by James Hume
‘Thank you. There’s something else I’d like to check, Guus.’ She brought out the photograph of the fair haired man. ‘We believe this man murdered another in Glasgow ten days ago. He used the name, ‘Pieter van der Huizen’, and said he came from Amsterdam.
‘Now, we’ve seen a number of instances recently of crooks borrowing real people’s identities to hide their own. Could you check if there’s a real person with this name, and then check how this man could have borrowed that identity? It might help us catch him.
‘Tomorrow we’re in Germany to have a look at the pharma facility, but back here on Thursday, so we could meet again then.’ She went back into her briefcase and pulled out another photo. ‘Here’s a copy of that man’s fingerprints.’
‘Okay.’ Guus passed the man’s photo and the name to his assistant. ‘Margreet, see if one of the team can do a quick check on this, please?’ Margreet left the room for a minute.
Over lunch they discussed the information Sandra and Bill wanted from the watch on GT Pharma BV. She concluded, ‘If you could link the GB code number to a name, passport and photo of a UK supplier, it would give us fantastic evidence at trial.’
‘Yeah, I think we can do that okay.’
‘Great. And we can then get their address from passport records. Right, Bill?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s right. But we’d then need to verify the name and address, given what you found in Glasgow.’
Sandra thought for a moment. ‘Good point. We’ll need to deal with that separately.’ She took a note on her pad.
As they got ready to leave, Margreet got called out. She came back moments later. ‘We have some info on Pieter van der Huizen,’ she said. ‘We can find only one person with that name in Amsterdam. He runs a flower shop two streets away, so we can easily check it today, if you want.’
Sandra smiled. ‘Yeah, let’s do that.’
They left the police office and, in less than ten minutes, entered another office building beside a canal, went up to the second floor, and were admitted to a dimly lit area.
Guus said, ‘We used this arrangement in another observation, and it worked well. This wooden structure’s the rear of a false wall painted to look like the back wall of an office. If you look through the slits here, you’ll see across the canal to the target building.’
Sandra did so. ‘Wow, that’s so clear.’
He laughed, then pointed upwards. ‘We have these two cameras built into this wall – one a low-light camera we use early or late in the day – and both give us close-ups of those arriving or leaving the building opposite. We’ve built the cameras into false paintings on the other side of the wall.
‘From the other side of the canal, this room looks like an ordinary office, with people working normally at their desks at the window. Let’s go round the end of the wall here and you’ll see it from the side.’
They moved to the end, and just as Guus had said, the painted side of the wall looked exactly like the back wall of an office. Brilliant.
Guus moved to a side table. ‘We’ve taken these photos so far. All of them have that special suitcase in the photo you sent. We wire each photo across to the team in Schiphol, and they pick up the name and date of birth as they go through passport control. This photo is Michael Timmermann. It matches the photo ID he used when he signed the lease. We don’t know the girl with him yet. So, what do you think?’
Sandra laughed. ‘It’s brilliant, Guus. Absolutely brilliant.’
Guus smiled. ‘Yeah, we’re pretty happy with it. Shall we go and see about Mr Huizen?’
Sandra glanced at Bill. ‘You okay with all this, Bill?’
‘Yeah, it’s fantastic. Thanks so much to you all.’
Guus nodded. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
Ten minutes later Sandra and Guus entered the Huizen Bloemen shop in a side street just off Dam Square. Bill and Margreet waited outside. Sandra admired the variety of flowers on display. Fresh flowers were a rare commodity in wartime Britain.
A woman in her fifties came from the back of the shop. ‘Hallo. Kan ik u helpen?’
Guus showed his ID card. ‘Amsterdam Police. Do you speak English?’
‘Ja. Sorry. Yes, I do.’
‘This is Chief Superintendent Sandra Maxwell from Glasgow Police in Scotland. She’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘Oh?’
Her eyes went suddenly wary, Sandra thought. ‘I’d like to talk to Mr Pieter van der Huizen. Is he available?’
‘I’m afraid he’s not. Can I help?’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m his mother, Mrs Lotte van der Huizen.’ She paused, looked at the floor, then returned her gaze to Sandra. ‘Is this about last night? Pieter doesn’t want to report it.’
Sandra exchanged glances with Guus. ‘It’s not about last night, ma’am, and we respect Pieter’s decision, but could you tell us what happened?’
Lotte hesitated. ‘Well, two men attacked Pieter as he closed up last night. They bundled him into a car, and wanted to know about his drug-distribution business. Just crazy. Pieter didn’t know what they meant. Eventually, a third man in the car pulled out a picture and said, ‘It’s the wrong guy.’ They threw him out of the car, and warned him not to talk to the police.’
‘Were they local or foreign?’ Sandra asked.
‘Local.’
It sounded like the local equivalent of the Dan McFadden gang in Glasgow, thought Sandra, and probably connected back to them. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How is he?’
‘A bit bruised and battered. He’s just relaxing today upstairs in the flat.’
Sandra nodded. ‘Well, I hope he recovers okay. But that’s not why we’re here.’ She went into her briefcase and showed Lotte the photo of the fair-haired man. ‘Have you or your son ever seen this man before?’
Lotte studied the picture. ‘Yes, I saw him here, maybe six weeks ago? I had come into the shop via the side door, and he was standing at our desk, taking notes. I asked him if I could help, but he said he was just noting the names of the flowers in front of him, while he waited for his wife. A pleasant man, but not local. He spoke good Dutch, but with a strong accent. I’m not sure what.’
‘Had you seen him before?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘What about his wife?’
‘She was with Pieter. I’d seen her before. But not often. Pieter could tell you more about her. Let me see how he’s feeling.’ She went to the desk, picked up the phone and spoke, then returned to them. ‘He’ll come down in a minute.’
‘That’s good, thanks. So, can you tell me anything else about the wife?’
‘Well, she had blonde hair, a very pleasant personality – in fact, a pleasant couple, really. And I remember, she wore a new Kleppermantel.’
‘A what?’
‘Oh, it’s a very high quality raincoat. Klepper’s the best name in Europe for rainwear. I hadn’t seen a new Klepper in ten years, and asked her where she bought it. She’d got it at a shop four doors down – Regendruppel – Raindrop. Apparently, the new owners had found some boxes of Kleppers from the mid-thirties in a storage warehouse, and were selling them off. After the couple left, I dashed along and bought one too.’
‘What makes it so special?’
‘It’s just such a super quality. Let me show you.’ She went to the back shop and returned with a grey raincoat over her arm. She held it up. ‘Here’s a Klepper.’ It reminded Sandra of the mackintosh she’d had as part of her uniform as a young cop, which she found smelly and sweaty, and rarely wore. The Klepper was certainly of a much higher quality, but she really couldn’t get enthusiastic about clothes, far less a raincoat. Then Pieter appeared. Both his cheeks and his lower jaw were bruised and swollen, and he held his chest.
Sandra pulled a chair from the desk. ‘Oh, my goodness. Sit down. Have you been checked out at the hospital?’
Pieter sat down and shook his head. ‘No, I’m okay. Nothing broken. How can I h
elp?’
Sandra introduced herself and Guus, and showed her warrant card. ‘I just wanted to ask you about this man.’ She showed him the photo.
‘That’s the same picture the man in the car showed me last night. But I’ve only seen him once, here. Who is he?’
‘We suspect him of a serious crime in Glasgow, and want to talk to him about it. But when he visited Glasgow, he used a photo ID with his picture, but your name, address and date of birth. We’re trying to find out how he got that as a step towards catching him.’
Lotte turned to the desk. ‘Ah, that’s what he was doing. After they’d gone, I noticed Pieter had left a form on the desk. It had his name, address and date of birth on it. That’s where he must have got it.’
Sandra nodded. ‘Okay. That explains it. Now, about his wife. Your mother says you may know more about her. Was she a regular customer?’
Pieter shook his head. ‘No, not regular. I don’t think she lived here. Had more of an Eindhoven accent. But she said she always bought her flowers here. She’d admired the table arrangements at a wedding in Amsterdam, maybe four or five years ago, a combination of pink and purple tulips, hydrangeas and ranunculus, and asked the bride who had done the flowers. That’s why she always came here.’
‘Do you remember that wedding?’
He thought for a moment, and shook his head. ‘No, I don’t.’
Lotte stepped forward. ‘But we might get it from our records. We keep a note of the flowers we use for special occasions, and we haven’t used that combination very often.’
‘It would be great if you could. I’m away tomorrow, but back on Thursday. I could call again then, or if you find it in the meantime, let Guus know.’
Guus gave her a card. ‘Call me at any time.’
Sandra asked, ‘Do you know this girl’s name?’
Pieter shook his head again. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He grimaced. ‘But, about two years ago, another girl from out of town came into the shop and said a Miss Martens had recommended us. I don’t know anyone of that name, but it’s the sort of thing this girl might have done. It’s maybe worth a try.’
‘Okay.’ Sandra took a note. ‘That’s very helpful. Thank you both, and I look forward to hearing from you in the next couple of days. Hope you recover soon, Pieter.’
He smiled. They all shook hands, and Sandra and Guus left the shop.
Outside, Sandra turned to Guus. ‘If she comes back quickly with the wedding details, could you follow up with the bride and see if we can identify that couple’s real name and address? I’d love to lift them – him for murder, her as an accessory.’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, we’ll see what we can do.’
‘Shall we just do a quick check with the rainwear shop while we’re here?’
The woman there remembered a girl, who wanted a raincoat for going to England, and bought one of the newly found Kleppermantels, but had no useful information about her.
Later, on their own again, Sandra agreed to have a nightcap with Bill in the bar. She flopped down on a sofa and rested her head against the tall back. He sat beside her and held his drink up. ‘Cheers.’
She smiled. ‘Cheers,’ and clinked glasses.
‘Good day?’
She turned her head towards him and nodded. ‘Yeah. Good day.’
‘What was the best bit of the day for you?’
‘Oh, there’s so many. I thought the Home Secretary was amazing. What a man.’
‘Yeah, most people think he’s one of the best we’ve had for a long time.’
‘And I did enjoy the flight in the end. Thank you for your help.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘But I hated hearing about our Glasgow gangsters blundering around trying to find the drug distributor with the help of their Amsterdam equivalents. They’ve threatened me as well, you know.’
‘Really? What can you do about it?’
‘Ach, it’s all talk and no trousers. We’ve put the usual precautions in place. It’ll blow over in a month. What was your best bit of the day?’
He smiled. ‘Working with you. Enjoyed that.’
She thought for a moment. This conversation could go in several different directions. Let’s keep it going straight head. ‘Thanks, but it’s time for me to hit the sack. Another busy day tomorrow – and into Germany. That’ll be interesting.’
‘Yeah, breakfast at seven. We leave at eight, and meet Montgomery at two-thirty.’
‘Great.’ She rose and lifted her bag. Together they went out to the lobby to catch the lift. They had adjacent rooms and stopped outside her door.
She held out her hand. ‘Thanks, Bill, for a great day.’ They shook hands.
‘You’re welcome, Sandra. Good night.’
‘Good night.’ She entered her room and closed the door behind her. She leaned back against it. She’d had to force herself to stay professional, and that was new.
***
Outside Amsterdam, Sandra saw little traffic – more cycles than cars. By the border even these had disappeared. The signs for Germany – or Deutschland – also had large signs for the British Zone of Occupation, with British soldiers manning the checkpoints. In the cool morning light in Germany, she saw even less civilian traffic – almost an air of desolation. She felt relieved when they eventually reached their destination, the Control Commission for Germany – British Element, in Bad Oeynhausen.
They were shown into the Military Governor’s office. Sir Bernard came round from behind his desk, welcomed them and introduced his aide, Captain Watkins, and another officer, Major Bob Conway, from the Commandos. Sandra had seen Montgomery so often in cinema newsreels with Churchill, and smiled as she shook his hand, though she thought he didn’t look quite so commanding in a suit. They all sat round his conference table.
‘Totally agree with the Home Secretary on this drug menace,’ he said. ‘Got to throttle it before it gets started. I’ve always thought pharmaceuticals good at relieving negatives, like physical pain, but poor at providing positives, like feeling good. Oh, I’m sure they give some initial impetus, but when it wears off, the user feels weak and dependant, and that’s very bad. Saw it in North Africa. Cut off the German supply lines for their stupid pills and they all felt weak. They weren’t, but that’s how they felt. And how they lost. As a great man once said, ‘Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t, you’re usually right.’ Never underestimate the power of the human mind. Isn’t that right, Conway?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So, Major Conway will do all he can to help you both. We’ve checked the legal position here. Who’s that Nazi Health Leader again, Watkins?’
‘Dr Leo Conti, sir.’
‘That’s right. Man was mad. Killed the disabled to remove the ‘weak’. Used chemicals to ‘cleanse’ the German race. Committed suicide a couple of months ago in Nuremberg. Couldn’t face trial. Tells you all you need to know about the man. But he did make these drugs illegal here. What do you call them again, Watkins?’
‘Methamphetamine, sir.’
‘That’s it. So, let’s get on with it. The HS tells me you know what you’re doing. Conway will keep me informed. Good luck.’ He stood up, and came round to shake hands. Meeting over. He sure didn’t mess about, thought Sandra. No wonder he was such a successful military commander. She’d met the American, General Eisenhower, by chance a couple of months ago, and while he and Montgomery were very different as individuals, they both exuded authority and charisma. Just incredible men.
Conway led the way to his office. The three of them sat around the conference table, which had a series of aerial photographs on it.
Conway pointed to the first one. ‘We bombed the tank factory here in March this year, and we’ve got an aerial recon photo taken at the time. We’ve blown up the section of the picture that includes the company at the address you gave us.’ He lifted another photograph onto the top of the pile. ‘There are three buildings on the site, all interconnected. We had a qu
ick look this morning, and this building to the south, at the bottom of the picture, is the private clinic. It has a brass plate, ‘GT Therapie GmbH’. It’s surrounded on this south side by these gardens, and connected to this other building to the north, a residential mansion house with offices. And that in turn connects to this long rectangular building to the east. Its entrance, in this back street, has a brass plate, ‘GT Pharma GmbH’. That building has three floors and looks like a manufacturing centre. So, the names all fit. We picked up a brochure on the clinic, and it can take up to forty patients. They specialise in behaviour problems in children and young adults. So, overall, it looks like our target. What do you think?’
Sandra and Bill examined the picture. Sandra said, ‘Terrific, Major. We want to close down the manufacturing facility in this east building, and lift the head of the organisation, hopefully from the mansion house. We don’t want to disturb any patients in the clinic building, if we can avoid it.’
Conway nodded. ‘Right. So, at this point, we assume the manufacturing facility closes at night. We’ll have a team check it tonight. When we raid, we’ll isolate the mansion house, and lock it down with everyone in it. We have a photo of the head man in this brochure.’ He turned the page.
Sandra looked at the target, Gerhardt Timmermann, a pleasant looking, grey-haired man with rimless glasses. The head they wanted. She passed the brochure to Bill.
Conway asked, ‘When do you plan to take him down?’
‘At the moment, in the early hours of Sunday, 20th January,’ Sandra replied. ‘The HS wants action before the end of January, but we need two things in place. First, we need to prove the link between here and the Amsterdam distribution centre. We have a watch on that place and a tap on their phone, so I assume at some point, Amsterdam will call for more tablets from here. But I need that link proved by photographic evidence.
‘Second, we plan to lift all of the UK distributors around the same time on the same night, and it’ll probably take that long to identify the number involved. We also don’t want to underestimate this lot. We’ve had experience of them before as a spy network, and so we aim to grab the key people within five seconds to avoid them alerting the network. Can you plan on doing that here too, Major?’
