‘Jaap, listen to me. You are nothing to a company like that. Nothing. And if they feel threatened they will act accordingly.’
‘So far, though, I’ve not got anything on them.’
‘You said that several people had died in a clinical trial they’d run and they covered it up? That news getting out equals a full-blown day-after-a-curry-shit in the mouth as far as they’re concerned. That’s more than enough.’
I think about that and know that he’s most likely right. Which makes it even more important we get something out of Polman when he presents himself at the station in just over two hours’ time. Assuming he presents himself, that is. I really hope he hasn’t run overnight, or hooked himself up to his car’s exhaust.
‘Oh, by the way. I gave that stuff you gave me on the compound, FAA673, a glance. From what I can tell they were trying to target serotonin receptors in the brain.’
‘So it should have made them happy?’
‘Not as simple as that. And anyway, with things like this you can never predict what’s going to happen.’
My phone rings, making me jump. It’s the animal hospital.
‘Mr Rykel?’
Female voice, soft and low.
‘Yeah,’ I say, mentally constructing a picture of her face.
‘Is that a Dutch name? I’ve never heard it before.’
Not this again. If I had a cent for every time I get asked that, I’d be thousands of euros richer than I am now.
‘It’s a seventeenth-century surname, very uncommon nowadays. How’s Kush?’
‘Some bad news I’m afraid.’
My heart goes off like a depth charge. Nausea pulses in my stomach.
‘He … he’s dead?’
Joel’s been fiddling with the coffee machine. He stops and looks across at me.
‘Dead? No, no, nothing like that. The surgery went really well and he’s up and about already. Someone should have left a message for you earlier?’
‘They didn’t.’ My heart slows down to around 200 beats per minute. ‘So what’s the bad news?’
‘The bad news is it looks like he’s got fleas. We’ve given him a treatment so he’ll be fine, but most likely you’ll have them all over your house. You’re going to have to get that dealt with quickly. A flea infestation in the home can be devastating.’
I think of thousands of fleas getting incinerated, maybe some jumping ship like sparks only for them to drown in the canal. I can’t help it, I start laughing. One hundred beats per minute, getting there. The woman on the phone clearly thinks this is a little bit crazy.
‘When can I pick him up?’ I ask, wiping my eyes on my sleeve.
‘Probably not until tomorrow, but you can come by to see him now if you want. And also … if you’d like to bring your credit card so we can settle the bill at the same time that would be great?’
Once I’ve assured her I’ll be there soon I hang up and have a little conversation with Joel.
‘You need money to help treat your sick dog?’ he asks when I’ve finished. ‘You’ve only been homeless a day and you’re starting to act like a bum already.’
‘It’s either that or sell my body for sex.’
‘Yeah, that may take some time. Even the girl you were giving it to for free has bailed out on you.’
Ouch. He pulls out his wallet, selects a card, and tosses it over from where he’s manning the toaster.
‘What’s the pin?’
‘1620’
Of course it is. 4:20, should have guessed that myself. Some inspector.
‘So how much do you reckon it’ll be?’ he asks.
The toaster clicks and he grabs two slices as they fly into the air.
I actually have no idea. The woman hadn’t said. But it can’t be that much.
‘About a hundred or so.’
A primeval scream outside. The cat’s bluster didn’t work. One of them must’ve blinked and they’re now a screeching tornado of claws and fur.
‘That’s fine, just don’t go crazy. No offence.’
I finish up my Red Bull, scrunch the can and throw it at him. Fresh from his triumph with the toast his skills are honed. It’s an easy catch.
‘None taken.’
‘So, given your current situation, stay here until you’re sorted. I’ve got some spare keys somewhere. Just one request.’
I’m relieved that he’s offered without me having to prompt him.
‘Sure, what is it?’
‘Just make sure no one burns it down, will you?’
‘Would you like to see him?’ asks the young man with glasses and an air of super-bright keenness that’s sweet but almost unbearable at the same time. There’s no trace of the woman who’d called me earlier. The waiting room smells of bleach and a strip light in the ceiling is humming to itself. He leads me to the back of the building and we pass through currents of animal scent into a room with at least thirty cages. About two thirds of them are full, dogs of all shapes and sizes. Many of them seem to be trying to out-bark all the others. Kush is at the far end, lying with his snout pushed up against the metal bars. Round his neck is a large plastic cone, which I’m told is to stop him chewing at the bandage covering his leg. His eyes are closed but he opens them as we approach. In a flash he’s up, his whole body wriggling, his bandaged leg held awkwardly. The man opens the crate and manages to stop Kush from exiting like a bullet before clipping a leash to his collar. He hands it to me and points to a door. Kush is jumping up at me. I can feel his claws scratching through my top. I try to calm him down. He seems frantic.
‘You can take him into the yard if you want. Don’t let him off the leash, though, as he’s not supposed to run on that leg for a little while.’
The yard itself is covered with fake grass and is being hosed down by a worker in rubber boots. It smells of dog shit. Once they’re done hosing they give the okay and I walk Kush round the fake grass. He seems happy, though he does try and get the cone off a couple of times. His limp gets more pronounced, though, and he seems tired so we head back. I give him an ear scratch and entice him back into his crate. He starts barking as he sees me leave. I turn back to him and he stops, and somehow makes his eyes go all droopy and hunches his shoulders. This is the worst sort of emotional blackmail. And it’s working. I feel terrible.
‘Tomorrow, okay?’
Which does nothing to calm him down. He starts barking again as soon as I walk away and I can still hear him over the other dogs back at reception. In the waiting area an old man sits with a carrier perched on his lap. Something hisses as I walk past and I catch a pair of suspicious eyes glaring out at me.
‘He’ll be fine,’ the young man says. ‘Says here he should be ready to leave tomorrow. Would you like to settle up now?’
Seems like I don’t have a choice. He prints off an invoice and hands it over as I’m getting Joel’s card out. The old man’s cat has started a high keening sound; it’s almost alien. I slip the card across the surface and glance at the bill. Errr … what the fuck?
‘I don’t think this is mine,’ I tell him as he picks the card up and is about to slip it into the machine. ‘It seems quite expensive …’
He takes the paper back and checks something on the computer. Glances at the paper again. Nods.
‘No, this is the one,’ he says, giving it back to me and positioning the card machine so I can enter the pin. ‘Seems a lot, but your insurance will cover it. You’ll need to get a claim form, fill it out and send the invoice in. Just pop your pin in there.’
My insurance. Damn. I should probably call Joel. Then again, I’ve no other immediate way of paying for it, and I’m pretty sure they’re not going to let me take Kush home until it’s been settled in full. The light’s now humming a little louder. I take a deep breath and type in the four digits. I’ll give Joel a call later.
Back at the station, I find Vermeer in the incident room and tell her about my conversation with Joel, how it could frame the attack on my houseboat i
n an entirely different light. She listens intently. When I’ve finished she just sits there. A biro in her hand goes tap-tap-tap on the table.
‘So what do you think?’ I finally ask when it’s clear she’s not going to offer anything.
‘I think all that stuff you’re smoking is making you paranoid,’ she says when I’ve finished.
‘Easy for you to say. No one’s burned down your place.’
The biro falls silent.
‘That’s exactly the point. We’re both doing this investigation together, so what’s so special about you?’
Well, when she puts it like that …
‘Change of topic. Huisman doesn’t matter any more but –’ She tosses over a sheet of paper. ‘– out of interest, look who’s a member of the rehab’s parent organization.’
I look. Ex Judge Muller. I wonder if he found ‘religion’ after his daughter’s death, or he’d already been part of what some might call a cult.
‘You think he was the one who blocked the warrant?’
‘But why would he? Doesn’t make sense.’
She’s right. But the more we discover the less any of it seems to be making sense.
‘Maybe not.’
Still, the fact remains someone did burn down my houseboat, and I’m finding it increasingly hard to believe that it was just a random act, regardless of what Vermeer thinks. Something about DH Biotech’s not right, I can feel it, and I’m hoping that Bastiaan Polman is going to help us find out what it is. I check the time. Ten minutes until the deadline expires. Vermeer’s put down the biro and has moved on to ripping up a sheet of paper into little bits. Once done she piles them up in a heap and starts on another sheet.
I put my feet up and stare at the ceiling, wondering how I can let Joel know that I had to pay well over a thousand euros for Kush’s medical bill. I make a note to myself to look into pet insurance. Then I think that maybe if I take out a policy today and ask the vets to change the date on the invoice to some time next week I could get it covered. Not sure they’ll go for that, though. Not least because technically it’s insurance fraud. But damn, a thousand euros? I pull out the bill and look at it closely, wondering if I could just change the date manually with a black pen. After a while I decide that it’s not going to work. I’ll have to think of something else.
‘You think he’s gonna show?’ Vermeer finally asks, once she has five heaps on the desk in front of her.
‘He’ll show. If not, he’s going viral. Actually, I think I caught you on video whipping him, maybe I’ll post that one too.’
Which earns me one of Vermeer’s favourites, the sweet smile with the middle finger. To distract myself I turn my mind to worrying about Sabine. I tried to call her earlier but she didn’t answer. I’m pretty sure she must’ve simply gone off me, absurd as that sounds. The door opens again – disturbing a new heap Vermeer has been painstakingly working on – and a different uniform informs us that a Mr Polman’s lawyer had called to say they’ve been delayed, but they will be here in an hour and a half.
‘Okay, so he didn’t kill himself,’ Vermeer says. ‘At least there’s that.’
Jansen bounces past in his running gear. I notice he’s wearing the shoes I bought him, despite the colour.
‘Tracked down the next one?’ I ask.
Jansen shakes his head.
‘But you’ve got time to go for a run?’ says Vermeer. I’m not sure if she’s joking or not.
‘Yeah,’ he says in not the most friendly tone and jogs off.
Vermeer looks at me and shrugs.
Flames are roaring around me. And then they’re not. I’m standing on the station’s roof, looking west, the sky vast and oppressive at the same time. I don’t remember coming up here. A moment of deep panic. The urge to step forward into space almost overwhelms me. I try to calm down. Work it out, what was my last memory? I was downstairs in the incident room, and now I’m here. I check the time. I’ve lost well over an hour. I turn and walk towards the door leading back into the building on legs which feel like glass. I tell myself it was just a little episode, an after-effect of the one I’d had earlier. As I descend the stairs I sense half of me is still up there on the roof.
Twenty minutes later, minutes in which I’ve managed to calm myself down, I open the interview-room door and watch as Polman and his lawyer file past. Polman definitely looks better with his clothes on, and I’m glad to see his whole body language has none of that coke-induced-false-confidence-bravado bullshit he’d been exhibiting yesterday. His lawyer, on the other hand, is strutting around like a cockerel at dawn. He’s young, and this is clearly his first time in a police station, his act an attempt to stamp his authority on what he imagines is going to be a long and glittering career standing up for the little man against the big bad authorities. Loss stabs me out of nowhere. Am I going to miss all this too much? Then a thought, another explanation for Sabine’s absence. Could it be that her ex – what was his name? – found out where she was staying …? I push it away. I can’t think about this right now.
‘Please take a seat. Least the state can do in return for your cooperation.’
The lawyer pulls out a chair and sits. Polman hesitates.
‘You too, Mr Polman.’
‘As you well know, my client sustained some injuries yesterday at your hands, injuries for which he is very generously, and against my counsel, willing to overlook. So if he doesn’t want to sit then he –’
‘Sit down,’ I tell him.
Polman glares at me, but in a hangdog way, and pulls out a chair. It’s clearly a painful manoeuvre, so we watch him with friendly, welcoming smiles as he gingerly lowers his whipped backside onto the seat. Sometimes Vermeer and I are perfectly in tune. I wonder if I’m going to miss that too. The lawyer goes through his drivel about all information being given willingly without prejudice blah blah blah and we set out the ground rules before starting proper.
‘Tell us about the trial. How did you get involved?’
‘I saw an advert in the local paper. It said people were needed for an overnight stay in a hospital and that there was a fee. I was broke at the time, and I thought, why not? So I called the number and spoke to someone who took my details and said someone would call me back. And that was that. I didn’t hear for weeks and I’d pretty much forgotten it when I got a call saying I’d been picked. So I met with them, and they ran a few tests just to check I was healthy. A couple of days after that I got another call asking me to come in and go through the paperwork. Which is when I had to sign the initial non-disclosure agreement.’
‘And what did this non-disclosure agreement cover?’ Vermeer asks.
Polman looks at his lawyer who takes over.
‘The agreement covers everything, all dealings with the company. It’s the most comprehensive one I’ve ever seen. Just by being here my client is putting himself at risk.’
‘Maybe, but non-disclosure agreements don’t protect criminal acts.’
‘Has there been a criminal act?’
‘That we are not able to discuss at this stage,’ I tell him.
‘So it looks like our hands are tied.’
‘Except your client is, generously and selflessly, going to help us, isn’t he?’ I address that last to Polman.
‘I take it you’re referring to the photo you have of my client? Threatening to release it would be classed as blackmail, as I’m sure you’re aware.’
‘What photo?’ I ask.
‘The photo you took of my client.’
I turn to Vermeer. ‘You remember either of us taking a photo?’
‘It was a photo-less encounter,’ Vermeer says.
I smile at Polman. He glares at me, but then nods to his lawyer.
‘Very well. Despite all this, and against my counsel –’
‘– you’ve said that bit already –’
‘– despite all this my client will answer questions about areas covered by the agreement.’
‘Great, maybe we can
just get on with it then.’ I turn to Polman. ‘What happened next?’
Polman licks his lips. He starts talking, addressing himself to the table in front of him.
‘We were given a date we had to turn up and be prepared to stay for twenty-four hours. There were also check-ups scheduled once a week for the three weeks afterwards. So we turn up and we’re prepped for the trial itself. It was in a ward at the AMC but they’d put beanbags and stuff in there, tried to make it not look like a hospital. There was a TV, a couple of PlayStations, even some board games. Everyone was nervous, but a few people started talking and it got a bit better. Then the nurses came, and we were each given an injection in turn, and we settled in for the long haul. An hour or so later the first guy who’d got the injection, he was this blond guy whose neck was as thick as his head, started complaining of feeling weird. We’d been playing each other on the PlayStation, some racing game, and he’d kept on winning. Then he started crashing, driving into things, going the wrong way round the track. I thought he was just being a dick but when I looked at him I could tell something was wrong. You could see it in his face, this kind of tension like he was in pain or something. About ten minutes after that he got up and went over to one of the nurses who were doing tests on us. He looked drunk, the way he was walking, and everyone noticed. He reached the nurse and said he had a headache and she’d got him to sit down and drink some water. We all just tried to ignore it, pretend nothing was happening, but you could tell the whole room was a little shaken. But when someone else also complained of a headache and then collapsed I knew there was something seriously wrong. The nurses were doing their best but they looked as scared as we all felt. The first guy was now lying on his back moaning, hands over his face. Each of us was thinking Am I next? It was terrible. But that was nothing compared to what was coming.’
The room’s silent. Each of us imagining what it must’ve been like. Then again, is it so different from how many of us live our lives, waiting for the hammer to fall?
‘So what happened next?’
Polman’s been staring at the table the whole time he’s been talking, but now he finally raises his eyes and looks straight at me.
The Copycat Page 25
