I added, ‘I just don’t know if I’m ready for that level of stress.’
‘You’ll be all right. We don’t even try to keep up, is the thing. Each region has its own team.’
I knew that. ‘But SVU X-19 –’
‘We’re not interested in the people who are just looking. We’re interested in the ones creating the content in the first place.’
‘Even so… each image has been created by someone, right? That’s still a lot of suspects to have to track down.’
‘Many images are created by a few.’
It reminded me of a saying on the Amsterdam police force – that six hundred people account for sixty per cent of the crime in the nation’s capital.
I dropped my voice lower. ‘Look, I heard about the Night Market operation – Guardian Angel.’
His eyes darkened.
‘Sometimes stuff leaks out – to the regions, especially Amsterdam,’ I explained. I was betting that the alcohol had loosened Tommy up just enough. ‘Word was, a couple of suspects got to know about it. I’m just trying to make sense of that. I mean, guys like you, Tommy – ex-SRR and all…’ I left the last part of the sentence unsaid. The best.
He snorted. ‘They were small fry. We let them go. We let the bigger fish feel a bit safer, see? We’re here to hook the biggest fish – the ones swimming in international waters.’
My voice lower still: ‘Heinrich Karremans?’
Tommy drank his beer. ‘Enough shop talk. We’re in the pub.’
But no sooner had Tommy said that than I spied a familiar face through the now-crowded bar.
‘Isn’t that Rahm?’ I nodded in the direction of the dining area.
Jacques Rahm was sitting at a table for two, alone, eating a bowl of soup and reading a newspaper.
‘Jesus, yes. Don’t call him over.’
‘What’s up with him?’ I asked conspiratorially.
‘I dunno,’ Tommy replied. ‘He was another one sent our way. God knows why in his case. The psychological shit he spews…’
‘Was there any explanation given for his appointment here?’
‘What I heard was that he was mixed up in that bomber case in Luxembourg, and had to get away for a while.’
‘Which bomber case?’
‘Is there a news blackout where you come from? You really didn’t hear?’
‘Hear what?’
He paused. ‘A couple of cops in Luxembourg were found to have planted bombs.’
‘Bombs that killed people?’ I asked, stunned.
‘Almost, but they made sure to place them beside electricity pylons, unstaffed police stations and the like.’
‘But why?’
‘Who knows? One theory is that the Police Grand-Ducale was resisting budget cuts, and certain members took it upon themselves to make the case for the status quo in their own way.’
‘Jesus.’
It gave me an odd sensation in my gut, mirroring as it did the plea made by some in the KLPD against merging with the national police force.
‘The cover-up went high – some reckon it went all the way up to the Ducal family.’ Tommy nodded in Rahm’s direction. ‘Our friend over there was involved in the fallout somehow, anyway. But, like I said, enough shop talk.’
He drained the rest of his second Pilsner. ‘I want to learn some Dutch sailor-slang so that I can impress Famke,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘She can be a dirty bitch when she wants to be, and I’m all for encouraging that.’ He eyed the drink in my hand. ‘One more?’
‘Why not?’ I said, before draining my own drink. I was catching up with Tommy Franks, and fast.
5
HIDE AND SEEK
‘Step in here, Henk,’ Boomkamp ushered me.
My head was still throbbing from the night before. In the bright meeting room sat Ivo Vermeulen and Gunther Engelhart.
It was just the four of us.
The smell of cleaning products was stronger than yesterday. Whatever it was designed to clean up couldn’t have smelled worse. I was about to vomit.
‘You OK?’ Boomkamp asked.
‘Something I ate last night,’ I said, wondering how and when I became so comfortable with casual lying. Probably right around the time I sat down with van der Steen and Rijnsburger in The Hague. Which reminded me that I needed to make contact with them. I already had things to talk through.
‘Time is short,’ Boomkamp was saying. ‘It felt easier to invite you along, Henk. Ivo can fill you in on the backstory later. Give us a quick overview would you, Gunther?’
I sat next to the German. He looked up from his laptop screen, which I could see easily enough. It showed a chat room conversation.
‘I’ve assumed an alias online: Wonderboy,’ Engelhart explained. ‘My profile picture has an eight-year-old dressed in a fairy costume.’
No one laughed.
‘Deep cover.’ Boomkamp broke the silence for my benefit.
‘I’ve got Karremans engaged in a game called hide and seek,’ Engelhart continued.
‘We’re close,’ Boomkamp said.
I knew the thrill of the hunt, the belief that an arrest was within reach.
‘Beau soleil,’ Vermeulen said.
My eyes narrowed, not comprehending.
‘Squad-room saying,’ the Belgian explained. Perhaps it was irony, given the unremitting darkness of the work here.
I hazarded another glance at Engelhart’s screen, where there was a message. From Karremans? You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.
Engelhart typed the response:
Has to be yours.
He waited, tapping his teeth. A bottom left one was missing.
An image flashed up on the screen and I looked away. Petra’s warning rang loud in my ears.
‘But this is entrapment,’ I said to the other two.
Vermeulen shot me a censuring look.
‘This is war,’ Boomkamp corrected me. ‘You were in the army once, weren’t you?’
‘Once,’ I echoed, feeling distinctly sick now. I could feel it at the back of my throat. ‘As was Tommy Franks. Where is he, by the way? Shouldn’t he be in this meeting, too?’
‘What?’ Boomkamp asked.
He glanced at the others, as though he might have missed something. Vermeulen met his gaze and something passed between them.
Boomkamp then stood up, towering over me. ‘Step outside, Henk.’
The team leader left the room and I followed. He walked with astonishingly long strides towards his office.
Once the door closed he turned on me, and only then did I register the depth of his anger.
‘What the fuck was that?’ he spat. ‘Questioning my authority in front of the others? I don’t know who sent you, but I’ve been making enquiries, and I don’t see anything in your record that warrants VIP treatment here, van der Pol. Do you understand?’
‘Sure.’
‘Do. Not. Undermine. Me.’
‘My apologies,’ I said. ‘That wasn’t my intent.’
‘Was it that bastard Joost at police HQ who put you up for this role?’
Sensing my opportunity, I charged through the open door. ‘Actually, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t know how deep your enquiries went, but I came here to escape that bastard Joost.’
Spurned by the ministers in The Hague, my erstwhile boss and nemesis had worked his way deeper into Police head office, resurfacing near the top – near the justice minister.
The anger had softened in Boomkamp’s blue eyes but it was still there, burning deeply. ‘So who did put you up for this?’
‘I can’t tell you,’ I said. ‘You’ll find that I’m discreet like that. When I work with someone, closely, I always respect the confidence in which anything is shared. Always.’
&
nbsp; He looked down at his polished shoes.
I added, ‘Surely you’d be worried if I did otherwise, given the sensitivity of the work here?’
For a moment he looked lost.
‘Very well, Henk. Maybe I underestimated you. But have regard for my authority here, would you? It’s the only way.’
‘Of course…’ The contradictory impulses of getting closer to Boomkamp and getting away – fast – fought each other. ‘Look, something’s come up, Man –’ I paused. ‘Is it OK to call you Manfred?’
He nodded. ‘In private, yes. What’s come up?’
‘My wife doesn’t want me here. She doesn’t understand the work, she has reservations about it all…’ I spoke hesitantly, like I was embarrassed – the henpecked husband.
Boomkamp put a firm hand on my shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you say that? It took Mariella a while to come to terms…’ But the sentence drifted off. Instead, he said, ‘You and your wife should come over to the house. This evening, yes?’
‘Petra’s still in Amsterdam…’
‘Well you should come over then.’
‘OK.’
‘Say, seven?’
‘Okey dokey.’
*
Back at my workstation, my first call was to Petra.
No answer.
I called a different number altogether.
‘ARS Nationwide,’ a male voice answered.
‘Could I speak with Mrs Rosen?’
‘Who is calling?’
‘Henk van der Pol. Your company is delivering some possessions of mine to Driebergen.’
I looked around. There was only Tommy Franks, several workstations away.
A female voice came on the line. ‘Mr van der Pol?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m just going to ask you a question, to confirm that we’re talking about the right account.’ The challenge question. ‘What possessions are you expecting?’
‘Two chairs, a sofa and a mountain bike.’
This was the response to give if I needed a meeting.
‘We don’t seem to have those items in storage.’
‘Can I speak with your manager then?’
‘He’s busy, but I’m sure we could arrange something.’
‘Is tomorrow too soon?’ I made sure to sound suitably indignant, in case Tommy was listening in.
‘There’s an ALLSAFE storage facility in Leiderdorp,’ the agent said. ‘The address is Rietschans 68. My manager could meet you outside it, but I’m not sure what time yet.’
There was an ALLSAFE facility in Utrecht, too, I felt like saying – just ten minutes away instead of an hour in bloody traffic. Of course, Leiderdorp was close to The Hague, and Rijnsburger.
‘Fine, Leiderdorp ALLSAFE it is.’
‘Call back first thing tomorrow and I can confirm the time of the meeting.’
‘Will do.’
I set the phone down, wondering how I’d manage to get away for a few hours without suspicion. Suddenly Franks was at my shoulder, surprising me.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, just a mix-up with some possessions.’
‘Happens. Here, come look at this.’
He led me back to his workstation.
‘How’s the head by the way?’ he asked.
‘Better,’ I replied. ‘Just.’
We arrived at his computer screen. ‘Now, what d’you make of this?’
The girl on the screen looked voluptuous, young and yet grown-up. Was it a trick question? It looked like Tommy was showing me standard soft porn.
‘Sixteen-and-a-half years old,’ he said.
‘Doesn’t sound like our remit.’
‘That’s because it’s not. I’ve been dragged into a cross-regional working group. They’re trying to agree the number of underage images a person should be allowed on their computer before an investigation starts.’
‘How about one?’
‘But look at her again.’
It was hard not to.
‘Whenever you go to a standard porn website these days, there are invariably under-eighteen images. Ghost copies of the images end up on users’ hard drives. So there’s a debate about whether it should be ten, fifty, or even a hundred images – otherwise, we’d be impounding the hard drives of most of the male population.’
I remembered him saying something in the pub, though. We’re not interested in the people who are just looking, we’re interested in the people creating the content…
I played his words back to him. ‘I thought we were here to hook the biggest fish – the ones operating across borders?’
Something flashed in his brown eyes like a flare of lightning from a dark cloud. ‘These are Boomkamp’s orders, received just this morning. He wants me to be a “point of contact” for the police regions.’
Was our team leader managing Tommy out of SVU X-19?
I looked back at the screen. ‘In America, a sexual act with her would be statutory rape.’
‘Land of the free,’ he said acidly.
The disconnect between Tommy’s credentials – the SRR, CEOP – and his general conduct was becoming impossible to ignore. And something else was wrong.
‘Shouldn’t you be doing this in the clean room?’
‘Shouldn’t we all,’ he said ruefully. ‘You should see the shit Rahm has on his work laptop.’
He was joking… surely?
*
Boomkamp’s house was a substantial detached dwelling, built in brick some way into the forest. His wife Mariella greeted me at the doorway in what looked to be gold pyjamas, only they couldn’t have been.
‘Your wife wasn’t able to join you?’ she asked with disappointment as she led me inside.
I wiped my feet on the welkom mat. ‘Not this evening,’ I said. ‘Hopefully next time.’
The interior was white, pristine; the forced-air heating made it feel arid compared to the damp outdoors. Mariella led me through to a sunroom. Only dark forest and gloomy evening sky were visible through the glass ceiling and walls. I couldn’t see any evidence of kids. The personal items dotted about looked curated – like the house had been swept for anything too revealing, or even staged as if for sale. Framed, crocheted designs sat above the fireplace and adorned the walls. Evidently Mariella was an old hand with the needle and thread.
‘Henk,’ Manfred said. He was sitting on a La-Z-Boy recliner, his long legs elevated on the footrest. He had what looked to be a Scotch in his hand.
‘Don’t get up,’ I said.
‘But you need a drink. Mariella, perhaps you could do the honours? And take the man’s coat.’
She did. ‘What would you like?’ she asked brightly, folding my bomber jacket over her arm.
‘Do you have jenever?’
‘We do, chilled. I was just drinking some, in fact.’
Sure enough, a liqueur glass with lipstick round the rim sat on a low table between Boomkamp’s chair and another chair on the far side. He reached over and patted the armrest of the other chair. ‘Please.’
I sat.
‘So,’ he said, setting his glass aside and steepling his fingers. ‘Here we are.’
‘Yes.’
‘What are your first impressions?’
‘Of the town?’
‘The town, the team…’
Mariella arrived with the jenever, giving me time to think. I thanked her.
‘I’m going to leave you boys to talk,’ she said, carrying out her own glass.
‘Please,’ I offered, getting up, ‘I didn’t mean to –’
‘No,’ she said, smiling. ‘That’s fine. I have things to do.’
‘Relax, Henk,’ Boomkamp said. ‘We’re off the record here. Cheers, by the way.’ He reached for his glass
again and clinked mine.
‘Cheers,’ I reciprocated. I met his eyes and drank.
‘First impressions,’ I repeated, conscious that he was awaiting an answer. ‘It’s early days, but –’
‘What do you make of the men?’ he asked directly. ‘Tommy, for example. How does he come across to you?’
Was it a trap? A test of loyalty? I recalled the more peripheral role that he’d assigned to Franks that morning, which clearly hadn’t sat well with the Englishman.
‘Matter of fact, I was out for a drink with him last night.’
‘And?’
‘Haven’t formed any distinct impressions yet,’ I lied.
Boomkamp was silent.
Eventually he said, ‘Sometimes I wonder about him… and Rahm.’
‘It’s difficult work. It’s not for everyone, that’s for sure.’
‘Beau soleil.’
‘What is that?’ It was the second time I’d heard it.
‘Just an expression from the squad room.’ He sighed deeply. ‘One day, this will all be over. We’ll all be retired, on the beach someplace.’
His blue eyes looked bottomless as he stared out into the gloom. It struck me that the last thing a man like him needed, after a role like this, was time on his hands. There would be far too much to reflect upon, to ruminate over.
‘Listen, Manfred,’ I said, turning to him. I’d come here with one plan in mind, but decided to change course. ‘I need to return to Amsterdam for a long weekend, if that’s OK. Things aren’t going at all well with my wife – I need to sort them out.’
He took a sip of his Scotch.
‘It feels like the right time to go back,’ I continued, ‘before the workload really hits. Are you OK with that?’
For a second I wondered if he’d even heard me.
‘Whatever you need to do, Henk.’ He stared out into the forest. ‘You don’t want to finish up a single man here.’
Mariella walked back in. ‘Anyone for a refill?’ she asked with a beaming smile.
‘No, thank you. I should be going, in fact.’ I stood up. ‘It really was just a quick call.’
‘I’ll say,’ she remarked, surprised.
‘I’ll come back with my wife,’ I promised. ‘I hope,’ I added for Boomkamp.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said, raising his near-empty glass.
Night Market Page 4
