After the Silence: Inspector Rykel Book 1 (Amsterdam Quartet) (13 page)

Tuesday, 3 January
14.07

‘And which night did you say?’

The maître d’ was managing to squeeze an immense amount of disdain and dislike into every word, his mouth pinched as if Kees had brought in the stench of a fermenting sewer.

The restaurant was plush, all dark purples and gold, and a few people in suits were finishing off late lunches, their faces saturated with wine. Kees had found it on a quiet square just south of the Concertgebouw, Amsterdam’s nineteenth-century concert hall. It was so exclusive it didn’t even advertise itself as a restaurant, just a number on an expensive-looking door.

‘Tuesday,’ Kees responded, staring back at him.

‘Well, I’m not sure we are allowed to give out –’

‘I already showed you my ID, so if you’ve got something written there’ – he jammed his finger on to the reservation page the maître d’ had been studying – ‘you’d better tell me right now.’

The maître d’ jumped, pouted and spun the book round with a flourish so Kees could read it. A few heads turned his way.

I bet he’s a fag
, thought Kees as he scanned down the times, the handwriting cramped and precise. No Friedman, but there were only four tables set for two that evening. He pulled out a photo.

‘Which of these tables did he sit at?’

Sulkily the maître d’ pointed to the slot for table seven; the name on the reservation was Jan Zwartberg.

Jaap’s phone went straight to voicemail, Kees left a message and headed back to the station. Just as he arrived at his desk Jaap called him back.

‘I’ve got Friedman’s dining partner, someone called Jan Zwartberg.’

‘Okay, go back to the station to run the name and –’

‘Yeah, I’m doing it.’
I am an Inspector
, and before he could stop himself he was asking, ‘What have you been doing?’

Jaap paused before answering, his voice colder than before.

‘Just call me if you get anything.’

I’ve been out to Haarlem and back
, Kees thought as he hung up,
and what’s he been doing?

Was this the first sign that Smit’s suspicions had been right? But even so, the problem was, he now realized, how was he going to prove it? Especially if Jaap was going to send him off on stupid errands? And thinking about it, was Jaap already suspicious, was that why he sent him off to Haarlem, so he could be alone?

So how
, thought Kees as he ran his eyes down the list, looking for Zwartberg,
am I going to get him to trust me?

Tuesday, 3 January
14.22

Jaap spotted her, or someone he figured was her, sitting alone at a table mid-way back, red hair glowing under the downlighters shaped like inverted tulips, a bike helmet on the table in front of her. When they’d arranged to meet he’d thought of this place, a bagel joint he and Andreas would often go out of their way to pick up food from, tucked on a narrow pedestrian street about a block away from where the red-light district really started to kick off.

He wouldn’t be coming here with Andreas again.

‘Sergeant van der Mark?’

She looked up at him and he noticed her eyes were green, her skin pale. He introduced himself as he sat down, taking in her biker leathers, and motioned for the waitress to take an order.

‘So you’ve got Haak down for two murders and a kidnap?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got a witness who says this couple adopted a girl, but there was no body at the scene.’

She pulled out a photo and slid it across the table.

Jaap picked it up. It was a CCTV image showing a young girl wearing a jacket with a fluffy collar. The image had been cropped so he couldn’t make out the background.

‘Where’s this from?’

‘Someone saw the couple with her at a cafe in Leeuwarden, I got the image from a bank’s CCTV across the square.’

‘You’re sure this girl was kidnapped?’

‘There’s no other explanation, we’ve had dog teams out but they’ve found nothing. And I’ve just been to the adoption agency here. The couple, the Van Delfts, tried to adopt a few years ago, but were turned down.’

Something started to pulse in Jaap’s head. Heiland had said Friedman wanted a child, and he was sure Haak was one of Friedman’s associates. Andreas hadn’t been working any other cases, so why else would he’ve been looking at his record? And he’d put a call in to the Van Delfts, but why?

‘So they went to another agency?’

‘No, they can’t. It’s all government controlled, so once they were turned down they couldn’t just go to another office and try again.’

‘So what led you to Haak?’ he asked.

‘The tattoo, on his neck? You could just make out there was something there, so I searched the database and came up with Haak’s record. You’ve got to wonder how stupid you have to be to get such a distinctive tattoo done.’

‘Yeah, crazy right? You’ve run this through missing persons?’

‘Yeah, but no match was found.’

Jaap nodded, thinking about how much he should tell her. He’d always prided himself on reading people, and he got a good vibe from her. He took a deep breath.

‘I’m working a case at the moment, and I think Haak is involved.’

He pulled out the diagram of the phone numbers he’d drawn for Kees earlier.

‘See this number here?’

Tanya nodded.

‘I think this belongs to Haak, and I know from the phone company records that this phone was up your way on Sunday evening.’

She stared at the paper for a moment.

‘The thing is, the guy who had this number here’ – he pointed to Friedman’s – ‘was also killed Sunday night, and it looks like all four were working on something together.’

‘Kidnapping?’ said Tanya

‘It could well be.’ Jaap thought of the Black Tulips.

They smuggled women.

What was to stop them kidnapping children, either for export or for the domestic market?

‘I’ve been working a case on this gang, the Black Tulips, and they smuggle in women for the sex trade. I’m wondering … Have you looked at the finances of the Van Delfts?’

‘No, I haven’t had time. But I knew they were having trouble paying their rent.’

‘Maybe you should get hold of them. If they didn’t adopt legally … well, maybe they bought the child? Could be why they were having cash issues?’

‘Bought?’

‘Well, how else are you going to get one, short of kidnapping?’

Tanya breathed out. ‘I … It could be. And maybe they didn’t pay all the money owed, and whoever sold them the girl wanted her back …’

Jaap watched as the emotions polluted her face.

‘That’s just sick.’

The waitress appeared.

‘You want anything?’ Jaap asked Tanya.

She shook her head.

‘We’re good thanks,’ he said.

The waitress glared at him for a moment before leaving.

‘Which leads us on to Haak,’ said Jaap once she’d gone. ‘If these lot’ – he pointed to the sheet – ‘are smuggling in children, and distributing them, then Haak could be the bag man.’

The scream of an espresso machine, a cat hissing in pain, made Tanya jump. Jaap looked over to where the barista, a young dark Latino type with an overly manicured beard, was foaming up some milk.

He looked at the paper again. He wondered if the first number, the one who only communicated with Friedman, was Rint Korssen. Korssen had put money in Friedman’s legitimate business, but that didn’t stop them running something illegal on the side. And Korssen had talked about Russia; the Black Tulips had Soviet origins.

‘The trouble is, I think everyone who owns one of these is a target.’

He told her about the phone with the speaking clock’s number on it and watched as she took in the news.

‘So Haak could have her and someone is trying to kill him?’

‘It looks that way …’

Tanya sat still for a moment, staring down at the paper.

‘And there’s one more thing.’ He pulled out his phone and showed her the number he’d got from Andreas’ computer. ‘Recognize this?’

‘No.’

‘It’s a number registered to Van Delft, I checked the address, on Zeedijk.’

‘Shit …’ She breathed out. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘Listen,’ said Jaap checking his watch, ‘there’s a guy who might know how to get to Haak, want to come? I can tell you about the number on the way. Your bike secure?’

‘Yeah, the guy at the car pool let me park it there.’

As they walked to the station Jaap filled her in on the number’s origin.

‘So what did Andreas want with them?’ she asked.

‘That’s what we need to find out,’ he replied as he signed out a car. ‘And I think you should get the photo of the girl to Interpol, check against their lists.’

He glanced up and saw De Waart at the far end of the corridor just as he picked up the keys.

‘I want a word with you,’ called out De Waart.

Jaap gave the keys to Tanya.

‘Get the car ready, this won’t take long.’

She departed with a quizzical look at him; she’d picked up De Waart’s tone of voice.

‘What do you want?’ asked Jaap as he turned back to De Waart.

De Waart stepped closer, trying to use his bulk to intimidate.

‘I’m warning you,’ he whispered. Jaap could smell something rotten on his breath, ‘Stay out of my way.’

‘I’m not in your way De Waart.’

‘No? Then why do I hear you’re looking for that journalist?’

Jaap cursed Niels, he must have a deal going with De Waart as well.

‘No harm done, I haven’t even spoken to them yet.’

‘Yeah, well, make sure you don’t, I don’t want you fucking this up for me.’

‘Just relax, all right?’

They glared at each other. People were looking at them; further down the corridor someone shouted, ‘Go on, kiss him’, causing an explosion of laughter. A striplight was flickering overhead, the sound like an electric wasp.

‘Did you think I’d find out about your and Andreas’ little secret, is that why you did it?’

De Waart let it hang, like his pestilential breath, which just wouldn’t dissipate.

‘What are you talking about?’ said Jaap, trying to keep his voice level.

‘You wiped his laptop, to hide whatever fucked-up shit you were both into.’

‘You’ve totally lost it.’

For a moment Jaap thought they were going to end up in a brawl.

He felt his muscles tense in readiness, his palms itched to slam into De Waart’s chest, push him back against the wall. They stood for a moment like two wild beasts sizing each other up before lowering their heads and cracking horns. Jaap remembered the morning hexagram’s message to withdraw.

Then De Waart stepped back.

‘If I find you messing around in this,’ he called out as he moved away, his limp causing his left foot to drag over the scuffed floor tiles, ‘I’ll have you fucking crucified.’

Tuesday, 3 January
15.17

As Kees pressed the button, a peal of soft bells floating from within, he could sense his nose beginning to drip – it was getting colder, the air now felt like something out of an Alaskan winter – and he was just wiping it away when the door opened to reveal a tall woman, just as he’d imagined one of Korssen’s lady friends would look like.

She extended her hand and he tried to surreptitiously wipe his own clean on his leg before clasping her warm, fragile fingers, her nails a flurry of red lanterns.

And then he was over the threshold and the door closed behind him, the hallway warm, dark, and scented with something rich and exotic, perfume drifting in plush waves past his nose. He followed her up the stairs, and if he couldn’t stop himself from admiring her figure, the slender legs merely hinted at under the scarlet dress which clung to her hips and plunged right down in a huge curved ‘V’ exposing the creamy skin of her back, then so what, he was human.

Flesh and blood.

They reached the first floor, where she led him into a room as lavish as her scent, pointing to a deeply
upholstered leather chair. He sat, watched by the woman, Heleen de Kok, who had remained standing but had leant on the edge of a table, her legs placed in such a way that a slit – which he hadn’t noticed before, in the left side of her dress – opened and revealed, like curtains parting at the theatre, the star of the show, her thigh.

He looked around, partly in an attempt to tear his eyes off various parts of her, and took in the picture on the wall, a massive oil painting of a woman being fucked by a swan.

There was a strong smell of pot.

‘So, you’re a friend of Rint’s?’ she asked, her voice sultry.

‘No, but I need to ask a few questions.’

She raised an eyebrow, and it was like she was on stage, an actress, fully aware of how to communicate with the smallest physical gesture.

‘Oh, but you’re not here to arrest me, are you?’

The phrase, accompanied by a tilting of the head and holding out her two arms, delicate wrists together, forcing her cleavage – framed by a cascade of blonde curls – into his view, was meant to sound coy, but she couldn’t hide a sliver of uncertainty.

‘I just need some information, so there’s no need to carry on with the act.’

She looked at him for a moment, a cat watching a mouse, then crossed to the chair opposite and sat down, still with elegance and the knowledge of how to make a man look at her, but with less obvious show.

‘I’m sorry, when you mentioned that Rint had given you my number I misunderstood.’

‘That’s okay, I need to check something with you, and I wanted to do it face to face.’

And what a face – he was already glad that he’d made the effort. Kees watched as she settled back, crossing one leg over the over, the slit in the dress opening, and her hand closing it back up.

‘So what is it I can do for you, officer?’

‘Inspector. You can tell me where you were the night before last.’

‘Oh, that’s easy, I was with Rint, at the Hotel De L’Europe.’

‘Until what time?’

‘Well, we left around half twelve, and then we came back here.’

‘And what time did he leave?’

‘It wasn’t that long after to be honest, he’d drunk quite a lot and … well, you know how it is, how alcohol can have a
dampening
effect.’

He smiled in spite of himself; the very fact that Korssen had to use a prostitute – a very high-class one, but a prostitute nonetheless – was funny, but that he then wasn’t even able to perform was too good.

Do you get a discount for that?

She smiled as well, two kids sharing a secret behind an adult’s back, and then they were both laughing, and it felt good, made him feel free, uplifted. He hadn’t laughed for what felt like months, and so what if it was partly the residue of pot in the air and he was sitting here with a prostitute when he should have been out chasing after murderers?

So what?

‘So,’ he started after he’d managed to stop laughing, ‘what time did he really leave?’

‘It was no later than half one, that’s when I went to bed.’

Korssen had said he’d left the event at one, then come here.

He’d been lying.

Kees looked at her, mirth making her even more attractive. He’d never paid for sex, had always enjoyed the conquest, the feeling of power it gave him when the woman gave in.

As they inevitably did.

‘Are you sure?’

She looked him in the eye and started to giggle again, her hand covering her mouth like an oriental courtesan.

‘Totally,’ she said when she managed to stop. ‘I charge in quarter of an hour blocks.’

Kees looked at her.

He wondered how much cash he had left in his wallet.