Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) (29 page)

“Advocatenkantoor Kerkwijk.”

“Robert Kerkwijk, alstublieft. My name is Sieltjes. If you put me on hold, please hold the music.”

“Yes, Ms. Sieltjes, just a moment.”

She listened to the silence, glad to opt out of the muzak. If there was one thing she hated, it was being forced to listen to some stupid melody while she waited for her connection.
 

About thirty seconds later Kerkwijk came on. “Hello Katherine, how can can help you?”

“A friend of mine is held at police station Y-tunnel, charged with assault. Can you represent him, Robert?”

“Sure. Any particulars?”

“His name is Bram Merleyn. He’s blind. A street musician. He was grabbed by someone and broke his nose.”

“I’ll get right on it. Can I mention your name?”

“Please do.”

“I’ll bill your office,” Kerkwijk said. “Talk to you later.”

Katla called Zeph, told him to collect Bram at the police station, erased the call registry and disassembled the phone.

After another five minutes, the young Chinese man left the Manor Hotel and stalked to the BMW. Katla strolled back to the XT and waited for the BMW to show which direction it would go. As the car headed back to the city center, Katla kept a few cars between herself and the BMW. It was clear the driver was following GPS instructions, taking a circuitous route to the Spinhuissteeg. She watched from across the Kloveniersburgwal canal as the driver got out and walked up and down the alley, halting briefly at the door to the Japanese club to write something on a notepad or PDA.

She assembled her phone again and called Zeph. When he answered, she told him that Bram had to call her ASAP, before he went home.
 

The driver walked back to the BMW and Katla followed him to Osdorp, one of the less prosperous neighbourhoods known for its high influx of North African immigrants. Moroccan, Algerian, and Egyptian criminals preyed on the communities. At the large Winkelcentrum Osdorp mall, the driver parked and went inside. Katla parked the XT and stored her helmet in the top case, then followed him inside. She unzipped her jacket and turned it inside out, took out a ball cap and pulled the cap down deep over her eyes.

The driver went to a couple of stalls, bought some Chinese ingredients and walked to the next stall. Why he didn’t buy all his groceries at the same stall was apparent when she came closer and saw that he paid with a ten euro bill and received several fifty euro bills wrapped in a five euro bill. He was making collections. Filing that useful fact away, Katla returned to the XT and waited for the driver to return.

When he came back, the driver sat in his car for a while, counting money probably. She followed him when he pulled out again and drove to Geuzenveld. Although Geuzenveld had pretty much the same problems as Osdorp, the reputation was much better and the Chinese criminals mainly preyed on the Chinese community, so the local police never bothered to interfere, unless someone filed a complaint. Chinese immigrants knew better than to complain to the local authorities, so the Triad activities went unchecked. Of course there was some overflow, with gang members turning up dead once in a while, but investigators would hit a wall of silence and undercover officers were difficult to find.

The driver parked the BMW and approached a Chinese health center where, despite the bad weather, several young Chinese men hung around under the awning. They gave him respectful nods that were more like modified bows, and he returned their greeting with a slight nod that indicated his standing. The young men closed rank after the driver went inside, their gazes constantly scanning the street while they shared cigarettes and talked among themselves. Triad front, without a doubt.

Katla turned the XT around and rode back to Artis, where she parked the XT and went inside to get her MacBook.

With the MacBook in her backpack, Katla took her Burgman and returned to the Manor Hotel. The lounge opposite from the entrance was quiet, with just a few tourists waiting to be picked up with their luggage. Katla told the concierge she was waiting for someone, and if she could use the hotel’s wi-fi connection. He graciously gave her the password and she settled in the lounge, the MacBook in her lap. With the wi-fi connection going, she used illegal software to search the hotel for active computers. The computers from the reception showed up clearly and their security was laughably ineffective. She ran a search through the hotel records. Most of the guests were of Mediterranean origin. The only Chinese was Xiao Chang in suite 41. Ground floor, with access to the garden. Katla pulled up a scan of his passport. Date of birth seemed to match the older Chinese man. He didn’t cover his tracks much, so the Chang identity was probably false. Xiao Chang was as ubiquitous as John Smith in the Western Hemisphere, so an internet search for his name wouldn’t do much good.

She put the MacBook away and walked away to the bar. From the bar she entered the corridor, where suite 41 was the last suite on the right hand, just before the emergency doors. Katla checked whether the doors were wired for alarm, but they were clean. She opened the door and entered a barren staircase, obviously fire-proof emergency stairs. The emergency exit leading to the inner gardens was wired for alarm, a simple magnet at the top of the doors. Katla opened the doors, but no alarm sounded. She quickly checked the outside of the door, which featured a simple cylinder lock.

She closed the exit door again, and went up one of the stairs, waiting and watching. After ten minutes there was still no response to the opening of the emergency exit. Katla walked back along the second floor corridor, checking the locks on the doors. A simple keycard system. She went past a cleaning cupboard and on impulse used her lock picks to open the door and slip inside.

A cart filled with clean laundry and cleaning apparel was parked in the middle, next to shelves with supplies. In the corner hung a jacket with the hotel logo. Katla went through the pockets and found a keycard. The security didn’t seem very strict. She took the keycard and went across the corridor to the first suite she could find. After knocking on the door she inserted the keycard and the door clicked open. She touched the switch, but the lights didn’t come on. With her flashlight she found a unit on the wall where she could insert the keycard and turn the lights on. She removed the keycard, pocketing the card as she stepped into the corridor again and went back downstairs to the lounge again.

Opening the MacBook again, she watched the reception, but there were no noticeable indicators from the emergency exit alarm and her entry with the cleaning service keycard. She searched the hotel computers for the entry records of the keycard she had stolen and erased the entry in the suite.
 

Smiling to herself, Katla put the MacBook away and left the hotel.
 

-o-

Bram had left the holding cell three times, twice for visits to the lavatory and once to make a phone call to Zeph. He had given Zeph the lowdown, so Katla would know what to do, but there had been no contact since and he was getting really nervous about the probability of having to spend the night in a police cell. They’d given him a meal, and they’d been courteous in their treatment. He’d been asked if he wanted to make a statement, but he told them he’d rather wait on his legal representation. After that they left him alone, although he could hear them walk past his cell and stop to observe him briefly before they walked on.

He heard two sets of footsteps approach the cell and halt at the door, and the harsh clunks of the locking pins sliding back. The door opened and two men entered the cell, one with police boots, the other with leather soled shoes.

“Mister Merleyn, my name is Robert Kerkwijk. Ms. Sieltjes asked me to represent you. If you’d like to follow me, we’ll go to an office where we can confer in private.”

Bram rose from the bench. “Could you guide me, please. They took my cane.”

“Would you like me to hold your arm or the other way around?”

“Your arm, please.”

The arm Kerkwijk offered was draped in expensive cloth. Silk probably. They left the cell and turned to the right, where they entered an office. Kerkwijk thanked the policeman who had accompanied them and closed the door.

“I’m pretty sure these offices aren’t wired for sound, but we’ll keep this brief.”

Bram gave him a succinct report on how he was arrested and Kerkwijk took notes, a pen scribbling on paper. When he was finished, Kerkwijk said, “You felt threatened by the policeman who tried to mace you, but you didn’t know he was about to mace you when you grabbed his wrist?”

“His fist moved toward my face. When I grabbed his wrist to prevent his fist from moving closer to my face I felt something in his hand. It wasn’t until I removed the cylinder from his grasp that his colleague pulled a gun and told me to put down the mace.”

“I think I have all the facts now. I’m going to take you back to the holding pen, but I’m sure I’ll have you out in a few minutes.”

The few minutes felt like another half hour, but Kerkwijk returned and said, “You’re free to go now. I’ll be working on getting your charges dropped, but in the meanwhile your friend, mister Catadupa, is here to escort you home.”

Bram sighed with relief and went with Kerkwijk to collect his belongings and they left the police station at the front door. Kerkwijk took him to Zeph and said, “I’ll keep Ms. Sieltjes posted of the progress regarding your case.”

A quick dry hand and he was gone.

“Katla ask I-man to have you call her before you do something else. I call her pager, she call back soon.”

His phone rang before he finished speaking. Zeph answered and handed Bram his cell.

“You can’t go home,” Katla said without preamble. “They found your address. Can you bunk with Zeph for a few days?”

“I brought some clothes and my saxophone, so that won’t be a problem, I think.”

“I have a lot to do,” Katla said. “I’ll drop by the Mojo tomorrow and we’ll talk, okay?”

“Thanks.”

Katla rang off, without goodbyes. Bram shrugged and handed Zeph his phone. “Can I bunk with you for a few days, bro?”

“Of course. You got everything?”

Bram nodded and took his elbow to walk with Zeph to his bicycle.

-o-

The footage was much clearer than the stills had been, but Zhang still doubted what he saw. He looked at Lau, puffing on his cigarette.

“I’m positive,” the senior Red Pole said. “Limp is less pronounced, but I’m sure.”

“There were no feats of muscular superiority,” Nicky said. “And it would explain the connection.”

Zhang shook his head. “If I had known, I’d have picked another company.”

“We had no choice remember?” Lau said. “The others were either too big or in the pocket of the 14K.”

Ri held up his hand. “We acted on the information we had. Now we have to act on the information we have.”

Zhang nodded. “Make the call.”

Chang woke up with a start as his bed moved, but he froze at the touch of a blade against his throat. He tried to see the intruder, but the room was pitch-dark, darker than it had been when he’d gone to bed. The intruder had drawn the curtains.
 

“Easy, Chang,” the intruder whispered hoarsely. “If I wanted to kill you, you would’ve died in your sleep.”

Chang turned his eyes in the direction of the voice. A darker shape sat on the side of his bed, seemingly totally at ease.

“I’m here for information. I’ll ask the questions, you answer. Raise your voice above a whisper and my blade will sever your vocal chords. Along with your windpipe. Understand?”

“Yes,” Chang croaked, his mouth dry as if he’d eaten a bag of sand. “Could I have some water, please?”

“You can drink after I’m gone.” The intruder shifted on the bed, but the knife on his throat didn’t move. “You’re an assassin. What’s your specialty?”
 

Chang briefly thought about denying it, but he could feel the pressure of the blade increasing slightly, and the intruder said, “Don’t think too hard, just answer the question.”

“Long range,” Chang whispered. “I don’t fare too well in close quarter combat anymore.”

“Well, you hired muscle for the short range. Local guy. Triad?”

“I guess you’re here because of the blind musician?”

“You’re at the wrong side of this blade to ask questions.”

Chang smiled. “I don’t care about your blade.”

“You should.”

“Why? You’re not going to kill me.”

The blade shifted from his throat and his smile died when the tip of the blade touched his right eyelid. He closed his right eye, but the intruder chuckled. “I can gouge out your eyes, closed eyelids or not. Blind snipers don’t get a lot of job offers.”

“Can we just talk, like civilised professionals?”

“Neither of us is civilised, Chang. Just answer my questions. Why are you here?”

“I’m here on behalf of the 14K. If you gouge out my eyes, you’ll have to answer to them.”

The intruder chuckled. “The 14K is more afraid of me than the other way around.”

“I thought so,” Chang replied. “You must be Loki.”

The intruder became still and the room temperature seemed to drop by several degrees.

“We are not adversaries,” Chang whispered. “I know you didn’t kill Tsui Pak Yun, Loki. At least, not directly.”

“His lack of discretion killed him.”

“He was gathering information on the pendant you gave him. You contacted him through that blind musician, didn’t you?”

“His involvement was marginal. So you’re here to find out who killed Yun?”

“I have a good idea already,” Chang said. “I don’t know why yet, but that’s a matter of time.”

“No, it isn’t,” Loki whispered. “I don’t need a sniper running interference, so you better go back where you came from.”

“Or else?”

“Don’t test me, Chang. Turn on your belly, cross your wrists behind your back.”

“We should work together.” Chang turned on his belly, his face away from the intruder. “I’ll split my fee with you.”

A gloved hand pulled a necktie under his crossed wrists and tied them together.