Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) (25 page)

Tuesday, 11 May
10.29

As Tanya stepped inside blood rushed through her head like a broken fire hydrant.

Is it the same house?
she thought.
It can’t be.

‘The property you’ve got in your window, the one on Johan Kernstraat. When did that come up for sale?’

‘Only a couple of days ago,’ said de Kok. ‘You interested?’

Tanya didn’t know what to say. ‘I …’

‘If you are, now’s a great time to look,’ she said. ‘The owner’s emigrating, so it’s been priced for a quick sale. I can set up an appointment today if you like?’ The estate agent’s killer instinct came into play, her hand reaching for the phone. ‘Hell, I can take you there now if you want?’

‘Emigrating?’

‘Yeah, Thailand I think he said. Must have got a job there or something. Though it does all seem a bit last minute; he’s actually leaving tomorrow morning – 7 a.m. flight, I think he said. He was asking me for the name of a cab firm to take him to the airport first thing.’

‘What’s the name of the firm?’

De Kok’s face showed a touch of suspicion.

‘Uhhm, I’m not sure I—’

Tanya gave her the look.

De Kok told her.

As Tanya turned to leave her legs felt twice as long as
usual and weirdly unstable. Her hands were sweating badly, slipping when she gripped the metal door handle.

Emigrating
, she thought.
To Thailand.

‘You okay?’

She glanced up and saw Kees, a cigarette in his mouth, the lighter poised to strike.

‘I … It’s …’

He’s emigrating, the fucker’s emigrating
,
to Thailand.

Where he’d be able to carry on doing what he did to kids. Where she wouldn’t be able to reach him.

She felt Kees’ hand on her arm; she shook it off.

‘Seriously, what’s up?’

‘Nothing,’ she said, not looking at him, her mind a desperate, scrabbling animal. She took a deep breath, two. ‘Really, it’s nothing. Just tired. And this whole thing with Floortje being held … it’s … Let’s get going.’

They picked up a car from the station. Kees took the keys, but Tanya made him hand them over, she didn’t want to be sitting there doing nothing, allowing her brain to go over what she’d just learned. Even though there wasn’t much to go over, she either had to act or let it go for ever.

And she wasn’t sure she could let it go.

The roads leaving the city centre were clearer than those entering it, but she still had to drive slowly as visibility wasn’t great. Once they’d left the city behind them, the fog started to thin out, the odd building morphing out of the greyness – a windmill stuck in a field, a grain silo looming high.

‘So what was that back there?’ asked Kees as they turned off the small road they’d been following for the last
ten minutes on to a tiny track, the surface nothing more than a lunar mass of mud, peaks and troughs.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You looked kind of spooked. This thing with Jaap’s kid getting to you?’

Tanya shifted down and spun the wheel to the left to avoid a deep pothole. The car rocked like a boat side on to a wave. Further on, the track veered off to the left. She killed the lights and pulled to a stop.

‘I think we’d better go on foot.’

Kees peered out the window.

‘Really? That mud looks knee-deep.’

He wasn’t far off, as Tanya discovered when she stepped out of the car. They made their way down the track and after a few minutes caught a glimpse of the first building on the list, emerging from the fog ahead of them.

They both stopped, suddenly aware of how quiet it was.

‘I’m guessing it’d be too dangerous to just storm the place,’ said Kees after a few moments.

‘If you skirt round there –’ Tanya pointed to the right of the building, where a broken fence led off into the murk ‘– I’ll take the front.’

She watched as Kees squelched off, impossible to stop the noise of footsteps in the gloopy mud.

Is this where she’s been held?
she thought as she moved forward, pulling out her gun.

The building was maybe twelve metres long, clapboard wood a dull silver grey, with a corrugated-iron roof splotched with clumps of some plant which was gradually colonizing the surface. She could smell the earth, mud, and also something else.

Cigarette smoke.

She stopped dead. Kees smoked, but even he’d not be stupid enough to light up now. At least she hoped not.

There were no windows, the building had clearly been built to house agricultural vehicles, at least judging by the spare parts dotted around outside; an axle with only a single wheel attached, loose piles of rugged-gripped tractor tyres spilled on to the ground, and cans of motor oil quietly rusting away in the gloom. It all looked like it hadn’t been touched for years.

The only entrance was a large double door, big enough to fit a tractor through, right in the middle, and as she got closer she could see one of them had been opened recently, an arc sweeping out in the mud like a fan.

Someone’s here
, she thought.

She gripped her weapon as the door began to open.

Tuesday, 11 May
11.16

The journey had been hell.

Jaap and Saskia had sat, unable to say anything, unable to even look at each other. He knew the fear he’d seen on Saskia’s face when they caught the train at Centraal station was mirrored on his own.

Fog had obscured the windows, and there were times when Jaap had wondered if they were even moving.

But now they were getting out of a cab at ICTY and Jaap could feel all the pent-up agitation starting to break loose and fuel his movements.

He’d been thinking about Floortje, about how scared she must be. But then he’d wondered if that would be the case. She was young, just over a year old, and she’d either be crying or asleep. She couldn’t possibly know what was going on.

But somehow he was sure she’d have sensed something was wrong.

‘So how are we going to play this?’ asked Saskia, the first time she’d spoken since they’d boarded the train in Amsterdam.

They were walking around the raised pool towards the main entrance, weird metal sculptures rising out of the water into the fog, both their steps hurried, unable to hold back. It felt to Jaap like they were front runners in a race, each jostling for position.

‘You can probably sign me in, put me down as a legal assistant or something.’

‘A legal assistant with a gun? I take it you’re carrying? They’ve got airport-style security on because of the trial.’

‘Shit,’ said Jaap. He’d not thought about that.

I can’t let this get to me
, he thought.
No more stupid mistakes.

As they reached the entrance a voice called out Saskia’s name from behind them.

‘Oh no …’ Saskia whispered before turning.

The man emerging from the gloom was tall, almost as tall as Jaap. His suit was sharp, enough to cut through any defendant’s feeble lies. Jaap had never met him, but he guessed this was Saskia’s boss. He’d always thought Saskia had talked a bit too enthusiastically about him, now he maybe started to understand why.

‘I need to speak to you,’ he said as he reached them, eyeing Jaap. ‘My office in five minutes?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ said Saskia. ‘I’ll come right up.’

‘Ronald Timmermans,’ said the man when it was obvious Saskia wasn’t going to make introductions. He extended his hand; Jaap reluctantly took it.

‘Inspector Jaap Rykel,’ he replied as they shook.

This caused a raised eyebrow.

‘Oh?’ he said looking between Jaap and Saskia. ‘So you’re Floortje’s father? How is she?’

Ronald didn’t look like a man who cared about other people’s babies, but he gave a good impression. He did however have the air of being highly competent, someone who could get things done. For a split second Jaap felt like telling him everything, unburdening himself, having
someone tell him it was going to be all right. But Saskia answered before the impulse carried through to action.

‘She’s … she’s fine. A bit cranky this morning. That’s why Jaap’s here, to help me out while the trial’s on.’

‘Sounds like a good plan,’ said Ronald. ‘Because we’ve got to make sure Matkovic goes down today. And I think we can. Some new stuff’s come up and …’ His hand reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a mobile. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, holding the screen away from him as if he were long-sighted. ‘Make that eight minutes?’

Saskia nodded and they watched as Ronald strode through the entrance, phone jammed to his ear.

‘New stuff …?’

Saskia shrugged. ‘Guess that’s what he’s going to tell me about.’

‘I need to talk to Isovic while you do that.’

Saskia signed him in, the woman at the security desk mistyping his surname on the badge which she slipped into a credit card-sized plastic folder and handed to him.

Jaap turned his gun over at security and let Saskia find out where Isovic was being held. She talked to the guard and got Jaap into the room before she headed off to find Ronald.

Jaap could tell she wanted to stay, but they both needed to know what new stuff her boss was talking about, and how it might affect their plan.

Not that we really have one
, thought Jaap as he pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

It was small, a bed, a desk with no chair, a sink and a wall-mounted TV being the only furniture. Jaap had read criticisms of the ICTY which had surfaced in the media a
few years ago; the inmates were kept in too cosy an environment, the sentences, when handed down, were too lenient.

And he’d seen starker cells, that was for sure.

But he knew that it wasn’t going to change, Matkovic’s trial was to be one of the last before the ICTY was wound up, its mission finished.

Which would mean Saskia would be out of a job.

Not that she’d care much if they lost Floortje.

On the bed a man lay on his back, feet hanging off the end. He raised his head to look at Jaap then lowered it again, apparently uninterested.

A single strip light blared down from the ceiling.

Jaap walked the few steps over to the bed, shoes squeaking on the polished blue floor. The air was still and felt like it had been breathed too many times already.

‘I already say. I decide not to testify. That is my right.’

Jaap knew he was right, and that the ICTY was taking a big risk by even holding Isovic here; it had no legal grounds for detaining him. But the prosecutors were gambling on the fact that Isovic had no legal councel.

‘Fine,’ said Jaap. ‘I’m not interested in that.’

Isovic turned his head to look at him.

‘I need to talk to you about someone. Someone I think you might know.’

‘Who?’

‘Goran Nikolic.’

The response was acute, a spasm rippling across Isovic’s face.

‘So you know him,’ prompted Jaap after a few moments of silence.

‘I don’t know him,’ said Isovic, his voice tight. ‘I don’t know this person.’

‘Did you know he was here in the Netherlands?’ said Jaap stepping closer, trying to put pressure on him.

‘No. Are they putting him on trial too?’

Jaap was watching him closely; he was sure Isovic was lying.

‘He’s not in custody, no.’

‘Then I don’t able to help you.’

‘Nikolic is trying to get Matkovic off, and you’re helping him.’

The movement was so swift Jaap was only able to half block the elbow which flew up at him. It still glanced off his cheekbone, just above the burn. Jaap shoved his weight forward, grabbing Isovic’s arm and twisting it behind his back as he forced him sideways on to the bed.

‘I not help that piece of shit,’ hissed Isovic, his jaw clenched with pain.

‘No? So why not testify? It looks to me like you’re working with Nikolic to get Matkovic off. Which means you know where he is.’

He pulled out a photo with his free hand and shoved it in Isovic’s face, forcing his arm further up his back at the same moment. Just to help him concentrate, get him focused.

‘See her?’ he said, bending closer, whispering in Isovic’s ear. He didn’t want the guard overhearing anything. He didn’t want the guard seeing what he was doing either, but that couldn’t be helped. ‘That’s my daughter, and Nikolic has got her hostage. He’s going to kill her if Matkovic isn’t
released today. So I want you to tell me everything you know about him—’

‘Jaap.’

Saskia was in the doorway, the guard looking over her shoulder.

‘We need to talk,’ she said. ‘Now.’

Tuesday, 11 May
11.23

Tanya had skirted round the building to where she’d sent Kees.

She found him behind a rusted oil drum lopsidedly sinking into the mud. From what she could see there was no rear entrance.

She crouched down beside him, no longer caring about the dirt, her trousers filthy.

Filthy bitch
, she thought.

What Staal always called her after he’d finished doing his thing.

She was still reeling from the news he was leaving the country. She needed to get to him before he did; she needed to tell him what he’d done to her, make him understand the pain he’d caused.

‘There’s someone in there,’ she whispered, trying to cut out the voice in her head.

‘You saw them?’ he whispered back, his face close but turned towards the building. He had more stubble than the other night. His cheeks had been smooth then; the friction burns were elsewhere on her body.

‘Just a glimpse – he came out to go to the toilet. He had his back to me so I couldn’t work out if it’s him or not.’

‘Hair colour the same?’

‘He had a hat on, one of those knitted ones.’

Kees looked around, then caught her eye.

‘Guess we should ask Jaap, it’s his kid.’

Tanya thought for a moment. There was an inherent risk in storming the place, bad things tended to happen when guns were drawn, and she didn’t want to be responsible for a disaster.

The kidnapper had given Jaap until 9 p.m. to get Matkovic released. She checked the time. Just over nine hours from now.

‘You’re right. Get out of earshot and call him. I’ll wait back at the front – join me there.’

Kees made his way off into the fog, and Tanya skirted back to the front. There was no movement, and she couldn’t hear anything. Floortje had a pair of lungs on her and wasn’t usually shy of using them, something Tanya had found out whenever it was Jaap’s turn to look after her.

She listened for a moment, but the fog was swallowing all sound.

As she waited for Kees she found herself thinking about Floortje, wondering if it was her who’d come between Jaap and herself.

Certainly they’d not had sex as much recently, their schedules rarely aligning, and often the baby disturbing them when they did. Jaap had seemed less interested, or was it simply that he was exhausted, trying to cope with the situation he found himself in?

And, the question she’d kind of been dodging for a while, did she really want to have the responsibility, even if it was part time, of being a mother to another woman’s baby? How could she with all she’d been through still not resolved?

The sex with Kees on Sunday night had been urgent, intense.

She’d only managed to get one trouser leg off before he’d ripped her panties to one side and shoved her against the wall, pushing himself inside her.

It was different to the sex she had with Jaap. He was gentler, less hurried.

But, and she had to admit this, it’d been more exciting with Kees. The intensity of it, the sheer exhilaration of being taken.

The kind of rough treatment she’d grown accustomed to from Staal.

The thought pummelled her stomach.

She bent over and threw up in the mud, a pool of yellow bile in a sea of brown.

Behind her she could hear the squelch of Kees’ approaching feet. He squatted down beside her.

‘I can’t get hold of him. He’s not answering his phone and no one at the station knows … Jesus, that you?’

‘Yeah, I … I wasn’t feeling too well.’

‘What the fuck did you eat?’ said Kees. ‘That colour? I don’t think that’s too good …’

‘Let’s just forget it for a moment. What should we do?’

Tanya watched him opening and closing his hand, like he was milking an udder.

‘I say we go in,’ he finally said.

Tanya looked around; the fog was thick as ever. The place was eerily quiet – no birds, no traffic and no baby crying. If Floortje was inside she might get hurt, or worse.

But if she’s not
, she thought,
we need to get on to the other addresses and find her.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it.’

They made their way to the door as quietly as they
could, placing each foot down slowly, mud sucking at their shoes like a hungry predator. They got in position, Tanya by the door and Kees a few feet back, gun outstretched.

On a silent three, counted down on Tanya’s fingers, she flung the door open, and Kees jumped forward, shouting, ‘Police.’

Tanya rushed in after him, eyes adjusting to the bright light inside. Scanning quickly she saw the top of the hat poking above a hay bale at one end. There didn’t look like there was anyone else.

The space wasn’t empty though, a series of gigantic canvases lined up against a wall. Lights like those used for TV shows were rigged up to a series of batteries, and shone on to the pictures.

Each one had the same image, but painted in different colours. Tanya couldn’t work out what it was meant to be.

Kees had spotted the hat and was advancing. Tanya followed, knowing already that this was a waste of time. They got the man out from behind the bales. He was about mid-forties, with a large tangled beard on a gaunt face.

Kees frisked him and came up with a paintbrush.

‘You need to be careful with this,’ he said holding it up to the man. ‘Looks like you’re pretty dangerous with it.’

‘I just paint,’ he said, accepting it back, his eyes darting between them, shoulders heading for his ears.

‘I can see that,’ said Kees as Tanya looked at the nearest painting again, realizing what the image was supposed to represent. ‘So tell me. When did you get into painting pussy?’