After the Silence: Inspector Rykel Book 1 (Amsterdam Quartet) (19 page)

Wednesday, 4 January
17.05

Tanya checked her watch, but it hadn’t changed much from when she’d last looked. It was still a few hours before Ludo Haak was due to collect rent from whatever group of immigrants had fallen into the trap of illegal subletting.

But here she was, sitting in a car across from the apartment building anyway. Jaap had agreed to meet her later before he’d rushed off to Haarlem, but she’d felt drawn here, a voice nagging at her, telling her that Haak might turn up early, and if she missed him … Well, that didn’t bear thinking about.

She’d only been to Amsterdam a few times over the years, day trips where she took in the canal district with its wealthy houses, boutique shops, jewellers, high-fashion leather handbags and artisan chocolatiers whose wares would have to be very sweet to get rid of the bitter taste their price would create.

Commerce polished the veneer of respectability, a sense that all was right with the world. But out here in the suburbs things were different.

This was the Amsterdam tourists rarely saw.

This was the Amsterdam of poverty, drug addiction, social and racial segregation. She thought back to what
Visser had said, his pessimistic view. Then she thought of the girl with Haak.

The girl with red hair, Adrijana Fajon.

She thought of him ordering her to get undressed, of his pale body, the tattoo like a livid scar, the feeling of desperation, lack of hope, fear and revulsion.

She knew that feeling all too well.

Her fingers tightened on the wheel.

She shook her head, tried to focus on her breath, anything to clear what was going on in her mind. Her heart was slamming in her chest like a monkey trying to escape a cage.

The file had come through much later than promised, but she’d read it before leaving the station. There wasn’t much, parents an art teacher and cleaner who’d reported her missing from a cafe in the centre of Ljubljana. Someone at a nearby table had keeled over with a heart attack, and in the confusion Adrijana simply disappeared. The police had been notified, run their investigation, and, failing, had passed it on to Interpol within a couple of months.

At Interpol her image just sat on a webpage.

Tanya had managed to get the name of the man in charge of the original investigation in Ljubljana, and had sent him a message. So far he’d not got back to her.

A car, blacked-out windows and shiny hubcaps – classic drug-dealer motor – was slowly crawling down the road towards her, rhythm pounding from speakers which would have cost more than she earned in a month.

If the owner had even paid for them, that is.

It pulled to a stop right by her and the window, in which
she could see her face reflected, slid down halfway. A hand appeared from the dark interior, the middle finger raised, a large gold ring with a skull and wings catching the dying light.

The car moved on.

She was in an unmarked, and she wasn’t in uniform. But they could spot her just the same. Maybe waiting here wasn’t such a good idea. As she reached for the ignition key she noticed a tremor in her hand.

Wednesday, 4 January
17.29

Kees was heading out of the station; the news of what had happened would be spreading like wildfire, and he wanted to get clear of its path.

He also wanted to get to the dry cleaner’s, see if he couldn’t get a lead on the woman who’d knocked him out.

‘Kees, I was hoping to have a word with you.’

He turned to see De Waart coming down the front steps. Cigarette in one hand, a styrofoam cup in the other, steam rising like smoke signals.

All day he’d had the uneasy feeling he was being watched. Who would be watching him he didn’t know, so he’d tried to dismiss it. But when he’d walked into Smit’s office earlier and found De Waart there, dismissing it got a whole lot harder. He didn’t like that De Waart knew what he was doing, that De Waart now had a hold over him.

The police force was no different to anywhere else when it came to politics. There were people who tried to avoid it, turned up and hoped that doing their job well would be enough. And then there were people like De Waart, people who could sniff out an angle, people who wouldn’t hesitate to use knowledge, justified or otherwise.

And what little he knew of De Waart told him that he was one of the players.

Fair enough, Kees was too, but he didn’t like the position this put him in one little bit. Smit letting it slip that Kees was ratting for him was highly unlikely, but De Waart?

Well, De Waart he didn’t trust.

‘I’m just heading out.’

‘Where?’

‘Just out.’

‘Anything I should know about?’

‘Not really.’

De Waart narrowed his eyes.

‘You know, I’d have thought you’d have been able to tell us more this morning, because let’s face it,’ he said turning his head, trying to make eye contact, ‘this is a good opportunity for you to make new friends.’

‘My social calendar is kind of full as it is.’

De Waart laughed, and slapped him on the shoulder.

‘Come on, I’ll walk with you, wherever it is you’re heading.’

The sun was falling, dragging darkness behind it. He glanced at the ice, a hard skin on the canal. A van slowly crossed a bridge; Kees recognized it as the same one which had got in his way the day he chased that bitch.

The one that looked like that other bitch.

De Waart was talking, and Kees had to tune back in.

‘… so do you think it could have been done?’

‘Uh … Yeah, I don’t see why not,’ answered Kees trying to work out what he was talking about, he was having trouble concentrating.

‘That’s what I thought, so I started to think, maybe it was erased on purpose, you know, to hide something?’

‘Yeah, could be.’

De Waart turned his head to look at him for a moment, as if trying to decide something. They passed a young couple, faces jostling together, long hair and clothing so similar it was hard to work out which was the girl. Then Kees realized they were both girls. He thought of Carice.

Carice and Tanya.

He felt himself stiffen.

‘Okay, so if you come up with anything you’ll let me know?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Kees said, ‘of course.’

‘And seriously, it’s good to have friends around here, especially as things are going to be changing soon.’

They shook hands, both playing the crushing game, and De Waart turned and limped back the way they’d come.

It took him fifteen minutes to reach the Oudezijdes, the medieval heart of the city, which had deteriorated since into seediness, his mind occupied the whole time with images of Carice and Tanya, powerless to stop them.

The dry cleaner’s was wedged between a novelty sex-toy shop for the tourists and another selling Asian porn DVDs, and inside an old man was sitting, sewing buttons on a shirt.

The air was hot and stank of chemicals.

Somewhere out back an iron hissed like a snake.

Kees gave him the ticket, flashed his ID, and told him what he wanted.

The man, grey hair combed over a shiny scalp, peered at it, and then shook his head.

‘Doesn’t tell me much, it says a coat, and the cost.’

Kees pulled out a print-off of the e-fit.

‘That’s Helma.’

‘Surname?’

‘I don’t know, but I sometimes deliver to her house, it’s just round the corner.’

Wednesday, 4 January
18.27

Jaap’s eyes were on the road.

But all he could see were the pictures of Andreas.

He wondered if they’d ever go.

It was dark, stars appearing in the gaps between the sodium lights which rushed past him on the motorway.

Andreas was thirty-two when he died, so the photos must be at least fifteen, maybe seventeen, years old.

I never suspected he’d been abused
, he thought,
does Saskia know?

Andreas had grown up near Groningen and Jaap needed to find out if Friedman, or Zwartberg, or even Haak, had ever lived there. Or Korssen.

Since he’d seen Andreas’ body sprawled out in Amsterdamse Bos he’d not been himself, emotions had been running loose, changing too quickly for him to really know what they were, flashes of feelings he couldn’t identify.

And now this, proof that his partner, his friend, had been abused. Proof that he’d been carrying a secret around with him, letting it gnaw away at his insides, and all the time Jaap had had no idea.

Yuzuki Roshi had once told him that although pain was
inevitable, suffering was optional. All well and good when you’re cloistered away from it all.

But now?
he asked himself.

He pulled off the motorway and followed the instructions the satnav kept giving him, not really noticing his surroundings. The voice told him that a further hundred metres and a left turn would take him to his destination. It was a broad street, an affluent area with large houses, vehicles to match. Halfway down was a car which stuck out, too battered, not shiny enough, the police department unused to staking out in rich areas.

Jaap could see two heads. He parked and walked towards it, getting into the back seat. The car smelt like cars did on stakeouts.

Bad.

Marc turned his head.

‘Got my bagel?’

‘They were out of bagels.’

His partner – Jaap couldn’t remember his name – snorted.

‘Well, anyway. Nice to see you again,’ said Marc twisting his shoulders and head round the headrest, the seat creaking. ‘So what have we got going on here?’

‘Which one is it?’

The partner pointed to a house three down from where they were, lights on in the downstairs windows, Christmas lights flashing in a dark window on the next floor. Now you see Santa, now you don’t.

‘The guy who lives there also owns a place in Amsterdam, and someone’s been shooting porn there,’ said Jaap.

‘Bring any of it along? Might help ease the boredom a bit.’

‘It was child porn.’

‘Oh … shit.’

All three watched as a people carrier drove past them and parked on the opposite side. The driver, a woman in a fur coat and with long blonde hair, herded four kids into the house next door to Fortuyn’s.

‘Having kids these days,’ offered Marc. ‘Risky business.’

Jaap thought of Saskia, of her and Andreas’ baby.

Fatherless before even being born.

‘I’m going in. Marc, come with me.’

When they got to the door and pressed the bell a man opened it.

‘Yes?’ he asked, tired eyes going suspicious.

He was young, about Jaap’s age, but his shoulders were slumped forward, as if he were expecting a blow to slam down at any moment. Some kind of war film seemed to be playing in the background, explosions and rapid gunfire.

‘Paulus Fortuyn?’

He nodded.

‘We’re going to have a little chat, can we come inside?’

In the corridor Jaap noticed a photo of Paulus, an attractive woman and a young child. It was taken on a boat, a yacht floating on a bright turquoise sea, a wooded island in the background. All three were smiling, squinting towards the camera.

Who took the photo?
wondered Jaap.

The main room at the back of the house contained a young boy, the same as in the photo, and the source of the explosions, a large screen hooked up to a console, the images moving fast.

‘Miki, can you turn that off now?’ asked Paulus.

‘Dad …’ The word stretched into a moan. ‘… I’m just getting to where the main enemy camp is, I can’t stop now.’

‘Let’s go in the kitchen,’ suggested Paulus.

Two pizza boxes greeted them, a large slice with thin strips of peppers lay congealing in the top one.

‘Does 35 Bloedstraat mean anything to you?’

‘I own it. Why, has something happened?’

‘You could say that, I was there earlier today, and what I saw I didn’t much like.’

‘What?’

Jaap reached into his jacket and tossed a photo, one of the more recent ones, on to the work surface Paulus was leaning against, his hands on the edge, fingers white. He picked it up, and Jaap watched as his face crumpled.

He handed the photo back with an unsteady hand.

‘So you don’t know anything about this?’

‘Of course not, I just rent the place out, I had no idea that guy was going to be doing this … this …’ He couldn’t seem to find the word and gave up. A baby started crying upstairs.

Marc nodded towards the ceiling. ‘You want to get that, or is your wife around?’

‘No, she died giving birth to him.’

He left the room.

‘Nice one,’ whispered Jaap.

Marc looked uncomfortable, didn’t meet his eyes.

Jaap looked around. It was clear that Paulus wasn’t coping that well; the kitchen was a mess. Apart from the pizza boxes, more spilling out of the bin, the surfaces were dirty, festooned with crumbs, orbs of jam and tomato
sauce, and a tin opener, still with the round disk attached, lay by the sink.

Jaap’s phone rang, De Waart’s number.

Christ
, thought Jaap,
what does he want?

‘Yeah?’

‘Listen, I think we should have a chat, I’ve come across some stuff, and … well, it looks like I may have been too hasty.’ De Waart sounded uncomfortable.

‘What is it?’

‘It would be better if we can talk this through, face to face?’

Jaap gave him the name of a bar most of his colleagues used and told him he’d be there in an hour and a half. Agreement came from De Waart as Paulus returned, the crying upstairs having stopped. He sank into a chair at the kitchen table and looked at his hands.

‘You want a drink?’ he asked Jaap.

‘Do you?’

‘There’s some whisky in the cupboard there.’

Jaap nodded to Marc, who retrieved the bottle and three glasses.

Jaap stared at him until he put two back.

‘You’ll want to know about who I rent it out to, I’ve got his details somewhere,’ said Paulus once Marc had poured him a glass.

‘Dirk Friedman?’

‘No, some other guy.’

‘How long have you rented it out?’

‘Five years? Maybe six, my wife inherited it, and we decided to rent it. The rent just about pays, or rather paid, the mortgage on this place.’

‘Paid?’ Then Jaap understood. ‘Life insurance?’

‘Yeah, they paid out.’ He shrugged. ‘You sign those bits of paper and you pay the money every month, but you know it’s never going to happen. And then it does. There was a problem with the baby, turned round at the wrong time and the doctors? They said it was nothing to worry about.’

Paulus took a long sip, and pushed himself up from the table.

‘I’ll get you that name.’

He returned a few minutes later with a red ring-bound folder, which he opened out on the table.

‘It should be in here somewhere, all the original correspondence. My wife … she was good at organizing things.’

Jaap couldn’t think of anything to say, so he watched Paulus flip through the pages, occasionally stopping before moving on. Once he’d reached the end he looked up shaking his head.

‘It’s not here, but our lawyer will have a copy of the original tenancy agreement.’

Jaap took down the details and just as he was thanking Paulus a huge explosion reverberated from next door. Jaap figured it meant either the game was over or the boy had got through to the next level.