“Consider me jealous.”
“Sometimes you have to get away, right?”
“Truer than you know.” I toasted again with the bottle.
She moved off to serve another drinker. The thought of just disappearing, heading off travelling, had crossed my mind more than once. It didn’t feel like something you did in your late forties. I should have figured life out by now.
When she returned, I showed her the photograph Halberg had given me. “I need to speak to Kayleigh,” I said. “I’m told she works here.” I explained I was a detective, an ex-detective, asking on behalf of her father. “He’s worried about her.”
The man at the back of the bar quickly walked over, ripped away the photograph. He said something angry in Dutch to the girl. I hadn’t picked up enough of the language to understand, but the gist was clear. She moved away, with a quick glance back at me. The man jabbed a finger at the photograph, spoke to me.
“Who are you?”
“I’m looking for Kayleigh.” I pointed to the photograph. “Do you recognize her?”
He slammed it down onto the bar. “I can’t help you.”
“I’m told she works here.” The man shrugged, like it was no big deal to him. “Any idea where I might find her tonight?”
His smile revealed a golden front tooth. “Plenty of work around here for young women if they want it.” He leaned in toward me. “Finish your beer, detective. You don’t need to be here.”
“I’m not police,” I said, “but maybe I’ll ask around, all the same?”
“Drink up and go home.” The man moved away, hovering once again in the darkness at the far end of the bar. The worker who’d served me also kept her distance, eyes to the floor. I picked up my beer, thinking about my next move.
I finished my drink, kicked out the stool and stood up, headed for the toilets. The harsh fluorescent lighting contrasted with the gloom of the bar. I stood over the urinal, blinking, for a moment before I was thumped across the back of the head. Falling down face first, I hit the metal trough. I lashed out, tried to regain my footing and haul myself back up, but it was futile. My head was gripped from behind, one arm forced roughly up my back. I shouted out, my head thrust forward, bouncing off the wall in front of me. The room started to spin, a fireworks display going off in front of my eyes.
“Who are you?”
I recognized the voice of the man from the bar. I spat out blood before answering. “I’m no one,” I said, trying to work myself loose of his grip. A hand went to my pockets, rummaging through them. I tried to kick back, but was pinned to the wall, unable to move. It didn’t matter. Old habits die hard. I never carried ID with me when I was working.
“You don’t come into my bar and ask questions,” he said. “Who are you?”
“I’m just someone trying to find Kayleigh for her father.”
“There’s nothing here for you.”
With that I was pulled away, too disoriented and weak to resist. Dragging me to an unmarked door, the man kicked it open and pushed me outside, laughing as I collapsed in a heap on the pavement.
“Come back and I will really hurt you,” he said.
The door closed, leaving me to gradually sit myself back up, the cold air helping to clear my head. I looked up as I heard footsteps approach. It was the girl from the bar.
“Let me help you,” she said.
A hand went out to me, helping me to my feet. I leaned against the nearest wall so I wouldn’t fall straight back down, or throw up. She handed me a piece of paper, Vondelpark 10am, scribbled on it along with her mobile number.
“Let’s talk tomorrow about Kayleigh.”
***
I cleaned myself up in the toilet of a burger chain restaurant before retrieving my bike. I leaned over the canal bridge and peered down at the water, watching as it gently lapped against the side. I knocked back the energy drink I’d bought, wanting the sugar to kick-start my system again. I dabbed at my head, careful not to aggravate the place where it had hit the wall. The pain was settling into a low-level throb.
“Are you okay?”
I turned to look at the elderly man who’d walked over from a nearby cafe. I managed a weak smile, knowing I looked like a truck had hit me. “I’ll survive,” I told him.
“Do you need the police?”
I shook my head and thanked him for his concern. The police were the last people I needed to speak to at the moment. I threw the empty can into the bin, carefully got back onto my bike, and headed for an internet cafe I knew would be open, the night air starting to do me good.
A neon sign above the shop door advertised repairs and unlocking services, money transfer facilities and refurbished laptops for sale. I paid for the use of a computer and settled in, a handful of others at work, earplugs in.
I headed to the website for the Hull newspaper, the stories on the home page making me feel like I’d never been away. I read about traffic congestion on the main route in and out of the city, a senseless knife death on one of the city’s outlying estates, the mess the city’s football club was in. The news was as gray as the city I’d left behind. There was nothing on Kayleigh Mainprize’s disappearance. I considered this, unsure what to conclude. Maybe she didn’t spend much time in her home city, but it was still a human interest story, an easy piece that would gather all-important website hits via its local connection.
There were other ways to get background on Kayleigh, social media the obvious place to start. I was no expert, but her Facebook page was essentially open to view, giving me an insight into her life. A series of photographs told their own story, a steady succession of nights out in both Hull and Amsterdam with a revolving cast of friends. Her check-ins told me she regularly travelled on the overnight ferry from Rotterdam, the invisible elastic that connected the cities. The posts to her wall were largely inane; a mixture of photographs, inspirational memes, and music videos for songs I’d never heard before. Her more private details, the stuff I really wanted, were protected from public view. All in all, it was the life of a regular, fun-loving young person.
I went back to the photographs, looking at them in more detail. The woman in the bar who’d asked me to meet in the park tomorrow featured in many of them, including some of the Hull ones. Some showed just the two of them, arms around each other, heart emojis superimposed on top with other filter effects. Kayleigh had tagged her, so I had a name, Isa Kristiansen. Her page was more carefully locked down, no further clues, but it felt like progress. I understood why she’d passed me the note outside the bar and asked to meet. There was little else to be found on social media. Kayleigh had a Twitter account, but rarely used it, only following celebrities and showbiz accounts. Her Instagram page was locked down more securely, totally inaccessible to me.
I swallowed two painkillers. Google didn’t offer me any obvious hits, but a story via the Hull newspaper grabbed my attention. It didn’t contain a direct reference to Kayleigh, but a man sentenced to prison had the same surname. My head was still fuzzy, slow to make the connection. The face shown in the report was familiar. I cross-referenced to the photographs on Facebook, finding a match. I’d found her father. I placed my hands behind my head and closed my eyes, sure this wouldn’t be news to Halberg and Coleman. There was more to the story, I was sure.
***
I took a seat outside the coffee shop in Vondelpark, blinking against the morning sun. The painkillers were barely touching the sides, a splitting headache after little sleep. I didn’t want Hull intruding into my life at the moment. It was a stone that didn’t need lifting up because I might not like what I found underneath. I wasn’t a private investigator these days, but some people still wanted to fuck with me. The black coffee in front of me was helping a touch, the nearest thing I had to a magic bullet. The high-pitched screams of enjoyment from the children in the playground on the opposite side of the pathway weren’t so helpful.<
br />
The day was starting to unfold. Joggers and cyclists carefully picked their way along the paths, the green space an escape from the stresses of the busy city it served. The tourists were easy to spot, their bikes branded with rental company signage, most making slow and unsteady progress as they passed where I was sitting. I watched as Isa approached and leaned her bike against the fence surrounding the cafe area. She made her way over to me, placing her rucksack on the free chair between us. A waiter hovering at the entrance moved toward us, but she shook her head, saying she didn’t want anything.
“Nice to see you, Isa,” I said.
“You know my name?” A small smile on her face. “Well done.”
“I’m supposed to be a detective, remember?” I returned the smile. “Kayleigh really should be more careful about who can see her Facebook page.”
“Maybe I’ll let her know that.”
“She’s the girlfriend you want to go travelling with, right?” I waited for to her to signal her agreement. “You met in the bar?”
“In a club. Kayleigh got me the job in the bar with her.”
“You live together?”
“Of course, but it is expensive here. We’ve got a small apartment for now.”
“So what’s brought on this urge for you to go travelling together?”
“Who doesn’t want to see the world when they’re young?”
It was a fair answer and one I couldn’t find fault with, even if I suspected it wasn’t the entire truth.
“You said you used to be a detective?” she said.
“A private investigator for hire back in Hull.” I shrugged. “It makes you enemies.”
“But you helped people?”
“I tried my best.” I sipped at my coffee, happy to take my time, hopefully gain her confidence. “Your boss at the bar doesn’t like me very much.”
Isa didn’t answer, choosing to fiddle with her mobile phone instead. She glanced over at the playground before taking a deep breath and turning to face me. “He’s not a nice man.”
I wasn’t going to disagree with that. I had the wounds to prove it.
“Why do the police think you can help them?” she asked me.
“It’s complicated.” I wasn’t sure it would make much sense to her. “Some trouble back home might go away for me if I help them on this.” I shrugged. “Maybe that’s true, I don’t really know. I just don’t like being used, though.”
“Sometimes we don’t have a choice.”
I sat back in my chair, playing those words around in my head, wondering how much say we ever had. A picture was starting to form. She glanced across again at the playground, scanning the faces. This time, I did the same. Families played, children enjoying themselves on slides and climbing frames, roundabouts and sandpits. The space was ringed with a bench, adults sitting down and checking their phones. It took me a moment to realize one of those adults wasn’t doing that and was staring back at us. I took my time, wanting to be sure.
I stood up, pain shooting down my side. It slowed me down as I headed for the playground, ignoring Isa’s shouts. It took Kayleigh a moment to react, standing up as I tried to increase my pace. She moved quickly over to a bike and climbed on, throwing a glance over her shoulder at me before pedaling away. I put my arm in the air, gestured to her, shouting that I only wanted to talk. It was futile. I’d spooked her. I rubbed at my side, the burning pain feeling like a hot knife being twisted inside me. Several of the parents in the playground turned to stare at me, no doubt mentally taking down a description, just in case. There was nothing to do but walk back over to the cafe.
“That hurt.” Isa didn’t meet my eye as I sat back down. “Can you call her?”
“No.”
“It’s to do with her father?” I said, looking at Isa. “I’ve read about him. I know he’s in prison.” I didn’t get a response, so moved on to the question that was beginning to bother me, a thought that was taking hold in the back of my mind. “Is he really looking for her?”
Isa considered the question. “Kayleigh made a stupid decision.”
“We all make plenty of those.”
“A really stupid decision.”
I noticed Isa kept checking her mobile, knowing who she was waiting to hear from.
“Have you done anything you regret?”
“Plenty.” My mind wandered to the photograph of me that Coleman had sent via Halberg. I’d overstepped the mark on countless occasions, I’d let people down. I’d run away from trouble. It didn’t matter how many times I told myself that I’d helped people, brought them peace, the failures and mistakes weighed more heavily on me.
“We need your help.” This time she was looking me in the eye, the resolve coming from a decision made. “We think you’re a good man.” She smiled. “Someone has to be. You took on Martin in the bar and weren’t scared.”
I stared out at the park again, lost for a moment in my own thoughts. I’d dealt with far worse than her boss, but it didn’t answer the question I was asking myself. Was I a good man? There was evidence weighing on both sides of the finely-balanced scales, plenty of people who’d make a case for one side or the other.
Isa stood up, collected her bike from against the fence. “It’s important you know Kayleigh did it for her father. It was a mistake, but she didn’t have a choice.” She hesitated, unsure of what more to say to me. “She shouldn’t have done it, but it’s too late now. He owes money in prison to some very bad men. I don’t know the details, but if Kayleigh helps them, it helps him. They’ll leave him alone.”
“They threatened her?”
“They came to her house in Hull.” She paused for a moment. “I’m sorry to involve you.”
I smiled, said it was okay. I knew how it worked. You found a weak spot and you applied pressure. It was the same on both sides of the law. Kayleigh’s father had nowhere to run to in prison, no one to help him. Someone had seen his daughter as a weak spot, someone they could exploit. It angered me, lit a fire in me.
I watched Isa pedal away, not moving for a moment. I stood up, waited for the wave of pain to pass, and left some money on the table. Glancing down, I saw that Isa had left her rucksack behind. I looked around, but she was out of sight. Sitting back down, I knew I could take it back to the bar, use it as another excuse to ask around. But curiosity is hardwired into me. I couldn’t resist. I pulled open the drawstrings and looked inside. The rucksack was empty apart from a single padded Jiffy bag at the bottom. Taking it out, I turned it over in my hand. Looking inside, my stomach lurched, understanding why she’d apologized to me. I was staring at a sizable quantity of cocaine.
***
I stepped off the tram at Centraal Station, staring up at the imposing Gothic gateway to the city. Heading inside, I knew that trying to chase Kayleigh Mainprize in the park had stiffened my body up. My bones were aching, pain shooting through my muscles. Looking around, the main concourse was a whirlwind of activity. I carefully made my way through the crowd, people coming and going, heads down with earphones in or suitcases rolling behind them.
If it hadn’t been my problem, it was now. The danger of what I was doing hit me like a hammer. The contents of the rucksack would be enough for me to receive a substantial prison sentence if caught with it. There’d be no talking my way out of the situation, but I couldn’t just leave it in the park; the wrong hands might pick it up. I stared at the departure boards, tempted. I could dump the drugs down the toilet and be at Schiphol Airport in less than thirty minutes, leave this entire mess behind me and move on. A police officer walked past, a routine patrol of the station, a nod and a smile in my direction. I rubbed my face, telling myself to act normal. It wasn’t so easy. My heart was beating faster, a sheen of sweat on my forehead.
My mobile still contained all the numbers I had collected from what felt like a previous life. I stared at Colema
n’s number for a moment before pressing the button to call, moving off to a seat in the corner. He answered by stating his name, my name and number not being stored in his handset.
“I think you owe me an explanation,” I said.
It took him a moment to make the connection, the noise of a busy office in the background. He left the line for a moment. When he returned, the background noise had gone. I heard a door close. “You still there, Joe?”
“I am, and I don’t like being threatened.”
“Who’s threatening you?”
“Halberg paid me a visit last night.”
“She was asking for your help.”
“Don’t take the piss.”
“What did you make of her?”
“I don’t have an opinion, why would I?”
“That’s not like you.”
“I’m not a private investigator these days.”
Coleman sighed, paused for a moment. “It’s not always that simple, is it? Actions always have consequences, tabs that need to be paid eventually.”
“And you thought you’d remind me of that by sending a photograph you’d been sitting on for a couple of years?”
He ignored the question. “Have you found Kayleigh yet?”
“I’m not a resource you get to decide to use if it suits.” I didn’t feel inclined to tell him I’d seen her in the park, that she was lying low in the city.
“We’re working together here. I hope Halberg made that clear to you?”
“Crystal clear.” I glanced around the concourse again, no one paying me any attention. “I’m not interested in working with you.”
“You’ll want to come home at some point, and I’m trying to help you here.”
“Maybe I don’t want to come home. Maybe I like it just fine out here.”
“It’s only natural. You’ll need a clean slate.”
“You think your photograph is proof I did something wrong?”
“I’m not talking morally, I’m talking legally. You might look at it one way, I’m looking at it the other way.”
The Book of Extraordinary Amateur Sleuth and Private Eye Stories Page 22
