The man doing the pushing had grabbed her stalker by an arm that was now twisted up behind the attacker, held right at the point of maximum pain. Pushing the attacker’s face into the wall, the gallant pedestrian grinned right at Kyra.
“Hola,” the man said, and then continued in a heavy Spanish accent. “I am called Diego, and I believe this man tries to hurt you.”
Kyra had to admit… so far this job interview was going pretty well.
* * *
Jacques turned around as the door to the hotel’s conference room opened up. Kyra swept into the space, followed by an olive-skinned man who looked like danger incarnate.
“All right, everyone,” Kyra called out into the room, “this is our new weapons master, Diego Cabrera Bonaventura…” She swiveled to look at the man behind her, mouth open but nothing coming out.
“…de la Cruz,” the man finished for her. “I have a name that is long. This I know.”
“Yeah, well, however long his name, he’s part of the team now, so…” Kyra stared out at the group. “Any questions?”
“We are to be having a weapons master now?” Darchak Majumdar, their resident computer and electronics expert said, his hand raised as if he were in class.
“Seriously, dude,” said Darrel Fulsome, their linguist prodigy, as he poked his head around from behind Darchak’s computer monitor. “That’s like all we’ve been talking about for the last two weeks.”
“Ah,” the Indian man replied. “Then I am having no more questions.”
Returning to his computer, Darchak typed away with gusto. Jacques wasn’t convinced the man was even typing anything coherent. Just a way to get out of an uncomfortable conversation fast.
Sometimes Jacques wished he could hide in a similar fashion. But someone had to ask the hard questions. And he didn’t make a habit of carrying a laptop around with him that he could hide behind.
“You’ve made it clear that this is not a democracy,” Jacques began. “So why give us the opportunity to question the decisions of our benevolent dictator, ma chérie?”
Those last two words, my dear, spoken in his native French, were spoken with a delicate irony that cut Jacques even as they flowed out of his own mouth. Kyra was dear to him. Also, she knew that she was. Finally, she didn’t return his feelings.
“I just want you all to understand that it’s happening and thought this was the best way,” she said, throwing herself into the nearest chair with her typical sense of abandon. “Besides, he protected me from a guy who got the idea I was a prostitute. I thought it was all kind of cute.”
That last was a barb pointed right at Jacques, and he knew it. One of the main points of contention between Kyra and himself was the fact that he interfered way too often, to keep her safe. He’d always thought that the Romani woman was not much for chivalry. Now it appeared she was not much for chivalry when it came from Jacques.
“You were attacked?” Mti Daillevous, the Haitian forensics specialist… and voduo practitioner… asked.
The man’s normally cheerful face clouded over with concern, and Jacques cursed internally, chagrined. Perhaps his sense of wounded masculine pride shouldn’t have taken precedence over concerns for Kyra’s safety.
But Kyra merely shrugged. “Diego didn’t give him a chance.” She turned back to Jacques, a grin spreading across her face. “Now your task, as the man who questioned my authority, is to bring new guy up to speed on our job here.”
Jacques sighed. Done in once more by his desire to make sense of a woman for whom sense was a curse word.
Clearing his throat, Jacques motioned for Diego to take a seat across from him. The Spaniard complied, sizing Jacques up as he did so. Their new weapons master did not even make an effort to disguise the appraisal, and Jacques wasn’t sure whether that bothered him more or less than a more tactful assessment.
“You fight little, yes?” Diego asked, as he settled into the chair.
All right. More. This man’s lack of tact definitely bothered Jacques more.
“I fight when I have need to,” he said, keeping his tone level.
Diego shrugged, the gesture clear in its dismissal. “For this I am hired, I think.”
Choosing not to answer the implied insult with any sort of reaction, Jacques summed up their mission here in Amsterdam. Time was of the essence, and it appeared that… like it or not… Diego was going to be a part of it.
What that would end up looking like, Jacques had no idea.
“There is a serial killer here in Amsterdam who is targeting prostitutes. There have been twelve reported deaths, all with the same basic M.O. All of the victims were Dutch, all were garroted.”
“These are… how you say? Hookers.” Diego made a face. “And the government, why is he caring?”
The man had a point, no matter how crude it might be.
“Prostitution and legal pot are like the two major tourist selling points here, dude,” Darrel said from the other side of Darchak, where he appeared to be playing a game on his phone. “Don’t want to scare off the tourists, now, do we?”
Jacques opened his mouth to try to explain the situation with a bit more nuance, when Kyra sat up straight in her chair, staring at her phone. There was only one thing that could get her attention that fast.
“We’ve got another dead body.”
* * *
Mti stepped into the apartment of the dead sex worker alongside Kyra, his gaze going right to the form of the victim on the bed. The same manner of death for all twelve… no, thirteen now… women of the night.
The small room was appointed sparsely, but with enough elegance that a potential client would not be repelled. Typical of these types of one-room apartments designed specifically for prostitution.
The rest of Hunters, Inc. had stayed back, speaking to the policemen who had gathered out on the street. There would not be much space inside, so Kyra had delegated herself and the one with the medical expertise to enter.
So far, the deaths had been almost evenly divided between the red light districts of Amsterdam, brothels and private homes. There were only two common denominators so far. One was the age of the woman… early twenties, all of them. That fact was not, perhaps, all that helpful, as many of Amsterdam’s prostitutes fell within that age range. Not all, certainly, but enough that it did little for their investigation.
The other fact was more significant. So far, all the victims had been citizens of Holland. Most sex workers were foreign, 75% or so being from Eastern Europe, Asia or Africa. That all the victims seemed to be native was an anomaly that meant something.
They were outliers… on the fringes of their profession, even as they were all natives of the land in which they worked. Part of the community, but outside of the norm.
Right beside the body was another woman, her eyes red from weeping. The red around her eyes almost matched the bright red scarf she wore around her neck.
From her attire, it was clear that she was another sex worker. A friend, perhaps? Or possibly just another worker from a nearby window apartment?
Reaching out a hand to touch the woman on the shoulder, Mti knelt down so as not to loom over the poor girl. Looking over at him, the sex worker wiped at her eyes.
“Hallo.” She glanced down at the floor. “Het spijt me.”
Kyra shook her head at the girl. “Ik spreek geen Nederlands.” I don’t speak Dutch.
The young woman frowned and looked back and forth between Kyra and Mti. “English?” At Mti’s nod, she gave a wan smile. “I speak English… not good, but a little bit.”
“My name is Mti.”
“And I am Anna. Anna de Jaager.”
Her English was better than most. Mti pointed toward the dead woman.
“You knew her?”
Shaking her head, Anna looked at the still figure on the bed. “She begins to work here these two weeks. But good girl. Dutch family.” She pointed to herself. “She is… how you say? Like me.”
Mti could unders
tand her pain. It was clear that she identified with the victim. They were one room apart from one another.
It could so easily have been her.
Into the room strode two men, dressed in the blue of the Dutch police force. But from the energy flowing off them, Mti could sense discordance between them. And there were subtle differences in both their dress and the way in which they held themselves.
“Hallo,” said the first, shorter and more friendly-looking of the two.
Was it Mti’s imagination, or had Anna backed away at the sight of the two officers? Perhaps it was some innate instinct for sex workers, to avoid the law, even when what they were doing was legal and the police were there to protect them.
“English,” she replied, not looking at the man but indicating toward Mti and Kyra.
“Ah, yes,” the man said. “I am Inspector Meijer. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” His English was flawless.
The greeting was directed toward Anna, and Mti was pleased to note that the man seemed to direct neither scorn nor animosity toward the young woman. Perhaps the respect given sex workers in Amsterdam was as great as what the propaganda insisted.
His companion, far more dour-faced, stepped forward. He spoke directly to Kyra.
“And I am called First Lieutenant Visser,” the man stated, his accent more pronounced. “You are with foreign team? How do you call yourselves? Catchers?”
“Hunters,” Kyra corrected the man. “Incorporated.”
“Yes. That was it.”
Perhaps it was Mti’s imagination, but the man’s tone seemed to be filled with contempt. Was it a sense of personal reserve, or something more pronounced?
The Lieutenant peered around the room, his gaze falling on Anna. There was a brief flash of some unidentifiable emotion that crossed over his face. He then turned his back on both the young woman and the victim.
Mti was forced to reevaluate his earlier perception. Perhaps the propaganda did not include all perspectives of those who worked in law enforcement. Anna, for her part, seemed to once more withdraw from the presence of the two men.
The naming of the two law officer’s titles had also spoken volumes. First Lieutenant Visser was a member of the Royal Marechaussee, a branch of the military that helped the police force in matters of a more serious nature.
Inspector Meijer, on the other hand, was with the regiokorpsen, or the regional constabulary. Closer to the people here in this area, but with perhaps less prestige than his military counterpart, although they would be close to the same essential rank.
In short, this could be an interesting dynamic to navigate. Especially as the killer’s timetable seemed to be ramping up. This was the second death in the last twelve hours, and the first since Hunter’s Inc. had arrived.
Time for them to earn their keep.
CHAPTER 2
Darrel sat next to Anna, the forlorn hooker that had first found the victim.
Wait. Were you supposed to call them hookers? This was Darrel’s first experience with any kind of prostitution, and at seventeen years of age, he wasn’t sure of the protocol here.
But Anna seemed close to his own age. He knew from the other officers that the prostitutes had to be at least twenty-one, but Anna didn’t look it.
Not at all.
In fact, with her bright red scarf, she looked almost like a schoolgirl who had gotten lost. A very sexy schoolgirl.
“You found her already dead?” he asked her in Dutch.
“She was still moving, but not speaking. I called, but…” A tear flowed down Anna’s cheek. “I do not understand why this is happening.”
“How long have you been… what you are?” Darrel asked, trying to be delicate about the whole thing.
“A sex worker? Since I turned the legal age, of course.”
“No, I mean…” Darrel wasn’t sure what he meant. He groped for something to say. Anything. “How did you get into it?”
She shrugged. “My mother and grandmother both worked in the profession. My grandmother still does.”
“Your grandmother…?” Darrel choked out.
“Yes. She has many clients. Quite popular.”
Just as Darrel was going to ask for some clarification on that point, Mti, Kyra and the two police officers that had gone into the apartment earlier stepped out. The taller and surlier of the two stepped toward Darrel, calling out to him in Dutch.
“You, young man. You are not of age to be speaking with prostitutes.”
Dude. Not cool. First off, Darrel was big for his age. He could be old enough. No way for this guy to know for sure.
Second off, Darrel was pretty sure he’d been making some headway with Anna. Not a chance he was going to find out now, though. Anna, who was looking up at the officer with a strange expression on her face, glanced at Darrel and scooted away.
Well, that sucked.
But even as she moved away from him, Anna reached out her hand and shoved something in Darrel’s open palm. A wadded up scrap of paper.
A phone number, perhaps? Darrel’s heart beat faster as he scanned the note.
What he found there was not what he might have expected.
* * *
Jacques walked up to Kyra as she spoke with the two officers, or whatever they were. Law enforcement organization here in Holland was a bit strange. Inspector Meijer and Lieutenant Visser, anyway. They stood outside the apartment building, their faces awash with the glow of the red lights that served as most of the illumination in this area.
“There are constant patrols of De Wallen,” Meijer said. “The killer becomes more bold by the day. It has to be someone who knows this place well. Perhaps a regular customer.”
“And I say that this must be a… a… souteneur,” answered Visser with a frown.
Meijer nodded. “A pimp.”
Mti interrupted as he joined in with the group that was gathering in the street. “I did not think that pimps were legal in Amsterdam.”
Visser took a step away from Mti. From the whole Hunters, Inc. team, in fact. It appeared that the lieutenant from the Royal Marechaussee was not too keen on working alongside these foreign intruders.
The well-spoken officer shrugged. “They work underground, almost exclusively with the girls that come in from other countries.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Kyra said. “The only connection we have for certain is that these victims are all Dutch.”
“It is that reason for which it could make sense,” the taller, more sour of the two officers said. “The… pimps… with their foreign women, trying to push out the Dutch. Welcome to it, the ongedierte,” he spat.
Jacques didn’t know the meaning of the word spoken, but it was clear it was not a pleasant concept, whatever Visser was expressing. Seemed that here was an officer of the law that was not as keen on the idea of prostitution as some.
Meijer nodded after an awkward pause. “It is more of a possibility than you might think. The competition for those positions is strong. And some of those apartments are almost passed down, like some kind of family possession.”
“But what about these victims from private homes?” Darchak asked. “There are being as many of them as these others.”
His laptop was perched on top of the officer’s car, around which the group had gathered. Darchak’s blue computer screen lit up the man’s dark face from one side, the red lights from the apartments from the other, giving him an otherworldly look.
Meijer made a noncommittal noise. “The link may not be certain, but it may be something worth looking into.”
Visser cut his companion off with an abrupt gesture, staring down at his phone. “I have received a message. There is a… verdachte… suspect? A suspect they have found.”
“Who is it?” Jacques asked.
As always, an arrest made by local law enforcement signaled a strange situation for Hunters, Inc. If it turned out to be the right person, that meant an end to the murders. It also meant that their team would receive le
ss in compensation. A mixed blessing.
“A local pimp,” answered Visser, after consulting with his text once more.
“Looks like Lieutenant Visser had the correct idea all along,” Meijer muttered, under his breath.
It was loud enough that Jacques could hear him, but quiet enough that Visser might not have. But Meijer’s expression spoke volumes. No matter what the shorter inspector might say, he was not happy about this new development.
“We would like to be there for the interrogation,” Kyra stated.
Meijer began nodding, and opened his mouth to answer, but the Lieutenant beat him to it. “We will not be needing your assistance at this particular moment.”
Oh, so when the man was being dismissive, his English was flawless. Jacques found that fascinating.
“Perhaps it would be best if you could remain behind and question the girl. She is almost a witness,” Meijer said in an apologetic tone.
“We are still a part of this investigation,” Jacques called out to Visser, who was now heading over to the driver’s side of the police car, his back facing the team. “We should be included in the interrogation.”
Meijer paused and turned back to face the group. “His pride is strong, but he is a good investigator. I am sorry. This suspect may not be the one, and if so, we will still need your help.”
Then he pivoted on his heel and rushed over to the passenger side door, with one more shrug and apologetic expression coming through the window before they sped off. It was clear that Meijer was doing what he could to maintain good relations all around.
“Well,” Jacques said to the group. “I guess it’s time for us to speak to the girl.”
He turned to look back for the young prostitute, but she had disappeared. A cursory examination of the street revealed that she was nowhere to be found.
“I cannot find Darrel, either,” Mti added as the Haitian appeared to finish his search as well.
“El joven ese… The young man… how you say?” Diego seemed to grope after the word he wanted. “He… flirts… with the hooker, no?”
“Shit,” Kyra breathed, then raised her voice. “All right, people. We’ve got two possibly horny young people out on the streets of Amsterdam. Let’s go find them before someone gets pregnant or winds up with an STD. Sound good?”
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