The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1)

by Kim Knight

  Amsterdam’s a fun and exciting city set on edge.

  When women linked to the Red Light District turn up dead on Amsterdamse Bose woodland area, or missing, not many take notice. Madeline Sloane, a ballsy journalist for one of London’s tabloid papers is bored with her job and surroundings. She finds herself in Amsterdam, working for De Telegraaf newspaper. Her new job becomes her obsession and determination to close-in on the person responsible for the fates of the Red Light Girls. She reports on the city’s events, appeals for information, and forms a plan of action—one born of her intuition and guides her to a suspect.

  One person stands in her way of finding Amsterdam’s serial killer, and not everything is as it seems in Madeline’s world.

  The Red Light Girls is a novella-length, fast-moving story with a touch of mystery, Madeline Sloane is a head-strong female on a mission to cover areas the local police have failed, and the more she digs, the closer she comes to solving an unsolved mystery.

  Connect with Kim on social media:

  https://kimknightauthor.com/ (author site)

  @kimknightauthoruk (Facebook)

  @kimknightauthor (Twitter)

  She’s also on Bookbub @KimKnight

  1

  Damsel in Distress

  Madeline

  One afternoon in Amsterdam, Madeline pounded the steering wheel of the car with her fist, then rolled her eyes.

  “Shit, I can't believe this.” Her car came to stand still on a deserted road. “Argh, I really don't need this today.”

  She narrowed her eyes as if to try to see through the heavy sheet of rain pounding against the windows. Her view was blurred. The open woodland and trees were all she could see.

  This isn’t good news.

  Lids closed, she rested her head on the headrest, hoping to block out the nightmare she had just entered.

  “Could this day get any worse,” she asked herself. “I should’ve stayed put in London. This move better be worth it.”

  Come on, get it together.

  Madeline leaned over to the passenger seat, reached into her bag, and then fished out her mobile phone. With hesitation, she stepped out of the car and slammed the door.

  To shield herself from the rain, she pulled the thin jacket around her body.

  The bullets of rain drummed against her with a heavy thud.

  “Arrrrgh,” she cried out. “Give me a break will you. I just got my hair done!”

  With a shaky hand, she pushed away a few loose strands plastered to her face. She rubbed her eyes, smudging her mascara in the process. Make-up stains had transferred to her fingers, and she sighed, attempting to unlock her phone in the downpour.

  “Jesus. Great, just great,” she muttered.

  The only sound she heard was the rain beat against the body of the car. Through the drumming, the wind rustled the trees.

  There’s not a soul in sight.

  After three months, life was no easier than before. Her decision to up and leave London wasn’t an easy one but a necessity.

  Her job as a journalist in the UK’s capital no longer excited her. She accepted a sabbatical placement with the Dutch newspaper De Telegraaf as a last resort to revive her love for the profession.

  Her employer back home, The Sun newspaper, offered a number of placements to exchange with international papers around the world. At the time it sounded ideal to her. However, which destination to apply for, baffled her.

  One night, she had opened an atlas—after one too many glasses of wine. She stuck her finger on the map, and it landed on Amsterdam. The decision was made. That’s where she’d try her luck with falling back in love with being a journalist.

  Lucky for her, a Dutch newspaper was included in the list of media sources taking part in the exchange program.

  Madeline walked around the car, then bent down to the wheel. She ran her hand over the visible damage. She shook her head at it.

  “Great, punctured.”

  Pulling herself up, she glanced the length of the quiet road in search of help. There was no one around. She gave up on anyone passing by that could help her. Instead, she dialled the number on the windscreen sticker for the car breakdown service.

  “Hello, my name’s . . . sorry, excuse me. Hallo, mijn naam is Madeline,” she said to the call handler.

  There was a silence on the line.

  “Hello, hello,” she yelled.

  Madeline tutted at the blank screen. Her battery had died. She groaned loudly and shoved her phone in her pocket.

  The bitter wind whipped around her, and the rain assaulted the thin material of her coat. She began to shiver and cursed even more. She leaned on the side of the car, and tears welled in her eyes, then spilt over onto her cheeks.

  A dog barked somewhere in the distance.

  Her eyes darted toward the woodland area.

  “Hey, hello, is anyone there?” Her voice echoed back, bouncing around the open space.

  Overcome with fear, she hurried away and jumped into the driver’s seat. She locked the doors and prayed someone would pass by and help her. With the weather as bad as it was, she wasn’t optimistic about it.

  Why would anyone be out in this? She wondered. She could only hope a car would drive by.

  The dog barked again, and her hearted pounded against her rib cage.

  She narrowed her eyes and stared into the distance.

  The distorted form of a man jogging out of the woods with a dog behind him, came into focus.

  Madeline lowered the window, then called out through the rain, “Hey, excuse me.”

  The dog barked again in her direction. From what she could see through the heavy rain and hail stones, it looked as if the man glanced toward her.

  “Excuse me,” she yelled out again. “I have a flat tire can you help me?”

  What the hell. He probably doesn’t speak English. God, help me.

  Madeline stepped out of the car, then waved her arms to beckon the man to come over. Once she had his attention, she pointed to the tire.

  Through the onslaught of rain, Madeline noticed the man jogging in her direction. She let out a breath and counted her blessings.

  “Are you okay, what's up?” he asked.

  He removed his earbuds and doubled over to catch his breath.

  Madeline's heart fluttered. She was happy he spoke English.

  “My tire’s flat,” she said. “I don't have any juice on my phone. Can I borrow yours?”

  Impatiently, she waited for his response.

  The stranger moved his gaze over her car, then pulled out his phone.

  “Sure.” He handed her the device. “Do you have break down cover?”

  “Yes, thank God. That's one thing I do have.”

  Madeline took his iPhone in hand, then quickly dialled the breakdown service.

  “Yes, hello. It's . . . Oh, I'm sorry,” she paused a moment, trying to recall what Dutch she knew, given the situation.

  “Here, allow me,” the man said. “I speak fluent Dutch.”

  Madeline's attention moved back to the stranger. Through the rain, from under his hood, he looked down at her. But his face remained obscured partly by his hood.

  He held his hand out for the phone, and she passed it to him.

  Nodding toward the car, he said, “Get in. It’s pouring out here.”

  “Thank you, my name's Madeline Slone. I just need someone to change the tire. That's all.”

  “Do you have a spare?”

  “I don't know. I guess so, probably.”

  The man laughed at her, then placed the phone to his ear under his hood. He spoke in rapid Dutch to the call handler.

  Madeline hopped into the car to shield herself from the storm, as well as from the dog that yapped at her feet. The furry beast kept her from closing the door.

  Damn dog, move. She kicked at the mut, then slammed the door.

  Several seconds later, the man tapped on her window, and she rolled it down.

  “Okay. Let'
s take a look in the boot,” he said.

  “The boot?”

  “Yeah, for the spare.”

  “When will they get here to—”

  “Don't worry,” he said. “I'll handle it—it's just a puncture.”

  “Oh, okay. But it's raining.” Madeline looked up at the dark, grey sky.

  The man laughed again. “It's just water. I'm Chris, by the way.”

  Slightly pissed off at his sarcasm, Madeline pressed the release button to open the boot.

  Yeah right, just water, she thought, then smoothed a hand over what was her sleek, bone-straight hair now back to its natural curly state.

  Thirty minutes later, and with a fresh tire change, Madeline started the engine, then turned to Chris.

  “I really don't know how to thank you,” she told him. “You could’ve allowed the breakdown service to handle it. You would’ve been home by now. You're soaked.”

  “No problem. You’d still be waiting if I did that.”

  Shyly, Madeline looked away from Chris' gaze, focused on the road ahead, then glanced back to him.

  He stood in the rain with his hoodie zipped to his neck, shivering.

  “Let me give you a lift home, it's the least I can do.”

  Chris' expression remained unreadable. He glanced up and down the road.

  “Okay, thanks,” he said. “Which way are you heading?”

  “To Amsterdam Centraal. What about you?"

  “Same.”

  “Hop in, let's go.”

  Chris rounded the car to the passenger side, opened the door, moved the chair back, and then whistled for his dog to jump in. “I'm sorry if he leaves mud on the seat. I’ll clean it off.”

  Madeline cringed at the thought of dog hair and mud all over the seat, then forced a lazy smile across her lips. “Don’t worry about.”

  Once Chris and his dog were on board, she placed the car in gear, then slowly took off. She navigated her way through the storm toward the city centre.

  The journey was longer than expected. The weather caused Madeline to drive cautiously.

  “Here we go. I'll jump out here,” Chris told her almost an hour later.

  She pulled over into a free space just past the tramline.

  “Thanks for your help today, Chris.”

  “No problem.” Chris faced her head on.

  For the first time, Madeline noticed just how handsome he was.

  His hair was slightly damp and had turned jet black. The ends curled up from the rain. It contrasted against his piercing blue, deep-set eyes. A dark shadow of stubble ran across his chin.

  An awkward silence fell between them.

  Chris let out a heavy breath, breaking the icey chill. “I better get going. It was nice to meet you.” He opened the door and got out of the car.

  Madeline bit back the urge to ask more about him. Her eyes didn’t move from his well-built physique, which was only emphasised by his Nike track suit.

  What's the point in getting to know him, he probably has a girlfriend?

  She removed the thought from her mind as quickly as it came. Instead, she watched him throw his hoodie up, and move the seat, so his dog could jump out the back.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she inspected the seat, and relief set in.

  Thank goodness there’s no mud.

  “Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Madeline.”

  “You too, thanks again.”

  Chris closed the door and jogged across the road. His dog trotted behind him.

  Madeline followed them with her gaze until they disappeared from sight. She then put the car into gear and headed home.

  Once she arrived at her flat, Madeline opened the blinds to allow the view of Amsterdam’s night sky to flood in.

  She stood by the view of the city, and finally, she allowed herself to relax after this afternoon's drama.

  The sky was lit up with lights as far back as she could see, across the dusk skyline.

  A view so different to what she used to see back in London. The memories brought on a flood of tears.

  She snapped her eyes shut, as if to block out the vivid details of her home. Her escape to Amsterdam brought her to a new place in life, emotionally, and a new job. In some ways, it had allowed her to rebuild her life. That said, her first three months hadn’t been easy. Her Dutch wasn’t perfect by any means—even with the frequent lessons paid for by work. And then there was her social circle, which remained almost non-existent.

  Moving from the window, she turned to face the living room.

  The small one bedroom flat located on the top floor of a three-storey building, needed a lot of work. The plumbing for one. The kitchen tap leaked, and the water pressure from the shower was low. But it was home, for now. And it was she could afford on a modest salary.

  Glancing around, it felt as if the walls were closing in around her.

  Her ex—Stan—crashed her thoughts. His voice mocked her in her mind's eye.

  Hugging her arms around her body, Madeline paced the cool, tiled floor.

  The urge to take a shower and wash away the memories of him overwhelmed her.

  It was one bad break-up. We all have them! Get a grip, Maddie, she scolded herself on the way to the bathroom.

  Madeline stripped naked and ran the water. The pipes jumped to life and coughed out a trickle of water.

  She rolled her eyes. “I need a plumber. This is ridiculous.”

  The water dripped slowly from the limescale invested shower head. As the temperature rose, steam fanned around the bathroom. This caused Madeline's claustrophobic anxiety to increase tenfold.

  In the mirror, she took in the woman she had become.

  At five-foot-five, with a slim, but curvy build, and milk chocolate skin, to an outsider, one would have assumed she had the world at her feet—that she was stress free.

  Truth be told, she felt anything but. Her heart was broken, and her career no longer excited her.

  She exhaled a deep breath, then tied her curly hair up on top of her head.

  With a heavy heart, she pulled back the mouldy shower curtain and stepped under the water, resisting the urge to sob.

  2

  One Woman Down

  Detective Janssen

  Across Amsterdam, and under the the early evening light, Janssen kept a keen lookout.

  “Janssen,” the voice spoke in her left ear. “You in position?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  Detective Janssen moved her gaze over the canal. The water was still, and the multicoloured boats were stationed on the river. The muddy water appeared to be pitch black, now the sun had long departed, and the moon shone over the city.

  As Janssen stood by the lamp post along the canal, the trees that lined Amsterdam’s pebbled street rustled in the wind. She flipped the collar of her coat to shield her from the bitter weather.

  Discreetly, she tapped her ear to turn up the volume, and drown out the partygoers around her. She listened to her team go over the strategy she had given them and nodded to herself in agreement. They were clear on how things would play out tonight.

  She shifted her gaze up and down the street and took in the busy footfall of tourists and locals. They weaved in an out of her view as she looked out for the suspect.

  It was cold, damp, and she hated going undercover in the seedy area of the city. But it was necessary for the case she was closing in on.

  She moved the synthetic hair of the wig across her cheek slightly. “Yeah, I’m over by the canal. Everyone get into position,” she demanded.

  “Yes ma’am,” her team of men chimed in in unison.

  As much as she hated the habit, she pulled out a smoke, lit it, then filled her lungs with nicotine. For years, she’d been trying to quit.

  “Roger, I’m inside now,” one of her officers confirmed.

  She smirked and pulled on her cigarette. “Good, everyone ready?”

  “Roger,” her team responded.

  “Okay. I’m in
front of the bar,” she said.

  “Roger, got ya,” her partner’s voice said into her ear.

  “Where are you?” She asked and glanced around through the crowd passing by.

  A loud group of boys walked past her, obscuring her view. The smell of cannabis wafted from the young men. With the relaxed laws on the drug in the city, all she could do was shake her head. She wanted to reprimand them for smoking in the street, but she had bigger crimes to focus on.

  “I’m coming your way now,” Detective Logan Gibson said into her ear. “You wanna head inside?”

  “Yeah, beats standing on the corner,” Janssen said with a smirk. “You know how many men have approached me.” She let out a frustrated breath and examined her nails.

  Gibson laughed into her ear. “I bet you look great, in your wig and heels.”

  “Fuck you, Gibson,” she snapped with a giggle. “I told you, I don’t do dick. These drug dealers are fuckin’ up my love life. My girl’s at home waitin’.”

  Her partner’s and her team’s laughter roared into her ear again.

  Janssen stifled a giggle. She focused her attention on the patrons headed into one of the bars, a few paces away. Her gaze roamed up and down the street as she looked for her suspect.

  He better put in an appearance soon, she thought. Hopefully, he was as predictable tonight as he had been from the surveillance done over the last few weeks.

  A tourist had turned up dead in the toilets of a restaurant this side of the city. Turns out, she had a dud extasy pill. She wasn’t the only one, there had been a few cases—citizens of Amsterdam and visitors who flocked to the liberal city.

  The supplier, from what her and her team had placed together, was a small-time drug dealer, an immigrant from Morocco, north Africa. It was her intention to close in on him, have him stripped of his European citizenship, then sent back to his native country. He was a liability Amsterdam didn’t need. While the soft drug cannabis was legal, higher class drugs were not. Especially fake ones that could cause fatalities.

  Janssen lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, then focused on the figure making its way through the thick crowd. She could make out the confident walk of her partner, Gibson.