After the Silence: Inspector Rykel Book 1 (Amsterdam Quartet) (30 page)

Friday, 6 January 2012
12.43

The windscreen wipers were working hard, squeaking, and the tyres weren’t gripping too well as she pulled up at one of the port entrances, the car sliding forward, despite her low speed. She couldn’t believe Jaap hadn’t told her about the shipping company, and that he hadn’t answered her call once she’d given Bloem the slip. Did he not trust her, was that it? Did he want to rescue Adrijana himself? Or was it because of what had nearly happened last night? He now felt he had to protect her?

Or am I just being paranoid?
she thought.

As she killed the engine and got out of the car she could see Bloem, cuffed to Haak, bellowing like a stuck cow. There was going to be hell to pay for that. But right now she didn’t care.

The important thing was Adrijana.

The only thing was Adrijana.

Friday, 6 January
12.49

The clean-up team had arrived, and Jaap and Kees were stepping out the front door when two uniforms Jaap didn’t recognize appeared in front of them, blocking their way.

‘Rykel?

Jaap and Kees exchanged a glance, the tone of voice out of place.

‘Inspector Rykel. Yes?’

The first uniform held up a pair of cuffs, dangling the loop from a finger.

‘You’re under arrest.’

Friday, 6 January
13.21

Is this for real?
thought Kees as he heard the news exploding round the station.

Smit hadn’t seemed that impressed when he’d told him about the call he’d had from Roemers. He’d expected action, congratulations, being put in charge of the case, but all he’d got was a tepid reaction and a curt thank you.

And yet now he’d had Jaap arrested.

He knew he’d made a mistake, and then when that fucking priest had looked at him as if he knew exactly what was going on in his head, well … it had sealed it as a bad deal.

Now he felt sure it would get out that he’d been spying for Smit. And Smit wouldn’t protect him, he couldn’t give less of a toss, he saw that now. He’d been played.

By that fat fuck of a Station Chief.

He was finished.

His relationship with Marinette was over, his career was over, and that would probably mean, just to top everything off, that he and Carice would be over as well.

He’d fucked up, and he knew it.

But even if he was finished, there was one thing he wanted to do. Find the woman who, if he’d managed to
catch her on the first day, might have been able to stop all of this from happening.

Because when he thought about it, the whole situation he found himself in could have been avoided had she not run.

And, well, he wanted some payback, payback for being knocked out yesterday. He turned to leave the building but as he passed the front desk the Sergeant called out to him, waving a phone.

Friday, 6 January
13.54

Tanya had been trying his phone every minute for the last ten, but it kept just going straight to voicemail.
Damn
. She really needed to talk to him.

Maybe
, she thought,
someone at his station knows where he is
.

She called, asked to speak to him, and, after a long pause in which she wondered if the connection had been lost, heard a voice.

‘Inspector Terpstra.’

‘Hey, Kees, It’s Tanya, I’m trying to get hold of Jaap but he’s not picking up?’

‘Yeah, uuh, he’s kind of busy at the moment.’

‘Look, can you get him, it’s really important.’

Another pause.

‘I can’t right now.’

‘When will he be free?’

‘Could be a while, he’s just been arrested.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I’m … I’m not really sure.’ Tanya knew him well enough to know he was holding something back. She knew Jaap hadn’t wanted Kees to know about what he was up to, but now it looked too late.

‘Shit. Is this because he’s been investigating Andreas Hansen’s killing?’

‘It could be, I guess.’

Did Kees already know
? she thought.
Was it Kees who ratted on Jaap
?

‘Can you get a message to him, it’s really urgent, I think I’ve found her.’

Friday, 6 January
13.55

Kees put the phone down, his head swimming.

He was feeling sick, guilt seeping throughout his body. His career was over, the level of mistrust from his colleagues once they learnt of his deception would make his life hell.

At least
, he thought to himself,
Judas got paid some silver. All I got were vague promises about my career.

But he owed Jaap now, or at least he felt he did, and went back upstairs, cursing himself for his stupidity.

The atmosphere in the office was tense, the news that Jaap was being held in one of the holding cells had ricocheted round the office like a wrecking ball, and nobody quite knew what to do. Some were openly questioning why he’d been arrested, others were more circumspect, not wanting to get involved in case it was serious.

Which, the general consensus said, it had to be as none of them had ever seen a colleague of theirs, one of them, being treated like a common criminal.

And of course Kees got the brunt of the questions, and each time he had to say he didn’t know any more than they did, it had felt like he was nailing himself to a cross, knowing that his denials would be remembered when the truth came out.

He had to talk to Jaap, give him Tanya’s message. And whilst he was there, he might as well come clean. It probably wouldn’t help, his career in the police would be finished now anyway, but it was, he saw, the right thing to do. Face up to it, to his mistake.

His mouth felt dry.

Friday, 6 January
14.09

Jaap had been in this very cell so many times over the last few years that he couldn’t even begin to count. Faces, crimes, interviews, some clear, others blurring together, joined only by the seam of their stupid repetitiveness.

But he could remember them in broad terms, because there were distinct categories of reaction, those who broke down almost straight away, the ones who thought that cockiness would see them through, finger-pointers who blamed everyone but themselves, those who raged, against the police, their lawyers, their victims, fate itself.

But the category who had always spooked Jaap were the clams, the ones who just sat there, immutable, immobile, resolute in their refusal to engage with any of the tactics, empathy, shouting, bargaining.

That’s what I should do
, he thought as the door opened and De Waart stepped in, his face grave. Jaap thought he could glimpse something underneath it though, triumph maybe.

‘It’s a sad day for all of us, Jaap.’

‘What the fuck am I here for?’

‘Didn’t they tell you when they arrested you? Maybe you can get off on a technicality.’

‘They said evidence suppression, but that doesn’t mean anything to me. This is just about you, isn’t it?’

De Waart shook his head, a teacher disappointed by his protégé.

‘It’s about the law, Jaap. It’s about following orders, it’s about not doing anything so stupid as tamper with evidence from a case which belongs to another Inspector.’

Jaap stared at him, trying not to show the realization which was starting to form in his head.

‘Because when you played with Andreas’ phone at the morgue – we have the CCTV tape by the way – you were fucking with
my
investigation.’

‘This is bullshit.’

‘No, I’ll tell you what’s bullshit. What’s bullshit is that you’ve just chucked away your career, and you did it by fucking with me. I’m checking with the phone company, see what it was you deleted. But it’s kind of irrelevant anyway. We’ll drop the charge of evidence suppression. You want to know why?’

Jaap didn’t respond, thinking that at least he’d deleted the same message from his own phone.

‘Well, I’m going to tell you.’ He cracked the knuckles on his left hand. ‘We’re actually upping the charge. To murder.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The gun that killed Andreas has turned up. It was in your houseboat, Jaap. And when they ran a fingerprint check’ – he held his palm out and waggled his fingers – ‘the only ones they found were yours.’

Friday, 6 January
14.13

Jaap looked around, at the scuffed and scratched concrete walls, the smell of sweat and fear saturating the air, and wondered what he could do. It was because of Andreas that he was here.

No it’s not
, he told himself,
it’s because of my inability to let go. It’s because I stubbornly believed that I had to find his killer, that I was the only one smart enough to do it.

Suddenly he wanted to kick something, tear the bench from the wall and smash it on to the floor. He’d been set up. Whoever was behind this had planned for everything. If they failed to kill him, twice, they still had a backup plan. Frame him.

And if he couldn’t prove otherwise he was going to have all the time in the world to go over and over his mistakes. A week ago he was on track to take over from Smit, and now …

It was as if he’d learnt nothing in that year.

Desire causes suffering.

And attachment was a form of desire. He’d become too attached to revenge. Sure he’d called it justice, to himself, but really it was vengeance.

He’d become attached, and now he was suffering.

Simple.

He sat back against the wall, his head against the cold concrete, closing his eyes, the anger from a moment ago gone.

Why could he not figure it out?

Yuzuki Roshi had often told him to be the master of his own mind, not be mastered by it.

He started counting his breaths, trying to let go of his thoughts.

His pulse gradually slowed, as did his breathing.

CCTV.

The planted journalist.

And Andreas’ phone call to the station.

He’d spoken to someone, the length of the call proved that. Jaap had assumed they’d made Andreas wait whilst they tried to get in contact with him, but what if Andreas had spoken to someone, told them what he’d texted Jaap?

Why
, he thought as he heard voices moving down the corridor towards his cell,
didn’t I think of that before?

A key scraped in the lock.

Jaap looked up, expecting to see Smit, but it was Kees who stepped in, closing the door behind him.

He looked nervous.

Friday, 6 January
14.18

Kees needed to swallow, his Adam’s apple felt like a tennis ball stuffed down his throat.

Finding the cell – at least they’d put him in on his own – he’d asked the Duty Sergeant to let him in.

Jaap was sitting on the bench, his back straight against the wall. His eyes were closed and he looked weirdly calm.

‘I –’ started Kees but Jaap cut him off as his eyes opened.

‘This isn’t going to reflect on you, you know.’

‘Sorry?’

‘They know you had nothing to do with it.’

Kees, confused, didn’t know what to say.

‘You look confused.’

‘I am,’ said Kees, cautiously, sensing that there was a glimmer of hope.

Or it might just be a trap.

He needed to swallow; he fought the urge, then tried to hide it with a cough, the noise sounding strange in the cell.

‘Sorry, I should have trusted you right from the start, told you what was going on.’

Kees, unsure if he could trust his voice, had to ask, ‘So what is going on?’, still not sure if he was out of the woods.

‘They checked the CCTV tapes at the morgue and saw me messing with Andreas’ phone, I deleted a message he’d sent me.’

That’s what De Waart was asking me about.

‘So …’ Kees tried to keep the relief out of his voice. ‘… it was Inspector De Waart who had you arrested?’

‘Who else?’ Jaap looked at him. ‘And someone planted a gun, with my prints on it, at my houseboat. The same gun that killed Andreas.’

‘Listen.’ Keen now to get away from the topic, inside a voice kept repeating,
He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know
. ‘Tanya just called for you. She says she’s found the girl, at some shipping company?’

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s there now.’

‘On her own?’

‘I think so.’

Jaap considered this for a second.

‘Okay, there are two things I need you to do for me.’

‘Yeah?’

‘You heard about the press conference, about the journalist who made those accusations? Well I tried to find out who it was, but he didn’t work for the paper he said he did.’

‘So it was a set-up?’

‘Exactly. Whoever killed Andreas planted him there, to make it harder for us to investigate his death. Now that Haak is dead, finding that journalist is the only way we’re going to get them. That journalist would have entered the building by the front, see if you can find someone who doesn’t sign in. He might even have been brought in as an arrest.’

‘Okay, and the second thing?’

Jaap looked at him as if trying to make a decision. The light overhead started buzzing and flickered once, before dying completely.

‘The second thing could land you in a whole lot of trouble.’

Friday, 6 January
14.32

Tanya watched as the man pulled out his phone.

He started speaking, something foreign, then laughed. As he hung up he took one last drag on his cigarette, the smoke getting lost in the falling snow. He tossed the butt and ground it with his heel like he was an actor playing a tough guy in a film. Then he unzipped and pissed a pattern in the snow, before shaking, zipping back up and walking away from the door he’d been guarding ever since Tanya had turned up.

She pulled her head back round the edge of the shipping container she was crouching behind and felt for her gun. Taking one last look around, the rows of containers like a strange city, the man’s footprints showing the direction he’d gone in, she dashed across the twenty metres to the door, a small lamp high up on the brick wall framing it in a yellow triangle. The door itself was metal, the surface dull and dented, the number ‘17’ sprayed on in black, and beneath the letters ‘BSC’.

Unholstering her gun, she reached out her hand, slowly closing her fingers round the handle, as if it could be startled, and began very slowly to turn it, afraid that the man would have locked it.

But he hadn’t, it turned freely, and she inched it open, not breathing, her ears straining to hear anything from inside. There was nothing. So she pushed it open a bit further, just enough to get her head in. A large cavernous space, stacked with even more shipping containers and stairs leading down off to her left.

She slipped in and closed the door softly behind her, scanning for movement. The stairs creaked as she descended, even though she was placing each foot with as much care as she could. At the bottom there was another door, marked ‘Private’, and this was ajar, no light showing from beyond. She pushed it open and tried to peer into the darkness, and then crept along the corridor, one hand against the freezing rough concrete, the other holding her gun down by her side.

A little voice started to whisper to her.

You shouldn’t be here on your own.

Then her hand hit metal, another door. The noise caused something to move on the far side. She stopped dead still, holding her breath, waiting to hear it again. But nothing came, and a minute or so later she decided to push on.

The door opened easily, total darkness inside. Her fingers connected with a light switch on the wall, she threw it, stepped back into the corridor and raised her gun, holding it with both hands. Her eyes reacted to the light, and she had to fight to keep them open.

There was movement, scuffling sounds, but no gunshots or voices. The picture came into focus as her eyes adapted; there were figures, three, bound and gagged, huddled together against the far wall, their eyes bottomless pits of fear.

Two young women, about eighteen Tanya guessed, and in between them a younger girl, shaking her head, feet scrabbling uselessly on the floor.

She had red hair.

It was her.