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

by Jake Woodhouse

  He pulled out a photo with his free hand and shoved it in Isovic’s face, forcing his arm further up his back at the same moment. Just to help him concentrate, get him focused.

  ‘See her?’ he said, bending closer, whispering in Isovic’s ear. He didn’t want the guard overhearing anything. He didn’t want the guard seeing what he was doing either, but that couldn’t be helped. ‘That’s my daughter, and Nikolic has got her hostage. He’s going to kill her if Matkovic isn’t released today. So I want you to tell me everything you know about him—’

  ‘Jaap.’

  Saskia was in the doorway, the guard looking over her shoulder.

  ‘We need to talk,’ she said. ‘Now.’

  70

  Tuesday, 11 May

  11.23

  Tanya had skirted round the building to where she’d sent Kees.

  She found him behind a rusted oil drum lopsidedly sinking into the mud. From what she could see there was no rear entrance.

  She crouched down beside him, no longer caring about the dirt, her trousers filthy.

  Filthy bitch, she thought.

  What Staal always called her after he’d finished doing his thing.

  She was still reeling from the news he was leaving the country. She needed to get to him before he did; she needed to tell him what he’d done to her, make him understand the pain he’d caused.

  ‘There’s someone in there,’ she whispered, trying to cut out the voice in her head.

  ‘You saw them?’ he whispered back, his face close but turned towards the building. He had more stubble than the other night. His cheeks had been smooth then; the friction burns were elsewhere on her body.

  ‘Just a glimpse – he came out to go to the toilet. He had his back to me so I couldn’t work out if it’s him or not.’

  ‘Hair colour the same?’

  ‘He had a hat on, one of those knitted ones.’

  Kees looked around, then caught her eye.

  ‘Guess we should ask Jaap, it’s his kid.’

  Tanya thought for a moment. There was an inherent risk in storming the place, bad things tended to happen when guns were drawn, and she didn’t want to be responsible for a disaster.

  The kidnapper had given Jaap until 9 p.m. to get Matkovic released. She checked the time. Just over nine hours from now.

  ‘You’re right. Get out of earshot and call him. I’ll wait back at the front – join me there.’

  Kees made his way off into the fog, and Tanya skirted back to the front. There was no movement, and she couldn’t hear anything. Floortje had a pair of lungs on her and wasn’t usually shy of using them, something Tanya had found out whenever it was Jaap’s turn to look after her.

  She listened for a moment, but the fog was swallowing all sound.

  As she waited for Kees she found herself thinking about Floortje, wondering if it was her who’d come between Jaap and herself.

  Certainly they’d not had sex as much recently, their schedules rarely aligning, and often the baby disturbing them when they did. Jaap had seemed less interested, or was it simply that he was exhausted, trying to cope with the situation he found himself in?

  And, the question she’d kind of been dodging for a while, did she really want to have the responsibility, even if it was part time, of being a mother to another woman’s baby? How could she with all she’d been through still not resolved?

  The sex with Kees on Sunday night had been urgent, intense.

  She’d only managed to get one trouser leg off before he’d ripped her panties to one side and shoved her against the wall, pushing himself inside her.

  It was different to the sex she had with Jaap. He was gentler, less hurried.

  But, and she had to admit this, it’d been more exciting with Kees. The intensity of it, the sheer exhilaration of being taken.

  The kind of rough treatment she’d grown accustomed to from Staal.

  The thought pummelled her stomach.

  She bent over and threw up in the mud, a pool of yellow bile in a sea of brown.

  Behind her she could hear the squelch of Kees’ approaching feet. He squatted down beside her.

  ‘I can’t get hold of him. He’s not answering his phone and no one at the station knows … Jesus, that you?’

  ‘Yeah, I … I wasn’t feeling too well.’

  ‘What the fuck did you eat?’ said Kees. ‘That colour? I don’t think that’s too good …’

  ‘Let’s just forget it for a moment. What should we do?’

  Tanya watched him opening and closing his hand, like he was milking an udder.

  ‘I say we go in,’ he finally said.

  Tanya looked around; the fog was thick as ever. The place was eerily quiet – no birds, no traffic and no baby crying. If Floortje was inside she might get hurt, or worse.

  But if she’s not, she thought, we need to get on to the other addresses and find her.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it.’

  They made their way to the door as quietly as they could, placing each foot down slowly, mud sucking at their shoes like a hungry predator. They got in position, Tanya by the door and Kees a few feet back, gun outstretched.

  On a silent three, counted down on Tanya’s fingers, she flung the door open, and Kees jumped forward, shouting, ‘Police.’

  Tanya rushed in after him, eyes adjusting to the bright light inside. Scanning quickly she saw the top of the hat poking above a hay bale at one end. There didn’t look like there was anyone else.

  The space wasn’t empty though, a series of gigantic canvases lined up against a wall. Lights like those used for TV shows were rigged up to a series of batteries, and shone on to the pictures.

  Each one had the same image, but painted in different colours. Tanya couldn’t work out what it was meant to be.

  Kees had spotted the hat and was advancing. Tanya followed, knowing already that this was a waste of time. They got the man out from behind the bales. He was about mid-forties, with a large tangled beard on a gaunt face.

  Kees frisked him and came up with a paintbrush.

  ‘You need to be careful with this,’ he said holding it up to the man. ‘Looks like you’re pretty dangerous with it.’

  ‘I just paint,’ he said, accepting it back, his eyes darting between them, shoulders heading for his ears.

  ‘I can see that,’ said Kees as Tanya looked at the nearest painting again, realizing what the image was supposed to represent. ‘So tell me. When did you get into painting pussy?’

  71

  Tuesday, 11 May

  11.34

  ‘And this judge being suspended affects us how?’

  Jaap and Saskia were in a brightly lit corridor deep in the ICTY, the gassy smell of canteen food saturating the air, making Jaap’s stomach churn. Saskia had met with Ronald, heard his news.

  ‘Because he has a record of being the hardest to get a conviction from,’ said Saskia, her voice tight. ‘The one they’ve replaced him with is much more willing to convict. And I know that he’s been gunning for Matkovic.’

  ‘So can’t you get him taken off as well? If they’re both showing bias then surely—’

  ‘Yeah, but the first judge had a profile done in De Telegraaf at the weekend; the one that’s been appointed now is smarter than that, I’d have no proof to make any such claim.’

  Jaap leaned back against the wall, his heart a series of firecracker explosions in his chest. Saskia had shown him the newspaper report back on Saturday. It seemed like a century ago. If only he’d known then …

  He forced himself to think. If there was no chance of getting Matkovic off then he was wasting time. He needed to be out looking for Nikolic.

  And there was something not right. He couldn’t work out what was going on between Isovic and Nikolic, from Isovic’s reaction it was clear they weren’t friends. And yet everything Isovic was doing was helping Nikolic.

  Jaap leaned forward, his heart was still firing, though it didn’t feel too regular;
he wondered if it was going to hold out. He felt like he was on some kind of high, everything weird, unstable. He thought he was sweating but his forehead was dry when he wiped it with his hand.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Jaap looked up at Saskia. She seemed to be holding up better than he was. But he knew her well enough to see what the calm exterior was hiding.

  ‘I … Yeah. Let me try him again.’

  Back in the cell, Saskia having negotiated another session with the guard, Jaap stepped right up to Isovic, dragged him up off the bed and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with his forearm on his neck.

  He brought his face right into Isovic’s, smelling his rancid breath and fighting the urge to pull away.

  ‘Tell me what’s going on, right now.’

  ‘Does Nikolic really have your daughter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I sorry, but I not think you ever see her again.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because Nikolic is killer – he kill many, many of my people. And he also kill my son.’

  Jaap stared into Isovic’s eyes. Eventually he nodded and released him, stepping back.

  He didn’t think it was possible to fake what he’d seen there.

  Or maybe I’m just projecting, thought Jaap.

  But if Nikolic had been responsible for the death of Isovic’s son … Something flashed across Jaap’s mind, too fast to catch, but enough to give him the feeling that he might just be able to work out what was going on.

  Something which might increase his chances of saving Floortje.

  ‘I’m sorry about your son,’ said Jaap. ‘But maybe you can help stop him from killing my daughter.’

  Isovic rubbed his neck where Jaap’s arm had been. Jaap could see there was a horizontal red mark.

  ‘I might be possible to help,’ Isovic said. ‘But you get me out of here.’

  Jaap looked at him, looked at the cell, thought about Floortje.

  Breaking out someone from ICTY was not what he’d come here to do.

  ‘I need something better than that,’ he said watching Isovic closely.

  ‘Get me out of here,’ said Isovic. ‘Or I can’t help you.’

  Twenty minutes later Jaap was in Saskia’s office. The door was closed, but they’d still been speaking in whispers. Jaap turned to look out of the window, over the raised pool they’d walked past earlier, and tried to figure out a way. Breaking Isovic out was one thing – he could probably just march down to his cell and do it right now – but his absence would be noted.

  Which would put Jaap in a very dangerous position.

  It would only take minutes before every police patrol in the country was notified, and that would make any kind of movement so much harder.

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ whispered Saskia. ‘He’s been our star witness; I’ve interviewed him so many times, and he genuinely hates Matkovic, so I can’t figure out what he gains from doing this.’

  Jaap had been wondering about just that, and was starting to think he did understand. And if he was right, breaking out Isovic might have even larger consequences.

  But even so, he thought, can I take that risk?

  The phone on Saskia’s desk rang. They both looked at it, Saskia finally picking it up. Jaap motioned he’d be back; Saskia nodded while listening to the phone.

  He asked a guard walking down the corridor where the toilets were.

  ‘Down the corridor to the left,’ the guard replied. ‘Though you might want to go up one floor. Colleague of mine was out on the town last night and it’s not a pretty sight in there.’

  Jaap took his advice and went to the floor above. He pulled the door shut behind him and leaned back, staring down at the toilet. Then he reached out, dropped the seat flat and sat on it, pulling out his coins. He took a deep breath, then started throwing. The hexagram built up line by line. Once finished he fished out the I Ching.

  Lake over Water

  DEADLOCK. CONFINED. EXHAUSTED.

  He had a choice; leave Isovic and risk that he changed his mind, decide to testify, or take him away, make sure he couldn’t. Trust Isovic to help him find Nikolic.

  A toilet flushed in the stall next to him, he hadn’t even been aware there was anyone there. He checked his phone for the time.

  You’ve got to make a decision, he told himself. Right now.

  72

  Tuesday, 11 May

  12.23

  The baby wouldn’t stop crying.

  It’d been wailing for what seemed like days, weeks, a never-ending death ray of sound which cut through his brain and jangled his nerves so bad he didn’t know what to do.

  At least he was out of the way. The cabin was right on the water’s edge, a small jetty jutting out beyond the window, and the nearest road way down a muddy track. If he’d been anywhere near other people surely someone would have started asking questions.

  Like whether he had a licence to run a twenty-four-hour abattoir.

  He strode across the small room to where she was, nestled in a cardboard box with bent edges. He looked down, down at her eyes staring back up at him. In contrast to the constant writhing of her body and the noise coming from her mouth, her eyes were still, glacial, timeless.

  Like she knew she was pissing him off, was daring him to do something about it.

  He pulled out his gun, settled it in his hand, and pointed the barrel towards her.

  Nothing changed.

  The screams kept coming, the eyes kept staring.

  He moved it forward until the metal pressed against her mouth.

  The crying ratcheted down until it was nothing more than an occasional whimper.

  Her lips explored the object, it looked like she was trying to suck at it.

  Then he realized. She was hungry. If he’d given her something to eat hours ago he might’ve had some peace. He checked his watch.

  Only a few more hours to go.

  The fact that all the members of his crew had been killed off was starting to look good to him. He still didn’t know who had done it, but he was sure he was safe here.

  And once Matkovic was out things were going to change. They’d be out of the country within three hours of his release – everything had been lined up.

  He was glad he’d sorted that out himself. None of his crew had been involved, so none of them could have given up the escape route, even if they’d been tortured before being killed.

  He flicked on the portable radio he’d bought from a shop in the centre of town, and tuned into a news channel. He kept it on in the background.

  Then he grabbed one of the chocolate bars he’d brought with him, snapped a bit off, and crouched down, feeding it to the baby.

  It worked. He got silence.

  When she’d finished it, he gave her another, then another.

  73

  Tuesday, 11 May

  12.59

  Jaap watched as the hands hit one.

  Only eight hours to go, he thought, staring at the white clock face.

  He was standing in the main entrance hall of ICTY, hoping the plan he’d hatched with Saskia was going to work. It was desperate, putting their trust in Isovic’s hands, but Jaap didn’t see that they had any choice.

  And time was running out, Jaap could almost feel it, each second bringing closer something he couldn’t even bear to think about. Ronald had pushed the start of the trial back while he tried to convince Isovic to testify, but it was just about to get going now.

  It seemed almost certain that Matkovic would be convicted, and then Nikolic would carry out his threat. And if that happened … Jaap wouldn’t even let his mind go there; he needed to keep focused and fear made that difficult.

  He found himself trying to bargain with a higher power he didn’t believe in, promising anything as long as he got Floortje back alive.

  The doors at the far end of the hall opened and Saskia stepped through, followed by Isovic, hands cuffed in front, being steered
by a guard.

  Timing was everything.

  Their footsteps rang out as Jaap headed over to the front desk, handing back his mistyped visitor’s badge, accepting his gun back at the same time. He shoved it down the back of his jeans in preparation.

  Behind him he heard Saskia cry out.

  He turned. Saskia was doubled over screaming, the guard looking startled before moving towards her. Jaap started running just as Isovic lunged forward. The guard, sensing movement, turned just as Isovic hit him hard on the side of his head with his cuffed hands.

  Even in the confusion Jaap could see Isovic knew what he was doing, the precision of the movement, the practised flow.

  The guard slumped down on to the floor next to Saskia as Jaap sprinted back through the metal detector, the alarm bell splitting the air.

  As he reached her he squatted quickly down by her body and grabbed the keys from the guard. He flicked them towards Isovic while he pretended to help Saskia, hoping no one had seen what he’d just done.

  Seconds later he felt his gun slide out from his waistband and then something hard touch the back of his head.

  He was no longer in control.

  It was too late to back out now.

  He could hear footsteps. Saskia wasn’t screaming any more, she turned her head to face him. Jaap could see the desperation in her eyes, as if her screams had liberated the fear he knew she was wrestling with.

  ‘Get up,’ shouted Isovic, his voice only just audible over the alarm. ‘Hands on back of head.’

  Jaap did as he was told. Saskia mouthed Find her to him.

  ‘Drop your weapon,’ shouted a guard from somewhere off to Jaap’s left.

  ‘I will shoot him,’ responded Isovic, moving Jaap towards the exit.

  There were guards everywhere now; Jaap could even see one in front, who must have stepped outside for a break. He had his weapon aimed right at them.

  ‘I will shoot,’ shouted Isovic again, this time his voice taking on an urgency which left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was serious.

  Not even Jaap’s.

  Has he played me? he thought as they moved forward, right up to the scanner.