Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) (28 page)

Tuesday, 11 May
16.18

Jaap watched as Isovic walked up the front steps to the building and pressed the buzzer.

The fog had seemed to intensify, absorbing the trees and buildings into its depthless grey mass, digesting them so only parts remained.

He was taking an enormous risk: all Isovic would have to do once inside was duck out the back, and Jaap would have lost him, and his friend. Or he could go inside with him, and be in a room with two killers. Either way, the risk was he’d end up losing Floortje.

It had been a rough year. Normally people had the months of pregnancy to get used to the idea of being a parent, but Jaap had gone from not knowing to knowing with a few short words from Saskia. He’d also had his life saved by Kees, working one of the hardest cases of his life, which had ended with his sister’s death.

For a moment, when Saskia had told him, he’d wondered if it was really true. Then when he looked down at the baby he knew it was. Despite the freshly boiled skin, the wrinkles, the closed eyes and open toothless mouth, he recognized something familiar, something he looked at every morning.

Up ahead Isovic turned round and gave the thumbs up to Jaap.

Minutes later Jaap was sitting in a tiny one-room flat
with Isovic, a man he’d introduced as Krilic sitting on a dark sofa, and a small electric heater, which was doing its thing. An unmade bed took up a third of the room. An old-fashioned TV with a curved screen perched on a side table, and two wooden-framed chairs and a white plastic kettle plugged into the wall completed the ensemble.

Krilic was older than Jaap had expected, with grey hair and bony cheeks, below which shadows hung. He was holding a pea-green mug in both his hands, the surface crackle-glazed, and had a look in his eyes which Jaap had seen many times before.

Jaap had no doubt in his mind now that these two were responsible for the beheadings. Which meant he was in a room with two cold-blooded killers, and no one knew where he was.

‘Your daughter,’ said Krilic, after Jaap had explained what had happened. ‘I might be able to help.’

His Dutch was better than Isovic’s, fluent but with an accent.

The words were what Jaap had wanted to hear.

‘But we need something in return.’

Those less so. Jaap shifted his weight.

‘I got Isovic out, that was the deal I made with him,’ said Jaap, keeping his eyes locked on Krilic. ‘He said you’d be able to help me find my daughter.’

‘Deal’s changed,’ said Krilic, shrugging. ‘I know where Nikolic is, but first you have to do something for me.’

It struck Jaap that whereas Isovic had helped kill for a purpose – revenge – Krilic looked like he’d tipped over into a far scarier reason; he’d grown to love killing.

The window behind Krilic was covered in condensation, drips running in vertical channels.

‘What?’

‘I have to visit Matkovic, in his cell. Alone.’

‘I’ve just busted this guy out of there,’ said Jaap, pointing to Isovic. ‘What makes you think I can get
you
in? Pretty soon they’ll realize I wasn’t being held hostage. I’ve probably got all of my colleagues out looking for me already. So there’s no way I can get you in there.’

Krilic held his gaze for a few moments, then brought the mug to his mouth, still not breaking eye contact.

‘Then there’s no way I can tell you where Nikolic is.’ He took a breathed-in slurp, like the liquid was too hot.

Jaap wondered if he could beat it out of him, but even if he managed to put Isovic out of action before going to work on Krilic, something in the man’s eyes told him he wouldn’t be easy to break.

His muscles must have tightened, or Krilic had read some other sign. He shook his head.

‘That won’t work,’ he said.

Jaap hated violence. He’d realized several years ago that it was this, in part, which had drawn him to being a cop. He needed to make sure it didn’t go unpunished. But now with less than five hours to go until Nikolic killed his daughter he was starting to lose a sense of self.

He nodded his head, forced himself to relax. Krilic smiled.

The movement was quick, so quick that Krilic was taken off guard, the mug smashing against the wall as Jaap slammed his body forward, twisting Krilic’s torso so he
could get him in a full headlock, his face squashed up against the window.

‘Don’t,’ Jaap shouted as Isovic moved behind him. He pulled Krilic, spinning him round and forcing him to his knees.

Isovic was five feet away, but he had stopped, his eyes flicking back and forth between them, trying to read the situation.

Jaap could smell Krilic, damp clothes and fermented sweat, and felt the grease of his skin against his own. He’d made the wrong move, he knew that even as he was going for Krilic. He felt like he was losing control.

‘Where is Nikolic?’

Krilic had his mouth clamped shut, the muscles in his jaws like snakes under his skin.

Jaap raised the arm hooked around his neck, forcing Krilic’s head up and back.

‘Where is he?’ he asked. He found his teeth were locked together, lips pulled taut, making his voice hiss.

Nothing. No movement. No answer.

Stupid
, he thought.
Really, really stupid.

He’d read Krilic right the first time – he was not someone you could break easily – and yet he’d still gone down the road which lead to nowhere. The hexagram had warned of deadlock. He’d not heeded it.

Isovic was still watching them. He’d not moved, and for a moment Jaap saw all three of them staying in position for ever, locked in some stupid battle while the world went on around them.

While Nikolic killed his daughter.

‘Okay,’ he said, forcing himself to talk calmly. ‘I’m going to release you. Then we can talk about this.’

Krilic nodded with what little room he had, and Jaap loosened his grip. Half a second later Krilic sank his teeth into Jaap’s forearm, going for the kill. Jaap kicked out, hitting Krilic’s shin, his mouth opened in a cry, allowing Jaap to break free.

He’d taken his eyes off Isovic. Which, he realized when he glanced back up, was a mistake.

Isovic had moved over to the right, and now had something in his hand.

To Jaap it looked very much like a gun.

Krilic got up, grinned at Jaap, a flash of white teeth coated with blood, then stepped forward. Jaap tried to block the blow, but Krilic saw his move and switched up.

Pain exploded on Jaap’s cheekbone and nose.

Then, as the room whirlpooled, everything went dark and the pain stopped.

Tuesday, 11 May
17.41

Saskia felt like a passenger in her own body.

She shifted in her seat. Or her body did and she observed it; observed the way the muscles, tendons and bone all worked together, thousands of minute, delicate interactions which she normally wasn’t aware of.

Ronald had been on fire today, presenting all the evidence they had in such a way that left little doubt as to Matkovic’s guilt. Isovic’s absence had brought something out in him, a kind of deep primeval power with which he was holding the court spellbound.

And there’d been a time recently when she’d started to think about him; he wasn’t with anyone and neither was she.

But all that was gone now, those thoughts seeming so facile, pointless.

Her daughter was gone.

Nothing else mattered.

So she sat there, watched as all the work she’d put in over the last few months, the careful accumulation of evidence, the complicated web of information she’d spun to make sure the man sitting less than ten metres away from her would get what he deserved, gradually inched her closer to her worst fear.

It was hours since Jaap had left, and she’d not heard anything. She’d felt her phone buzz in her pocket a million
times, but each time she’d checked had found she must have imagined it, like the pain amputees often felt in missing limbs.

And now it was all over, the judge about to deliver the verdict.

Suddenly there was no air in the room. She felt panicked and looked around, but nobody else seemed to have noticed, all seemingly breathing as normal.

‘The court,’ said the judge, having gone through the legal preamble, ‘finds Bojan Matkovic to be guilty of the charges laid against him. Sentencing will occur at a later date.’

Tuesday, 11 May
19.24

Kees didn’t know if it had been intentional on Tanya’s part or not, but when they’d divided the addresses they were going to check he’d got one very close to the address she’d given him earlier on the scrap of paper.

It would only take a matter of minutes to get there.

He was at a junction; he could go left or right.

He knew he should be moving on to the next property, looking for Floortje, but he found his hands spinning the wheel. Right.

Two minutes later he stopped the car, parked and walked to the address on J. F. van Hengelstraat. The north side of the street consisted of a row of brick houses with large windows on the second and third floors.

The one he needed had been converted into flats. He checked the number and pressed the buzzer, not expecting anything to happen.

But even over the crackly intercom he recognized the voice he’d heard many times on the phone.

It was, without question, Paul.

Tuesday, 11 May
19.53

Tanya was just pulling away from building number four on her list, a property just outside Leiden, when her phone went off.

The road was quiet so she flipped on the hazard lights, stopped the car and reached into her pocket, hoping it was Kees saying he’d found Floortje. But the screen said Jaap.

‘Jaap, where are—’

‘Tanya?’ The voice at the other end was strained, and the reception was bad. It took a few moments for Tanya to place it.

‘Saskia?’

‘Have you heard from Jaap?’

‘No … Where are you?’

‘Listen, he’s got my phone, but I’ve been trying to call it and he’s not answering.’

‘Saskia, I’ve got bad news. Jaap’s been kidnapped and—’

‘No, that was planned. He had a lead. Isovic said he knew someone who could help him find Nikolic.’

Tanya took a moment to absorb what Saskia was telling her.

‘Okay, so where is he now?’

‘That’s the thing. He took my phone so we could keep in contact – he didn’t want anyone tracking his phone. But I keep calling him on it and he’s not answering.’

‘Text me the number,’ said Tanya.

‘The thing is, Matkovic has been convicted, and I don’t know what to do, and—’

Tanya checked the time on the dashboard, almost expecting to see the numbers flying by.

‘When will it be announced?’

‘What?’

‘The conviction?’

‘They’re going to kill Floortje …’

‘We’re going to find her. Hang up and text me that number.’

The text came in a few seconds later.

She tried the number but got nothing.

Where is he?
she thought as she put her phone away and started the car, the fog making the windows look like frosted glass.

Without speaking to him the only thing she could do was continue. She checked the address of the next property on her list.

It was a boathouse on the Braassemermeer, a lake halfway between Amsterdam and Leiden, and, according to her satnav, was pretty close by.

If that didn’t yield anything then she had one more place to try.

And if she struck out there, and Kees did the same, then she didn’t know what else they could do.

I don’t think Jaap will cope if Floortje dies
, she thought as she neared the address, fields stretching off to her right and a narrow strip of water on her left. She pulled out the torch Kees had used earlier and trained it on the far bank as she drove.

A heron perched on the grass, stark grey and white against the dark green trees, feathers hanging off its chin like a beard, its reflection choppy on the water’s dark surface.

According to the sat nav the trees obscured the Braassemermeer itself. She slowed down, trying to work out where the boathouse would be. A car was cruising towards her. She flipped off the torch before it passed so as not to dazzle the driver.

Five minutes later she realized she must have gone past it – she’d now reached a town called Rijnsaterwoude – so she swung the car round and prepared to look again. Darkness surrounded her. The sun wasn’t due to set for another hour or so, but the fog was so dense it might already have for all she could tell. She could only see what was directly in her headlights, and she felt totally alone.

Something had been opening up inside her since she’d found out Staal’s house was for sale – an enormous space, an emptiness which had gradually filled with anger.

She had to help find Floortje, of course she did. But she also knew that time was running out for her to deal with her past, that if she was ever to be free she had to act before her foster father left tomorrow.

She’d called the cab company and discovered he was being picked up from his address really early the next morning. She didn’t have long before he was gone for ever.

The thought churned her anger more. She could feel it – a kind of cold heat, an acid burning.

I could go there now
, she thought.
Who’d know?

She was passing the heron again when she saw something she’d not noticed the first time round. It was a small
track which led over a flat wooden bridge to the far bank and then off into the fir trees. She drove past, stopped the car, and was just getting out when static burst from the police radio. She reached back into the car and turned up the volume, listened as a call was put out to detain Inspector Jaap Rykel on suspicion of kidnapping.

Top priority, the voice was saying as she clicked the radio off.

She hesitated for a moment, then headed towards the bridge.

The wood sounded hollow as she walked over it, and then she was in the trees, a slight wind rustling the needles together. The path, more mud, curved round and made it out the other side of the trees, giving a view of the large expanse of the Braassemermeer, where the fog was thinner.

The track carried on along the shoreline, and less than twenty metres away was a wooden boathouse with a low jetty projecting out over the water, a cluster of small boats moored along one side.

Stark light shone from two windows.

Then she heard it. The unmistakable cry of a baby.

Ducking back into the trees she pulled out her phone and her gun, and stared at them both for a second.

She hit dial, but nothing happened.

No signal.