by Mark Hobson
She beamed back at him.
“Is this a temporary assignment?”
“Not sure really Inspector. I think they sent me over because there was nobody else available from the night-shift.”
“Same here actually.”
“But I’m hoping it might be permanent,” she added quickly.
“Paperwork not your thing?”
She shrugged and pulled a face.
“Ok, let’s see how tonight goes then.”
He tilted the nib of his helmet back and looked up at the scorched doorway and carport.
“So tell me, why have we been summoned to a house fire?”
“A number of reasons sir. First of all, the firefighters think it might be arson. They say an accelerant – probably petrol from the smell of it – was used to start the fire, just in the hallway here. Also, we have at least two bodies inside. It’s hard to tell for sure, but they look like an adult male and an adult female. And thirdly, the family who lived here, two parents and their daughter, have recently received several death threats. Which they had reported to the police.”
“Two bodies you say? What about the daughter? How old is she?”
Officer Groot studied her notebook. “Twelve years old sir.”
“Do they know her whereabouts?”
“Not at the moment, although the general opinion is that they will probably find her body soon, maybe upstairs.”
Pieter nodded. From the ferocity of the blaze it seemed very unlikely anyone could survive, especially if they had fled upstairs away from the flames and smoke, as children were wont to do. “Who exactly were the occupants? This street is for the mega-rich, almost as posh as Hooftstraat.”
“The homeowner was a Doctor Christiaan Bakker, and his wife Elise and their daughter Nina.”
“A doctor? I presume not your average quack then, unless the wife was a woman of means?”
“No, he had a private clinic. He specialized in eye surgery. Had quite a few famous clients in fact, politicians, footballers, that kind of people. Quite well known in exclusive social circles, he and his wife liked to mix with movie stars. They were very well respected.”
“Not by everybody, apparently.”
With Pieter leading the way they both stepped over the threshold and into the hallway.
Inside, the atmosphere was still hot even though the fire had been extinguished. It was like opening an oven door and Pieter immediately felt a claustrophobic-like heat pushing down on him and sapping his strength. The air was thick with charcoal dust, which not only clogged up his throat but instantly set his eyes off itching, and he rubbed at them vigorously. He saw beside him officer Groot similarly affected, and her eyes were already red-rimmed. She coughed loudly.
“Let’s make this quick eh?” he croaked, and she nodded emphatically.
In the hallway, two separate teams were already at work. As with all arson cases, the procedure was the same, and Pieter knew the basics. If it were suspected that a fire had been started deliberately, then the fire officer in charge of the incident would put out a call to the Fire, Police and Forensic Science Service, who would send out teams of specially trained fire investigation personnel. One would be made up of fire officers, and their job was to locate the seat of the blaze as well as ascertain how the fire had spread, and also to determine whether it had been started by an incendiary device or an accelerant. The second team, this one containing police officers, would gather evidence and take samples similar to a normal crime scene investigation, and send this off to the NFI forensic lab in The Hague.
The next phase was to decide the reason for the act of arson. There are two main categories of arson fires: arson without a motive, and arson with a motive.
The vast majority of fires that are started deliberately without any obvious motive are generally the result of vandalism. This might be kids burning down their school, yobs setting fire to cars, or a pyromaniac setting fires for the thrill of it.
Where a fire has been started deliberately then there may be a motive. This might be financial in the form of an insurance claim, emotional where the arsonist has a grudge or a grievance against the owner of the property, or to cover-up another serious crime that has been committed.
Of course the presence of two, and probably three, bodies in this case did not necessarily mean that the culprit intended for the occupants of the house to die in the blaze. He – and most arsonists were male – may have thought the house was empty at the time, or that the young family living here would have time to escape. Perhaps they had only intended to scare them and the fire had quickly got out of control and become a deadly inferno. He may be in a state of shock at what he’d done. He may also be injured and in need of medical attention, so an alert would need to be put out to all of the hospitals across Amsterdam. Whatever the case, the arsonist might be looking at a manslaughter charge, rather than murder. Only time would tell, dependent on the results of the twin investigations now taking place, and the results of the autopsies.
Not wishing to interfere too much in the work of the fire and police forensic teams, Pieter nevertheless felt it was necessary to see the bodies in situ for himself.
The first one lay on the hall floor just ahead, at the foot of the staircase. Three or four people, clad in their white forensic get-up, were clustered around the burnt husk of a human body, and Pieter and officer Groot carefully stepped over the debris towards the small knot of figures.
They were just rolling the corpse over onto its back, not easy as the body and clothes had partially melted into the floor, and parts of the flesh and hair came away. Pieter cringed inside, but Kaatje seemed totally unfazed.
The corpse’s face was mostly unburnt and it was easy to recognize the features were that of a female of the right kind of age as Elise Bakker. Formal ID would still be required, as standard.
Standing there and looking down at the victim Pieter had a sudden flashback to his dream, of a figure on a beach engulfed in flames, and he metaphorically batted the image away.
Stepping back, he glanced down at Kaatje, who was hungrily taking in all of the details.
She was certainly keen, just as he had been when he’d first switched to the murder squad, but he wondered how long before she became jaded and then disillusioned, her nights beset with bad dreams.
“Where is the other one?” he asked her.
His voice drew her concentration away from the corpse, and she pointed behind them. “Through there,” she responded.
Pieter stepped across to the doorway she’d indicated. Beyond was what looked to be a living room, filled with the charcoal remnants of furniture and tables and a cabinet by the door. Kaatje came up alongside him and nodded towards an arched opening in the opposite wall. She had one hand up over her mouth, and when she spoke, there was a slight wheeze to her voice, sounding like an accordion that was going down. “He’s just behind the corner through there. That’s the dining room. He’s lying on the floor near the telephone. I took a quick look sir, and noticed something a little strange.”
“Oh yeah?”
She coughed. “Yes. He had something sticking out of his chest. It was all burnt and everything, but it looked like a small knife, from what I could tell.”
Well, well, Pieter considered. That changed things.
“Come on, let’s get back outside,” he said, deciding it wasn’t necessary to see the second body, under the circumstances; if they lingered here any longer they’d both soon be in the back of an ambulance, suffering from smoke inhalation.
They turned to go, but just then his foot caught something, and Pieter glanced down. Amidst all of the wreckage on the floor, his eye caught sight of a tiny yellow object, because it stood out so much from all of the blackened pieces of wood. Strange that it hadn’t been burnt like everything else. One of the oddities that occurred in house fires occasionally, he assumed.
Bending down for a closer look he immediately recognized it for what it was. The plastic cap off a syrin
ge.
Back outside, they breathed in deeply, trying to rid themselves of the fumes and smell from the fire. His head throbbed madly.
Kaatje was looking at him with an earnest expression on her face, no doubt itching to help him crack the case. Sadly, he had to disappoint her. As a rookie, her main job was to guard the premises and to keep an eye on who was coming and going. Besides, he was actually heading home. There was nothing to be achieved in him staying here as there would be no results or conclusions to draw until forensics came back with their initial findings. Plus, the firefighters still had to find and recover the body of the child, and that could take a while. He didn’t want to feel like he was in their way, certainly not after the brusque way the mealy-mouthed firefighter had been earlier.
“Well, I’d best get on,” he told her, and he turned away from her crestfallen expression.
Walking down the driveway, stepping over hosepipes, Pieter paused and looked back.
“Perhaps I’ll see you at the station tomorrow?”
She grinned and nodded enthusiastically.
He went through the gates and was about to head back down the street to his parked car when a loud voice drew him to a halt.
“Van Dijk!”
“Fuck,” he whispered to himself when he saw who was bellowing.
Parked right in the middle of the busy road and drawing annoyed looks from the fire crews was a large black car with blacked-out windows. One of the windows at the back was wound down, and a big, fat face was scowling out at him. His boss, Huijbers.
Huijbers liked to be driven around town in his brand new American SUV, with a small security detail and his very own driver. He also liked to wear a silly baseball hat and a Kevlar vest, because he wanted to look important.
Now he was calling Pieter over and from the look on his face it wasn’t for a friendly catch-up.
Pieter reluctantly dragged himself over and stood waiting.
“Van Dijk, whoever gave you this case must need a fucking lobotomy,” he snarled. “It’s a travesty that you are still on the murder team, never mind having a big one like this falling into your lap.”
Pieter thought about mentioning how he was here purely by chance, not by choice, but he was too deadbeat to explain. He just wanted to get home, have a shower and hit the sack.
“You fucked up royally with the Werewolf murders.”
“I did?” he asked.
“Too many people died last time, Van Dijk,” Huijbers continued with barely a pause, “the fucking scandal will tarnish our reputation for years, and the person responsible is still on the run, in case you’d forgotten. Your girlfriend wasn’t she? Living right under your nose.”
“She wasn’t my girlfriend.”
“Shut the fuck up!” He wagged his chubby finger at Pieter, like he was admonishing a naughty child. “Make sure you don’t screw this one up as well, you hear? These people, the Bakkers, they were a very highly respected family. Dr Bakker even treated members of The Royal Family.”
He leaned even further out of the car window, the hat looking ridiculous on his big, sweaty head.
“Now listen carefully. I want this case cleared up quickly, with no loose ends. Do your job and find the fucker who did this and put him away - fucking understood?”
With that, he slapped the side of the car to signal to his driver that it was time to go, and the car pulled away.
Pieter gave a jaunty little salute as the red tail-lights disappeared down the street.
◆◆◆
While driving back to his home on Singel Canal Pieter considered his reflection in the car’s rearview mirror.
The face of the man looking back at him had changed almost beyond recognition over the past six months. With its sallow complexion and dark rings around the eyes, and sharp cheekbones and three-day stubble, it was the face of someone who suffered frequent sleepless nights or night-terrors; a person haunted by the recent past, which had affected both his physical health as well as his mental well-being. His hair was greying at the temples and a permanent frown marred his brow, and he’d picked up the paranoid habit of looking over his shoulder whenever he heard footsteps approaching, especially at night.
His psychiatrist had told him straight; he was suffering from burn-out and needed a complete break, from work and the city. Take a holiday, go somewhere to relax, perhaps a few weeks on the coast. Well, Pieter reflected ruefully as he drove through the quiet streets, that hadn’t exactly worked out had it? Not when Lotte – Charlotte Janssen, as he now knew her as – had somehow tracked him down and popped up right in the small guesthouse where he was staying. Somehow evading the massive international manhunt and paying him a brief visit, to remind him that she was still around.
He shuddered at the memory of that fleeting glimpse of her standing on the pavement below his window, smiling and mocking him. Then, in the next instant, gone. And since that day neither he nor anybody else had laid eyes on her. She had melted away, vanished, dropping completely off the radar, leaving him convinced that she was still out there somewhere, possibly still right in this city.
That was one of the reasons why Pieter had not moved house. It seemed pretty pointless as she’d no doubt still be able to find him. Amsterdam was a small city, she knew where he worked, so discovering his whereabouts would be easy for someone of her means. Besides, somewhere in the back of his mind was this vague hope that she would make a move, maybe come for him again. At the present it was probably their best hope of catching her.
Pulling down his street Pieter opened his automatic garage doors using the fob on his keyring, and after parking his car and setting the house alarm, went upstairs to the living quarters. Taking out the leftover remains of yesterday’s pizza, he popped it in the oven – a new addition to his bachelor pad – and went to take a shower whilst it heated up.
Dumping his clothes in the laundry bag, he stepped into the cubicle and turned the hot water up as high as he could stand it.
It was well after midnight by the time he’d eaten supper and drank a beer. He felt shattered. Hopefully tonight would be one of those rare occasions when he actually slept through.
But first, there was one more thing he had to do.
Bending down, he retrieved a small glass jar from underneath his bed. Unscrewing the lid, he proceeded to pour the contents onto the bare, wooden floorboards, something he did every single night without fail.
Working carefully, he completely surrounded the bed with an uninterrupted circle of salt, as protection through to sunrise.
Chapter 4
Nina
Twelve year old Nina Bakker felt rough hands pull the blindfold away from her eyes and she lay on the bed, her eyes blinking rapidly in time with her racing heart. Her blurred vision slowly came back into focus and she gasped at what she saw.
Standing over her was the figure of a short and squat man. He may not have been particularly tall, but she could see straight away that he was powerfully built, with thick biceps and a barrel chest and huge hands. He was wearing a brown boiler suit and heavy work boots, but when her gaze shifted upwards to look at his face, she gave a little gasp.
His features were hidden behind an old leather hood. At the front, where the eyes should be, was a small horizontal glass visor set in a rusty iron frame. The hood came down to his shoulders so that the whole of his head and face was hidden from view.
It was the type of hood that welders wore, Nina realized. Her grandfather used to have a similar one, for when he was repairing his vintage motorbikes in the garage. But this one was old, more like the sort that men who worked in the old docks used to wear in the past. The sight of it petrified her, especially the dark visor. The thought of those hidden eyes watching and staring at her was enough to make Nina cringe back onto the mattress, and she squirmed, her hands and feet still bound together.
“Calm down,” came the muffled voice from behind the hood.
These words had the opposite effect, and she felt herself bre
athing in quick and shallow gasps, and her eyes welled up with tears.
The figure reached forward with one of his huge hands, and although she shrunk away from him, he grasped a hold of one of her narrow shoulders and actually squeezed it gently.
“Take it easy now girl. Get your breath, and try to stay calm.” As if to try to reassure her further he added, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
During the terrifying journey in the back of the van, locked inside the oblong metal box with its small LED light showing through her blindfold, feeling the sleeping bag beneath her, Nina was convinced she was going to die. She was only twelve years old, but she was much more streetwise than people gave her credit for, and she knew how the world worked. She was well aware that there were lots of bad people out there, men who abducted children in order to do all kinds of horrible things to them, before later killing them and dumping their bodies in a ditch somewhere. The TV was full of documentaries and movies of such things, real-life abductions of kids or young women taken off the street or snatched from their bedrooms, never to be seen alive again. And so Nina was sure this was going to be her fate. Taken from her home, from her parents, who would spend the rest of their lives wondering what had happened to their daughter.
Her parents! Lying squashed into the metal box, she’d felt the fear swell up inside her, her concern for herself momentarily superseded by the worry she now felt for her mother and father. Had something bad happened to them? Surely it had, she had heard the screaming and commotion downstairs, the violent fighting that had sent her scurrying to her bedroom in terror. Her parents would never allow her to be just taken like this. They would both do everything in their power to stop this man from snatching her and driving away. They must have been hurt… or worse.
Nina had peed, unable to prevent herself, and she had cried quietly as the van rocked her back and forth, the sound of the engine reverberating around inside the confined space of her tiny prison.
