The Amsterdam Chronicles: Def-Con City Trilogy Part 1

by Brian Christopher

  Harry Ribb stood at the front of the squad room. Silence. All eyes were fixed on him.

  "The results of the tests carried out on the first deaths proved there was some sort of chemical in the coffee, or in Dort's case, the whiskey. Whatever the chemical is it alters the DNA of the victims. Strangely, it only had an effect on the heart of the first victims, while the second altered a different section of the DNA to the stomach, teeth, bones or whatever. There is no obvious evidence of an intruder, either on the roof or in the apartments. It is possible the intruder was wearing some sort of covering on his shoes, detective Wall and detective Bakker will be looking into that. We've got a lot of work to do people. Let's get to it."

  The silence broke immediately. The room suddenly came alive with detectives picking up telephones, while others turned to discuss the deaths or left the room to carry out their part of the investigation. Most were now going through the information gathered from witnesses at the new crime scenes while others studied the photographs on the whiteboards - which were quickly running out of space. New boards were ordered.

  Wall turned to Bakker. "A lot quicker than the briefings my boss would give in New York. Direct to the point and no dramatics. What a difference. Is he always like that?

  Bakker was studying a paper file. "Huh huh," he muttered.

  Harvey Wall turned his attention back to his computer and began to go through translated statements from people interviewed, who lived on the street. He was on the look out for anything at all that might be of interest. Strange noises, creaking roofs, strangers hanging around, open windows that were previously closed. Unfortunately, there was nothing of interest. No one saw anyone they didn't recognize, or heard anything on the roof or balcony. The only thing they had in common was that they were all asleep at the time of the deaths.

  Wall sunk deeper into his seat, then looked at Bakker. "I don't think we will be visiting many coffee shops in the near future."

  "I think you're right."

  "This guy must be local. He's working in a confined area of the city, and he's doing that because he knows the area well."

  "Sounds logical," Bakker replied, then turned back to his files. Wall stared at the English translation of the reports. Some sentences seemed back to front, or just plain confusing.

  Later that afternoon a uniformed officer brought in special editions of two newspapers, the Parool and the Telegraaf, and handed them out among the detectives.

  The Parool had a number of photos covering the front page of the crime scene on the Overtoom. Bakker translated the block letter headlines for Wall.

  "Multiple murders in Amsterdam', Bakker read aloud.

  The Telegraaf had the more sensationalist view. A large map of Amsterdam took up half the front page with a thick black line running from the van Baerlestraat to the Bilderdijkstraat. The second line cut through it on the Overtoom.

  The only difference to the map on the Chiefs wall was that it was turned upside down and resembled a large cross-cutting into Amsterdam. "DEF-CON CITY. End of life as we know it', Bakker translated.

  "Seems they were also tuned to CNN," Harvey Wall said.

  "And spreading panic detective Wall," Ribb said. Wall looked around to see Ribb standing behind them.

  "They are doing their job sir, I mean chief."

  "I don't need a scared city, detective."

  "Maybe you need to look at it another way," Wall said, with somewhat reluctance, wondering if Ribb would listen to his opinion.

  His chief in New York never did.

  "Yes it does freak out the city and gets everybody scared, but at the same time they will be more alert, right? Like closing windows and locking doors at night, know what I mean? They will also be more aware of people attempting to get into their apartments, or walking on roofs. All sensors are now on high alert and they are going to call us when one of them goes off. I think it'll work to our advantage."

  Sitting at his desk just a few meters away Hendrik put down the telephone. "Talking about roofs, we have got reports of a roofing company doing some work in the same district. At one address some stuff has been reported stolen."

  "What did he say?" Wall asked Bakker, who quickly translated.

  "Get a team over there and check it out." Ribb told Hendrik. Bakker was about to get up and join them when Wall put his hand on his shoulder.

  "Forget about that."

  "But it could be a good lead?"

  "With all the deaths that have happened up to now, was anything stolen?"

  Bakker hesitated for a moment, thinking. "I don't think so." He scratched his shaggy hair.

  "Okay, so you let those guys catch some regular thieves while we stick to the case, right?"

  "Are you sure about this?"

  "Do I look as if I'm cracking a joke or something?"

  Bakker sat down as Hendrik Pastoor and five detectives including Dop and Kaps left the squad room. Wall went over to the whiteboards and studied the photos' on the fourth board close-up. After a minute he went back to his desk and grabbed his jacket.

  "Let's go," he told Bakker. "I want to check something out."

  On the Overtoom, they went into the last apartment where the cat was found. Wall headed immediately for the kitchen. The stench of the dead cat, which had long been removed still dominated the apartment. He put on latex gloves, opened the kitchen window, and looked down at the marks on each end of the windowsill. The mark on the left was no more than a couple of centimeters square. It looked like the footprint of a large bird.

  "That's the print of a bird." Bakker said, trying to look past Wall - who blocked most of the window.

  "I know that. What's the biggest bird you've got in Amsterdam?"

  "That would be a Blue Heron I think."

  "What size are we talking about?"

  "Quite big. Nearly a meter, probably weighing a couple of kilos."

  "Is there any way to get up on the roof here? I want to take a look."

  "We don't need to. The photographer took photographs of the roof. We can check everything out that way. Besides, the chief did not want the roof disturbed."

  "So that's how you do your work in this city? Look at photographs?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "What's the name of your job in Dutch?"

  "Recherche."

  "And what does that translate into English?"

  "Detective." Bakker said, sounding a bit puzzled.

  "And what do you do with that job?"

  "Detect." Bakker said, realizing his stupidity.

  "So that does not translate into photograph detective?"

  "Okay okay, I get the message." Bakker said, sounding frustrated. "I'll look for a ladder." He disappeared out the door of the kitchen. Wall took a closer look at the markings, then turned his attention towards the floor.

  When Bakker reappeared with a small fold-up ladder, Wall was on his hands and knees in the kitchen studying the floor up close.

  "What are you doing?" Bakker asked.

  "Looking for birds," he said, then got up off the floor and took the ladder out of Bakker's hands. "I think the forensic guys should get back here and take a closer look. There is something here, but they have the equipment to probably make out what it is."

  Bakker took out his mobile and started to dial a number. "I'll get them here right now."

  "They've got the balcony here, right?"

  "In the living room at the back."

  The ladder was small, but when folded out it was high enough to reach the top of the roof from the balcony. The back of the kitchen was a few meters to the right.

  Wall climbed up and stopped half way up the ladder. Wall, peering over the gable edge, scanned the gable edge and rooftop. Finally, he found what he was looking for. Bird prints along the edge of the gable wall heading towards the kitchen. He climbed up onto the roof and followed the trail.

  Bakker joined him. They followed the tracks to the previous victim's apartment.

  Wall stopped and lo
oked down at where the tracks had disappeared. "The intruder left the roof on one side to get to the balcony, and when the job was finished he came up a drainpipe on the other side. Take a look." Wall dropped to his knees and with his left hand he grabbed hold of the gable wall and pointed out fresh marks next to the drainpipe.

  "I don't get it." Bakker said. "They just look like bird prints."

  "That's what he wants you to think. Those Heron birds wouldn't be able to stretch their legs from more than a meter apart, right?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Those two marks outside that kitchen window are a little too wide and a bit too heavy for a bird. I don't know what he had on his feet, but they were not shoes."

  "You mean something like that Blade Runner guy?"

  "Could be, or maybe he had something attached to his shoes. This guy needs to climb buildings. He needs to grip walls. I'm not saying he's goddamn Spiderman or anything like that, but you can do that with the right attachments. This guy had a helping hand.

  "Okay, I get it." Bakker said hesitantly. "But there was only one footprint on the kitchen windowsill."

  "That's what I was checking up there. Can we get down to the garden at the back? '

  "Sure, I think so."

  Ten minutes later Wall and Bakker were on their hands and knees in the wild and unkempt garden, on a search through the undergrowth.

  An hour later they were back at the station briefing Ribb on what they had found. When his telephone rang, he asked them to leave the room.

  They went back to their desks. The chief had listened to them, but there were no comments or remarks, no pat on the back and telling them what a good job they had done. Wall expected something, but the only thing he felt was a feeling of emptiness and confusion. Working here was not only different because of the language barrier, the mentality also took a bit of getting used to. Luckily he had only six months to go.

  One hour later, Ribb came out of his office and addressed the room.

  "I got some word back from forensics. The cause of the deaths are still unknown, but they are working on that twenty-four seven. Everything points to DNA manipulation. Unfortunately at this moment in time there is no solid proof."

  There was a mumbling in the room. "On the other hand we do have actual evidence of a break-in. There were marks on the roof and window of at least two victims that suggests a bird was involved." All the detectives looked at each other, puzzled, except Wall and Bakker, who smiled.

  "The markings on one windowsill are that of a large bird, the size suggests a blauwe Reiger, or Silver Heron as Mr. Wall would call it. They seem to change color when they leave our borders."

  All heads turned towards Wall, who sank back into his chair. His chief in New York mocked him in front of other officers whenever he could, was he doing the same?

  "But it turns out that this bird had rubber feet," Ribb continued.

  The corner of Ribb's mouth turned up, a sarcastic smile, not unlike his chiefs. Wall could not believe this was happening. He felt his heart sink, these Dutch are bastards. Half of the detectives in the room laughed.

  Ribb began to pace the room. "Actually one rubber foot. The other foot had steel claws made of high tensile stainless steel. The lab found minute traces of that in the windowsill.

  Isn't that right Mr. Wall? I believe you have some information for us?"

  "Ehm, yes Sir." He thought he was being set up - just like his chief back home would do. He quickly gathered his thoughts. Wall got up out of his chair and went to the front of the room.

  "I think this guy needs to climb, or at least he spends more time up on the roofs then on the ground. This guy is sitting up high somewhere looking down at us like a bird on his perch and laughing his ass off."

  There was a suppressed rumble of laughter around the room. He glanced at Ribb. The sarcastic grin had changed to a smile of recognition. Wall reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small plastic bag, and held it up for all to see.

  "But the bird lost one foot on his travels and I found it." All the laughter and sniggers in the room disappeared.

  "With any luck it will have some prints or DNA on it which will help us find our killer."

  Ribb stepped forward. "Thank you, Mr. Wall."

  There was another murmur in the room.

  "So what are we looking for here?" Ribb continued. "We need to be looking for someone who is agile, alone, probably male, spends most of his time on the roofs, and works within Amsterdam old south, old west, and west. Any questions?"

  Ribb paused for a response, there were none. He rounded off the update and disappeared back into his office. All the detectives slowly went back to their duties.

  Wall tugged on Bakker's arm. "Come on, let's take our bird foot down to forensics and go for a little break. '

  Ten minutes later they were in cafe Rooie Nelis in the middle of the Jordaan district, only a short walk from the station. Harvey Wall picked up the small typical Dutch beer glass in front of him and shook his head in disapproval.

  "I am not going to get used to these miniature beers," he told Bakker.

  "You should ask for a vaasje."

  "A vasje?"

  "No, a vaasje, you need to stretch the a."

  "All right - a vaaaaasje."

  "That's nearly correct. It's bigger than the standard beer."

  "There's more froth than beer in these glasses." Wall said, as he held up the glass and stared at the two centimeter thick white froth. The remaining three centimeters was beer. "Do you bunch of patsies get drunk on the froth? If someone served up something like this in my local they would be shot."

  "Okay, I get it." Bakker said. "Like I said, next time ask for a vaasje. So what are we going to do about our bird man?"

  Wall took a mouthful of beer and the glass was empty. He stared at the photographs of Dutch artists that lined all the walls.

  Bakker nodded to the waitress behind the bar. She immediately grabbed a couple of regular glasses. Bakker shook his head and indicated to the larger glasses.

  "Okay, this guy is a climber." Wall finally said. I used to do some climbing when I was a kid, but we never used anything on our boots with spikes. What about glaciers, or mountains covered in snow."

  "That's it," Bakker said, suddenly coming to life. "Cyborg or Sabretooth."

  "You are not going to tell me that some prehistoric animal has got something to do with this?"

  "Of course not. You think I'm nuts or something?"

  "I never said that, but, you do have your moments, and give a few years you might have your own padded cell."

  "Ha ha, very funny. What I remember is that there are special clamps you can attach to boots for climbing an ice face called a cyborg or sabretooth clampons."

  Wall nodded. "Now we're getting somewhere."

  "In fact you don't really need boots. They can clip onto most any type of shoe, and are usually made of the highest quality stainless steel."

  Wall took out his iPhone and searched for the clampons. Within seconds he found some photos and was surprised at what he saw. They reminded him of the old-fashioned steel roller-skates he had as a boy. But instead of wheels there were two long jagged like blades extended from the toe. Each side of the sole and heel, blades protruded down, which gave its wearer the best grip possible for climbing a sheet of ice.

  "That's some serious shit." Wall said, "only I see that we call them crampons in the States, and not clampons."

  Bakker shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever. Sounds nearly the same. Maybe tomorrow we can look around sports shops in the area to see who is selling these. If we are lucky, we can track a buyer."

  "Good idea," Wall said, and lifted his beer. He studied the larger beer glass. "Now that's a lot better. Down the hatch."

  Bakker lifted his glass to Wall. "Proost," he replied.