That’s literally all I can remember about the book. I didn’t finish reading it before we had to hand the books back in and I never went looking for it. Presumably there was a time when I remember the title and the author, but that was ten years ago and I never tracked it down. Part of me has always wanted to finish reading it.