Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) (15 page)

Sunday, 9 May
13.44

Jaap was standing just outside the station, leaning back into the car Pieter had just dropped him off in. Petrol fumes wafted up. Pieter was heading over to the hospital, to see how Hank was doing.

‘Let me know when you get something,’ said Jaap.

They’d worked out the guy they’d arrested only spoke Romanian and were trying to find an interpreter so they could question him.

‘Will do,’ said Pieter.

‘And Rutte, where do I find him?’

‘He’s got a place in De Wallen, one of those live sex show things. That’s his cover, we’re pretty sure he launders his drug money through that. We watched him for a bit – he’s there every night. We asked if we could bug the place, but they turned us down.’

‘Why?’

‘Not enough bugs available, apparently.’

As Jaap wrote down the name of Rutte’s sex joint he marvelled that he lived in a country where a business specializing in live sex shows could legitimately be a front for an illegal drugs operation.

‘Okay, keep me up to date with Hank.’

‘Always the fucking hero, getting himself shot like that,’ said Pieter with a laugh.

But Jaap could tell he was scared under the bravado.

He closed the door and watched as the car lurched away.

Hank was in a coma. The ambulance crew had been grim-faced, and got him out of there as quickly as they could. He tried to remember if Hank had children. Jaap knew that people who went into comas often didn’t come back out.

Or if they did they weren’t ever the same.

Before Floortje’s birth Jaap had not really thought about the danger his job involved, it was just part of it and he dealt with each situation as it came. But Floortje had changed all that, and he found he was starting to become acutely aware of the possibilities. He could be killed, and then Floortje would be without a father.

She’d have to grow up without me
, he thought.

Death.

The inevitable fact of life.

His time in Kyoto had been an attempt to come to terms with it, with the fact that he’d killed two people, and for a while he thought he’d succeeded.

But now he had a daughter everything had changed.

His phone started ringing. He was finding he’d developed a Pavlovian response to it. Each time it went off his stomach clenched, expecting it to be news of another killing.

But when he looked it was Saskia. She’d sent him a text earlier, asking him if he was going to be free to look after Floortje tomorrow and he’d yet to answer.

He could choose between green or red.

He chose red.

The station was quiet, and he went to his desk and sat down.

Things were starting to take shape. Most investigations were simple. The killer was known to the victim, and the average time it took to identify and arrest them was less than twelve hours. Jaap knew from experience that if after the first twelve hours the killer was still not obvious then the case was going to be one of two types. The first could stretch out for days, weeks and months before through either luck or sheer dogged determination the police got a result. The second type were the ones which were never going to be solved.

These were rare, and Jaap had only had one of those in his career.

He wasn’t keen for another.

Jaap pulled up Rutte’s file again and hit print on the photo. Rutte’s face slid out of the printer, twice. He also looked up businesses in the red light district and finally found the one Pieter had mentioned. Jaap grabbed the sheets and made his way towards the incident room, taking them with him. He stood in front of the whiteboard he’d marked up earlier, trying to work out what he was missing.

If Teeven and the other victim were part of Rutte’s drug operation, why were they getting killed?

Something pinged in his head. The newspaper article he’d skimmed earlier about a corporate takeover bid.

Is that what’s going on here?
he thought as a uniform stuck his head round the door.
Is this an underworld takeover? Someone muscling in on the cannabis growing business?

‘Call for you, line three.’

‘Who is it?’

‘I think she said her name was Sasha?’

‘Saskia?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one.’

‘Tell her you couldn’t find me,’ he said.

He found some tape and stuck one of the photos on to the whiteboard.

As he stared at it he wondered if he was looking at the killer.

Tanya’s theory broadly fitted what they knew so far, with one major exception; it did nothing to explain why Teeven and the first victim had been watching him. And Tanya.

His phone rang again.

Okay, okay
, he thought as he reached for it, expecting it to be Saskia.

But it turned out to be an unknown number.

‘It’s Bart van Rijn,’ said the voice when he answered. ‘I got a message saying you want to know something about one of our ex-inmates?’

‘Martin Teeven. I’m guessing you’ve seen the news?’

‘News? I’m coming off shift over two hours late just because one of our
guests
set the fire alarm off. They know that causes huge hassle for us, that’s why they do it. We’ve had people in to try and make them tamper-proof, but there’s always some fucker who finds a way to trip it again. Anyway,’ he continued, maybe sensing Jaap’s lack of enthusiasm for the topic, ‘how come you wanted to talk about Teeven?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Peacefully in his sleep?’

‘Beheaded.’

‘Oh, I did hear about that. He was one of those? Shit.’
Jaap heard him breathe out slowly. ‘He was hard work and all, but beheaded … I’m not sure anyone deserves that.’

‘Hard work how?’

‘He was one of those who always claimed they were innocent. Most of the people in here face up to what they’ve done, you know? They might not actually feel any regret, but I always think those that deny it are probably the most dangerous. I’ve seen it a few times, the ones that lie to themselves. It can kind of tear their minds apart after a while. Some of them really come to believe they’re innocent, and they get this whole paranoid conspiracy theory thing going on. Which is never good. He used to claim that the cop who put him away had framed him.’

What
, thought Jaap,
if he really was innocent
?
Would that push him over the edge?

He didn’t even want to think about that right now. Because that could be a serious motive for revenge.

‘Was he friendly with anyone on the inside?’

‘I don’t think he was. Kind of a loner. Which again is never a good sign.’

‘Did he ever get any visitors?’

‘You know, I’m pretty sure he did. There was this guy who kept visiting him, like once a week at least. But the thing is, after a while Teeven stopped wanting to see him.’

‘He refused?’

‘Yeah, he told us to tell the guy he wasn’t home. At least he had a sense of humour.’

‘Why did he refuse?’ asked Jaap.

‘I don’t remember. I’m not sure he gave a reason.’

‘Who was the visitor?’

‘Can’t remember that either,’ he said. ‘Listen, I need to get going, I’m—’

‘This is really important. I need you to check the records – whoever it was must have signed in.’

Jaap could hear the man breathe out slowly again.

‘Okay, hang on.’

As he waited he thought about revenge. Teeven had been a small, a tiny, part of Jaap’s job; he’d done the work, got him convicted, then moved on.

Teeven hadn’t.

It looked like all Teeven had done was sit in a jail cell working up his hatred of the man who’d put him away, honing it like a knife.

‘Got it,’ said Bart. ‘The guy who kept visiting him was called Geert Blinker. Mean anything to you?’

Jaap thanked him and hung up.

The name did mean something to him.

Jaap had arrested Blinker several years ago for flashing in Vondelpark.

There’d been reports of a man who’d hide in the bushes by the pond and leap out stark naked whenever a lone woman walked past.

He’d never tried to assault anyone; all of the women had said he seemed more concerned with them looking at his, as one of the victims described it in the official report she filed, piteously small penis.

He’d only been caught when he flashed the wrong woman, a lesbian fitness coach, who’d run at him, chased him through the bushes and pinned him down on the far side until someone answered her calls and dialled the police. Jaap had been closest.

When he’d turned up Blinker was lying there, covered in scratches from the bushes, with only a pair of white trainers on.

He looked up Blinker’s file. Given that he’d been convicted of a sex offence, his current address was listed in the register. He scooped up Rutte’s mugshot off the table and headed for the door.

Sunday, 9 May
18.56

‘Where next?’ asked Kees as they got into the car, following another unsuccessful Coffeeshop visit.

Tanya had been letting Keyes do the talking, observing him, trying to work out if he really was involved in her case.

Kees pulled out into the road in a way which didn’t surprise Tanya, who was pushed back into her seat by the acceleration. An old couple shuffling along the pavement looked up at the engine’s noise.

‘Leidseplein,’ she said, checking the list she’d made earlier.

‘Shit, you should have said.’

‘Maybe you should’ve asked before tearing off,’ she shot back.

He glanced in the rear-view before yanking the handbrake up and skidding the car round. Once they were straight again, Tanya bent forward and picked up the paper which had slid from her lap.

‘And can we go any faster?’ she asked.

Kees didn’t respond.

She looked back at the list; she’d crossed off at least fifteen so far. No one had known any of the men in the photos. Or no one had admitted they had, anyway.

‘So, how’s it going?’ she said, dropping the sheets back on to her lap. ‘In general?’

‘You know,’ he said, settling back into his seat and fiddling with the window button on the door as he steered one-handed. ‘All right.’

She reached out and flipped the radio on.

‘… and it will be tomorrow that Matkovic is finally put on trial. Security has been stepped up here at the ICTY in Den Haag, and prosecutors are expecting—’

Kees clicked the radio off.

The rest of the short journey was devoid of conversation.

They parked up and walked to the Coffeeshop, a large neon sign of a dog smoking a joint drawing in tourists who’d come to Amsterdam with just one thing on their cultural agenda – horticultural bliss.

Tanya’d never seen the attraction; the few times she’d smoked it’d just made her feel sick. And she suddenly remembered one of those times had been with Kees, back when they were together. Briefly.

They’d been sitting on the roof of her block of flats, watching the night sky, when Kees had produced a joint. At first she’d passed, but then on his third or fourth pull had reached out and taken it from his mouth, the paper damp when she put it to her lips.

And it hadn’t just made her sick, it had made her paranoid as well, bringing back her time as a foster child. She seemed to remember that she’d thought Kees had been working with Staal, trying to trap her so he could come back and get her again. She remembered crying, trying to get away from Kees, hitting him when he tried to calm her down.

They’d broken up the next day.

And here she was again, thinking about Staal. She’d been trying not to think about him since her failed attempt to confront him yesterday.

Am I chickening out?
she thought as they stepped into the Coffeeshop.
Am I letting myself become distracted on purpose?

The interior was low lit, and despite the hour, practically full. Groups, mostly men, sat around tables pulling on joints. Some were subdued, staring into space, others more animated, laughing the laugh.

The dull tang of skunk hung heavy in the air, matched by underwater slo-mo bass thudding from the speakers like pumped sludge. Kees went to the guy dishing out joints from behind a long stainless-steel bar and showed him the photos.

‘Seen these?’ he asked without preamble, raising his voice to compete with the music.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ asked the guy. He had a tight T-shirt on, military hair with a lightning strike shaved out on one side. Fat rolled on his neck, and his right lobe held a silver earring. Tanya wasn’t surprised to see it was the shape of a cannabis leaf.

She flashed her badge at him. He looked at it then begrudgingly turned back to the photos Kees was holding out.

‘Can’t say I do,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Should I?’

‘They’d be supply side,’ replied Kees. ‘Not customers.’

‘Not my thing,’ he said. ‘You’d need to speak to Wouter. He deals with that.’

‘He here?’

The man shook his head but didn’t offer anything else.

‘So where can we find him?’ asked Tanya.

‘Probably at the branch up near Centraal,’ he said. ‘But I should warn you, he doesn’t like cops.’

‘You know what?’ said Kees, leaning closer to the man. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting him already.’

Back in the car Tanya was feeling light-headed. She hoped this was going to be the last stop; she wasn’t sure she could take much more smoke. Her clothes smelt of it, and she was starting to think it’d got into her hair as well. She’d insisted on driving this time, but was already regretting it.

‘You remember that time we did this?’ asked Kees suddenly, not turning to look at her.

She just nodded, not wanting to have the conversation. Something wasn’t right with her head, or stomach. The back of her skull, which suddenly felt detached from the rest of her body, found its way to the headrest.

She could smell someone else’s perfume on it, something old-fashioned and heavy; musk, rich spice and flowers. It made her feel even worse.

‘It was the next day you chucked me,’ he said as she pulled to a stop at some lights, tourists swarming across the road in front of them. ‘I always wondered what that was about.’

Tanya didn’t know what to say.

‘Because maybe it would help, you know, clear the air,’ he said, turning to look at her.

Tanya concentrated on driving, feeling her hands gripping the wheel too hard.

Not now
, she thought.
Please can we not have this conversation now.

‘Turn here,’ he said suddenly.

‘Left, right?’ Relieved to be able to say something mundane, something not connected to their old relationship. But she still didn’t manage to keep the irritation out of her voice.

‘Left.’

‘Too late.’

‘Jeez,’ he said, throwing up his arms, his voice full of exasperation.

‘You didn’t give me enough warning!’

‘I could say the same thing, remember?’

‘So what do you want to hear?’ She slammed on the brakes and turned to face him. ‘That I was messed up, unhappy, that I didn’t know where my life was going and that I thought you were kind of an asshole? That when I tried to talk to you you wouldn’t listen? Is that it? Is that going to help clear the air for you?’

Kees stared ahead through the windscreen.

Tanya did the same. She saw a dog sniffing around an overflowing rubbish bin, and watched as a rat darted out from under a crumpled bag on to the tram lines, the dog giving chase.

‘Not really,’ he said after a few moments. ‘No.’

After that they stayed silent until pulling up in front of the Coffeeshop. When Tanya got out of the car her head spun, and she stood for a moment trying to get air into her lungs, hoping it would reach her brain, refresh it, clear it out.

‘Better let me do the talking,’ said Kees as they made their way inside. ‘You seem to have lost your voice.’

Wouter was in, and judging by the look on his face
when they were ushered into his office at the back, his colleague had been right.

He really didn’t like cops.

The room smelt of stale air, but was smoke-free at least.

Tanya was thankful for that. She looked around, clocking the general state of the room. Wouter appeared to use the same filing system Kees did on his desk back at the station.

‘I’m guessing you know why we’re here?’ said Kees, picking up a sheet of paper from one of the piles nearest to him and giving it the once-over before looking back at Wouter.

Tanya could see Wouter didn’t look well. He was totally bald, she hadn’t seen skin tone like that outside of a morgue before, and he didn’t appear to have any eyebrows either. His eyes were bloodshot, and a stubble of red, white-tipped pimples dotted either side of his nose.

He’s like a rabbit demon
, she thought.
An earless, albino rabbit demon.

She pictured him sitting there, chomping on a massive carrot.

The sick feeling had gone now. In fact, she had to admit to herself, she was feeling pretty good.

She found she was stifling a laugh.

‘I got a call saying you were coming, yes,’ said Wouter.

‘Great,’ said Kees. ‘So I don’t need to explain myself, you can tell me what I need to know, and then we can get out of here.’

He pulled out the photos and flipped them over to
Wouter, who picked them up reluctantly and gathered them into a pile. Tanya watched as he looked at each, hearing the swish as he slid the top one off the stack and replaced it on the bottom.

Third photo in he nodded.

‘Yeah, he came here. Trying to sell.’

Tanya took the photo from Wouter, seeing it was Teeven.

For some reason she found this funny and laughed.

‘And did you buy?’ said Kees, ignoring her.

‘Had to. Our regular supplier was having some customer fulfilment issues.’

‘Okay,’ said Kees, collecting up the remaining photos once Wouter had gone through them and shook his head. ‘So who is your regular supplier?’

Wouter scratched one of the pimples. Tanya watched it burst.

Pus oozed, white with a speck of blood.

‘I’m not sure I’m really allowed to say, seeing as—’

‘You’re allowed,’ said Kees. ‘I promise.’

Wouter sighed, took his finger away from his face, inspected it for a moment before wiping it on his sleeve.

‘What the hell, I don’t owe them anything. The normal guy we buy from was in here last week, trying to find out where we were getting our current stock from. He was kind of agitated, said some things which made me happy to have switched supply. And anyway, the new stuff’s cheaper.’

‘Is it the same?’ asked Tanya.

‘Same cultivars, for the most part. The customers haven’t been complaining.’

Tanya and Kees exchanged a look. Tanya realized it was the first time that day.

‘Name?’ said Kees. ‘I want to know his name.’

Wouter sat back in his chair, peered at the ceiling.

Kees thrust a photo of Rutte at him, Wouter glanced down.

Tanya thought she saw him flinch.

‘Well?’ said Kees.

Wouter shrugged.

‘My memory’s bad,’ he said. ‘Must be all the smoke.’