Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet)

by Jake Woodhouse

  When he and Saskia split up, he’d never imagined that she’d end up getting together with his work partner, Andreas Houten. But they had got together, and they’d made it work, and Jaap had been happy for both of them.

  The problem had hit when Andreas, out of town on some training course, had asked Jaap to drop in on Saskia as she was feeling down.

  Jaap had reluctantly dropped in. And then spent the night.

  When Andreas told him the news a few months later that Saskia was pregnant Jaap didn’t think anything of it. Or maybe he had, maybe there’d been a moment of disquiet which he’d quickly quelled?

  Then, later on, Andreas had been killed and five days later Saskia gave birth.

  Jaap still remembered the beeping of machines in the hospital room as Saskia told him the truth, and the feeling he’d had, like the floor had just dropped away into nothingness.

  Now Jaap’s insides felt like they were being shredded by something razor sharp.

  In the first days of Floortje’s life, when he was adjusting to the fact that he was now a father, he’d been forced to confront his thoughts about having a child. Was it the shooting – the one which had propelled him to Kyoto – which caused them?

  The woman he’d shot had been pregnant, so maybe it was some kind of internal justice he was trying to impose on himself?

  Or was it fear? he wondered. Fear of something like this happening? Every parent’s worst nightmare?

  Meditating was all very well, but when you were responsible for another living human being, detachment from suffering, seeing the true nature of reality, obliteration of the ego – that all seemed impossible. Maybe all he’d been doing in those years was hiding from life under a cloak of spirituality and cheap philosophy?

  Maybe, he thought, I just need to fucking get on with it.

  In the toilets he inspected the burn on his cheek. The blister had burst and was bleeding. He cleaned it up and slapped on another plaster. He noticed he was avoiding his own eyes in the mirror, like the person there was a stranger, looking for a fight.

  After leaving 57 he’d told Tanya to go get some sleep and had headed back to the station and tried to force his mind to find a solution. But it was like trying to sift sand with a fork – nothing he came up with led anywhere. He’d eventually fallen asleep some time past five in the morning, despair dragging him down.

  Back in the office he started where he’d left off, rereading the files Tanya had found on Nikolic.

  It was clear that Nikolic had been Matkovic’s right-hand man during the conflict and that they were responsible for a whole host of atrocities.

  But what wasn’t clear to Jaap was why Nikolic would go to such lengths to free his old boss. It seemed a kind of loyalty way beyond what was normal, and the risk for Nikolic was so high. If he was caught then he’d end up on trial at ICTY as well. And from what Jaap had read about him in the file, Nikolic would go down for several lifetimes with no chance of parole.

  Was Matkovic really worth it?

  Was he worth killing Floortje over? An innocent child?

  The razor in his stomach stepped its shredding up a notch.

  How has this happened? he thought. How have I ended up here like this?

  ‘Rykel.’

  Jaap turned to see Smit’s frame in the doorway, the light from behind him meaning his face was in shadow.

  Since the cover-up of Andreas’ death Jaap had avoided Smit as much as possible, anger flaring in him every time he saw his boss.

  Anger which had been compounded as the only reason he’d had to go along with it was for Floortje’s sake.

  If Floortje hadn’t been my child, thought Jaap, I’d’ve gone straight to the press.

  Blowing the whistle would have ended his career in the police, and he’d decided to keep quiet as he knew he had to support Floortje. But maybe that had been the wrong move, maybe he should have gone through with it, exposed the cover-up and then got some boring, normal job where he’d have been a better father, better able to look after her.

  ‘Five minutes, upstairs,’ said Smit.

  Jaap nodded and turned back to his desk, wondering what he was going to say.

  Nikolic had given the standard kidnapper’s threat not to tell anyone, and it was highly unlikely he had a network in place which would give him access to internal police communications.

  But maybe he does, thought Jaap.

  He’d been getting the information about the grow sites, attacking them just before the drug squad did.

  Jaap realized he’d missed something.

  Who was passing that info on? he thought, Could they still be in touch?

  Jaap could take this to Smit, ask him to tell no one else, but then what would he be able to do? Give him more manpower? He already had Tanya, and he could probably enlist Kees as well. He trusted them both. Bringing anyone else in at this stage would just complicate things, make it more dangerous.

  And from what the estate agent had told him last night, he had an avenue to explore. He’d have to set Tanya and Kees trawling around other agents, seeing if they could find any trace of Nikolic.

  He cleared the file from his desk, burying it in a drawer, and made his way upstairs.

  65

  Tuesday, 11 May

  08.16

  Kees willed his eyes to close and his brain to turn off.

  But it wasn’t working.

  He’d got back from Den Haag and had been unable to sleep.

  Which was a problem as tiredness seemed to make the symptoms worse, the pain flaring up with exhaustion.

  And he felt like he needed a line or two, just to take the edge off.

  He’d no idea why coke helped, but it unequivocally did, and had a far bigger effect than the pills he’d been prescribed. The ones he had given up taking as they didn’t do a thing but make him sick.

  He was sitting on the sofa, looking out at the brickwork of the building opposite. He’d been trying to count the number of bricks, but he kept getting lost somewhere in the middle. The fog wasn’t helping.

  In all the thoughts he’d had about his future – all the plans, all the fantasies which would blossom in his mind while on long boring stakeouts, the images which he’d play through in those strange moments between sleep and wakefulness – he’d never imagined that he was going to end up with difficulty moving, problems controlling his own body.

  But that’s what the doctor had said would most probably happen.

  A decline, the speed of which no one would be able to predict.

  Reality washed over him but felt unreal. His mouth tasted weird.

  Was this really happening to him? How could it? Why?

  He shifted his legs, all senses now attuned to the tiniest sensation, looking for any hint that things might be getting better, that the symptoms had eased overnight, that it was going away.

  But things actually felt worse.

  His brain, ever looking for a way out, tried to tell him it was simply lack of sleep. Nothing at all to do with the disease. He just needed some rest, that was all.

  Fuck it, he thought. What I really need is some coke.

  After a couple of lines had hit he sat back, already feeling better. He’d laid a third one out, which he might have in a little while. And if he was concerned that it was taking more and more to have the same effect, he wasn’t thinking about it, wasn’t thinking about it at all.

  His phone buzzed on the glass coffee table, vibrating towards the third line. He watched it for a few more buzzes, then snatched it up just before it broke into the slash of white powder.

  He could see it was Tanya.

  How did things get so complicated? he thought.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said as he hit green and held it up to his ear.

  ‘It’s Tanya,’ she said.

  ‘I know. Caller ID, genius.’

  ‘Listen,’ she said, ignoring his jibe. ‘Something’s come up, we need to talk. Are you free? Now?’

  ‘Where are you?’<
br />
  ‘Bloedstraat, that’s where your apartment is, isn’t it?’

  Kees looked down at the line of coke. Less than a second to get rid of that. He reckoned he could manage.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said. ‘I guess you know the number?’

  ‘Got it from your file.’

  If she’s got access to my file, he thought as the tiny particles zoomed up into his nose, then this is serious.

  By the time he’d cleaned up she was at the door. He opened it and let her in, pointing her towards the living room, a moment of awkwardness as to what sort of greeting they should exchange.

  Now that they’d fucked again.

  They kept it professional, Tanya stepping through the doorway and heading to where Kees had indicated.

  ‘Sorry it’s so early,’ she said.

  Kees felt like he should offer coffee or something, but didn’t.

  ‘So what’s up?’

  She was standing, looking out the window, her figure an improvement on the view. He felt the familiar stirring, but the thought of what was going to happen to him killed it dead.

  No one wanted to sleep with someone who couldn’t control their own limbs.

  He flopped down on the sofa, springs creaking in protest. Sleeping with her had been good though. Great even, the urge coming on so strong that nothing else had existed. For the first time he’d forgotten about his disease, he’d even forgotten about what Tanya had told him, about the abuse she’d suffered. It was only afterwards, as he drove home, that he wondered if he’d taken advantage of her, used her while she was down.

  But then she’d seemed to want it, to need it, just as much as he did.

  ‘It’s going to come out,’ said Tanya, her back still to him.

  For a moment Kees wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

  ‘Those calls? I asked the tech people if they could have been made to look like they came from the station but were actually from somewhere else. But they said no.’

  ‘And the only person who could have made them was me.’

  He didn’t even frame it as a question.

  ‘I’ve been thinking. Maybe the best thing would be to go to Smit now. Tell him about it.’

  ‘Tell him I was passing on information to a drugs gang? I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘I never said he’s going to like it, but I just think it might be better coming from you,’ she said, finally turning round.

  He tried to read her face, but it was too much in shadow to see clearly.

  ‘Meaning if I don’t tell him then you will?’

  ‘I have to. You know that. The information is there for anyone to see.’

  A toilet flushed in the flat upstairs; something rushed through a pipe in the wall behind him. He could tell from her voice she was cut up about it, but she was right; there was nothing she could do.

  ‘Yeah, okay. You’re right. And just when I’d managed to kind of get in his good books again.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That witness I was looking after, the one that escaped? I found him, took him down to Den Haag last night.’

  ‘Seriously?’ She stepped forward, reaching into her pocket. ‘You got him?’

  ‘What’s going on?’ he said, sensing the tension which had suddenly stiffened her whole body.

  She pulled out her phone, and already had it to her ear, her free hand held out like a uniform stopping traffic, trying to silence his questioning. She waited, then hung up.

  ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  66

  Tuesday, 11 May

  09.48

  Jaap stepped out of the station and took a deep breath.

  Fog had formed overnight, unusual for May, and the air was like a wet cloth. It didn’t seem to contain enough oxygen.

  His hands were cold, freezing cold. He tried to work out when he’d last eaten something, but he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t remember.

  In the end he’d not said anything to Smit; all he’d had to do was listen to a speech about results and then get the hell out of there. Smit had been toying with a nail file as he’d delivered the monologue.

  By the end Jaap felt like grabbing it and stabbing him in the eye.

  Repeatedly.

  He started moving, thinking about what he needed to do.

  The woman last night had said Nikolic and Teeven had been searching for an out-of-the-way building, but they’d not taken one of hers. But maybe they were just scoping the places out – who’d actually rent a place they were going to hold a kidnapped baby in for just twenty-four hours?

  It would be easier if he could just get a few patrols on to this, let them do the legwork. But then he’d have to explain why, and right now he just didn’t see that as an option. Nikolic could have a contact in the police.

  And there was also no way Jaap was taking the risk that he could be alerted.

  Jaap cursed himself for not previously focusing on how the information on the grow sites was getting out; if he’d done that then he might now be able to hand over some of the search to patrols.

  But even so, handing it over meant risking someone making a mistake, missing something crucial. Maybe even barrelling into wherever Floortje was being held and …

  There was no way he was going to take the risk.

  He’d start with the estate agent, the one the woman at 57 worked at, run by Doutzen de Kok. There were too many connections there to ignore; the girl who’d disappeared after giving Koopman’s keys to the first victim could have given Nikolic access to other properties.

  He checked his phone for the time and saw several missed calls from Tanya. He dialled her back as he headed towards the centre, the rumble of a tram somewhere off to the left. He stepped over embedded tramlines which led into grey fog, the shiny metal beaded like a can straight from the fridge.

  Floortje loved trams; she was transfixed by them. Jaap couldn’t work out if it was the sound or the motion, or something else entirely that his adult brain couldn’t appreciate.

  ‘Jaap, I’ve got bad news,’ Tanya said as soon as she answered.

  His stomach plummeted, but his feet kept on taking him up Damrak.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That witness, at Matkovic’s trial?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Kees found him, delivered him to ICTY early last night.’

  Ahead of him a traffic light turned red, softened and enlarged by the mist.

  He found his feet were no longer moving. But then again his lungs weren’t either.

  ‘I … Shit!’ he said, his voice alien to him. His phone buzzed by his ear. ‘I’ve got another call; I’ll call you back.’

  He pulled the phone away, saw it was Saskia.

  She’d heard. Got a call from her boss Ronald just two minutes before.

  ‘But is he going to testify?’ asked Jaap once he’d listened to Saskia’s panicked voice. ‘He’s the one who absconded from witness protection.’

  ‘From what Ronald says Isovic’s refusing to talk.’

  ‘Did someone get to him, threaten him?’

  ‘Maybe you’d better ask Kees; he was the one with him before he disappeared.’

  ‘He’s refusing to talk, that mean he won’t testify as well?’

  ‘I don’t know, he’s literally not saying a word. But maybe he will when we get him in there and he sees Matkovic. I’ve spent hours with him; he genuinely hates Matkovic. I don’t think I read him wrong.’

  Jaap’s eyes moved around but didn’t take anything in, everything internal now, scenarios running wild.

  Maybe Isovic hadn’t escaped, maybe someone else had knocked Kees out.

  Could it have been Nikolic, trying to get to Isovic to stop him testifying? Maybe Isovic had then got away from Nikolic and gone into hiding? And he’d not turned himself in as the last time he was under police protection hadn’t worked out so well for him?

  If so, then he needed to talk to Isovic; he might be able to help
him find Nikolic.

  Jaap made a quick calculation. There’d be little traffic at this time, but the fog was really thick, he didn’t want to end up with his car flipped over in a ditch. A good friend of his had wound up in a coma after the car she and her new boyfriend were in did just that. Jaap had visited her in hospital, and two days later she died.

  She’d woken up just long enough to discover her boyfriend was already dead.

  ‘I think I’d better speak to Isovic myself. Can you get me in there?’

  ‘Hang on,’ she said. Jaap could hear keys being tapped quickly. ‘There’s a train leaving Centraal in fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘You don’t need to come. Just call them and …’

  She’d hung up. He knew there was no point in calling her back to dissuade her, so he jammed his phone away and started running.

  67

  Tuesday, 11 May

  9.54

  If Kees had raped her pet cat right in front of her he doubted he could’ve got more of a reaction.

  Thinking back, the reaction had come when he’d told her about Isovic; that’s when she’d become desperate to get hold of Jaap, constantly trying his phone, not answering the questions that Kees had thrown her way.

  The main one being, ‘What’s wrong?’

  She’d left, still trying Jaap’s phone, and Kees had slumped back on to the sofa exhausted, the three lines of coke not doing what they should. In fact they seemed to have crashed him out.

  His eyelids closed, and he felt himself sinking down, brain slowing and speeding up at the same time, time twisting out of shape.

  His phone detonated on the table in front of him.

  Fuck, he thought as he jerked upright. Should have turned the fucking thing off.

  This time it was Jaap, and he wanted to know all about Isovic.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Kees. ‘When Tanya heard about Isovic she went kind of nuts …’

  There was noise on the other end, a kind of rushing sound, fast-moving air. Jaap sounded out of breath.

  ‘What did Isovic say when you found him?’

  ‘Not much. He seemed kind of pissed, to be honest.’

  ‘Did he say anything about why he’d run away?’