Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) (9 page)

Saturday, 8 May
21.59

Jaap stood for a moment next to the quay which led to Saskia’s house. Her white Citroën was parked in the designated area, and Jaap noticed it had a fresh scrape on the passenger-side door.

As he walked along the quay he thought about how things might have been different.

It was just over a year ago that Andreas had been killed, and Jaap thought Saskia had been coping well, considering. But maybe that was because she didn’t have a choice; she had Floortje, and the demands of looking after her had helped her overcome her feelings.

As for his own feelings, Jaap didn’t know what he’d felt about finding out that Floortje was his own child, only days after Andreas’ death. He still didn’t.

He let himself in, half-hoping Floortje would be asleep and half-hoping she’d be awake to see him. The house was on water, but wasn’t a houseboat like his. It was purpose built, two storeys, and floated out in the IJ. It had been Saskia and Andreas’ home.

Now it was just Saskia’s.

He’d tried to convince her to sell up, move somewhere without the memories, but she’d refused, and he’d stopped mentioning it now. If she was able to cope it wasn’t really any of his business.

And he’d not moved out of his houseboat, despite that
being the scene of Karin’s death, so who was he to give advice?

Saskia was in the kitchen, and he could hear Floortje starting to cry, Saskia trying to quieten her down with soothing words. Jaap was unsure why everyone’s default reaction, including his own, seemed to be to talk motherese at babies, because it clearly didn’t work. At least not on Floortje.

‘Hey,’ he said as he stepped into the room, noticing the half-empty glass of red wine on the counter next to a baby cup with two handles in lurid green plastic.

‘She’s been doing this all day,’ said Saskia, handing Floortje from her hip to Jaap. Once unburdened she sat on one of the two bar stools with chrome legs and a flat black seat, and reached for the wine glass.

‘We could get her a job as a siren, strap her on to the roof of a patrol car,’ said Jaap, gently bumping Floortje up and down which only succeeded in upsetting her stomach, the contents of which shot from her mouth and dribbled down his top.

‘Yeah, she’s been doing that too,’ said Saskia. ‘Maybe she’s got a bug or something.’

Jaap put Floortje to bed in the wooden cot in Saskia’s bedroom, and after cleaning himself up went back through to the kitchen.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked. ‘You getting anywhere with it?’

‘My investigation?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s not great,’ he said. ‘In fact it’s really nasty.’

He thought of the image of himself on the first victim’s phone.

He thought of the threat Teeven had mouthed at him across the courtroom.

And he thought, with a twinge in his stomach, about the photo of Tanya leaving his houseboat.

Saskia swirled the wine in her glass. Jaap noticed there was more in it than when he’d first come in. The radio was on low, he could hear some kind of talk show going on, panellists arguing about politics.

‘What about you?’ He pointed to the glass. ‘Do I need to call someone?’

‘Shit, Jaap. It’s being a pretty tough day for me too, what with her and finding out some dumb ass in your department’s lost my main witness, so if I want to have a glass or so of wine then I think I’ll do it. Anyway,’ she said after a pause, ‘it’s not like we’re married or anything.’

They’d talked about it in the shapeless days after Andreas’ death and Floortje’s birth, but they both felt it wasn’t right. They’d had their time together and it hadn’t worked out.

‘You’re right,’ he said, sitting down on the other bar stool. ‘I’ll just call social services, it’s more their kind of thing.’

She punched him lightly on the arm, but he noticed she’d pushed the glass away. He picked up a leaflet from the counter advertising adult swimming lessons.

‘I’ve been thinking about it. I really should learn so I can teach Floortje when she’s a bit older.’

‘You can’t swim?’

‘Jaap, we were together for over three years.’

‘I know, but I don’t remember you saying you couldn’t swim … You live in a floating house and you can’t even swim? Isn’t that dangerous? What about if Floortje fell in?’

‘That’s why I’m doing something about it,’ she said, snatching it away. ‘At least I’m trying here, I don’t see you doing much for her.’

They sat in silence for a few moments.

‘Sorry,’ said Saskia just as Jaap was about to say something. ‘It’s just this trial, you know? I’ve been working on it so hard, and I’m sure we can get Matkovic convicted, and then this.’

‘Can’t you postpone it?’

She looked at him as if to say
Please
. There was a newspaper on the counter and she reached across, pointing out an article. Jaap scanned it.

The article was a profile of a prominent judge who’d come out and said that many of the ICTY convictions for war crimes were based on scant evidence, and there needed to be more robust prosecution cases before people were convicted.

‘And?’ said Jaap, dropping the paper back down.

‘Jesus. Are you sure you’re an inspector? This is the judge who’s presiding. Meaning my case just got a whole lot harder.’

Jaap wasn’t worried. Saskia was as hard as a bullet when she wanted to be, and he knew she was fully gunning on this case.

‘Seriously, you’re going to be fine. I doubt he’s a match for you.’

From the other room they both heard the unmistakable sound of Floortje stirring. Then she started crying again, a high careening noise with a touch of the wild about it.

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Saskia as she got up and headed for the door, her hand reaching out for the wine glass as she passed. ‘If I can deal with a baby then I’m not scared of a stupid judge.’

Once Saskia had settled Floortje she came back into the room and flopped down next to Jaap.

‘Get me another one of these,’ she said as she handed him the glass.

He hesitated before taking it, going to the kitchen and pouring some wine into the glass.

‘What’s this?’ she said when he handed it back. ‘It’s like a quarter full at most.’

‘That was all that was left,’ he said, sitting down again. He should be going, and he should definitely give Tanya a call, find out where she was, but he felt exhausted suddenly, as if the proximity of Saskia and Floortje helped him relax.

‘Liar,’ she replied before tipping the glass up, emptying it in one go.

It would be so much easier …
he thought.

He loved Floortje in a way he never would have thought possible, and it would make sense if they could be a proper family, he and Floortje and Saskia all together.

They sat there in silence, until Jaap realized he was going to fall asleep if he didn’t move soon.

Saskia saw him to the door, and just as his hand reached out for the latch he turned back to her.

Their lips met, and Jaap felt like he was falling.

Saturday, 8 May
22.14

‘What’s this?’ asked Tijmen as he scrutinized the label.

Tanya felt irritated. She was pretty sure her duties as a Netherlands police inspector didn’t involve supplying homeless alcoholics with vodka. In fact, she was pretty sure it was forbidden.

‘So, talk,’ she said to Katja, trying to ignore Tijmen as he cranked off the screw cap, sniffed and then took a long swig.

They were hunkered down in Westerpark, on the grass by a large tree, and hidden from view by a row of bushes. Light was fading fast, darkness taking over. Tanya’d followed Katja’s directions, skirting the old gasworks and diving into a dense thicket. She’d got scratched by one of the branches as she’d forced her way through, only to find there’d been a clearer route if approached from the opposite side.

The sun had dropped away, the air cooler now.

By the gasworks there’d been some kind of festival going on,
ROLLING KITCHENS,
the sign had said. About twenty large vehicles were there, each one adapted into a kitchen, each one dishing up different cuisine to hipster Amsterdammers. The smells reminded Tanya she’d not eaten for a while.

Moisture rose from the earth, and a bird burbled liquid song high in the tree above them.

‘Not much to tell really,’ said Katja as she grabbed the bottle from Tijmen and took an even longer swig.

Tanya thought it might loosen Katja up, make her a better talker. Then again, the speed it was going down it might just make her incoherent.

Or unconscious.

‘You said she’d claimed to have a job spying, and you knew who she was spying on?’ prompted Tanya when she got sick of the glugging sound.

‘Not who,’ said Katja, bringing down the bottle. She picked at the corner of the label, trying to prise it off with her nails. ‘What.’

‘So what was she spying on?’ Tanya asked when Katja had leaned back against the tree with her eyes closed.

‘This building, somewhere south of that big concert hall.’

‘The Concertgebouw?’

‘That’s the one near that museum, the guy who cut his ear off?’

Tijmen, who’d been sitting watching something on the ground, made a grab for the bottle, but Katja, without even opening her eyes, moved it away and took another long drink. Tanya could see her throat move with each swallow; she gave up counting on five.

‘Where?’

Katja lowered the bottle and held it out to Tijmen, then snatched it back just as he reached for it. He howled, a noise like a starving animal, and lunged forward, knocking the bottle over. What was left dribbled into the grass.

‘Filthy bitch,’ he yelled, trembling with rage. Katja just put her head back against the tree trunk and laughed.

‘Please, it’s really important that I find the place you talked about,’ said Tanya once Tijmen had calmed down and turned away, looking at something in the dirt.

Katja was still leaning back against the trunk, eyes closed.

‘I’m not feeling up to it tonight. Maybe tomorrow. And bring something else to drink.’

‘I really need to know tonight. How about you show me where this building is, and I’ll give you something else to drink?’

Katja’s eye’s snapped opened and peered at Tanya. They seemed clear.

She must have a huge tolerance for the stuff
, thought Tanya.

‘Okay,’ said Katja as she heaved herself off the ground. ‘But this asshole’s coming with me.’

It took a full twenty minutes to get them both to her car, and then find the place.

‘That’s the one,’ said Katja, pointing through the open window to a house on the opposite side of the square.

Tanya pulled the car over. A central pedestrian island was ringed with benches.

The building itself was a three-storey red brick, nothing much to distinguish it from any of the others around it.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. I caught her sitting on that bench over there. She said she was watching that house but wouldn’t say any more. Told me to go away, said I was ruining her cover.’ Katja laughed. ‘Now, how about that drink?’

‘When was this?’

‘This morning.’

‘What sort of time?’

‘Dunno. Just morning.’

Tanya had to drive two blocks before she found somewhere open. She ducked in, taking the car keys with her, and emerged with a bottle wrapped in a plastic bag.

Katja and Tijmen were already out of the car waiting for her on the pavement. Tanya handed over the bag and got into the car.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ asked Katja as Tanya slid the key into the slot and turned it, vibration through the seat telling her the motor had kicked into life. She hit a button and the driver’s-side window glided down.

‘It’s a drink,’ said Tanya as the motor revved up. ‘Enjoy.’

As she moved off she could hear Katja shrieking, Tijmen joining in with his monotonous insult.

She figured they’d need a bit of water after all that vodka.

There were no spaces left in the square when she nosed the car back in, so she had to park on one of the side roads. She killed the engine and the lights. The car’s interior still smelt of homeless people and exhaled alcohol.

She got out, pleased to breathe some clean air, and walked around the square, watching the building. There were no lights on, and she decided to try at the back.

A wooden door in a brick wall led off the alleyway; she pushed gently and found it opened. She went through to find a small patio area, concrete slabs and no vegetation at all. Brick walls separated it from the neighbours’ gardens, each of which looked neat, like they were actually tended to.

The back door to the property had been hit around the
lock, several blows chipping paint and denting wood. She pulled her gun and torch.

Inside it smelt familiar, the same herbal funk she’d smelt this morning on the raid. Some genetically modified breed of skunk, a
sativa
/
indica
cross with a THC content off the charts, was her guess. Not that she knew anything about it.

It was crazy that it was legal for registered Coffeeshops to sell the stuff, but not for anyone to produce it. The Coffeeshops weren’t, technically, even allowed to buy it in, an anomaly which most people had no idea existed. Tanya knew that a huge amount was smuggled in from abroad, but over the last few years a new breed of gang had decided horticulture was less risky than dealing with Customs.

The house was set over three floors, and seemed perfectly still. Not even the hum of a fridge broke the silence. She checked the downstairs rooms one by one and finding them empty crept up the stairs.

The smell was stronger here, and in the back room she found a bunch of electric cabling which would have been used for the grow lights. The window would have been blocked up so the neighbours wouldn’t notice, and a fan had been crudely attached to the ceiling, venting the air up and out through the roof when it was on.

She was just about to leave – she’d need to check if this was one of the places the drug squad had hit only to find it empty – when she spotted something in the corner. Bending down she trained the torch beam on to it.

It was clear the drug squad had not been here.

On the floor was a small knife. A hunting knife with a
curved, jagged blade. The handle was black plastic, with a small round badge on which a gold eagle spread its wings. She looked closer at the blade – there was something dark dried on it.

Tanya didn’t need a degree in forensic science to know what it was.

As she left the building she was starting to see why the homeless woman had ended up dead.