The pathologist's lab was not unfamiliar to Wall. The tidiness, sterile setting, white walls, stainless steel tables, microscopes and other lab equipment were all very similar to back home. The only thing that did seem out of place was Bakker's scruffiness.
In the corner of the lab two men and a woman in white lab coats were busy looking through microscopes.
"That's Dr. Conver," Bakker said, pointing to the taller of the two men in the corner, "the chief pathologist."
Wall reckoned Conver to be the same age as Ribb, early forties, lean build with a medical ID pinned to his white medical tunic, he also wore white clogs. Conver introduced himself and immediately switched his conversation to English when Bakker introduced Wall.
The Dutch seemed to switch languages at the drop of a hat. The idea of having to take lessons in the baffling tongue - something he thought he would have to do, was quickly evaporating.
The French never did anything like that when he was on honeymoon in Paris, which in the short time he was there, was something of a nightmare. Many restaurant menus were only in French, and waiters could not or could not provide a translation. So, much of the time he didn't know what he was ordering. This provided McDonald's with a lot of extra visits. Picking out a familiar meal from the picture was crude, but it worked.
"I see you got the photo," Conver said, as Wall pulled the photograph out of a large envelope.
"Do you recognize him?" Wall asked.
"It's very dark." Conver said.
"Since he is wearing a medical coat I thought maybe the shape of the face or head looks like someone you know?"
Conver took the picture out of Wall's hand and studied it intensely.
"I've no idea. I've never seen this person before." He handed the photo back to Wall.
"Could we get a look at the bathtub victim?" Bakker asked. Wall and Bakker followed Conver to a large refrigerated room. Wall pulled his jacket up around his neck.
"We have to keep this area refrigerated," Conver said apologetically.
"Don't worry about it doc. I'm already acclimatized to your excellent Dutch weather. There's not much difference." Conver pulled back the white sheet that covered the bathtub to reveal Raemon Dort.
"What the fuck?" Wall gasped. "Holy mother?'
They stood and stared at the flat impression of Dort.
"What happened? What is it? How the hell?." Wall's voice faded as he stared dumbfounded at the bathtub. "If I didn't see those guys at the other crime scenes, I would never have believed this."
He took a step closer, still trying to comprehend the image in front of him.
"How was it done?" He finally asked. "Acid?"
"No acid involved. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on which way you look at it, he was having a bath when the process occurred."
"You mean the stuff was in the water?"
"No, it was in the whiskey. He had a couple of glasses before he got into the bath."
"Never mix drink and drugs," Bakker remarked.
"Very funny," Conver replied, straight-faced. "We are still analyzing the whiskey. So far it appears to be an incredible piece of genetic engineering that apparently alters the recipients DNA in some shape or form."
"Okay, I get it." Wall replied.
"We have a couple of victims whose hearts were altered internally, causing what seemed like a congenital heart defect. It killed them within a couple of hours of taking the substance."
"But it was not congenital." Wall said.
"No record whatsoever."
"So what you're trying to tell me is that it is not related to one abnormality like the stuff I saw. It can cause all sorts of deformities."
"No, that is not what I am saying," Conver replied. "It seems that different substances are used to target different parts of the body. Some the heart, some the intestine's, like we saw the other day, or in the case of Mr. Dort, everything."
"Wow," Wall exclaimed. "That's some heavy shit."
Ten minutes later Wall and Bakker headed for the hospital security office situated next to the front entrance. The corridors of the hospital were much the same back in New York, the only difference here was that everyone spoke another language.
The man in the bathtub really did unnerve him. In some ways similar to the deaths in the Overtoom, but this was in the league of its own. Bakker came to a halt outside a door with the sign BEVEILIGING printed on it.
"Security," Bakker told him.
He gave a quick knock and walked in. Two men with typical black security uniforms, sat at the back drinking coffee, while another was stationed before an impressive array of stacked monitors that ran the width of the office. Security in the hospital seemed to be pretty extensive, or at the least it seemed they had eyes everywhere. Bakker said something in Dutch and the man opened a drawer and handed him a digital tape. They chatted some more in Dutch, then left.
"We could go to the personnel Department' Bakker said. "And maybe show it around the different wards but I don't think we will get anywhere. Let's try and get the photos enhanced first, and then come back."
"But your chief told you to carry out interviews."
"I know, but there is no point. We've got some good technicians back at the station. Let's try and get a better print off the tape, then come back. You know? - Get it pimped up. That's what they say on TV."
Wall looked down at Bakker. "You should get yourself pimped up first. You look as if you are working undercover in the back of a rubbish tip."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
The Amsterdam Chronicles: Def-Con City Trilogy Part 1 Page 32
