Then it hit him.
He got back into his car and drove off, hoping he was wrong.
Outside the estate agent’s something had spooked her. She’d seen something in the window and gone back in.
When he got there he left the car on the kerb and went to the window. There were seven properties displayed. He noted down the street names of each and got back in his car.
He’d driven past the first three, but there was nothing obvious and he was starting to wonder if he’d got this wrong when he turned into the street with the fourth address on his list.
He wasn’t sure if he was pleased to see her car or not, parked up opposite the property.
As he drove past slowly he noticed a light on in a downstairs room, the view obscured by curtains.
He parked two streets away and walked back. There was no traffic, and his footsteps seemed impossibly loud in the night.
The car was definitely hers, and he stood there a few moments, his hand on the still-warm bonnet.
The path leading to the front door seemed to stretch away from him as he walked it, the door receding further with each step.
Finally he was standing in front of it.
He wanted to go inside.
He wanted to turn back.
His hand reached out, fingers making contact with the painted wood. He gave a little push. The door cracked open.
The hallway wasn’t lit, but light spilled into it from a doorway further down on the right. He couldn’t hear anything, any sign that anyone was here. He walked down the hallway, his footsteps silenced by the carpet, and made it to the doorway.
He looked through and saw her perched on the edge of a large suitcase, her head resting on her hands, her eyes staring ahead.
She didn’t even look up when he stepped into the room.
He followed her gaze, her line of sight, and saw the man, lying on the floor.
She didn’t know how it had happened, but here she was, in the passenger seat of her car, with Kees driving. She looked out of the window, gazed at the fields of tulips stretching out on either side of the road, their petals just catching the first rays of morning light.
She reached for the door. Kees put a hand out to touch her, slowed the car down.
He watched as she walked out among the tulips. The flowers in the field he’d stopped by were all black, a massive sea of identical blossoms, soon to be harvested.
The horizon was a smear of candyfloss pink.
He watched as she stopped about twenty metres away and stood still, the light just catching her hair.
He thought about what he’d seen at the house, what it would mean.
He watched as she started walking again, one hand trailing down, her right hand, touching the flower heads with her fingers.
Epilogue
Matkovic looked up from the desk he was sitting at, crossword book open in front of him, as Jaap stepped into the cell. Two guards followed him in.
After several phone calls Ronald had agreed to allow a meet with Matkovic.
In the days following Matkovic’s sentencing the story had come out about the kidnap and the events at Braassemermeer. Smit had already told Jaap he was suspended and that a full investigation would have to take place, even though he understood there had been mitigating circumstances.
Jaap had told him he didn’t give a fuck.
The visitor’s badge he’d got at reception had ‘Inspector Jaap Rykel’ typed on it, ‘Inspector’ crossed out by hand.
‘Tell me about Nikolic,’ said Jaap in English – he knew Matkovic spoke a little.
‘What’s to tell? I hear on news he’s dead.’
‘I want to know why he did it all, why he’d do all that just to help you.’
Matkovic laughed.
Jaap felt something.
Not anger.
More like emptiness.
Floortje was gone. Her neck had snapped some time during the chase, probably when Nikolic had grabbed her from the boat. Jaap would never see her again, never touch her hand, cradle her to sleep.
Floortje no longer existed.
Except as a massive void at the very centre of his being.
‘He’s a loyal dog, no?’ Matkovic’s voice broke into Jaap’s thoughts.
Jaap didn’t respond.
‘Okay, I tell you. You’re right. It wasn’t loyalty. It was greed. I needed his help, and I promised money, lots of money, if he got me released.’
‘And where’s this money?’
‘Ahhh,’ said Matkovic, laughing the soft laugh of a grandfather recounting youthful follies.
Emptiness turned to anger.
Jaap wanted to jump across the room and throttle him. One of the guards moved forward, sensing Jaap’s rage.
‘There is no money now. But the important thing is he thought there was money.’
He shrugged, and went back to his crossword.
Jaap had listened to Krilic’s statement, made after he’d been released from hospital and taken into custody earlier that morning.
Isovic and Krilic had also planned to get Matkovic released, hoping that once they’d got the prosecution to rely on Isovic’s testimony the trial would collapse with his disappearance.
Once released their plan had been to kill him.
But then Krilic had seen Nikolic and his gang at 57, and they’d decided to get revenge on the whole crew, while increasing the pressure on Matkovic by tweeting the murders.
Krilic’s plan was that Matkovic would hear the news and work out what was going on, maybe even get scared.
But here he was sitting in his cell, and despite having been slapped with several life sentences, seemingly unconcerned about his fate.
Krilic had spat about justice at the end of his statement.
As Jaap left the cell he was starting to wonder himself.
Tanya gazed out over the pond. The water was marbled with colour, flower reflections bobbing about in the cool breeze. Small clouds churned in the sky, changing shape continuously, and a siren burst into life in the distance.
Two weeks ago she’d sat in the very same spot.
It seemed like two millennia.
Jaap was next to her on the bench, and she tucked up against him, their shoulders touching.
In the days after Floortje’s death she’d moved in with him, trying to help, trying to get him out of the darkness he was sinking into. She’d stayed with him, made sure he was eating, sleeping, held him when he needed it, even though for the first few days he’d been so unresponsive she’d got scared. But gradually, to her relief, he’d started to come out of it. Bit by bit the life was coming back.
The real turning point however had been his meeting with Matkovic three days ago. She’d been unsure if it was a wise idea, but Jaap had insisted. And he’d come back calmer, like he was accepting how things were. She knew it wasn’t going to be quick, and it probably wasn’t going to be a linear improvement, but she was now sure he was going to make it. She’d seen flashes of his old self returning, and right now she could hardly ask for more.
But as her relief about Jaap grew she found herself thinking about something which she’d been avoiding, something that caring for him had allowed her to push to the back of her mind.
The trail would be easy to follow. When she’d gone to Staal’s house she’d wanted to confront him, put to rest the years of pain she’d suffered. Over those same years she’d imagined that meeting, but never really thought it would happen.
Or what she’d do if it did.
Then she’d been on Staal’s doorstep, looking into his eyes, seeing the recognition there, the sudden fear which dilated his pupils till they were nothing more than black, shiny orbs. She’d not planned it, but it was like someone else had taken over her body – a raging fire unleashed inside her which had made her feral, wild.
The trail would be easy to follow. And it led to her.
She shivered.
‘You okay?’ asked Jaap.
‘
Yeah,’ she said. ‘Just a bit cold.’
She looked down at her hand, the bandages wrapped tight. The surgeon said she’d been lucky. But he also told her she’d probably lose control over her thumb, index and middle fingers, the tendons obliterated by the bullet as it tore through her flesh.
She didn’t see how that was lucky.
But she didn’t seem to care either.
Jaap put his arm around her shoulders, and she let herself be pulled closer.
When she’d stood in the field of tulips, dawn opening up the sky, she’d resolved to turn herself in. It was the only thing she could do.
But then she’d heard what had happened to Jaap, to Floortje, and she knew she needed to be there for him, knew that she was the only person who could see him through.
So she’d spent her days caring for him, afraid of the knock at the door, the summons which would take her away from Jaap.
Now time was ticking on, and still no one had come. Surely they would soon. And when they did it was going to devastate Jaap.
She’d made a mistake. She’d wanted to help him, but in the end she was just going to hurt him more.
A swan flapped down from the sky and landed in the water just in front of her, tucking in its wings when it had come to a stop. It swivelled its neck around, and Tanya saw a dark mark on its back.
‘C’mon,’ Jaap said, standing up. ‘Let’s go.’
As they walked away Tanya wondered just how much time she had left.
‘Come in,’ came Smit’s voice through the door almost as soon as he knocked. Weirdly, Kees noticed, there was a uniform standing next to the door, who hadn’t even acknowledged him.
He stepped into his boss’s office.
‘You might want to close that,’ said Smit.
Kees did, and then sat in the chair indicated by Smit in front of his desk. There were two files laid out in front of him.
‘A total mess,’ said Smit.
The news outlets had been covering the story for the last few days, too many violent killings for the media to let it go. Kees had given up watching or listening.
‘If you’d not lost Isovic in the first place …’
Kees didn’t see how that would have changed much, but he kept quiet.
‘Anyway,’ said Smit, ‘that’s not why I wanted to speak to you. Open it.’
Kees picked up the file indicated by Smit, and started to read. After a few moments he put it back down.
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘I need someone in that organization, someone willing to go deep undercover—’
‘That’s not undercover, that’s a suicide mission.’
Smit stared at him across the desk. Then he pointed to the second file.
Kees picked it up, opened it to a photo of a scene he’d already seen.
‘She’s a good inspector,’ said Smit, ‘but it’s clear that she killed a man. And that we can’t have.’
Kees had been thinking of virtually nothing else, wondering what would happen to Tanya if anyone traced it back to her.
‘Now, you’ll see from that there’s no conclusive evidence she had anything to do with it. But the man killed used to be her foster father, and a CCTV camera caught her number plate in the area at the right time.’
Kees felt like swallowing, but his Adam’s apple seemed too big.
‘The thing is,’ continued Smit, ‘another of our cars was also picked up, and according to the logs it had been signed out by you. It’s all in there.’
Kees didn’t even bother to look. He wasn’t sure anything mattered any more.
‘There are many ways to serve,’ said Smit, ‘and I think you’re ready for a change. Of course, to be undercover you’re going to need a story.’
‘And that’s where all this comes in,’ replied Kees, putting the file back on the desk.
‘You’d have to do some time, but we’d move you around the system. You’ll probably be in for four months at the most.’
Kees sat back in his chair.
He’d finally acknowledged to himself just how ill he was.
Or would become.
Seeing Paul in his wheelchair had brought it home. Did he want to spend time in prison just so he could work undercover? But if he didn’t then Tanya was going down, that much was clear.
She had a future; he didn’t.
‘No more than two months,’ said Kees.
Smit looked at him, sizing him up.
‘Okay,’ he finally said, calling in the uniform who’d been standing outside.
Smit stood, and motioned to Kees to do the same.
‘Inspector Kees Terpstra, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder.’
Kees tuned him out, waited until he felt the cold metal of the cuffs slap over his wrists, heard the clicks of the ratchets. They were closed too tight but Kees figured complaining wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
He let himself be led down to a cell, shoved inside.
Smit walked down with him.
As the metal bars clanged behind him the uniform left.
When they were alone Smit spoke again.
‘And you’ll be able to indulge yourself a little in prison. I hear coke’s quite readily available. Despite our best efforts.’
Once Smit had left Kees sat on the metal bench attached to the wall and put his head back on the cool concrete.
His mind was whirring.
Then he saw it.
Smit had known all along.
Paul had said someone was interested in what Kees was doing – a benefactor, someone who Kees would soon belong to.
It was Smit.
Smit had sat on the information Paul had passed to him. He’d been planning to use it, to get Kees exactly where he was now, force him into an undercover mission which no one would volunteer for.
But Smit had got lucky: murder was a better cover than a drugs bust.
Murder would give him more respect undercover.
The cell smelt. Fear, stale urine, who knew what else.
He’d been singled out for this. Smit had seen what he was. Smit had manipulated him. Smit had made him his bitch.
Kees’ laugh echoed round the cell.
He closed his eyes.
Once his heart had settled he found he was thinking of Tanya.
Author’s Note
The ICTY continues to prosecute individuals involved in the Balkan conflict which raged throughout the 1990’s leaving more than 100,000 people dead, and millions more displaced. It hopes to have completed its work by the end of 2015.
Acknowledgments
At WME my thanks go to Simon Trewin and Annemarie Blumenhagen, and at Penguin Rowland White, Emad Akhtar, and Sophie Elletson.
THE BEGINNING
Let the conversation begin...
Follow the Penguin Twitter.com@penguinukbooks
Keep up-to-date with all our stories YouTube.com/penguinbooks
Pin ‘Penguin Books’ to your Pinterest
Like ‘Penguin Books’ on Facebook.com/penguinbooks
Listen to Penguin at SoundCloud.com/penguin-books
Find out more about the author and
discover more stories like this at Penguin.co.uk
PENGUIN BOOKS
UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia
India | New Zealand | South Africa
Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published 2015
Text copyright © Dark Sky Productions, 2015
Cover image © Alamy
The moral right of the author has been asserted
ISBN: 978-1-405-91433-8
ends
Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) Page 31
