‘Friedman’s the centre,’ said Jaap going back to the logs, ‘Directing these two, and he answers to this one. Whatever he was directing, it looks like someone didn’t like it much. The fact that whoever killed Friedman left the speaking clock’s number on his phone, well …’ He paused, tapping the desk with a finger. ‘I’m going to need you to turn over this guy’s life, we need to know everything we can about him.’
He wrote a number on a scrap of paper.
‘Call this number and speak to Teije. Tell him I sent you and that you need him to get Friedman’s finances, business and personal.’
‘Is he police?’
‘No, which is why he can do things the quick way.’
‘Yeah, cool.’
Jaap looked across to the only window in the office, a large seagull having just landed on the window sill, tucking in its wings, cocking its head from side to side.
‘You think whoever owns these numbers is next in line?’ asked Kees.
Jaap watched as the bird turned round on bright orange feet, a dribble of shit splashing on to the lead sill before it launched itself with a leathery flap of wings.
‘Looks like it. The problem is, how do we find them first?’
Kees went to his desk and started making calls, and Jaap bashed out a quick report summary for Smit.
Whilst he waited for it to print he unlocked his desk drawer and looked down at his gun, a standard issue Walther P5.
His hand hovered for a second, just the sight of it bringing back a day seven years ago.
A day he’d fucked up.
Badly.
He picked the gun up, feeling the weight, the texture on the grip.
He could feel his finger pumping eight times.
The ringing in his ears.
Blood smearing on the wall as the two bodies slid down slowly.
Andreas had sorted it all out, messing with the positions, covering for Jaap’s mistake.
He was there for me then, thought Jaap as he felt the gun’s weight, the feeling of power, and last night I failed him.
Jaap turned the gun over and thought about what had happened next, the gradual deterioration. He’d felt like he was a jigsaw on a wall. And the bits started to fall out, one by one. It was then the white streak had appeared in his hair; he remembered the morning a few weeks after the incident when he’d first noticed it glaring out at him in the bathroom mirror.
He carried on for six months, his relationship with Saskia deteriorating, before one day he just couldn’t get out of bed.
Literally.
Saskia had moved out by then, but Andreas dropped round wondering why he hadn’t turned up for work.
He got Jaap to talk to a shrink. The shrink didn’t help him. But he did write a recommendation that Jaap be taken off active duty until such time he was deemed fit for work.
They said the rest would make things better. That and the pills they gave him.
The rest didn’t help, if anything it made things worse, and the pills didn’t do much either. Principally as he flushed them down the toilet each day, the little blue sphere bobbing in the turbulent water before disappearing.
After two months at home Jaap couldn’t bear it any more. Dragging himself out of bed following yet another sleepless night he packed a bag and went to Schiphol airport.
He picked a flight at random, and spent the next few weeks moving around, staying only until he felt compelled to move on, each new destination again picked at random.
By the time he found himself in Kyoto he’d run out of money.
And out of willpower.
Wandering round the city, the first snow of winter falling, and darkness thickening, he took shelter at a small temple in the Ukyo-ku ward.
He felt like he couldn’t move any more, and lay down outside.
They discovered him several hours later and took him in. He woke the next day in a tiny room.
He was politely asked to move on. He didn’t have the energy to argue. But he didn’t have the energy to go either.
After a few days a monk, Yuzuki Roshi, took pity on him, and got him a job in the temple kitchen. Payment was food.
And several hours of sitting every day.
Non-negotiable.
So Jaap sat, and months later, after the plum trees had blossomed, after their petals had fallen, after the sticky summer heat had subsided and the insects that buzzed round his face had shrivelled up and died in the first frosts of autumn, he knew that he had to go back.
But on the flight home he’d sworn to himself that he’d never carry a gun again.
And here he was holding it in his hand.
After a moment’s hesitation he returned it, locked the drawer, retrieved the report from the printer, and headed to the floor above.
Smit wasn’t ready for Jaap when he arrived at his office so he called Sergeant van der Mark.
‘Hey, sorry it took so long to get back to you, I’ve got a bit of a situation on my hands.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘What I didn’t tell you earlier was that Andreas Hansen was killed last night –’
‘God … I’m sorry.’
‘And I think Haak is involved.’
‘How?’
‘I’m not sure, but we’re going to need to go through what we’ve each got.’
‘There’s something else. The couple that were killed had a child, and it’s missing.’
Jaap saw Smit standing in the doorway, looking at him. He knew Smit didn’t like to be kept waiting.
‘I’m going to have to call you back.’
‘Yeah, fine. I might even be in Amsterdam tomorrow, I really need to find out about Ludo Haak, so maybe we could meet?’
‘Sure, let me know what time you’ll be arriving.’
Jaap looked over at Smit as he put away his phone, wondering how much he’d heard.
Smit ushered Jaap into his office. The room was furnished in a style which was clearly meant to convey power and seriousness, but ended up looking like a set for an eighties film about Wall Street greed.
Rumour was that Smit was aiming for Chief of Police – he’d spent the last six months trying to get everyone’s clearance rates up, which presumably would form part of his bid for the top job. If Smit did move up, the position of Station Chief would become free, and Jaap figured he would be best placed to take on the role.
Though there’s always De Waart, he told himself. What if he goes for it too?
Smit sat behind the ostentatious dark wooden desk and Jaap took the seat opposite.
‘How are you holding up?’ started Smit.
‘You know, pretty shaken.’
‘We all are,’ he said shaking his head, ‘we all are. Do you need a few days’ leave?’
Jaap knew this was coming and had prepared.
‘Well, I was hoping I could take on Andreas’ case?’
Smit looked at him as if he were an idiot.
‘You know I can’t allow that, if the press found out …’ He let it hang. ‘And anyway De Waart is taking the case.’
‘De Waart?’ Jaap tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice.
Smit’s tone slid down the temperature scale.
‘Yes, De Waart. I know that he and Andreas didn’t get on, but he’s a professional, he wants to see justice served as much as anybody else in the department.’ He paused, and when he started again his voice had warmed up a bit. ‘Maybe I can get you a few days’ leave, I can always let Kees run your case.’
Jaap had been thinking about the break-in at his houseboat. Luckily he’d been out when whoever it was broke down his front door. If he’d been there then who knew what could have happened. But then again, if his sister Karin hadn’t called in a total state – six months back from Afghanistan and nowhere near over what she witnessed – then he’d have gone with Andreas. In which case Andreas might still be alive.
Or we’d both be dead, he thought.
‘Well?’ asked Smit.
; Jaap thought of Andreas, his brain splattered over the concrete, and he thought of Saskia, carrying Andreas’ child.
He was going to nail whoever was responsible, he had to.
And being on leave would make it more difficult, even if he was going to have to hide what he was doing from Smit.
‘There was something else. Andreas’ laptop has been wiped clean. I think whoever killed him did it.’
‘Why?’
‘He must have had some information on there, something to do with the case we were working’ – Smit was giving him the fish eye – ‘and my houseboat was hit last night. And do you know what was stolen? Nothing. Whoever busted my front door down took nothing.’
Smit, elbows on the table, steepled his fingers, sniffing surreptitiously at the tips. There was something there which he was deriving a certain amount of pleasure from. His eyes fell to the report Jaap had put on his desk. Jaap waited.
‘You and Andreas, you were getting somewhere with this case, the gang, Black Tulips I think you said they were called?’
‘Yeah, I think we were really close.’
Smit thought for a moment.
‘I wouldn’t normally ask this, but as we’re a man down I want you to carry on with the Herengracht case. From what I’ve seen here’ – he tapped the report – ‘I agree with you, there’s a good chance whoever killed Friedman is going to try and get to the people who own those other numbers. If that’s the case I can’t afford to let Kees run it on his own.’
Those people might be my only chance to find out who killed Andreas, Jaap thought, I’ve got to get to them before the killer does. But I still don’t know why the killer left the phone in the first place.
‘And I’ll need you to brief De Waart on what you know first thing tomorrow,’ continued Smit. ‘But this has got to be clear, you go nowhere near De Waart’s investigation.’
‘Okay,’ Jaap said, getting up, Smit’s smile like a shark spotting a lone seal bobbing on the surface of the ocean, ‘I’ll stay right out of it.’
‘And Jaap?’
‘Yes?’
‘I know you had to take time out a few years ago, so if you start to feel the pressure … well, just let me know, okay? We can’t have another … mishap.’
15
Monday, 2 January
20.06
Tanya stood, ankle deep in the ashes, and followed the white light of her torch beam as it swung slowly back and forth. She’d been here for at least half an hour and had nearly covered the whole area, but so far there had been no child’s bones, or indeed anything else of interest. Not even the sound of an owl or a seagull to break the silence.
The night was clear, and the darkness, punctured only by a handful of stars, showed how far from a major city this corner of the Netherlands was.
She shivered and wished she’d brought a hat with her, or at the very least some gloves.
What am I doing here, she wondered, what am I going to find that everybody else has missed?
Finally she managed to convince herself to leave and she headed back to the car, the smell of burning catching in her throat from all the disturbance she’d caused. She was just reaching out to open the door when she thought she saw – or did she hear? – something off to her left, in the far corner of the plot. She kept still, holding her breath while she tried to peer into the darkness, willing her eyes to work better.
Is that her? the thought hammered at her. Is she here?
She aimed her torch in the direction of the noise and flicked it on.
There was something there. Her chest felt like it had been whacked by a speeding truck. The torch beam caught something, movement, by the hedge almost exactly where she’d found the doll.
Before she knew what she was doing Tanya felt the wind in her hair and her limbs pumping as she sprinted back towards the burnt-out house. She didn’t have time to go round and so ran straight through what remained of the ash, causing it to fly up all around her.
Her eyes were stinging and she couldn’t see but she kept on, pushing hard, her lungs willing her not to breathe in. Moments before she was about to make it out the other side she caught her foot on something and went down hard, slicing her knee on a part of what must have been the same object she tripped on.
She picked herself up and tried to carry on, forcing herself through the hedge, the scratches nothing compared to the pain in her leg. Once through she couldn’t see anything. Training the torch out in an arc she figured she’d be able to catch sight of the person – because she was sure it was a person – but despite the landscape being flat there was nothing.
Were they taller than a child?
She paused and listened, but the only sound she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, a sound like a massive waterfall, and the dull thump of her heart, which seemed to make the landscape around her pulse in time.
Which way had they gone, and what had they been doing there? And how long had they been there watching her? Were they out there somewhere now, observing her still from the cover of a ditch, or flattened out in a rut in a field? Again she swung the torch around and again she came up with nothing. And it was then that she began to feel exposed.
All that’s good for, she suddenly realized, is showing where I am.
She flipped the switch on her torch and turned round, scared suddenly and pushed back through the hedge, the crackling loud in the still night, the sharp branches clawing at her like evil hands.
She could feel a presence behind her the whole way back to the car, and even turned twice fully expecting to see a face, or a raised arm whose hand clutched a hammer or knife. The feeling got so strong that she ran the last twenty metres back to the car, threw the door open, jumped in and fumbled with the key, unable to get it in the ignition. Then it was in, sliding into place, and she yanked it to the right, the engine not firing up until the third attempt.
She swung the car round in a tight circle and slammed her foot down so hard she was afraid she’d break the accelerator.
16
Monday, 2 January
21.07
‘And he didn’t say where he was going?’ Jaap asked.
Saskia shook her head. Her rounded belly touched the table in front of her.
He’d come back, aware that she was all on her own. He thought of all the times he’d been here with Andreas and Saskia, in this very kitchen, enjoying a meal, each other’s company.
And that time last year, when Andreas had been away. He felt even worse about that now.
Everything looked different, as if Andreas’ absence had altered the room.
‘I can’t do this on my own,’ she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. Jaap moved round behind her, holding her shoulders as she sat in the chair. He could feel her shaking, the damp heat of her tears.
Holding her brought back memories of when they’d been together, before they realized they just couldn’t make it work. Ironically it was her and Andreas getting together which had brought them closer than they’d ever been as an item.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ he murmured to her, hearing how empty the words were.
‘So where were you last night?’ she asked as the sobbing subsided.
‘I had to go see Karin, she called me in a total state and you know there’s no one else –’
‘Jaap, forget what I said earlier, I don’t blame you.’
‘I should have gone, but Karin was …’
Her hand found his.
‘Andreas shouldn’t have gone on his own, it’s not your fault.’
The fridge juddered, clicked off, and he could hear a plane, coming in to land at Schiphol, humming through the sky outside.
‘I need to check Andreas’ computer,’ said Jaap. ‘I think there may be something on it I need.’
‘It’s in the study,’ she said, her voice thick, choked.
Jaap walked though and flipped the light on. He could still feel where Saskia’s hand had lain on his own.
He was j
ust about to fire up the computer, but stopped and looked for the router, which he found under the desk. He turned it off – he didn’t want it syncing with a server and wiping everything off this one as well.
Result.
Everything was still there.
He opened the case file on the Black Tulips; the last entry was early Sunday morning, and it was just a phone number. He looked up the area code and found it was from Friesland, up north.
Where Sergeant van der Mark called from. Is her case linked to the Black Tulips too?
He shut down the computer, then hesitated for a second before turning the router back on.
Let’s see how smart De Waart is, he thought as he left the room.
‘Do you know who did it?’ she asked as he returned to the kitchen.
‘I … not yet but I’m going to find out. But there’s something I’ve got to tell you.’ He pulled a chair up and sat, looking at her. ‘I can’t be officially on the case, they won’t let me. The thing is …’ He paused, searching out her eyes. ‘… they’ve assigned De Waart to do it.’
‘De Waart?’ She straightened up. ‘But he hates Andreas, blames him.’
‘I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’ He found himself scratching a small dark stain on the table with one of his fingernails.
Andreas and De Waart had been in a chase which led them out towards Haarlem. It was foggy and Andreas was driving. As the visibility diminished he said he was going to stand down, but De Waart insisted they carry on. Less than a minute later, when something shot out in front of them in the fog, Andreas swerved and flipped the car.
The seat belt meant Andreas got away with minor bruising, but De Waart didn’t have his on.
The impact broke his leg in three places and left him with five pins, a limp, and a hard-on for Andreas.
‘So he’s going to come and ask you some questions – just don’t tell him that you’ve been talking to me.’
‘Does he know about us, that we were together once?’
‘Probably, I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter.’
‘What if I refuse to speak to him?’
After the Silence: Inspector Rykel Book 1 (Amsterdam Quartet) Page 7
