“Why don’t you come to my place?” Karen suggested. “It’s much closer than your hotel, and I’m not sure we’re going to find a taxi around here at this time of night. And, let’s be honest, I could do with the company. I don’t really want to go home alone. The couches are quite comfortable.”
Sam nodded. “I agree. And I can sleep anywhere. All right for you, Kate?”
“Definitely.” I’d be happy for the three of us to stick together until we could talk to the lawyer in the morning. Besides, I wouldn’t sleep much. The sight of the office and the vault had set my mind racing. They had to be connected to the danger to Sam.
Half an hour later, Sam and I settled on the white sofas in Karen’s living room. The adrenaline rush of our discovery was wearing off. But, although my pulse was back to normal, my mind wouldn’t stop churning. Who owned that office? Clearly, Tomas Janssen must have known about it, maybe even used it. Karen had told us that he was on the boards of several companies, so perhaps that office belonged to one of them. It could be a perfectly legal enterprise. Yet the contents of the vault made me doubt it. What kind of company kept gold bars on hand like that? Or hid itself behind a bricked-up wall accessible only through a tunnel? If Tomas hadn’t passed away, it’s unlikely it would have been discovered. The fact that he hadn’t renovated the upper floors was starting to make a lot more sense. Exhausted, I closed my eyes and willed myself to get some sleep.
When I woke up, grey light filtered through the window. A quick glance at Sam assured me he was still sleeping. Even in the gloom, I could see his aura swirling. Anguish swelled like a wave crashing on a beach. Why Sam? Why hadn’t I saved him yet? More to the point, had we just made things worse by blundering into the secret office?
Tired and aching, I staggered into the kitchen where Karen was already making coffee and toast. I was helping to set out plates and cutlery just as Sam wandered in, his hair sticking up in all directions, his usually pristine shirt creased and untucked.
“Comfy sofa,” he commented, accepting a mug of coffee from Karen. “I slept like a baby.”
“I slept a little,” I said. “But it wasn’t exactly restful.”
I’d had nightmares about tunnels and vaults, and I’d been dreaming about searching for a key in a bank when I woke up. My dad said that waking up in the middle of a dream was your brain’s way of sending you a message, something it wanted you to think about. He said he’d come up with some of his best legal arguments that way. While I made tea, I thought about my strange dream and realized there was something Karen had said that bothered me.
“Yesterday, when you told us that Eline had given you a key for her safety deposit box, you said she did it in case something happened to her.”
Karen nodded. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and she had dark circles under her eyes that looked like bruises. “Yes, that’s what she said.”
“Why would she think that anything would happen to her?”
Karen wrapped her hands around her mug. “I don’t know. I suppose after Tomas died, she felt vulnerable. It’s probably not that surprising.”
“Let’s go take a look at the box this morning.”
She nodded. “We should do that. I’ll cancel my morning class. And I’ll call to make an appointment with the bank.”
While Karen sorted out her schedule, Sam typed on his phone.
“Anything from Alex?” I asked.
“Not yet. But it’s still really early. I’ll let her know where we are.”
“I carried on looking at those papers last night,” Karen said, spreading butter on her toast. “I found a stack of bank statements with Tomas’s name on them. No sign of a large payment of any kind, and certainly not one for eight million to Martin Eyghels or anyone else.”
Sam looked up. “It’s not definitive. There could be other accounts Tomas might have used, but it’s a good start at least.”
“But if Martin Eyghels didn’t get any money from Tomas, then the house is still officially subject to the agreement?” I asked. “Eyghels still has the right to buy it back? If that’s the case, why didn’t he approach Eline and show her the contract? Why let her get as far as putting the house on the market and accepting an offer from TBA?”
We all fell quiet. My head was so fuzzy with fatigue, it was a struggle to think clearly. “What time do you think lawyers start work?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Karen said. “But let me be sure I have Bleeker’s number so we can call him at eight.”
As she picked up her mobile, it rang, filling the kitchen with the sound of The Clash’s London Calling.
She raised the phone to her ear and listened, the color draining from her face. She didn’t say anything more than “I understand” before the call ended.
“Is everything all right?” I asked as she sank back into her chair.
“That was Mr. Bleeker. The police have opened an enquiry into Eline Janssen’s death.”
“It wasn’t an accident?”
“They just got the autopsy results. They’re saying she was murdered.”
18
Eline was murdered. The words echoed around the kitchen.
Karen stood up suddenly and rushed to the bathroom. I felt nauseous too. With my head in my hands, elbows on the table, my thoughts rampaged. This changed the stakes for Sam. I was sure now that Eline’s death and the danger to him were linked. But who would want them both dead? Pieter, or someone claiming to be him, had come to the house and taken away some paperwork. Was he Eline’s killer and the threat to Sam?
I stood up to pour a glass of water for Karen when she came back. She looked wretched, her eyes red and her skin ashen.
“Bleeker said the police will want to talk to us all,” she said. “Everyone involved in the house sale.”
“We have a lot to talk about,” I said. “We’ll have to tell him about everything we’ve discovered over there.”
Karen’s mobile rang again, the brash music jarring after the shock of the first call.
She listened for a while. “Yes, we’ll be here,” she said.
“The detective will come in an hour.” She pushed her mobile to the middle of the table as though wanting it out of her sight. “He suggested Moresby and Alex join us here.”
Sam sent another text to Alex and rang Moresby while Karen and I cleaned up the kitchen. In the bathroom, I washed my face and tamed my tangled hair into some semblance of order. With the help of an airline travel kit that Karen had given me, I brushed my teeth and slicked moisturizer on to my pallid cheeks.
Feeling somewhat refreshed, I returned to the kitchen to find that Moresby had already arrived. He was sitting at the table, talking with Sam, whose aura was moving ever faster. My heart rate climbed. The fact that Eline had been murdered changed everything, but I didn’t have much time to think about it. The doorbell rang, loud and insistent.
Karen went downstairs to let in our visitor. After a couple of minutes, we heard voices, and then she reappeared, accompanied by a man in jeans and a brown leather bomber jacket. He was in his early forties, I guessed, tall with fair hair cut short. His eyes were startlingly blue, the color of Delft china. With him was a young woman dressed in leggings, desert boots and a fisherman’s sweater.
“Ivo Nouwen,” the man said, shaking hands with each of us. “And this is Detective Lange.” The young woman raised a hand in greeting.
Moresby glared at him. “You’re a policeman?” His gaze shifted to Nouwen’s feet, which were clad in black sneakers.
Nouwen smiled. “I’m a chief detective.”
“Take a seat,” Sam offered, pulling out a chair for him.
“I prefer to stand, thanks.”
Unsure, we remained standing until Nouwen urged us to sit down. Sam took the chair next to Karen’s. Moresby sat next to me.
“Just a few questions,” Nouwen said in nearly flawless English. “This won’t take long.”
If he was aiming for intimidation by towering over us
where we sat, he succeeded. My stomach was doing flips, even though I’d done nothing wrong.
Using his phone, he took note of our names, where we were staying, our home addresses and our reasons for being in Amsterdam. Behind him, Lange scribbled notes with a pencil in a beaten-up notebook.
“The incident took place very close to your hotel,” he commented, tapping keys. “Was there anyone else working on the project?”
Sam told him about Alex and gave him her mobile number. “She’s staying with her aunt somewhere in the city, but we don’t have an address for her.” He stared at his mobile. “She should be in touch very soon.”
The reminder that Alex had been out of touch for twelve hours stirred butterflies in my stomach. Where was she?
Nouwen spoke in Dutch with Karen, presumably asking some of the same questions. They talked for several minutes, while we waited impatiently for more information about Eline.
Karen sat erect and seemed to be having a hard time holding back tears.
“What happened to Eline?” I asked the detective when he’d finished talking with her. “They said she drowned. But it wasn’t an accident?”
Nouwen tapped something into his phone and then looked down at us. “We believe it wasn’t an accident.”
Then he asked which of us had met Eline and where we were on Tuesday night.
“Kate, Alex and I were at a nightclub until about one in the morning,” Sam said.
“And you were all together the entire time?”
“Well, Alex and I were.” Sam looked uncomfortable. “Kate left earlier, around midnight.”
I didn’t have an alibi. The hotel didn’t track the coming and going of its guests. Nouwen made a note and said something to Lange.
“And you, Mr. Moresby?” he asked.
“You can’t seriously believe that any of us had anything to do with Eline Janssen’s death?” Moresby said. “We have no motive. Just the opposite, in fact. Her demise is putting my project at risk, jeopardizing weeks of work. It’s the same for everyone here.”
Decent of him to stick up for us, I thought. But Nouwen didn’t look convinced.
“You need to talk to Pieter Janssen,” Moresby went on. “If anyone has a motive, it’s him. He is now the sole inheritor of the property.”
Nouwen’s face remained blank. He’d probably be a good poker player. “We’ll be talking to him,” he said.
“He came to the house on Tuesday afternoon,” I said. “At least, we think he did.” I related the story of Pieter’s arrival, his search for a document, and the appointment he said he had with the lawyer.
“So, you spoke with him and helped him find the papers he was looking for. Do you know which paperwork he took?”
“Actually, I didn’t. Alex volunteered, because she speaks Dutch and could help with searching through the papers. She said he took a copy of the original house deed, but I didn’t see it, to be honest. I should have paid more attention, I’m sorry.”
“That was irresponsible,” Moresby said. “Letting a stranger walk around the house and take things.”
Nouwen cleared his throat. “As I said, we will be talking with Mr. Janssen.”
The detective wrote more notes and then looked up at Moresby. “Your movements on Tuesday night, please?”
Moresby sat upright, bristling with indignation at being questioned. “When I left the Janssen house, I went to my hotel and called my Managing Director in London. We talked for twenty-five minutes. You can check records, I’m sure. Then I called my wife. I ate dinner by myself in the hotel restaurant, had a brandy in the hotel bar and went to bed at ten.”
Nouwen made a note. “Thank you.”
“Eline was supposed to meet us for a drink at eight on Tuesday evening, but she didn’t come,” I said. “She called at nine to say she couldn’t make it.”
Nouwen turned his brilliant blue eyes on me. “What else did she say?”
“Just that. It was very short, only that she couldn’t come and was sorry for standing us up. She said she’d see us over here today.”
“And you’re sure it was Eline?”
I thought about it. I’d only talked with Eline for a few minutes two days ago. She spoke English with a fairly strong accent, and it had certainly sounded like her on the phone. I showed Nouwen my mobile. “This is the number she gave me, and that’s the number the call came from.”
“I appreciate it, thanks.” He tapped on his phone. “Interesting that she was supposed to be at a meeting with Pieter Janssen at the lawyer’s office, yet she said she’d come out with you for a drink.”
“There was no meeting with the lawyer,” Karen said. “Not that Eline was aware of. Pieter told Alex and Kate that he and Eline had an appointment, but Eline didn’t know about it. She was home with me at that time.”
Nouwen typed more notes and then looked up at us. “And, just for my records, give me a summary of what you did yesterday, please?”
Between us, we gave an account of our meeting with Bleeker and the agreement that we could finish our study with the understanding that the purchase would be delayed until the inheritance issues were resolved. Karen confirmed that I’d come to talk to her about Eline.
“And in the evening?”
“Alex went out for dinner with a family friend.” Sam said. “Karen, Kate and I stayed at the Janssen house for a while.”
This would be the moment to tell Nouwen about the secret office and the vault. I waited. Sam got to his feet, probably having reached his sitting-down limit. While Nouwen watched him, he stalked around the tiny room and then came to a halt at the window, where he leaned back against the sill. “We should tell you that we found some interesting things on the top floor of the house.”
Nouwen nodded. “Go on.”
Sam did his best to provide a succinct description of the house, with its renovated apartment and the abandoned upper floors.
“As part of our survey of the property, we removed some paneling on each of the two upper floors to ascertain what was behind them.”
That was a delicate way of describing the havoc we’d wreaked with a sledgehammer.
“And on the top floor, we found an office with a lot of high-tech equipment and a large vault full of gold bars,” Sam continued. “There’s a keypad-protected steel door which must lead to another set of stairs. None of it is on the house plans.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Here, I took some photos.”
That certainly caught Nouwen’s attention. He and Detective Lange spoke in Dutch and then she left the kitchen. I heard her talking on her phone in the hall.
“Anything else?” Nouwen asked.
Sam told him about the tunnel he and I had found, and the blinking light that seemed to be an alarm system. “There were some other things that happened there,” he went on. “We thought of them as pranks, but in light of Eline’s death, perhaps they were warnings.”
Nouwen’s eyes lit up. “Go on.”
Sam looked at me. “Kate saw more of them than I did.”
I jumped in, describing the painting falling off the wall and the chandelier crashing to the ground.
“And do you have any idea who could be behind these incidents?” Nouwen asked.
“It could be the caretaker,” Sam offered. “He’s there every day.”
Nouwen checked the notes on his phone. “Henk Mayer?”
“Yes, but I don’t think he would harm Eline,” I said. “She was very fond of him, she said.”
Nouwen eyed me for long enough for me to feel uncomfortable. “You had a long conversation with Mrs. Janssen?” he asked.
“Not really. We chatted for a few minutes. I asked her about a stray cat.”
“What else did you and Mrs. Janssen talk about?”
“I told her about the incidents. She was surprised to hear about them but didn’t have any answers. She said she’d be coming in and out to collect some of her things. That was all.”
Nouwen stared at me for a few more seco
nds but said nothing.
“There is one more thing,” I added. “I’m sure that we’re being watched. There’s a man in a grey hooded sweatshirt. I saw him in a bar on Monday night and he was outside the house yesterday evening. He has a goatee beard and is probably in his thirties.”
Sam flicked a look at me. Neither he nor Alex believed that we were being followed, especially since my overreaction when I’d accosted the poor tourist who happened to be wearing a grey sweatshirt. But I still had a feeling there was someone watching us.
“Could you describe him? Recognize him in a photo perhaps?” Nouwen asked.
Karen got up, went into the living room and returned with the sketch that Eline had drawn.
“He was following Eline around as well,” she said, handing it to him.
“There’s something else,” I said. “Eline’s assistant, Tessa De Vries, died on Monday afternoon after falling down the stairs at her apartment. Apparently, it was an accident. But, perhaps, it wasn’t. Now that we know Eline was murdered, it makes me wonder.”
Nouwen gazed at me for long enough to make my cheeks warm. But the more I thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that Tessa and Eline would die within a day of each other and there not be a connection.
“We met Tessa on Monday morning. She was at the Janssens’ house.” I glanced at Sam, looking for his support. “She seemed… nervous. And she warned Sam to be careful.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. She just said she hoped nothing would go wrong. I planned to ring her to ask her some questions but then we heard that she was dead.”
Again, Nouwen and Lange exchanged glances. Lange wrote something in her notebook while Nouwen put the sketch of the goatee man and his phone in his pocket. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be back in touch again soon. I assume you are all staying in the city?”
Moresby raised his arms in a gesture of frustration. “Are you treating us as suspects? This is ridiculous.”
“As witnesses, for now,” Nouwen said calmly. “I expect to have more questions for all of you and need to know where to reach you. Do you still have access to the Janssen house?”
Assignment in Amsterdam Page 16
