by Mark Hobson
“Inspector Van Dijk.”
“I understand you are here regarding Doctor Bakker? Oh, terrible, terrible business. I am – sorry, I was – Christiaan’s assistant, and I’m still in a complete state of shock and disbelief over the whole sorry tragedy.” He shook his head and took a seat opposite, leaning forward earnestly.
“Yes, the receptionist was saying. What we are here for Mr Visser – “
“Oh please, call me Julian. We prefer first names around here, staff and patients alike.”
“Well, Julian, perhaps you can help us. We are just trying to get an accurate picture of the kind of person your boss, Christiaan, was. What was he like to work for? His professional life, his personal life, that kind of thing? As I’m sure you are aware, the manner of the murders would suggest he and his family were specifically targeted rather than the random victims of some madman.”
“Well if you are asking about his private life, I really wouldn’t know too much I’m afraid. But as regarding his work here at the clinic, I have nothing but praise for him. He was an outstanding surgeon and very professional. Held in the highest regard, by his patients as well as everybody who works here, a fine fellow.”
“Indeed. Yet it seems somebody didn’t think quite so highly of him.”
“Well yes, obviously. But I can only speak insofar as his duties here were concerned. Whether he, or his wife, had issues in their personal lives that I was not privy to is a moot point. We never socialized or saw each other away from the clinic, but they did have a wide circle of friends. Perhaps your time would be better spent talking to them.” A thin smile appeared, and he looked ready to get to his feet and depart.
“His wife, Elise. Did you know her?”
“No. Why would I? I only ever met her once, about a year ago, at some dinner party held at the A’DAM Lookout. They were just leaving as I was arriving. Apparently, she had had a little too much to drink and they were leaving early. We chatted for about two minutes.” He shrugged. “Sorry, but no I didn’t know her. Still, for this to happen to her and her husband… Such a lovely couple.”
Pieter and Kaatje exchanged a brief glance.
“And their daughter?”
“Little Nina? She’s a sweet thing.”
“Have you ever met her?”
Visser stared straight at Pieter, his eyes flicking back and forth, a frown crossing his features.
“How do you mean Pieter?” he asked after a moment.
“It’s a simple question.”
“Yes, a few times. Sometimes her father brings her here, to show her around. She likes to see where he works, what he does for a job, I guess.”
“She was always with her dad when you saw her? Let’s think, she’s twelve years old now right? And you’ve known the Bakkers for how long?”
Visser fidgeted on his chair, and for the first time he looked over at Kaatje, and gave a little nervous laugh.
“Well, let’s think. I first met Christiaan around about five years ago, when plans were underway to open our clinic. The Director here, she actually headhunted the two of us, and brought us both in at the same time. But I only really got to know him when we started working here two years ago. As to your first question regarding his daughter, of course I only ever see her when she accompanies her father to work.”
“How many times is that?” Kaatje asked.
“I don’t recall.”
“Are you recently separated from your partner?” she asked, and Pieter wondered where she was going with this.
“I beg your pardon? What on earth do you mean?”
“It’s just that I can see on your ring finger that you no longer wear your wedding ring, but I can still see the mark it left, the imprint on your skin.”
Pieter’s eyes dropped down – he hadn’t noticed – then they shot back up.
“Which suggests that you have only recently stopped wearing it after many years.”
Visser shook his head. He tried to look annoyed, but to Pieter his behaviour came across more like he was flustered.
“Or, young lady, it might be that I simply remove my wedding ring because of my profession. Look, I’m not sure I like the tone of your questions, and all these queries about Doctor Bakker’s daughter.”
“We’re just doing our job,” Pieter told him mildly. “Ruling out all possibilities.”
Visser came to his feet. “Well, you can certainly cross that off your list, if you are implying what I think you are implying. I wish you good-day.” With that he spun away and disappeared back through the doorway.
They watched him depart and Pieter sat back on the couch.
“Strange that,” Kaatje commented.
“How?”
“The way he talked about Bakker and his wife in the past tense but kept referring to Nina in the present tense. As far as the public are concerned, all three perished in the fire. News of the kidnapping isn’t due to be released until this afternoon.”
“I noticed that too, but it could have just been a slip of the tongue. People sometimes do that soon after somebody has died. The thing that I’m finding annoying is the way everyone seems determined to set the narrative of just how wonderful a person Christiaan Bakker was. Stressing at every opportunity to tell us what an upstanding, perfect and all-round Mr Nice Guy he was. Like they are trying too hard.”
Pieter pushed himself to his feet, and Kaatje joined him.
“Are we leaving?”
“No, not just yet.”
He glanced over to where the receptionist was, catching her watching them before she quickly looked away again.
“I want you to go and have a chat with our friend over there. See if you can find out anything. She might be more inclined to open up to you, even if it’s just a bit of office gossip.”
“But what about you? What will you be doing?”
Pieter gave her a mischievous grin.
“I’m going for a poke around.”
Sitting, waiting on the couch earlier, Pieter had noticed a second set of automatic glass doors leading off from the foyer, and while Kaatje was busy distracting the girl on reception, he strode towards them and they opened with a quiet shssh sound.
On the other side, he found himself in a wide corridor. Beneath where he was standing was a series of three different coloured lines painted onto the floor and leading away down the passage, a blue one, a yellow one, and in the middle, a red one. With no real plan in mind, he decided to follow them and see where they led.
He walked quietly along. The corridor was deserted, and there were no doors or openings along its length, and the only sounds were his light footsteps and the gentle background hum of machinery.
After a minute or so, it turned slightly to the left and now became a glass corridor as he passed briefly through an outside segment of the clinic. He could see the car park over to his left, while on the right was an inner courtyard with frosted-over grass and bushes and several empty benches. The corridor connected to a separate building block, and once back inside the first of the coloured lines, the yellow one, turned sharply to the right and disappeared beneath a closed door. Overhead was a sign: CONSULTATION ROOM No 1. Pieter stepped across and peered through the glass in the upper half of the door.
On the other side was a small room. He saw an L-shaped desk with computer monitors and a swivel chair, and a black examination couch, with what he presumed to be various eye-testing equipment, portable microscopes, diagnostic displays and halogen lamps clustered around it. There was nobody about, and he shrugged, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
He carried on walking.
Further along, and the blue line branched away down a short side-passage, towards a set of wide swing doors. The sign above read: THE JACQUES DAVIEL WING. This would be the recovery ward, the plush overnight accommodation for the rich clientele, and so he turned away and went on.
Now there was just the single red line on the floor, straight as an arrow, and Pieter followed it deeper and deeper into t
he facility.
So far he had not passed a single person, and he was beginning to wonder where all of the staff and patients were.
Glancing at his watch he saw he’d been exploring for nearly ten minutes. Surely by now the receptionist would have noticed his absence and would be checking her monitors, but as this thought passed through his mind, he realized that he hadn’t seen a single security camera anywhere, which was more than a little odd.
Thinking he was probably about to run out of luck, Pieter was on the verge of giving up and heading back – after all, what had he been expecting to find? – when suddenly the red line swung down a cross-hallway and came to a halt before another doorway.
On the wall above was written: OPHTHALMIC THEATRE 1B + 2AB.
To either side of the closed door was a pair of huge and burly security guards.
They both jerked in surprise at his sudden appearance, and then came instantly alert, scowling at him.
Pieter had to crane his neck back to see their faces way above him, so tall were they, and their heavy brows and hard faces were more than a little disconcerting.
One of the men, who had a heavy black beard and his hair in a ponytail, said with a strong East European accent: “This area is out of bounds, mister. Go away.”
Recovering his equilibrium, Pieter fished inside his coat pocket and flashed his ID
“I’m a senior police officer investigating a serious crime. Can you let me pass please?”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re Elvis Presley himself, now piss off.”
Pieter wondered if he should just walk straight past them and push through the door, just to see what happened, but after a second appraisal of the two men, he wisely deduced that that wouldn’t be the best course of action.
The second guard – this one sported a tiny tattoo of a black ace-of spades on his neck – pointed to a sign beside the door, and Pieter saw a familiar symbol warning of radiation from x-rays.
“It is a restricted section of the clinic. It has to remain completely sterile.” He looked Pieter up and down, and added: “No dirt allowed beyond this point.”
In unison, they both took a single step forward, and Pieter backed up and raised his hands.
“Okay, I get the message.”
“Do you need escorting back to reception?” asked the one with the ponytail.
“No, I’m a big boy, I think I can find my own way back, but thanks all the same.”
Pieter took one more look at the door, curious about what was on the other side.
“Nice meeting you guys.”
He turned about and headed back the way he had come, stepping around the corner.
Behind him, he heard someone say: “Oink oink,” followed by quiet laughter.
Back out in the car park, Kaatje asked: “What do you think it means Boss?”
When he’d made it back to the foyer area she had been waiting for him in the seating area, with a worried frown on her face. The receptionist looked at him with barely concealed contempt, all pretence of friendliness gone. Another security guard stood by the entrance doors in a not very subtle hint that it was time for them to leave; apparently, the other two goons had reported back about him skulking about and making a nuisance of himself.
Stepping outside, he briefly told her what he’d found as they walked back to their car and climbed in. He mentioned the two men guarding the entrance to the restricted part of the clinic, and the strange quiet, the lack of staff or patients anywhere.
“I’m not sure,” he told her, “and it’s probably nothing, but something just felt a bit off, you know? They certainly didn’t want me seeing what was on the other side of that door.”
“It seems like a lot of security for a private clinic. The kind of people who come here aren’t like your typical patients, and they are definitely not like all the junkies who hang around normal hospitals.”
“Well, we can run Visser through the system, see if anything pops up on him, we have nothing to lose. How did you get on?”
“Just a few tidbits really, nothing special from what I could tell. She couldn’t stop gushing about Christiaan Bakker. How nice he was, very generous with his staff, more of the same as before, blah blah. I get the feeling that she had a bit of a crush on him, but probably not reciprocated from reading between the lines. Oh, she did tell me something about Nina. She recently became a member of that exclusive riding school on Vondelstraat, you know the one, where they have the indoor stables and they do fancy dressage? It might be worth following up. Especially if the Bakkers did have any financial issues, because that place must cost an arm and a leg.”
Pieter nodded. It was worth a try.
“But then the receptionist broke off to take a call,” Kaatje continued, “and after that she completely clammed up, didn’t utter a word or even glance at me. I guessed you’d been causing trouble or something.”
“Who me? Would never enter my head.”
He took one final look at the buildings opposite. Something made a shiver pass down his spine and he didn’t think it was just because of the frosty morning.
“Come on, let’s head back. I have to update Huijbers before he makes his big announcement.”
Chapter 9
Commissaris Dirk Huijbers
When they arrived back at Amsterdam Central Police Headquarters just after midday, preparations were already underway for the press conference. The media suite on the second floor was starting to fill up with reporters and TV camera operators, and at the far end of the room, a long table was set out from where Commissaris Huijbers, flanked by two senior police district commanders, would shortly deliver his briefing to the press. A buzz of anticipation hummed through the air as rumours were already swirling around concerning just what was going to be revealed. It was probably only a matter of time before the news of Nina Bakker’s abduction broke, and Huijbers seemed jumpy and twitchy, no doubt concerned that someone might steal his thunder before he made the official announcement.
Climbing the stairs with Kaatje, Pieter caught sight of his superior standing in a side room, baseball hat on his head and talking animatedly with his media liaison officer. Hoping to sneak by without being spotted, Pieter slid quietly past the door. A loud shout however brought him up short.
Giving Kaatje a look, he popped his head around the doorframe.
Huijbers was scowling at him, and he made a show of looking at his watch.
“Get in here. And bring her with you.”
He and Kaatje walked through the doorway and the liaison officer made a hasty departure, no doubt glad to have an excuse to leave.
“What the hell took you so long?” Huijbers demanded. “I told you to be back in plenty of time to update me.”
“The traffic was a nightmare, you know what it’s like.”
“Well, it’s too damn late now. I’m due to give my briefing in five minutes to the world’s media, I can’t just change my script at short notice.” He waved a sheaf of papers in the air. “How the heck will it look if I’m behind the curve with the latest information on the case, and the media get wind of any breakthroughs before me?”
Pieter and Kaatje just shook their heads and acted dumb.
“Well, I’ll tell you. It will make me look like an incompetent fool, someone who can’t keep up with events. The job of a police commissaris is to portray an air of calmness and control, to allay people’s fears, to make them feel safe in their beds at night. Instead, I could go out there and end up looking like a complete idiot.” He pulled the baseball hat down tighter.
“Well there’s nothing much to report, and if there were, I doubt the media will find out.”
“Oh, you think so, do you? Let me tell you something Van Dijk. While you and your partner here have been driving around cosying up to each other-”
Kaatje opened her mouth to protest at this, but Huijbers held up one finger to still her words while he continued to tear into Pieter.
“-I received a telephone cal
l from a very disgruntled citizen of our good city, complaining about your behaviour. A Mr Julian Visser, one of the eye specialists out at that new clinic. Have you heard of him? Well I can tell you, he was not very happy, he gave me a real earful telling me all about your little visit this morning. And about your spurious and possibly slanderous allegations concerning matters of a very private nature. Particularly your accusation that Mr Visser might have a predilection for little girls.”
“That’s ridiculous, I was only questioning him-“
“Shut up! What on earth possesses you to come out with something like that to a member of the public, who tells me he was just doing his level best to help us with our inquiries? He could file a complaint, or even litigate and sue for damages. You’ve blackened his name, he claims, and left him shaking and very emotional.”
Pieter just about managed to roll his eyes before Huijbers continued.
“What if he went to the press? While I’m in the middle of the fucking press conference? What a bloody mess you’ve dropped into my lap, Van Dijk. Mind you, I shouldn’t be surprised, you made a total balls up in the spring, so I guess I should be used to it by now.”
He threw up his arms in dismay, the full repertoire of his amateur dramatic skills coming to the fore.
“Ah! I don’t have time for this! I’m meant to be out there announcing that we have a child abduction case on our hands instead of wasting my time with you. But don’t you worry, you haven’t heard the end of this. You can update me later, and in the meantime, I will try and calm Mr Visser down.”
Huijbers finally turned his gaze onto Kaatje, and then looked back at Pieter.
“And pray do tell me, what is officer Groot doing with you? She’s meant to be working with De Kok on the files section.”
Pieter stared back. “I thought the experience might be good for her.”
“She’s a rookie! Rookie officers aren’t meant to be working on high-profile cases. Her job is to be De Kok’s assistant, not your little helper.” He flashed a furious look at Kaatje. “You, get back to your job!”
