After the Silence: Inspector Rykel Book 1 (Amsterdam Quartet) (3 page)

Monday, 2 January
08.14

‘… not fair. I gave up my job to come here with you, and now you treat me like this.’

Like what?
wondered Inspector Kees Terpstra as he regretted answering for the hundredth time. He’d just turned on to Herengracht and could see the house up ahead, catching a glimpse of Jaap Rykel as he disappeared inside, the streak of white hair running from his right temple marking him out. If Marinette hadn’t chosen this morning to have a go he wouldn’t have been late.

‘And you’re never here either. Are you seeing someone else?’ Marinette’s voice rising rapidly, screeching in his ear, metal on metal.

I wish I was
, he thought,
someone who didn’t spend all their time bitching about things.

‘Or have you started again? Is that it?’

Christ, I could use some of that right now.

‘I’ve got to go, I’m working a murder investigation here, I haven’t got time for –’

‘That’s part of the problem, you never have time any more. You’re always too busy’ – the stridence softened – ‘and we never get … to … talk.’

‘Okay, okay. We’ll talk tonight, when I’m back, but it’s going to be late.’

He glanced up the canal to the house, uniforms milling around outside, his own breath blossoming in front of him. ‘I have to go.’

He hung up before she could respond.

God, what was up with her? Ever since they’d moved here eight months ago, from the very first moment they’d pulled up outside the apartment – the apartment they’d both chosen – he’d known that something was wrong, could sense a seam of resistance, something hard, inflexible, forming in her. And okay, moving somewhere new was bound to be a bit difficult at first, he knew that, had made allowances, had given her time to try and settle in, hadn’t forced her to look for a job straight away.

Despite the fact that on what he earned alone they were struggling.

And didn’t she understand he had to put the hard work in now, that to rise up the ranks required a huge amount of time and effort?

He strode towards the house, taking the anger out on the ground, and had to jostle his way through a small crowd of people who’d been attracted to the red-and-white tape – insects writhing on flypaper.

A man, fat, face like pummelled dough, tried to ask him what was going on as he made his way through.

‘Police business,’ he snapped as he ducked under the tape and into a space free of the crowd. He could hear the man – his voice slightly high, petulant – saying something about there being no need to be so rude, and he felt like
turning round and responding but managed to control himself.

Ton Baanders stepped forward.

‘Glad you could join us.’

‘Fuck off,
Sergeant
.’

Ton laughed.

‘Jaap said to go straight up.’

Kees hadn’t yet worked with Jaap, but he’d heard the stories. How he’d shot and killed someone and had some kind of breakdown, disappearing for over a year before returning to duty. Some people said he’d got into some weird eastern religion whilst he was away, that was what made him come back, carry on being an Inspector. Kees reckoned he didn’t look the type, but who knew?

He headed over to the front door, wondering what it’d be like to shoot someone. Ever since he’d started gun training he’d wanted to know. Maybe he’d ask Jaap.

Just as he reached the first step he spotted someone walking down the canal towards him, texting on her phone.

For a few long seconds Kees thought it was Marinette.

His girlfriend coming to kick up a fuss right in front of everyone.

The embarrassment of that would be crushing, and he was just starting to move, head her off when he saw it wasn’t her.

She had the same silvery-blonde hair, and a shapeless coat in the same drab navy blue, and her face was similar, but slightly thinner and the nose a bit more pointed. His heart, which had ramped up on seeing her, was starting to slow now he knew it wasn’t Marinette.

As if sensing his gaze she looked up and stopped short, took in the scene quickly; her eyes caught Kees’. Just as he read surprise, and maybe a touch of fear in them, she turned round, and walked fast the way she’d come.

‘Hey, stop!’

She heard him, and just went faster.

He was after her, having to push through yet more people at the tape – bovine murmurs of complaint filling the air – and once he was through he saw her disappearing round the corner, into Oude Leliestraat, the narrow street which joined Herengracht with its neighbouring large canal, Singel. She dodged round the bollard which kept traffic out for most of the day, and disappeared from view.

He broke into a run, the rush of cold air making his eyes water, his feet slipping on the bricks as he started off. He made it to the corner, where the dodgy falafel joint was already pumping out grease into the morning air, mingling with the damp, herbal hit from the Coffeeshop four doors down. She was about ten metres ahead now, and running. Pushing harder he gained ground and was close enough to catch a blast of camphor.

Must be from her coat
.

She was just reaching Singel, heading for the bridge which would take her over into Dam Square, her coat flapping out behind her – thick seaweed in a strong tide – and he was nearly close enough to grab it as she flew across the road, not even looking from side to side.

But as he followed, less than a metre behind, a van – its side an explosion of hippy rainbow print – slid in front of him, and he had to change direction quickly to avoid it.

As he rounded the back, his hand slamming with a
hollow thud against the metal, he could just see her head disappearing on the far side of the bridge when his view of the world flipped ninety degrees.

His head smacked hard against the road and the person on the bike he hadn’t seen because of the van, sprawled on top of him.

A screech ripped into his ears.

Everything slowed.

His head turned just in time to see a car tyre halt centimetres from his nose, kicking grit into his eyes.

He could smell rubber.

He tried to kick free, cursing, shouting, disentangling himself from the large woman who was crushing his legs, already screaming at him to look where he was going – and made it to his feet.

But even after he’d half run, half limped over the bridge, winded as he was from the fall, his left ribs aching with each quick inhale, the shock of almost having his head crushed reverberating through his whole body, and his eyes blinking furiously in an effort to clear themselves, he could tell he’d lost her.

Monday, 2 January
08.39

‘You called it in?’ asked Jaap, eyeing Kees’ face, a bruise flooding his right cheek, just under where his hair reached down to.

‘Yeah, did it already.’ Kees probed his cheekbone. His face was narrow, gaunt almost, and his eyes porcelain blue.

Shame it wasn’t serious enough to get him reassigned
, thought Jaap.

He’d just reached the top floor when he’d heard Kees’ shout and had run back down, still reeling from the name on the envelope.

‘We need to get on. The paramedic can look at it if you want.’

Kees shook his head.

‘I’m fine, let’s just get on with it.’

As they stepped back into the house Jaap tried Andreas again but just got voicemail.

Where the hell is he?
he thought as they started to climb the stairs, wood creaking like a ship’s rigging.

His partner’s text had said Friedman could be a way in, into the Black Tulips.

Andreas found a connection between Friedman and the gang
, he thought
. But what is it?

Two plastic suits were waiting for them as they reached the top. Jaap scanned the room, noticing the winch in the corner holding the end of the rope.

‘Give us a few minutes,’ he said to the forensics.

They nodded as Jaap walked to the windows and looked out.

The body was facing away from him, feet and calves swollen with blood, looking like they belonged to a fatter man. He could see hair, slicked down on the dead man’s head by the dew, the early morning light filling the tiny drops with colour. There was a poem he’d read in Kyoto, something about a world of suffering in each dew drop. He tried to remember it but gave up and turned back to the room.

The rest of the loft was dominated by a cylindrical stove, the flue reaching up past the exposed wooden beams, breaking though the narrowest part of the sloped ceiling.

Placing his hand on the rough, black surface of the stove he felt a remnant of heat. He bent down to look through the rounded glass door on the front. Soot encroached from the edges and a few glowing embers – satsumas packed in the grey ash – were all that remained of the fire.

Jaap stood and turned to the men, knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer.

A plane tore a white line in the sky beyond the body.

‘Get him down.’

‘How? He’s at least two metres out, and the rope in that thing over there’ – the forensic pointed to the winch – ‘is no way long enough to get him down to the ground.’

Jaap stepped back over and eased the French window open with his toe. The rope shifted, causing the body to swing. He heard a gasp from someone down below just as Kees made his way over.

‘We could just drop him,’ said Kees, peering down at the crowd below. ‘There’s a fat guy down there who’d break his fall.’

‘Let’s try my way first,’ said Jaap turning to the forensics. ‘Get something to lasso his feet, we can pull him in if one of you lets out the rope in the winch.’

The forensics set about his order whilst Jaap and Kees grabbed some latex gloves, and helped bring the body in through the window. Once inside they laid him on to a sheet of plastic and pulled him further into the room, face down.

A cluster of white-tipped pimples crested the body’s right buttock.

‘Nice ass,’ said Kees.

No one laughed.

‘On three,’ said Jaap, squatting down and grabbing the body’s shoulders. But as the body turned, and they laid it down on its back he could see there was something wrong.

Something jammed in the body’s mouth.

He crouched down. The smell, despite the cold conditions outside, was already intense. The forensic undid the noose, revealing a neck mottled with wine-purple bruises.

‘Looks like he was strangled before being hung up,’ said the forensic tracing the lowest edge of markings. ‘It’s a larger area than the rope would cause.’

‘Makes sense I guess,’ said Kees. ‘Easier to swing a dead body out, less thrashing around.’

But why hang him outside if he was dead already?
thought
Jaap as he looked closer, the bruises darker on the right side of the neck. He could see the object in the body’s mouth was a phone.

‘Get it out,’ he said as he stood, making room.

The forensic reached forward and tried to pull the phone out but it kept knocking on the inside of the body’s teeth. He shifted his weight and used both hands to prise apart the jaws. They cracked and Jaap winced.

‘Careful.’

The forensic just grunted and handed it to him. It was a cheap clamshell and as he flipped it open the screen lit up. On it was a freephone 0900 number which had yet to be dialled.

He passed it to Kees and pulled out his own phone.

‘Give me the number.’

Jaap punched it in as Kees read it out, hit the call button and put it on speaker.

… at the third stroke the time will be o-eight hundred hours and fifty-three minutes …

Jaap felt something tighten in his throat.

‘What else is on the phone?’ he asked.

Kees spent a few moments exploring.

‘No text messages, only three numbers in the address book, and the same in the recent call lists,’ he said still looking at the screen, the light shining on his face, making him look pale, sick.

‘Names?’

‘No, just numbers.’

‘Really?’

Kees nodded and Jaap looked down at the body again, thinking about Andreas’ text.

Looks like he’s right about Friedman
, he thought.

‘They’re probably disposables, but check with the phone companies anyway,’ he said to Kees.

‘I’ll get someone on it.’

‘How about you do it?’

Kees looked at him before moving over to the window. Jaap could hear his finger hitting the plastic keys as he started dialling.

I wish Andreas was here instead
, thought Jaap.

His own phone started to buzz; he saw the station’s number.

Finally he decides to call me.

‘Andreas, where the hell have you been?’

‘Jaap, it’s Elsie, I’ve got Smit on the other line for you, hold on.’

Jaap groaned. The last thing he needed was a conversation with Henk Smit, his boss. He’d been running the station ever since Jaap got promoted to Homicide, and was famous for driving people hard, mainly so he could advance his own career. Behind his back most of his staff referred to him simply as the eel, slippery and with sharp teeth. And not without irony, given his size.

‘Rykel,’ came Smit’s voice after a few moments. ‘I have some, uh, bad news for you. Get into the station now.’

Jaap’s heart detonated in his chest.

‘What’s going on?’

Kees and the forensics looked at him all at once.

‘Inspector Kees Terpstra can take over, just get back here now.’

Jaap stepped away towards the stairs, checking that Kees was out of earshot, lowering his voice, ‘He’s not
experienced enough, this isn’t straightforward. Is this about Andreas?’

‘It’s … uhmmm … yeah, it is.’

Jaap felt the room start to sink and twist out of shape, as if he’d just stepped into a Dalí painting. A bird flapped past the window, flickering a shadow into the room.

‘And?’

‘He’s been shot.’

Monday, 2 January
09.58

Tanya was standing in what she figured had been the living room.

The fireman, crouched down next to her sifting through the ash, was humming a tune she half recognized.

‘So what caused it?’ she asked.

‘Not faulty wiring,’ came the reply, his voice a rough whisper.

He picked up a few small fragments of metal, and handed one to her, still warm to the touch.

‘These are bits of a canister, like the ones you buy petrol in.’

Tanya looked at them.

‘Are you sure? I mean, these could be anything, couldn’t they?’

The fireman shook his head.

‘I found some more over in that corner as well. Accidental fires always start in one place, but if you’re trying to burn something down you’ll set several ignition spots, gives it a better chance of taking off before anyone can stop it.’

Tanya handed the metal back to him.

‘Is this how the other fires have been started, with those same cans?’

He tossed it back, the metal disappearing into the ash with a small puff.

‘Mostly, but to be honest this is how they’re always done. Not original thinkers, arsonists.’

They turned to the bodies, blackened flesh like jerky, smudged bones poking through.

‘And there’s no sign of a child?’

‘Not that I’ve found, and I’ve been through it thoroughly.’

‘Maybe they’d get burnt up completely?’

‘No,’ he pointed to the nearer of the two bodies. ‘See how much of them is left, even having been right in the middle of the blaze?’

He started brushing away more ash, moving up the shin towards the knee. Tanya opened her mouth to say something but caught a flake in her throat, making her cough.

I hope that wasn’t from one of the bodies
, she thought.

Too grim to even consider, but she couldn’t shift the idea. She went back to her car, feeling her breathing quicken, which only made it worse. There was a bottle of water she’d left there a few days ago and eventually her fingers touched the cold plastic, jammed under the front passenger seat. She pulled it out, gulping down the last few mouthfuls, the water tasting flat, stale.

She’d felt something else down there as well and put her hand back in to retrieve it. Her ID card, the police logo on the back.

But when she flipped it over the picture wasn’t her.

It had her name, but the image was of a woman in bondage gear, crudely cut out and plastered on top of her
own. For a moment she was too stunned to think who could have done it. Then it came.

Inspector Wim Bloem
, she thought,
what a bastard.

They’d never got on, and despite working in the same department for several years she’d for the most part managed to keep out of his way. As one of the three Inspectors he chose his underlings, and Tanya wasn’t one of them. Unless there was a particularly shitty job he needed doing.

And they had occasional verbal sparring contests, name calling, snide comments about her red hair. But just recently the run-ins had become more frequent, the sarcasm more cutting.

He must feel threatened by me taking the Inspector exams.

She tried to peel off the image but it was held in place with something industrial strength.

And how did he get into my car?

Tanya gave up. She wasn’t going to even think about it now and looked over again at the remains of the house. Something was wrong with all of this. They should have been able to make it out of a single-storey building, so what stopped them?

And what about the car
, she thought,
where is it?

She walked back to the humming fireman who had now completely exposed the first body and was working on the second.

‘Something to show you.’ He gestured to the first body.

It was lying on its back, arms wedged underneath.

That’s not good.

Pulling on some gloves she moved forward and squatted down, fighting the revulsion growing in her, making her head swirl. She reached her hand out and then
hesitated, before forcing herself to touch the charred flesh. It was still warm, and for a second she had the feeling the body was still alive.

It was light, and she lifted it slightly, her hand underneath the collarbone, trying to see what had held the arms beneath the body’s back.

‘They must have been tied up,’ she said. ‘But I can’t see anything.’

‘Same with this one here.’

Maybe forensics will find something
, she thought. But she didn’t hold out much hope.

Letting the skeleton-body roll back – it settled down into the ash as if it belonged there, a bird in its nest – she stood up, wanting to move away.

It was murder. She had to call it in.

As she waited to be put through to the station chief, she remembered that in less than two months he was headed south, to take control of a much larger district in Maastricht.

At which point it was likely Bloem would take over from him.

At which point
, she thought, just as a voice came on the line,
my life will become hell.

‘What have you got?’

‘Murder, two adults, and there might be a missing child,’ said Tanya

‘Fantastic. Let me see who’s free.’

She heard him put down the phone and speak to someone in the office.

‘Okay, sit tight,’ he said. ‘Bloem’s on his way.’