A Cold Death in Amsterdam (Lotte Meerman Book 1) (32 page)

I sat in Stefanie’s car, in Stefanie’s seat behind the steering wheel and waited. I heard the doorbell ring. I heard the door open. I stayed silent. It felt as if they would be able to hear me if I talked.

‘Good morning, Wouter,’ Stefanie said. ‘Amsterdam police. Can we come in for a minute?’ Her voice rang loud in my ear.

‘Of course. I haven’t got much time, but come in.’ Wouter sounded relaxed, just as he’d done when we met. He’d been such a credible witness. As Stefanie had said, we all liked the geek-done-good.

Footsteps down the hallway. I could picture them moving past the art collection into the sitting room.

‘Good to see you again. Where is your colleague who was here the other week?’ Wouter asked.

‘Detective Meerman? She came here with Ronald de Boer as well, didn’t she? You know him well?’ This was Hans at his least threatening, his this-is-just-a-little-chat tone of voice.

‘Yes, we were at school together.’

‘Friends?’

‘Best friends.’ He said it with a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘You know what it’s like at that age.’

‘Some of those friendships are made for life.’

Wouter didn’t say anything.

‘Anyway,’ Stefanie went on, ‘we’re here to check some details on your testimony.’

‘Of course. Well, I saw Anton Lantinga’s car—’

‘No, not that witness statement.’ She was silent for five or six seconds, gave him just enough time to realise what she was talking about. ‘We want to ask about an earlier case, the one that put Otto Petersen in jail. The Petersen Capital fraud.’ The tone of her voice didn’t change. It sounded like a throwaway remark, an unimportant question, wanting a quick unimportant answer. ‘You were the whistle-blower, weren’t you?’

‘No.’ The response came too quickly after the question. I’d expected him to be more polished, to claim he didn’t know anything about it. Without Ronald in the room, he seemed to have lost his cool.

‘No? We have the files here.’

I heard the whispering sound of turning pages.

‘You were the head of IT at Petersen Capital in 1995, weren’t you?’

‘No, not the head. I just worked there.’

‘It says head of IT in the company’s tax records.’

‘I suppose . . . I was the only one in that department, so that must have made me the head. It didn’t feel like it, and they didn’t pay me like one either.’ I heard a laugh that turned into a cough. I assumed it was Wouter.

‘Someone sent a computer disk to the Financial Fraud department of the Amsterdam police in 1995. It contained two spreadsheets – one, I assume, Otto’s official numbers, which he sent out to the investors – and the other, the real numbers, showing the losses he’d made and was so desperately trying to hide.’

‘Let me see that disk.’ A short pause. The rustle of the padded paper envelope Stefanie had brought with her. ‘That’s not right.’ His voice sounded purposeful, maybe some relief mixed in. ‘We didn’t use this type of disk in 1995. Whatever evidence you have, this isn’t it.’

‘No, of course not. This is our copy of the disk. The original is filed away. What happened, Wouter? Did you see that Otto had two spreadsheets? Did he ask you for help, maybe asked you to retrieve one from the back-up? When did you notice he was cheating?’

Still more silence.

Hans said, ‘Otto figured out who ratted on him. So when he got out of jail he wanted to meet you, is that it? He asked you to come to the house.’

I was reminded of Otto’s mother’s words, that this had all been about betrayal and that Otto Petersen had cared more about his company than his wife.

‘But you saw Anton’s car there. Did he see you too? He might have done. And when things went wrong and you killed Otto – where did you get the gun from, by the way?’ She waited for a bit longer but Wouter didn’t respond. ‘Then you thought up a plan to throw the suspicion on Anton instead. His word against yours. Was that what you thought? And as long as we didn’t know you were the whistle-blower, nothing linked you to Otto Petersen. You were just an innocent bystander. And as you were Ronald’s friend, the police – Piet Huizen and Ronald de Boer – would always believe you, wouldn’t they?’

‘I want a lawyer.’ I’d known he’d say that; it was only a matter of time.

‘Fuck. Sorry.’ The sorry was more to me than to Wouter. ‘Of course, feel free to make the call.’

I heard Wouter say, ‘I think we’re in trouble.’ His voice was getting softer – he must be walking out of the room.

Condensation drew in from the corners of the car window, turning it opaque. I made no effort to wipe it away. I didn’t have to see out anyway and I’d be here for a while. Stefanie and Hans would have to wait for the lawyer to turn up before they could continue their questioning. The snow outside melted on the car. Water ran from the windscreen. I looked at my watch: it was just after midday. We still had two hours before Ronald met with Karin. Ronald, who might have advised Wouter to act as a witness and to use that as a cover. Ronald, who could have arranged for those files to vanish with help from his wife on Reception. He could have called Anton as soon as he’d heard my father was off the case. That must have been a nasty surprise. He must have trusted that he’d take over, but when that didn’t happen he’d reacted quickly and got Wouter’s name out of the equation. Taking the files made Wouter’s witness statement disappear so that CI Moerdijk never even knew that Wouter existed. Ronald had never responded to CI Moerdijk, not to cover for my father, but to cover for his friend. Then he’d tried to manipulate me by throwing suspicion on my father, suspicions I was all too ready to believe. I rested my head against the window. The cold of the glass soothed my mind.

I could check if any of this speculation was fact by talking to Ronald’s wife, Ilse, on Reception.

I could talk to her, I calculated, and be back here before Hans and Stefanie would even notice I’d gone.

I switched on the car heater to blow over the windows and demist them, hearing the minutes tick away while I waited for visibility to return. I found the lever at the bottom of the driver’s seat and used it to push the chair back until I could reach the pedals without bumping my knees on the steering wheel. I clicked the seatbelt in place, turned the key in the ignition of Stefanie’s car and checked the mirrors before adjusting them, so I could put them back in their original position before handing the car back to Stefanie. Then I eased the car into reverse and drove to the Alkmaar police station.

I walked into Reception, tape recorder switched on in my pocket. Did Ilse know I’d been suspended? She was on the phone, neck straight, head straight, headset covering one ear, her butter-blonde hair tucked behind the other, exposing the milk-and-cream skin of her cheek. I pictured her light colouring besides Ronald’s darkness. She saw me but didn’t interrupt her call. I waited and watched people walk in and out. I hadn’t thought of what I’d do if Ronald came in. I looked at my watch; it was half past twelve, one and a half hours before he was due to meet Karin in Amsterdam. Maybe that was him on the phone to Ilse.

She finally finished her call and said, ‘Yes, what can I do for you? Ronald isn’t here right now.’

I smiled, assumed my most relaxed pretend-nice face. ‘That’s a shame. I just popped in to see if he wanted a coffee.’ I gestured at the car outside. ‘I’m waiting for my father to get out.’

‘Your father?’ Her face looked blank. So Ronald hadn’t told her.

‘Yes, Piet Huizen. He used to work with Ronald. Surely you must remember him.’

‘Oh yes, of course. We all liked him a lot.’

I smiled, pretending gratitude this time.

‘It doesn’t seem that long since his retirement,’ she said.

‘Twelve years.’

She nodded pensively.

‘You must remember his last day here,’ I said.

‘We were all so concerned, after the heart attack.’

‘My father told me you sent him flowers.’ He hadn’t said anything of the kind, but she would have done; she was the type.

‘Yes, I did. Because I felt so guilty. I should have given him a hand.’

‘With?’ My heart thumped in my chest but I managed to keep my voice steady.

‘Carrying those crates. He was dragging them down the stairs as the lift was out of order – I remember it well. He put them over there in the corner.’ She pointed, but her arm drooped and her voice petered out at the sight of my too-real, triumphant smile.

‘That’s not what you told us when we took over. Our chief inspector, who worked the case, said you gave him a cardboard folder with only a few pages in it. Did Ronald help you pick which bits to keep behind?’ Ronald should have briefed his wife better, told her what she should and shouldn’t tell me. Maybe Ronald hadn’t instructed her at all because he was worried she might talk. She seemed a nice enough woman; maybe he hadn’t mentioned anything about Wouter, my father, Otto Petersen and Anton Lantinga. I stared at her milk-white skin, the faltering smile on her pink lips.

She blinked a few times and tucked more hair behind her ear.

I leaned on the reception desk, purposefully moving my body into her space. ‘It was a perfect selection, enough to make us think the Alkmaar police were incompetent and not to draw any suspicion. Ronald did a good job there.’ I took my mobile phone out and slowly took a picture of Ilse, to show the CI. Not that there was any doubt in my mind.

‘Well, no,’ she said, ‘I didn’t—’

‘Didn’t meet with our chief inspector? He says you did. He says you gave him the cardboard folder. Are you saying he’s lying?’

‘No, no, I did give him that, but—’

‘You just told me you saw my father carry crates of files down the stairs. Now you admitted you gave CI Moerdijk just six pages.’ I took the tape recorder from my pocket and pressed the stop button in full sight of her. ‘Thanks, Ilse. Much appreciated.’

She didn’t say anything, just stared at me. A bright red blush crept up from her neck to her cheeks. I knew she’d call Ronald as soon as I’d gone.

As I walked towards the exit, my eyes scanned every person who walked down the steps, every individual who came through a corridor, to see if Ronald was coming back to work. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I saw him, but because of him my father had spent the night in prison. It was easier to blame Ronald than to acknowledge that my father wasn’t free because I’d taken my tablets and slept. I needed to make sure he wouldn’t spend another night locked up, and for that I had to get Karin to admit that Wouter Vos had turned up on their doorstep
after
my father had left.

I got in Stefanie’s car and sped down Alkmaar’s streets. The wheels of the car chewed up the kilometres of bendy asphalt road. In the danger-red car, I overtook a couple of dodderers on the road when it straightened out. I had less than an hour and a quarter before Ronald met with Karin, and I needed to talk to her before he did, even though I was suspended. I pushed the accelerator in to press the car forward and Stefanie’s car responded with a pleasing increase of sound and speed. I didn’t care how angry she’d be when she found out I had left her and Hans behind. I wasn’t doing this to arrest Wouter. My mobile rang, but the caller display showed it was Hans, so I didn’t pick it up. I didn’t want him to stop me.

The villages flew by on either side of the motorway and, where the railway ran parallel to the road, a train was struggling to keep up with me as I hurtled south, accompanied by the flashes of speed cameras, back to Amsterdam.

Twenty minutes before Ronald was due to arrive I walked up the steps leading to Omega’s front door.

‘Karin, please,’ I said to the receptionist. ‘It’s urgent.’ I didn’t have to show the badge I didn’t have any more as her face said she recognised me. She walked me through to the boardroom where Karin and her lawyer sat side by side. Papers were strewn over the cherrywood table; Karin held a black and gold fountain pen in her hand.

‘You need to tell me the truth,’ I said before she could even open her mouth. ‘We can protect you, but you need to tell me what really happened.’ I reached over the chair, put the tape recorder on the table in front of her and switched it on. I stayed standing.

She screwed the golden top back on the pen, put it down on the table and slid some of the papers face-down underneath a copy of
Het Financieele Dagblad
.

I rested my hands on the back of the cherrywood chair. It was the same one I’d sat on last week, only this time I was right opposite Karin. She was sitting at the long side of the table, no longer at the head, as if she’d handed over control. Under the apple and jasmine perfume there was a whiff of perspiration.

‘I know you’re scared,’ I said quietly, ‘but I also know that he needs to be stopped. Only you can help us to do that.’

She collected the rest of the papers in a pile and straightened them.

‘Ronald de Boer will be here in’, I checked my watch, ‘fifteen minutes. You have until then to tell me.’ The traffic had been horrendous because of the snow, and the journey to Amsterdam had taken much longer than I’d anticipated. ‘Tell me what happened after Otto’s death and what happened just before Anton’s.’

She took a deep breath in and out. An award naming her Dutch Business Woman of the Year rested against the wall. Her left hand disappeared up the right sleeve of her jacket and the sound of her bitten nails scratching her skin was loud in the quiet room.

‘Karin, please.’ I turned to her lawyer. ‘Please, convince her. This is the only way.’ He looked at me in silence, his expression sympathetic and aloof at the same time. My heartbeat was ticking out how many seconds I had left until the ten minutes would be up. I needed to speak, to use words to cover the thumping in my chest.

‘OK,’ I said, ‘I’ll tell you what I think happened. You were absolutely right – Otto wanted you out of the way, so he could meet up with someone in private. Only it wasn’t Anton. This wasn’t about your betrayal and your affair. This was about something else. He was meeting Wouter. Wouter Vos, whose testimony bankrupted his firm and put him in jail. This was about that betrayal, wasn’t it?’

Karin picked up her BlackBerry.