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

by Jake Woodhouse

  ‘I asked him that, he hates that guy he was going to testify against so the whole thing doesn’t make sense. But when I asked him if he wanted to see the guy brought to justice he said he did. So I asked why the fuck he’d knocked me out and run away.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. He just clammed up and wouldn’t say anything else. Are you running?’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘I need some help’

  ‘Sure. But seriously, what the fuck is going on?’

  ‘I can’t really explain. Just get to Tanya.’

  Jaap gave him an address not far away.

  Here we go, thought Kees as he hung up.

  He reached the address twenty minutes later. The fog was getting worse, denser, and he only saw her when he was less than two metres away.

  ‘His daughter?’ he asked when Tanya had finished explaining.

  She nodded, her lips tight.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said, breathing out.

  Traffic was starting to increase, headlights creating a weird effect, catching the suspended water particles and refracting the light till it built up into an Impressionist on acid.

  ‘So what are we doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘Waiting for these guys to open up.’ She nodded to the shopfront they were standing outside. ‘We need to check something with them.’

  Kees stared out into the fog. Tram bells clanged twice off to his left, and he could hear the crackle and fizz of electricity on the points. He turned to Tanya.

  ‘Look, about what we were discussing earlier—’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do, you know that.’

  ‘I know. All I’m asking for is a bit of time; I think I can straighten things out.’

  ‘Straighten things out? How are you going to do that? The woman’s dead—’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that. You know that.’

  ‘Thing is, the time she was killed you were doing what?’

  ‘This was what, Saturday morning? I was with that fuck of a witness Isovic.’

  ‘The one who escaped.’

  ‘Yeah, but—’

  ‘So unless he’s willing to back you up about the timings then … Look, I’m just working the worst-case scenario. Because you know that’s exactly what Smit’s going to do.’

  Kees shook his head. He was beginning to wonder if any of it mattered.

  ‘I’ve got one lead to follow up on, and after that I’m going to have to report back,’ she said, staring out into the nothingness.

  ‘What’s the lead?’

  She looked at him, held his gaze for a few moments before breathing out and looking around as if checking for something.

  He could hear footsteps approaching.

  ‘I’m going to regret this,’ she said.

  ‘Regret what?’

  She handed him a folded bit of paper.

  ‘You didn’t get this from me.’

  Kees was about to unfold it when a figure appeared out of the fog and stopped right by them, a look of surprise on her face. Kees thought he recognized her, but couldn’t place it.

  ‘Desperate to buy a house?’ she asked, looking between them while she got her keys out. ‘Let me guess. You’ve just got married, you’re now looking to start a family, and you need a house to get started in?’

  ‘You know,’ said Tanya, ‘it’s uncanny just how wrong you are. But we still need to talk. I’m assuming you’re Doutzen de Kok?’

  The woman nodded and started unlocking the door.

  Inside, once de Kok had flicked the lights on, she invited them to sit at the chairs in front of her desk. The company was one of those who thought having funky designer furniture in bright colours made it look less like an estate agent’s.

  Kees settled into the lime-green chair shaped like a cupped hand while Tanya took the hot-pink chair which was a pair of gaping, plump lips.

  ‘So you’re the cops who found my employee at the nightclub last night?’ she asked, sitting opposite them. She was wearing a suit, but the material was a bit shiny for Kees’ taste, and had very thin white vertical lines running through the dark-blue fabric.

  White lines.

  He hated the fact that his mind was so predictable.

  Then he placed her. He’d met a prostitute on a case last year who, although younger and more glamorous, bore a strong resemblance to the woman in front of him.

  And her surname had been de Kok as well. He wondered if Doutzen knew what her sister did for a living.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tanya. ‘And I want to know if any of these men have been in here.’

  The woman took the photos Tanya offered and studied them. She shook her head and handed them back.

  ‘I haven’t seen them, but if you can leave these, I’ll show them to everyone else when they get in.’

  ‘I believe they were shown some properties. They were looking for farm buildings, industrial units, basically anything out of the way, non-residential. I’ll need a list of what they saw.’

  De Kok turned to her computer, tapped away and then reached under her desk, where a printer was whirring.

  ‘Here’s what we’ve got,’ she said. ‘It’s not really our kind of thing, but there are a few. Most of these have been listed for over a year.’

  Kees leaned over and looked at the sheets as Tanya held them. There were thirteen, all outside Amsterdam.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tanya, getting up to leave. ‘And these are all still available; no one’s taken them?’

  ‘All free as of yesterday evening. And frankly, there’s not much chance of any of them flying at the moment.’

  Kees and Tanya stepped outside, closing the door behind them.

  ‘So what now, we have to check these places out?’ said Kees.

  ‘Let me call Jaap first,’ she said. She pulled her phone out, but her arm stopped midway between her pocket and her head. Kees looked at her; she was staring at the estate agent’s window. Then she put her phone away, and stepped back towards the door.

  ‘Hey,’ said Kees.

  She ignored him.

  68

  Tuesday, 11 May

  10.29

  As Tanya stepped inside blood rushed through her head like a broken fire hydrant.

  Is it the same house? she thought. It can’t be.

  ‘The property you’ve got in your window, the one on Johan Kernstraat. When did that come up for sale?’

  ‘Only a couple of days ago,’ said de Kok. ‘You interested?’

  Tanya didn’t know what to say. ‘I …’

  ‘If you are, now’s a great time to look,’ she said. ‘The owner’s emigrating, so it’s been priced for a quick sale. I can set up an appointment today if you like?’ The estate agent’s killer instinct came into play, her hand reaching for the phone. ‘Hell, I can take you there now if you want?’

  ‘Emigrating?’

  ‘Yeah, Thailand I think he said. Must have got a job there or something. Though it does all seem a bit last minute; he’s actually leaving tomorrow morning – 7 a.m. flight, I think he said. He was asking me for the name of a cab firm to take him to the airport first thing.’

  ‘What’s the name of the firm?’

  De Kok’s face showed a touch of suspicion.

  ‘Uhhm, I’m not sure I—’

  Tanya gave her the look.

  De Kok told her.

  As Tanya turned to leave her legs felt twice as long as usual and weirdly unstable. Her hands were sweating badly, slipping when she gripped the metal door handle.

  Emigrating, she thought. To Thailand.

  ‘You okay?’

  She glanced up and saw Kees, a cigarette in his mouth, the lighter poised to strike.

  ‘I … It’s …’

  He’s emigrating, the fucker’s emigrating, to Thailand.

  Where he’d be able to carry on doing what he did to kids. Where she wouldn’t be able to reach him.

  She felt Kees’ hand on
her arm; she shook it off.

  ‘Seriously, what’s up?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, not looking at him, her mind a desperate, scrabbling animal. She took a deep breath, two. ‘Really, it’s nothing. Just tired. And this whole thing with Floortje being held … it’s … Let’s get going.’

  They picked up a car from the station. Kees took the keys, but Tanya made him hand them over, she didn’t want to be sitting there doing nothing, allowing her brain to go over what she’d just learned. Even though there wasn’t much to go over, she either had to act or let it go for ever.

  And she wasn’t sure she could let it go.

  The roads leaving the city centre were clearer than those entering it, but she still had to drive slowly as visibility wasn’t great. Once they’d left the city behind them, the fog started to thin out, the odd building morphing out of the greyness – a windmill stuck in a field, a grain silo looming high.

  ‘So what was that back there?’ asked Kees as they turned off the small road they’d been following for the last ten minutes on to a tiny track, the surface nothing more than a lunar mass of mud, peaks and troughs.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You looked kind of spooked. This thing with Jaap’s kid getting to you?’

  Tanya shifted down and spun the wheel to the left to avoid a deep pothole. The car rocked like a boat side on to a wave. Further on, the track veered off to the left. She killed the lights and pulled to a stop.

  ‘I think we’d better go on foot.’

  Kees peered out the window.

  ‘Really? That mud looks knee-deep.’

  He wasn’t far off, as Tanya discovered when she stepped out of the car. They made their way down the track and after a few minutes caught a glimpse of the first building on the list, emerging from the fog ahead of them.

  They both stopped, suddenly aware of how quiet it was.

  ‘I’m guessing it’d be too dangerous to just storm the place,’ said Kees after a few moments.

  ‘If you skirt round there –’ Tanya pointed to the right of the building, where a broken fence led off into the murk ‘– I’ll take the front.’

  She watched as Kees squelched off, impossible to stop the noise of footsteps in the gloopy mud.

  Is this where she’s been held? she thought as she moved forward, pulling out her gun.

  The building was maybe twelve metres long, clapboard wood a dull silver grey, with a corrugated-iron roof splotched with clumps of some plant which was gradually colonizing the surface. She could smell the earth, mud, and also something else.

  Cigarette smoke.

  She stopped dead. Kees smoked, but even he’d not be stupid enough to light up now. At least she hoped not.

  There were no windows, the building had clearly been built to house agricultural vehicles, at least judging by the spare parts dotted around outside; an axle with only a single wheel attached, loose piles of rugged-gripped tractor tyres spilled on to the ground, and cans of motor oil quietly rusting away in the gloom. It all looked like it hadn’t been touched for years.

  The only entrance was a large double door, big enough to fit a tractor through, right in the middle, and as she got closer she could see one of them had been opened recently, an arc sweeping out in the mud like a fan.

  Someone’s here, she thought.

  She gripped her weapon as the door began to open.

  69

  Tuesday, 11 May

  11.16

  The journey had been hell.

  Jaap and Saskia had sat, unable to say anything, unable to even look at each other. He knew the fear he’d seen on Saskia’s face when they caught the train at Centraal station was mirrored on his own.

  Fog had obscured the windows, and there were times when Jaap had wondered if they were even moving.

  But now they were getting out of a cab at ICTY and Jaap could feel all the pent-up agitation starting to break loose and fuel his movements.

  He’d been thinking about Floortje, about how scared she must be. But then he’d wondered if that would be the case. She was young, just over a year old, and she’d either be crying or asleep. She couldn’t possibly know what was going on.

  But somehow he was sure she’d have sensed something was wrong.

  ‘So how are we going to play this?’ asked Saskia, the first time she’d spoken since they’d boarded the train in Amsterdam.

  They were walking around the raised pool towards the main entrance, weird metal sculptures rising out of the water into the fog, both their steps hurried, unable to hold back. It felt to Jaap like they were front runners in a race, each jostling for position.

  ‘You can probably sign me in, put me down as a legal assistant or something.’

  ‘A legal assistant with a gun? I take it you’re carrying? They’ve got airport-style security on because of the trial.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Jaap. He’d not thought about that.

  I can’t let this get to me, he thought. No more stupid mistakes.

  As they reached the entrance a voice called out Saskia’s name from behind them.

  ‘Oh no …’ Saskia whispered before turning.

  The man emerging from the gloom was tall, almost as tall as Jaap. His suit was sharp, enough to cut through any defendant’s feeble lies. Jaap had never met him, but he guessed this was Saskia’s boss. He’d always thought Saskia had talked a bit too enthusiastically about him, now he maybe started to understand why.

  ‘I need to speak to you,’ he said as he reached them, eyeing Jaap. ‘My office in five minutes?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Saskia. ‘I’ll come right up.’

  ‘Ronald Timmermans,’ said the man when it was obvious Saskia wasn’t going to make introductions. He extended his hand; Jaap reluctantly took it.

  ‘Inspector Jaap Rykel,’ he replied as they shook.

  This caused a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Oh?’ he said looking between Jaap and Saskia. ‘So you’re Floortje’s father? How is she?’

  Ronald didn’t look like a man who cared about other people’s babies, but he gave a good impression. He did however have the air of being highly competent, someone who could get things done. For a split second Jaap felt like telling him everything, unburdening himself, having someone tell him it was going to be all right. But Saskia answered before the impulse carried through to action.

  ‘She’s … she’s fine. A bit cranky this morning. That’s why Jaap’s here, to help me out while the trial’s on.’

  ‘Sounds like a good plan,’ said Ronald. ‘Because we’ve got to make sure Matkovic goes down today. And I think we can. Some new stuff’s come up and …’ His hand reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a mobile. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, holding the screen away from him as if he were long-sighted. ‘Make that eight minutes?’

  Saskia nodded and they watched as Ronald strode through the entrance, phone jammed to his ear.

  ‘New stuff …?’

  Saskia shrugged. ‘Guess that’s what he’s going to tell me about.’

  ‘I need to talk to Isovic while you do that.’

  Saskia signed him in, the woman at the security desk mistyping his surname on the badge which she slipped into a credit card-sized plastic folder and handed to him.

  Jaap turned his gun over at security and let Saskia find out where Isovic was being held. She talked to the guard and got Jaap into the room before she headed off to find Ronald.

  Jaap could tell she wanted to stay, but they both needed to know what new stuff her boss was talking about, and how it might affect their plan.

  Not that we really have one, thought Jaap as he pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

  It was small, a bed, a desk with no chair, a sink and a wall-mounted TV being the only furniture. Jaap had read criticisms of the ICTY which had surfaced in the media a few years ago; the inmates were kept in too cosy an environment, the sentences, when handed down, were too lenient.

  And he’d seen starker ce
lls, that was for sure.

  But he knew that it wasn’t going to change, Matkovic’s trial was to be one of the last before the ICTY was wound up, its mission finished.

  Which would mean Saskia would be out of a job.

  Not that she’d care much if they lost Floortje.

  On the bed a man lay on his back, feet hanging off the end. He raised his head to look at Jaap then lowered it again, apparently uninterested.

  A single strip light blared down from the ceiling.

  Jaap walked the few steps over to the bed, shoes squeaking on the polished blue floor. The air was still and felt like it had been breathed too many times already.

  ‘I already say. I decide not to testify. That is my right.’

  Jaap knew he was right, and that the ICTY was taking a big risk by even holding Isovic here; it had no legal grounds for detaining him. But the prosecutors were gambling on the fact that Isovic had no legal councel.

  ‘Fine,’ said Jaap. ‘I’m not interested in that.’

  Isovic turned his head to look at him.

  ‘I need to talk to you about someone. Someone I think you might know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Goran Nikolic.’

  The response was acute, a spasm rippling across Isovic’s face.

  ‘So you know him,’ prompted Jaap after a few moments of silence.

  ‘I don’t know him,’ said Isovic, his voice tight. ‘I don’t know this person.’

  ‘Did you know he was here in the Netherlands?’ said Jaap stepping closer, trying to put pressure on him.

  ‘No. Are they putting him on trial too?’

  Jaap was watching him closely; he was sure Isovic was lying.

  ‘He’s not in custody, no.’

  ‘Then I don’t able to help you.’

  ‘Nikolic is trying to get Matkovic off, and you’re helping him.’

  The movement was so swift Jaap was only able to half block the elbow which flew up at him. It still glanced off his cheekbone, just above the burn. Jaap shoved his weight forward, grabbing Isovic’s arm and twisting it behind his back as he forced him sideways on to the bed.

  ‘I not help that piece of shit,’ hissed Isovic, his jaw clenched with pain.

  ‘No? So why not testify? It looks to me like you’re working with Nikolic to get Matkovic off. Which means you know where he is.’