Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) (32 page)

Tuesday, 11 May
22.43

Jaap laid Floortje on the stretcher, and the paramedic got to work, telling him to step back.

He tried to explain what had happened but the paramedic wasn’t listening; he was bent over, focusing on Floorjte, checking for a pulse, shining a torch into her eyes, his gloved hands a flurry of movement.

Another paramedic stepped over, guided Jaap back a few steps and asked what had happened. Jaap started to tell him but saw the first paramedic straighten up.

He had only to see the small shake of his head, the deflation of his shoulders, to know what was coming.

He stepped away, as if by avoiding hearing it he could make it not happen.

And then he saw Nikolic, who’d collapsed on the grass, the knife blade buried in his throat. He was still alive – just – restrained on a stretcher while a third paramedic tended to him.

Every atom in Jaap’s body exploded.

He lunged, knocked the paramedic away and grabbed the knife handle, jerking it sideways. Blood spurted as two uniforms pulled him off, a strange rasping sound coming from Nikolic’s throat.

They pinned him to the ground, Jaap thrashing like a wild animal, twisting and writhing, pure reflex.

No thought.

No existence.

Just rage.

Later, he didn’t know how much later, but certainly after they’d taken Floortje’s body away, Jaap found himself sitting in the back of a patrol car, blue lights strobing the darkness.

He had a paper cup of coffee in his hand. It was full, and cold. He’d no idea how it had got there. His hands were cuffed.

He looked out the open door and saw someone walking towards him. It was Kees. The thought of Saskia burst into his head. But the look on Kees’ face told him everything.

A uniform intercepted him, and they spoke briefly.

Once he’d finished Kees walked over, helped Jaap out of the car and undid his cuffs.

Jaap found himself walking, each footstep an age, down to the water where the boat was still on fire.

As he stood a few metres away, just enough so it was warm, he fished the I Ching from his back pocket.

The pages were soaking wet, the paper swelling and fanning out. He thought about Kyoto, thought about Yuzuki Roshi, thought about how he’d tried to escape but hadn’t.

Because the thing he was trying to escape from was himself.

And that just wasn’t possible.

A siren started up. People were moving behind him, around him.

He held the book in his hand for a moment, feeling the wet paper, its weight, what it represented.

Then he tossed it into the flames.

Tuesday, 11 May
23.16

Kees watched as Jaap stood by the water, his frame a silhouette in front of the blaze.

He’d just listened to what the two uniforms had told him, and he turned back to them.

‘So, when you come to write your reports what are you going to put?’

One of them, the shorter of the two finally spoke.

‘We’ll have to report that Inspector Rykel assaulted the victim when he was restrained and that—’

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ said Kees stepping right up to him. ‘That man was responsible for the death of his child, and her mother. He was also a mass murderer. Your report is going to state that Nikolic’s death was a result of self-defence on Inspector Rykel’s part. You got that?’

Both uniforms looked at the ground.

‘You got that?’ said Kees again.

Slowly both uniforms nodded their heads.

‘Yeah,’ said the shorter one. ‘Got it.’

Kees stared at them for a few moments more, then turned away.

He had another problem, Tanya was missing.

Kees left Jaap with the paramedics; they’d given him a sedative but it didn’t seem to have done much. He’d never
seen such anger and rage and despair on another human’s face. He didn’t ever want to see it again.

Through talking to the ambulance crew Kees learned of the boathouse and rushed there, driving fast, all the while thinking of Tanya. He found Krilic, still cuffed to a car door handle, being tended by more paramedics, the blue lights flickering intermittently through the trees on his approach, but neither of the paramedics had seen Tanya.

He tried calling her phone but it was off.

Kees walked into the trees, away from the shoreline – he’d seen enough water recently – and tried to think where she had gone. Sitting against a tree trunk he closed his eyes and tried to think it through, about what she’d told him.

Then it hit him.

He got back into his car and drove off, hoping he was wrong.

Outside the estate agent’s something had spooked her. She’d seen something in the window and gone back in.

When he got there he left the car on the kerb and went to the window. There were seven properties displayed. He noted down the street names of each and got back in his car.

He’d driven past the first three, but there was nothing obvious and he was starting to wonder if he’d got this wrong when he turned into the street with the fourth address on his list.

He wasn’t sure if he was pleased to see her car or not, parked up opposite the property.

As he drove past slowly he noticed a light on in a downstairs room, the view obscured by curtains.

He parked two streets away and walked back. There was no traffic, and his footsteps seemed impossibly loud in the night.

The car was definitely hers, and he stood there a few moments, his hand on the still-warm bonnet.

The path leading to the front door seemed to stretch away from him as he walked it, the door receding further with each step.

Finally he was standing in front of it.

He wanted to go inside.

He wanted to turn back.

His hand reached out, fingers making contact with the painted wood. He gave a little push. The door cracked open.

The hallway wasn’t lit, but light spilled into it from a doorway further down on the right. He couldn’t hear anything, any sign that anyone was here. He walked down the hallway, his footsteps silenced by the carpet, and made it to the doorway.

He looked through and saw her perched on the edge of a large suitcase, her head resting on her hands, her eyes staring ahead.

She didn’t even look up when he stepped into the room.

He followed her gaze, her line of sight, and saw the man, lying on the floor.

She didn’t know how it had happened, but here she was, in the passenger seat of her car, with Kees driving. She looked out of the window, gazed at the fields of tulips
stretching out on either side of the road, their petals just catching the first rays of morning light.

She reached for the door. Kees put a hand out to touch her, slowed the car down.

He watched as she walked out among the tulips. The flowers in the field he’d stopped by were all black, a massive sea of identical blossoms, soon to be harvested.

The horizon was a smear of candyfloss pink.

He watched as she stopped about twenty metres away and stood still, the light just catching her hair.

He thought about what he’d seen at the house, what it would mean.

He watched as she started walking again, one hand trailing down, her right hand, touching the flower heads with her fingers.

Matkovic looked up from the desk he was sitting at, crossword book open in front of him, as Jaap stepped into the cell. Two guards followed him in.

After several phone calls Ronald had agreed to allow a meet with Matkovic.

In the days following Matkovic’s sentencing the story had come out about the kidnap and the events at Braassemermeer. Smit had already told Jaap he was suspended and that a full investigation would have to take place, even though he understood there had been mitigating circumstances.

Jaap had told him he didn’t give a fuck.

The visitor’s badge he’d got at reception had ‘Inspector Jaap Rykel’ typed on it, ‘Inspector’ crossed out by hand.

‘Tell me about Nikolic,’ said Jaap in English – he knew Matkovic spoke a little.

‘What’s to tell? I hear on news he’s dead.’

‘I want to know why he did it all, why he’d do all that just to help you.’

Matkovic laughed.

Jaap felt something.

Not anger.

More like emptiness.

Floortje was gone. Her neck had snapped some time during the chase, probably when Nikolic had grabbed her from the boat. Jaap would never see her again, never touch her hand, cradle her to sleep.

Floortje no longer existed.

Except as a massive void at the very centre of his being.

‘He’s a loyal dog, no?’ Matkovic’s voice broke into Jaap’s thoughts.

Jaap didn’t respond.

‘Okay, I tell you. You’re right. It wasn’t loyalty. It was greed. I needed his help, and I promised money, lots of money, if he got me released.’

‘And where’s this money?’

‘Ahhh,’ said Matkovic, laughing the soft laugh of a grandfather recounting youthful follies.

Emptiness turned to anger.

Jaap wanted to jump across the room and throttle him. One of the guards moved forward, sensing Jaap’s rage.

‘There is no money now. But the important thing is he thought there was money.’

He shrugged, and went back to his crossword.

Jaap had listened to Krilic’s statement, made after he’d been released from hospital and taken into custody earlier that morning.

Isovic and Krilic had also planned to get Matkovic released, hoping that once they’d got the prosecution to rely on Isovic’s testimony the trial would collapse with his disappearance.

Once released their plan had been to kill him.

But then Krilic had seen Nikolic and his gang at 57, and they’d decided to get revenge on the whole crew, while increasing the pressure on Matkovic by tweeting the murders.

Krilic’s plan was that Matkovic would hear the news and work out what was going on, maybe even get scared.

But here he was sitting in his cell, and despite having been slapped with several life sentences, seemingly unconcerned about his fate.

Krilic had spat about justice at the end of his statement.

As Jaap left the cell he was starting to wonder himself.

Tanya gazed out over the pond. The water was marbled with colour, flower reflections bobbing about in the cool breeze. Small clouds churned in the sky, changing shape continuously, and a siren burst into life in the distance.

Two weeks ago she’d sat in the very same spot.

It seemed like two millennia.

Jaap was next to her on the bench, and she tucked up against him, their shoulders touching.

In the days after Floortje’s death she’d moved in with him, trying to help, trying to get him out of the darkness he was sinking into. She’d stayed with him, made sure he was eating, sleeping, held him when he needed it, even though for the first few days he’d been so unresponsive she’d got scared. But gradually, to her relief, he’d started to come out of it. Bit by bit the life was coming back.

The real turning point however had been his meeting with Matkovic three days ago. She’d been unsure if it was a wise idea, but Jaap had insisted. And he’d come back calmer, like he was accepting how things were. She knew it wasn’t going to be quick, and it probably wasn’t going to be a linear improvement, but she was now sure he was going to make it. She’d seen flashes of his old self returning, and right now she could hardly ask for more.

But as her relief about Jaap grew she found herself
thinking about something which she’d been avoiding, something that caring for him had allowed her to push to the back of her mind.

The trail would be easy to follow. When she’d gone to Staal’s house she’d wanted to confront him, put to rest the years of pain she’d suffered. Over those same years she’d imagined that meeting, but never really thought it would happen.

Or what she’d do if it did.

Then she’d been on Staal’s doorstep, looking into his eyes, seeing the recognition there, the sudden fear which dilated his pupils till they were nothing more than black, shiny orbs. She’d not planned it, but it was like someone else had taken over her body – a raging fire unleashed inside her which had made her feral, wild.

The trail would be easy to follow. And it led to her.

She shivered.

‘You okay?’ asked Jaap.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Just a bit cold.’

She looked down at her hand, the bandages wrapped tight. The surgeon said she’d been lucky. But he also told her she’d probably lose control over her thumb, index and middle fingers, the tendons obliterated by the bullet as it tore through her flesh.

She didn’t see how that was lucky.

But she didn’t seem to care either.

Jaap put his arm around her shoulders, and she let herself be pulled closer.

When she’d stood in the field of tulips, dawn opening up the sky, she’d resolved to turn herself in. It was the only thing she could do.

But then she’d heard what had happened to Jaap, to Floortje, and she knew she needed to be there for him, knew that she was the only person who could see him through.

So she’d spent her days caring for him, afraid of the knock at the door, the summons which would take her away from Jaap.

Now time was ticking on, and still no one had come. Surely they would soon. And when they did it was going to devastate Jaap.

She’d made a mistake. She’d wanted to help him, but in the end she was just going to hurt him more.

A swan flapped down from the sky and landed in the water just in front of her, tucking in its wings when it had come to a stop. It swivelled its neck around, and Tanya saw a dark mark on its back.

‘C’mon,’ Jaap said, standing up. ‘Let’s go.’

As they walked away Tanya wondered just how much time she had left.

‘Come in,’ came Smit’s voice through the door almost as soon as he knocked. Weirdly, Kees noticed, there was a uniform standing next to the door, who hadn’t even acknowledged him.

He stepped into his boss’s office.

‘You might want to close that,’ said Smit.

Kees did, and then sat in the chair indicated by Smit in front of his desk. There were two files laid out in front of him.

‘A total mess,’ said Smit.

The news outlets had been covering the story for the
last few days, too many violent killings for the media to let it go. Kees had given up watching or listening.

‘If you’d not lost Isovic in the first place …’

Kees didn’t see how that would have changed much, but he kept quiet.

‘Anyway,’ said Smit, ‘that’s not why I wanted to speak to you. Open it.’

Kees picked up the file indicated by Smit, and started to read. After a few moments he put it back down.

‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘I need someone in that organization, someone willing to go deep undercover—’

‘That’s not undercover, that’s a suicide mission.’

Smit stared at him across the desk. Then he pointed to the second file.

Kees picked it up, opened it to a photo of a scene he’d already seen.

‘She’s a good inspector,’ said Smit, ‘but it’s clear that she killed a man. And that we can’t have.’

Kees had been thinking of virtually nothing else, wondering what would happen to Tanya if anyone traced it back to her.

‘Now, you’ll see from that there’s no conclusive evidence she had anything to do with it. But the man killed used to be her foster father, and a CCTV camera caught her number plate in the area at the right time.’

Kees felt like swallowing, but his Adam’s apple seemed too big.

‘The thing is,’ continued Smit, ‘another of our cars was also picked up, and according to the logs it had been signed out by you. It’s all in there.’

Kees didn’t even bother to look. He wasn’t sure anything mattered any more.

‘There are many ways to serve,’ said Smit, ‘and I think you’re ready for a change. Of course, to be undercover you’re going to need a story.’

‘And that’s where all this comes in,’ replied Kees, putting the file back on the desk.

‘You’d have to do some time, but we’d move you around the system. You’ll probably be in for four months at the most.’

Kees sat back in his chair.

He’d finally acknowledged to himself just how ill he was.

Or would become.

Seeing Paul in his wheelchair had brought it home. Did he want to spend time in prison just so he could work undercover? But if he didn’t then Tanya was going down, that much was clear.

She had a future; he didn’t.

‘No more than two months,’ said Kees.

Smit looked at him, sizing him up.

‘Okay,’ he finally said, calling in the uniform who’d been standing outside.

Smit stood, and motioned to Kees to do the same.

‘Inspector Kees Terpstra, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder.’

Kees tuned him out, waited until he felt the cold metal of the cuffs slap over his wrists, heard the clicks of the ratchets. They were closed too tight but Kees figured complaining wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

He let himself be led down to a cell, shoved inside.

Smit walked down with him.

As the metal bars clanged behind him the uniform left.

When they were alone Smit spoke again.

‘And you’ll be able to indulge yourself a little in prison. I hear coke’s quite readily available. Despite our best efforts.’

Once Smit had left Kees sat on the metal bench attached to the wall and put his head back on the cool concrete.

His mind was whirring.

Then he saw it.

Smit had known all along.

Paul had said someone was interested in what Kees was doing – a benefactor, someone who Kees would soon belong to.

It was Smit.

Smit had sat on the information Paul had passed to him. He’d been planning to use it, to get Kees exactly where he was now, force him into an undercover mission which no one would volunteer for.

But Smit had got lucky: murder was a better cover than a drugs bust.

Murder would give him more respect undercover.

The cell smelt. Fear, stale urine, who knew what else.

He’d been singled out for this. Smit had seen what he was. Smit had manipulated him. Smit had made him his bitch.

Kees’ laugh echoed round the cell.

He closed his eyes.

Once his heart had settled he found he was thinking of Tanya.