The Magician's Accomplice

by Michael Genelin

  Jana looked pointedly at both of them. “Elias has all the witness statements under lock and key. They’ll have done tests on the explosive used in the telephone attack. There will be ballistics reports on the weapon used in the student killing. We’ll have to run them through Europol without it being picked up internally. How?”

  Walsh looked very pleased with himself; the solution rolled off his tongue. “We open up a case file so we have a case reference number, then make a request to the Slovaks citing that case number. By treaty, they’re obliged to cooperate, so they send us the information.”

  “It can’t be on the master case list or they’ll pick it up in the front office,” Paola cautioned. “We don’t want them to know what we’re doing.”

  “Use current case numbers which are already assigned and approved,” Jana suggested.

  “Nice idea. We spread the requests around so no case gets noted with multiple requests,” Aidan recommended, then laughed at himself. “I’ve just realized how devious I am. I could have been a great thief.”

  “You just stole all the tapas,” Paola pointed out.

  “You weren’t hungry anyway.” He finished off his beer, wiping his mouth with a napkin, then waved it at Jana. “What’s on your agenda while we’re playing with this stuff?”

  “I look for Kroslak.”

  “You’ll need a place to start.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “Where?” Paola asked.

  “I’d rather not say.”

  Paola and Aidan both looked at her with surprise.

  “I’m putting myself in Kroslak’s head. Just disappearing. Let everyone look for me like they looked for him. If they can find me, I’m not thinking enough like Kroslak. From this moment on, I’m a fugitive looking for another fugitive.” She got up, laying money on the table. “My treat.”

  “How do we get you the information we come up with?”

  “You don’t. You just get the information. I’ll call, or send for it in a way that’s safe.”

  “Good luck, lady,” Aidan murmured.

  “Amen,” Paola added.

  The two of them stared after Jana as she walked out of the café.

  She didn’t look back.

  Chapter 20

  Jana called the professor at his hotel. Following her directions, he rented a car, then drove the vehicle to Grote Markt Square, avoiding the cyclists, circling the square several times while she watched to make sure he’d not been followed. After satisfying herself that he had not inadvertently brought an unwanted tail with him, Jana signaled him to pick her up. The professor then followed her directive to drive northeast.

  “Thank you for calling me,” he said.

  “I needed help, so I should thank you.”

  “Why are we going to in this direction?”

  “When we get to a tram station, you get out and take it back to The Hague. I’ll drive the car on from there.”

  “I’ve been brought up to protect women. So I’m staying.”

  “I’m a police commander, Professor.”

  “That does not make you any less a woman. I make no distinction for your being a police officer.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not concerned about myself. I’m concerned for you, Professor. There are some very bad people moving around out there. And they do ugly things to human beings they don’t like. They’ve already decided they don’t like me. I don’t want them to dislike you.”

  “The risk doesn’t bother me.”

  “That’s because you don’t know enough about the risk to be concerned. I do.”

  “I read about what happened at your hotel. That involved you, didn’t it?”

  “I’m not about to discuss it, Professor.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the more you know, the more you’re at risk.”

  “You’re going to drive to Amsterdam, aren’t you?”

  “Again, no comment.”

  “You asked me to get a car because you’re afraid of the train or bus stations. Or airports. There is no reason in the world for you to want to go north unless you’re going to Amsterdam. So please listen to me. This is not a negotiable issue. Realize that I’m a stubborn man, and I’m going to drive this car. It’s my car. I rented it. I have the keys to the car, and unless you beat me up, I won’t let you have them. So, we both go to Amsterdam.”

  Jana sat in uncomfortable silence, not quite knowing what to do.

  “Of course,” the professor continued, “you can abandon me in Amsterdam; but before you do, think of the possible help I can offer.”

  “There’s no help you can give me.”

  “You didn’t think so until you needed me for the car, right? And that will happen in Amsterdam, once we get there. Surprises happen; things change; assistance is needed. Think about my offer … and don’t be as obstinate as I am. I know that whatever happened at the hotel, two men are dead. I’m an adult. I’m informed enough to decide what chances to take. So, Amsterdam!”

  They drove toward Amsterdam.

  Jana tried several times to talk the professor out of his determination to come with her. But, as he’d pointed out, if she needed to Jana could lose him in Amsterdam. Meanwhile, there was no choice.

  As they neared Amsterdam, Jana had begun to think of herself as a fugitive. She played with that in her mind. Odd, to be a fugitive. She was now constantly checking behind their car, looking for threatening vehicles gaining on them, watching the speedometer and making sure they didn’t commit any traffic violations which would result in their being stopped, wondering how she was going to get the money to keep herself going, thinking about what means she could use to conceal herself, and who she could turn to for assistance. Jana eventually concluded she didn’t want to go to a hotel and be a walk-in without a reservation, which might make the desk clerk scrutinize her more closely.

  Before they got to Amsterdam, Jana selected the American Hotel in Amsterdam from a phone book at a gas-station pay phone. She picked it because the name conjured up cleanliness, plainness, solid bourgeois patrons, no particular frills. Not a place that would draw attention to itself, a place which the police would not be particularly interested in.

  She was surprised when she and the professor arrived there.

  It was anything but American. Built in an odd-looking Art Nouveau style, a fancy patterned brickwork building with stained glass amid neo-Gothic arches greeted them. Opportunely, there was one additional reason Jana had picked the hotel which made it acceptable despite its appearance. The American was located in the hub of the nightlife area, a place where Jana thought she might begin looking for the boy-toy who might lead them to Kroslak.

  Jana and the professor checked into two rooms under the professor’s name. The desk clerk gave the apparent May—December relationship a briefly raised eyebrow. Each went to a room to freshen up; then they met downstairs in the hotel’s Café USA and ordered hamburgers, to go along with the spirit of the hotel. Relieved at being out of The Hague and the immediate danger that the area presented, Jana’s appetite flared. She ate everything on her plate, including the garnish.

  The professor wiped his mouth; sat back, satisfied; then looked at Jana expectantly. “What’s our next move?”

  “My next move,” she corrected.

  “I hope we are not going to fight that battle again,” he said. “You will see, I’m a very helpful person.”

  “I don’t need the car any more, Professor.”

  “How many times have you been to Amsterdam, Commander Matinova?”

  Her answer, when it came out, emerged grudgingly.

  “Once.”

  “I have been here six times, the second time for a two-week period and the fourth time for ten days. I have begun to know the city quite well. With your lack of familiarity, you can’t wander around the city without looking at a map. How can you pay attention to what you, as a detective, must pay attention to when you are constantly checking the street signs to make sure you
haven’t made a wrong turn?” He looked at her appraisingly, watching her digest his argument. “I told you you would need me. And I promise to not get in your way.”

  Jana recognized defeat, smiling despite her misgivings. “You’re a persuasive man. Can you also promise me that you’ll stay out of harm’s way?”

  “No. But I can tell you I won’t go looking for it … unless it has to do with my nephew.”

  “That’s not much of a promise, Professor.”

  “We promise only what we can deliver. So… .” He pushed his plate away. “What’s our first step?”

  “I need to find a man who is, or was, an investigator with the Slovak police. He has information that will assist the investigation.”

  “What is he doing in Amsterdam if he’s a Slovak?”

  “Running, like I am.”

  “He’s in hiding?”

  “If he’s still alive.”

  “How do we find him if he doesn’t want to be found?”

  “We look for a friend of his.” She described the young man who Paola had seen with Kroslak.

  “You think he’s in Amsterdam?”

  “My educated guess is that Kroslak met him here, and then took refuge in this city. It’s harder to find someone in a big city. If he stayed in The Netherlands to hide, and I think he had to, he couldn’t go to a city where a Slovak would stick out like a worm in an apple. But Amsterdam is cosmopolitan. No one would give him a second thought here.”

  The professor nodded. “I understand.” He reflected on what she’d said. “The boy is the key to finding the man?”

  “I think so. The young man visited Kroslak at The Hague, which means he and Kroslak were close. I think Kroslak may have been staying with him in Amsterdam when he was supposed to be living in The Hague. Now, wherever that place is, it’s the only safe haven he has.”

  “Do you know where to start?”

  “The gay bars and nightclubs. We look for the man with the little scar just above his eye. We throw his name out to the regulars. Then, we hope one of them knows handsome Willem Albert and points us in the right direction.”

  “I have another small idea. It might make our search easier.”

  “Tell me.”

  “There are, maybe, one or two places in the city that are information centers for gay men and women.”

  “Registration places?”

  “Informal registration. You want to find a lost lover, you ask. Maybe they have the information, maybe not. It’s iffy, but worth a try.”

  “Bookstores? Phone services? Escort services?”

  “They have a few of those.”

  “You know where these places are?”

  The professor suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I’ve not been there before. I’ve read about them,” he explained hastily. “I just know they exist.”

  “An Amsterdam guidebook is in order.”

  They paid their bill, then walked to the hotel gift shop. There were a number of Amsterdam guides sitting in wire racks at the entrance. Jana rifled through them, picked the one with Amsterdam street maps and a full section on the Red Light district and environs. It also included the COC, as the gay and lesbian social center of Amsterdam. It was located on Rozenstratt, an easy stroll from their hotel.

  As they walked, the professor became more and more nervous. Jana had to pull him back to safety as he stepped into the street in front of an oncoming vehicle.

  “Professor, we are not entering the jaws of hell. I thought you were a brave man.”

  “I’ve led a quiet life. Well, not so quiet. But not dangerous. There is a difference between stage danger and real danger.”

  “You can go back to the hotel.”

  “No.”

  “I warn you, I have something planned. You may not like it.”

  “What?”

  “Even though they have information, the people who staff these places may not want to give it to us. They protect their people. We have to use a ruse.”

  “What ruse?”

  “Smoke and mirrors.”

  Jana spotted what she had been looking for on the street. “The place I was looking for.” She pulled the professor into a store advertising “Produit de Beauté” on its window, a cosmetics store catering primarily to male gays. “We need to make you more presentable.”

  The only clerk in the salon, a man who had a very faint blush applied to his cheeks, was only too glad to help them, taking enormous enjoyment at what he was asked to do. By the time they walked out, the professor had mascara on his eyelashes, a very thin eyeliner on the base of his upper lids, a faint lip gloss, and the merest dab of rouge on his cheeks. The professor held himself very stiffly, taking hesitant steps as if he wanted to bolt and run.

  “Why have you done this to me?”

  “Pretend that you’re in your clown makeup.”

  “I chose my clown face. I put it on. It also appealed to a different audience. I knew what I was getting into.”

  “You spent your professional life as a performer. Think of this as just another performance. You actually look good: healthy and younger. So relax,” she ordered.

  “How can I relax wearing this …?” He hesitated, unable to find the right words. “Why is this necessary? I admit to being a jester, but this is absurd.”

  “Professor, think of your magic tricks. You’re the left hand; I’m the right hand. I want them to look at you while I’m doing the work. You’re the illusion, I’m the reality. All you have to do is relax and, if possible, be a little sad.”

  “I’m feeling very uneasy.”

  “I want you depressed, not uneasy.”

  He tried to change the expression on his face.

  “Good. Keep it up. And stop cringing. The people in this city are used to gay men.”

  They reached the COC. It was a combination of offices, social center, gay nightclub, and café. Everyone inside was gay, except for a pair of tourists who had entered by mistake and were rapidly retreating.

  “You’re sure I have to do this?” The professor’s voice had taken on a plaintive tone.

  “A small reminder: you wanted to come. You’re needed for the plan. Try not to shake so much, and keep walking.” They entered the social center area. A number of men and women sat talking. Jana propelled the professor over to an armchair.

  “Stay here.” She checked his makeup. “Almost perfect, although he could have gone easier on the eyeshadow.”

  The professor started to get up. Jana pushed him back down into the chair. “I’m teasing. Remember, it’s for your nephew.”

  Jana stepped over to a desk area staffed by a man and a woman.

  She introduced herself as the niece of the man sitting in the chair. Both staffers looked over to him.

  “My uncle has a problem,” Jana confided.

  “I know. He’s getting old,” whispered the man. “It comes to all of us, you know.”

  “How can we help?” asked the woman.

  “I’m looking for his lover.”

  They both eyed the professor again.

  “His lover deserted him?” suggested the woman.

  “That happens when you age sometimes,” the man whispered.

  “His lover didn’t leave a forwarding address, a phone number, anything. My uncle thought the relationship was for life. The young man apparently didn’t. And my uncle needs closure. He sits and broods; he doesn’t eat. I’m trying to help him. That’s why I came here. You advertise that if a gay needs help in Amsterdam, this is the place.”

  The staffers nodded in unison. People are people. Like helps like. Problems need to be solved. For the next twenty minutes, the two moved heaven and earth to help. They called the Gay and Lesbian Switchboard, a number of the boy-toy bars and clubs, and several gay and lesbian bookstores. Surprisingly, they found the information at MVS Radio, the gay and lesbian radio station. The young man had worked for them as a sound engineer until last week, when he’d suddenly called in and quit.

  When the
y left, the woman staffer insisted on giving Jana her home phone number. Jana did not want the woman to take it as a rejection if she refused her offer. She said she might call in the next day or so. The male staffer gave Jana a kiss on the cheek for being so caring, and she and the professor walked out. The professor immediately insisted on going to the nearest straight restaurant, where he used the restroom to wash all the makeup off.

  He was not happy with Jana. His persona had been tampered with. On some basic level he felt desecrated. The professor hadn’t enjoyed being the misdirection for her trick.

  Chapter 21

  They went into the area called the Jordaan, just to the west of the city center, a strait lattice-work of narrow streets and canals, following the original polder, strips of farmland separated by canals, with houses in a hodgepodge of styles ranging from the seventeenth century to the present. In the old days it had been a refugee enclave filled with people speaking different languages.

  The address they were looking for turned out to be a structure with bottleneck gables and slightly faded red shutters. The house, like a number of the others in the area, had been divided into apartments. Two of the three mail slots bore other names. The third slot had no name. Jana tried its buzzer. There was no answer, so she tried the other two. Within seconds they were admitted.

  As they walked up the broad rococo staircase to the second floor, the tenants who had buzzed them in with typical Dutch credulity, in a nation with a very low crime rate, stuck their heads out of their doors to see who their guests were. The professor and Jana, smiling, waved at them in reassurance. Jana mouthed a hallo to greet them and a dank u to thank them for their politeness, two of the three or four Dutch words Jana had picked up since she’d arrived. Aside from their slightly bewildered looks, no one tried to stop them.

  The second floor, smaller than the ground floor, had just one apartment. Jana walked over to it, the professor lagging a few steps behind her. She signaled him to step to one side of the door. Jana then slipped to the other and placed her ear to the door. There was the sound of movement from inside. Jana knocked, immediately pulling back beyond the doorjamb as a precaution. Almost instantaneously there was a loud crash as if some large object had been thrown against the door. This was followed by several more thumps. The door shook each time it was hit. Then there was a moment of silence, followed by a voice howling from inside.