Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) (31 page)

Tuesday, 11 May
21.31

The growl of the motor and the ringing in his ears didn’t stop the sound of a single shot reaching Jaap’s brain from somewhere behind him.

The fog was still clearing, and now the cloud parted above, moonlight hitting the surface of the water like a switch had been flicked on.

Jaap was focused on the boat ahead forging across Braassemermeer, heading north-west. He was close enough now to feel the spray on his face, catch the fumes from the outboard whining ahead of him.

Now the shore was coming into view. Nikolic would be there in a few more minutes.

Further round, to the left, the lights of a small town glowed in the darkness. To the right Jaap could see a road, headlights moving towards the water.

The boat ahead swerved left, the arc of its turn throwing a curl of water into the air, backlit by the headlights.

Tuesday, 11 May
21.38

Kees punched the satnav with his hand, knocking it out of the holder growing from the dashboard.

It had brought him to the wrong end of Braassemermeer, he could see that now. Which meant he was going to have to go right round, adding another ten minutes at least. As he shot the car forward he glanced out of the side window and saw a boat skimming across the surface of the water, heading towards the narrow waterway which led from Braassemermeer to who knew where.

He started a three-pointer, the boat passing in front of him, streaming through his headlights for half a second. Then he saw a second boat chasing the first.

It took a couple more seconds for his brain to work it out.

Both boats were now in the waterway, only forty or so metres across, and the second was gaining. He didn’t need to see the figure up close to realize it was Jaap. Kees completed the turn and shot the car forward. There was more light from the buildings lining the water, and he could see now that the man in the front boat had a gun.

The second was only metres behind now, and the man in the lead boat swung his hand round and fired.

Kees saw the spark, saw Jaap’s boat swerve hard to the left then back again.

Kees had one hand on the steering wheel; his gun was in his other.

He couldn’t get the window button to work.

He lashed out at the glass with the gun.

A storm of glass bit into his arm.

His head was flicking back and forth from the road to the lead boat, trying to get a sight on the man, who he saw was firing again.

Then he saw movement, a figure sprang up from the front of the boat and lunged at the man, her long hair flowing wildly in the air.

Tuesday, 11 May
21.41

Jaap saw Nikolic turn at the last second, swinging his arm round to deflect Saskia, smashing his elbow into her face while keeping the other on the outboard throttle.

She staggered back. The boat swerved, and for a second Jaap thought she was going to lose her balance, go overboard. Nikolic was off balance too, and Saskia recovered quickest, lunging at him again, her scream of rage shooting out above the snarl of the motors. Nikolic tried to swing the gun round at her, but she caught his arm in time, forcing it away with both hands.

Nikolic had to take his other hand off the throttle. The motor revved down and the boat started to slow, rocking from side to side as he struggled with Saskia.

Then Nikolic dropped down, Saskia jolting forward.

Jaap could see what he was doing.

Nikolic used Saskia’s momentum and his low centre of gravity, forcing her over his back.

Jaap watched as she toppled overboard, her arms splayed out like she was doing a cartwheel.

As she hit the water Nikolic grabbed the throttle again, shooting the boat forward, white water rearing up in its wake.

Jaap’s mind shut down for a few seconds before reigniting.

Saskia couldn’t swim.

But Floortje was still on the boat with Nikolic.

He was going to have to make a decision, quickly. He was fast approaching the spot where Saskia had fallen in. He could see her, arms hitting the surface of the water; he could hear her scream.

Jaap glanced at Nikolic’s boat, then at Saskia.

The time required to stop and get her aboard would give Nikolic the chance to get away.

He had to choose.

His hand was tight on the throttle.

It stayed there.

The boat rocked as it sped over the expanding ripples from Saskia’s plunge into the water. As he passed her he thought he heard her voice, only he couldn’t work out what she was saying.

Tuesday, 11 May
21.44

Tyres shrieked into the darkness.

Kees was out of the car before it had fully stopped, rushing down towards the water. He’d not been able to see the hair colour, but it was Tanya, he was sure of it. He threw himself in, the cold hitting him, paralyzing his lungs.

He had tried to fix where the body had entered the water, but the waves from the two boats meant he wasn’t sure. He struck out, pumping his arms, kicking his legs, clothes dragging him down. He called out but got no response. He trod water, circling. Nothing. He dived again and again, feeling with his hands, empty water rushing through his fingers.

Just as he thought he couldn’t go under again his hand felt something – flesh. He dived, reached out, grasped an arm. He kicked to the surface, trying to get her head above water.

Tuesday, 11 May
21.47

Jaap heard a noise he didn’t like.

The motor had been sounding different for the last thirty seconds, but he’d not really paid any attention, all his focus on the boat ahead.

The motor misfired, losing power.

He released the throttle then jammed it on again. The motor caught and he felt the pull of acceleration. Up ahead Nikolic’s boat was powering away.

Seconds later his own spluttered again as if low on fuel. He willed it to keep going.

Not now
, he thought.
Please not now.

He did the same again, quickly releasing the throttle and re-engaging it.

But this time it didn’t work; it just cut out.

His boat was losing speed fast.

The distance between his boat and Nikolic’s was growing. In less than a minute Nikolic would be out of range.

Jaap spun the wheel towards the shore, hoping the residual speed would get him to dry land, and putting him side on to the back of Nikolic’s boat. He raised his gun, the moonlight bright, but Nikolic a fast-receding shape in the night.

He couldn’t see Floortje at all.

He sighted on Nikolic just as the boat in front veered away to the left before swinging back to the right.

A few more seconds was all he had left.

You’re going to have to do better than that
, thought Jaap as he sighted Nikolic again.

His finger touched the trigger, but didn’t pull it in.

If he fired he risked hitting Floortje.

But if he didn’t fire Nikolic would get away.

He could feel his finger against the metal, feel the trigger’s resistance.

Now he was down to the last second – any longer and Nikolic would be out of range.

His finger pulled back. The shot rang out and Jaap felt the recoil.

For a few moments everything became still, frozen into place.

He was sure he’d missed.

Then the motor on Nikolic’s boat flashed like a firework. Jaap could see fragments exploding out from it, flying towards Nikolic.

Nikolic went down, one arm thrown up in the air, a scream of pain breaking through the sound of the motor. His gun flew into the air before disappearing into the water. As he fell he knocked the rudder and the boat veered towards the right-hand bank.

As Jaap dived into the water, gun still in his hand, he could see flames starting to lick the outboard on Nikolic’s boat.

Tuesday, 11 May
21.52

Kees heard the shot and the scream behind him, but he ignored them. He had her head cradled under his arm like he’d got her in a headlock, and was using his other arm to scoop at the water, trying to pull them to shore.

She was heavy, unconscious, and he knew he had to get her breathing again quickly.

He reached the water’s edge and dragged her out, his clothes sucking at his flesh. On the grass he rolled her on to her side, her hair stuck to her face.

He’d done basic CPR – it was part of every cop’s training – but he couldn’t remember what to do. As he tilted her forward water spewed from her mouth, and he was hoping for a cough, hoping that clearing the water out would somehow start something going deep inside.

He’d seen that happen in films.

But it wasn’t working here.

He rolled her on to her back, her body movements floppy, loose, and he noticed something. He reached out, his hand shaking badly, and brushed the hair away from her face.

It wasn’t Tanya.

His mind spun.

But he didn’t have time to think, to try and work out what was going on. Whoever she was she probably
only had seconds to live, and he had to do something. Right now.

He took a deep breath, pinched her nose and bent forward.

The impulse to recoil hit him hard as his lips touched hers; they were so cold, and didn’t feel alive. But he pressed harder to form a seal and blew hard into her mouth.

Then he put his hands one on top of the other on her chest, palms down, and started to push in rhythmic pulses.

He pushed again and again until he heard a crack.

It was then he knew she wasn’t coming back.

Tuesday, 11 May
21.56

Nikolic was hurt, shrapnel from the motor buried deep in his leg. He was limping across an impossibly flat lawn right by the water’s edge, heading for a large house, windows blaring light out on to the meticulously trimmed grass.

Floortje was slung under one of his arms like a sack.

Something seemed wrong about that, but Jaap didn’t know what.

He swam past Nikolic’s boat, his arms aching, slicing into the water, the choppy surface coloured orange from the blaze consuming the outboard motor.

He could feel the heat on his face as he passed it, contrasting with the cold water.

Seconds later he was scrambling out of the water and taking off after the Serb.

He could get him now, he knew it.

Five paces out Nikolic sensed he was close. He stopped and turned. Jaap saw a small knife, flames flashing on the blade’s surface.

Jaap kept the gun by his side.

‘Put her down,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Nikolic stared at him, then moved the knife up towards Floortje, holding his gaze.

Jaap raised the gun, sighted Nikolic’s head.

‘Don’t do it,’ he said.

Nikolic stood there, breathing heavily, then began to lower the knife.

Jaap watched as Nikolic’s hand opened, the knife falling to the grass, the blade slicing into the earth.

Nikolic took Floortje in both his hands.

It was only then Jaap realized what was wrong – she wasn’t making a sound.

‘Give her to me,’ he said, taking a step closer.

Nikolic threw her at him, two-handed like she was a basketball.

Jaap caught her, grabbed her into his chest, wrapped his arms around her.

His eyes were off Nikolic for less than a second, but it was enough for the Serb to make his move. He swung his wounded leg round, knocking Jaap’s from under him, screaming with the pain of the impact. As Jaap went down he knew he had to drop the gun or risk hitting Floortje with the barrel. His hand released the weapon.

Then he was on the ground; he’d narrowly missed falling on the knife. Floortje was in his arms, Nikolic standing over him, pointing the gun he’d scooped up right at him.

Jaap stared at it, the dark centre from where the bullet would fly out, the side of the barrel milky white from the moonlight.

In his arms Floortje wasn’t moving.

Behind him the outboard motor exploded, the light flaring on Nikolic’s face, allowing Jaap to finally get a good look at him, see the rage and frustration and the fear.

Nikolic didn’t even flinch, kept the gun trained right at him.

Jaap watched as the Serb’s trigger finger curled back,
squeezed his eyes tight, waiting for the blast, waiting for it all to be over.

He heard a click.

He knew that sound. It was the sound of an empty chamber.

Jaap swung an arm out, grabbed the knife by its handle and threw it straight at Nikolic.

Tuesday, 11 May
22.05

When Tanya came round she was on her back. She rolled her head sideways, felt her ear ease into cold mud, plugging it shut. She opened her eyes, looked at the moon leering out of the sky at her.

She’d been shot. In her right hand.

She felt for the entry point in the back of her hand. As she sat up she turned her hand over. The exit wound was right in the centre, ruptured flesh like a flower blooming in her palm.

When she tried to move her fingers she gasped. They hardly moved, and the pain was electric.

She looked around, suddenly aware that whoever had shot her might still be there.

He was, slumped against the car, but his arms were flopped down by his side. She got up slowly and made her way over to him.

The man was breathing heavily. She recognized him from the file photo. Krilic. He looked up as she approached, Tanya could see he’d been hit in the stomach, blood pooling in the wrinkles of his jacket. His face was gaunt, the bone structure visible. For a second she saw him as the skeleton he was soon to become if he didn’t get medical attention quickly.

She picked the gun he’d used to shoot her out of the
mud with her left hand. It felt alien, wrong, but her right was useless, throbbing with pain. Then she cuffed him to the car door handle with a plastic tie – tricky with one hand, but he barely looked at her. She walked back to her own car, sliding into the driver’s seat. Her breathing was heavy now, the pain in her hand increasing.

She reached out for the radio.

The ambulance would be seven minutes, the dispatcher told her.

Her head fell back against the headrest. She inspected her hand again. It was still bleeding. Badly.

She fumbled in the glove compartment, pulling out the first-aid kit. She had to unzip it with one hand, the case wedged between her legs. She wrapped a bandage around her hand, pulling it tight. By the time she’d finished the fabric was already soaked with blood.

There was a box of painkillers. She fumbled with it.

Then dropped it back.

Right now she needed the pain.

She reached out with her left and twisted the key, the angle awkward, and once the engine had fired up started to drive.

She’d waited years to do this, constantly putting it off, constantly afraid.

Now was the moment.

Now was when she made things right.

Now.

She pulled up outside the house just over half an hour later, her right hand in her lap, useless.

But she wasn’t thinking about that.

Her thoughts were full of her past. It was like she was seeing her life played out on the inside of the windscreen.

She was a teenager again, standing by the window in her bedroom, watching her foster mother leave the house to go to her weekly knitting circle. The feeling of dread was heavy in her stomach, because she knew what was going to happen next. She’d hear Staal downstairs; he’d go to the wooden cabinet they kept in the living room. Then she’d hear the scrape of the key being taken off the top and being inserted into the lock.

The click.

The creak of the door opening.

The sound of a bottle being pulled off a shelf, liquid glugging into a glass.

At that stage she knew she had less than ten minutes left; he only ever had one drink before coming upstairs. But the time didn’t matter, she’d nowhere to run. She bunched herself under the duvet, closed her eyes tight, as if that might work, as if, for once, it might stop him, or make him decide that tonight he’d just drink, stay downstairs, away from her.

But it was always the same. The sequence of noises would reverse, the bottle being put back, the door locked and the key replaced on top. He’d take the glass to the kitchen, a hiss of water from the tap as he washed it out. Then the footsteps on the stairs would start. There were eleven in total, and Tanya knew the sound of each one. She would tighten her eyes even harder with each step, curl tighter into a ball, not breathing, willing herself away.

Then the door would open slowly, and he stepped into
the room. She could smell him, smell the alcohol on his breath, smell his sweat.

And hear the rasp of his breathing.

Which was getting faster and tighter as he got closer.

Tanya shook herself, refusing to relive it again.

She got out of the car, legs unsteady, her hands freezing but her brow covered with sweat, and walked across the road.

The doorbell sounded, and she stood there.

Further down the street a dog was barking, each bark a shot in the darkness. A breeze cooled one side of her face.

A light flicked on inside, footsteps approached the door.

It opened just a crack, an eye appearing, scoping her out. She could tell by the quick dilation it recognized her.

She had her toe in the gap before he could close it. She shoved it open as he stepped back into the hall.

Tanya walked in, closed the door behind her, and looked into her foster father’s face.