After the Silence: Inspector Rykel Book 1 (Amsterdam Quartet) (7 page)

Monday, 2 January
13.36

Jaap’s hand shook as he pressed the doorbell. Saskia opened the door, one hand supporting her swollen belly as if it might fall, and looked at him, eyes probing his.

Her face crumpled.

‘No,’ she sobbed. She lunged forward, her arms flailing, ‘you should have been with him.’

Jaap grabbed her, pinned her arms and held her tight. She squirmed against him. Then the tears came. Her body shook.

He’d never felt so sick.

He manoeuvred her into the house, and managed to sit her down on the sofa. For a moment he’d been worried she was going to pass out – the shock had seemingly stopped her breathing and her face had whitened whilst her eyelids flicked. He got her a drink of water, tipping the glass into her mouth, two streams dribbling down the sides of her lips.

He went through to the kitchen to fill the glass up again. The water was freezing and as he swallowed some a sharp pain stabbed him right in the forehead.

Saskia was still sobbing next door, and he didn’t know what to do. He’d had the training in grief counselling that
cops had to undertake, but what at the time had seemed pragmatic now appeared to be useless.

So he went and sat beside her, his arm round her shoulder, whilst she cried it out.

‘I loved him, you know?’ she said finally.

Jaap squeezed her shoulder. ‘I know. He loved you too, I could tell.’

‘How did he die?’

‘Saskia –’

‘Just tell me!’

She turned to him, shrugging his arm off her shoulder, her mouth set hard. She’d always been prone to rages, that was one of the reasons it’d not worked out between them. Jaap had been curious as to how Andreas had dealt with them, wondering if she was different with him. But he’d never asked.

‘He was shot.’

‘Who by?’

‘We don’t know yet but –’

‘So what are you doing here?’ Her voice was rising, and her face was heating up. ‘Why aren’t you out there finding out?’

‘I’m –’

‘Just go,’ she turned away from him. ‘I want you to go right now.’

Monday, 2 January
14.41

‘So what do you think has happened?’

Jaap had left Saskia after calling a friend of hers – he didn’t think she should be alone – and had gone straight to Gert Roemers, head of the computer crimes unit. On the way over Jaap had been trying to clear his mind, trying to get a grip on what was going on.

But his mind wouldn’t clear.

Roemers was staring at the screen, his face and hands softly illuminated in the dark room.

Rumour had it that Roemers’ wife had thrown him out over three months ago and he now slept by his desk in the basement which housed his unit. The room certainly smelt like someone was living there, a kind of soft funk which was on the verge of blooming into something unpleasant, though Jaap couldn’t see what he’d actually sleep on. Unless he used the dirty, padded swivel chair he was sitting in now.

‘You’re sure that there was stuff on here?’

‘There should be years of case files on there, basically every report he’s done was done on this computer.’

‘Maybe he kept everything on an external drive?’

Jaap tried to picture Andreas’ desk; he was certain there was no external drive.

‘No, it was all there.’

Roemers looked at him with raised eyebrows.

Jaap, trying not to get angry but unable to stop the irritation creeping into his voice: ‘It
was
there.’

Roemers’ hands shot off the keyboard, raised to his shoulders like someone had just told him to stick ’em up.

‘Okay, okay. I’ll have a dig around and see what I can find, but you’ll have to leave it with me overnight.’

A thought hit Jaap: he remembered Andreas telling him that he’d got some service which backed up his computer online. Andreas had been excited that it could sync two computers.

Jaap had thought it sounded like hell. He didn’t even have a computer at home, but if he did there was no way he’d want it cluttered up with old case files. He was about to mention it to Roemers but then thought better of it.

‘Soon as you get something, call me.’

‘Uh huh.’

Jaap turned to leave and had just made it to the door when Roemers, face still communing with the screen, spoke.

‘Sorry about Andreas.’

Jaap stood there a moment, hand on the door handle, his throat swelling up like there was something inside.

He left, unable to trust his voice.

Monday, 2 January
15.32

‘Is there anything we can use?’

Kees had brought the phone logs to him in the canteen. Jaap had suddenly felt he needed food, replacement for what he’d lost earlier, but the bowl in front of him hardly qualified. It didn’t look even vaguely edible, and he pushed the unidentifiable meat stew away, his appetite gone as quickly as it had appeared.

‘The three numbers in Friedman’s phone are all pay as you go, no trace of who bought them. I’ve got call logs for all three and Friedman’s. They don’t send text messages at all and the calls are really short, usually only around ten seconds or less.’

‘And do they call anyone else?’

‘No, just the four numbers, it’s a closed circle.’

‘So they’re disciplined.’

‘Yeah, very. There is a kind of pattern though, and it looks like Friedman is at the centre. He made the most calls to these two numbers here.’ Kees pointed to the sheet. ‘And he usually called them. They rarely call him.’

‘Is it definitely his phone?’

‘Only his prints on it.’

Jaap nodded.

‘How long do the lists go back?’

‘About a month, they don’t keep them any longer. But this third number here?’ He pointed again. ‘This one only calls Friedman’s number, and only a couple of times.’

Jaap stared at the sheets. This was classic drug-dealer behaviour, limit the circle, limit the risk.

‘Have you got location results?’

‘Only for the last forty-eight.’ Kees pulled a sheet from the bottom.

‘Friedman’s was in Amsterdam, as was this one here, the third one was out somewhere up north, and the fourth one looks like it was turned off, it didn’t check in with any cell towers anywhere.’

‘Up north where?’

‘Somewhere in Friesland. Maybe they were cattle rustling.’

Where was it Sergeant van der Mark called from?
thought Jaap.

‘Let me see,’ he said reaching for the sheet.

The cell phone had been in Amsterdam all Saturday and most of Sunday morning, then it was turned off, and only signed in with a cell tower just past midnight in Friesland, then by eight this morning it was back in Amsterdam.

Van der Mark’s murders had happened last night.

‘Leeuwarden’s in Friesland, right?’ he asked Kees.

‘Yeah, pretty sure it is.’

Could that number
, Jaap wondered as he stared at the sheet,
belong to Ludo Haak?

He glanced at Kees, but decided he was going to keep that secret for now. If Kees found this case was linked to
Andreas’ death he wouldn’t put it past him to go running to Smit with the news. Then Jaap would be off the case.

And that he wasn’t willing to risk.

He had a link to Andreas’ killer, and he wasn’t going to let it go.

‘Friedman’s the centre,’ said Jaap going back to the logs, ‘Directing these two, and he answers to this one. Whatever he was directing, it looks like someone didn’t like it much. The fact that whoever killed Friedman left the speaking clock’s number on his phone, well …’ He paused, tapping the desk with a finger. ‘I’m going to need you to turn over this guy’s life, we need to know everything we can about him.’

He wrote a number on a scrap of paper.

‘Call this number and speak to Teije. Tell him I sent you and that you need him to get Friedman’s finances, business and personal.’

‘Is he police?’

‘No, which is why he can do things the quick way.’

‘Yeah, cool.’

Jaap looked across to the only window in the office, a large seagull having just landed on the window sill, tucking in its wings, cocking its head from side to side.

‘You think whoever owns these numbers is next in line?’ asked Kees.

Jaap watched as the bird turned round on bright orange feet, a dribble of shit splashing on to the lead sill before it launched itself with a leathery flap of wings.

‘Looks like it. The problem is, how do we find them first?’

Kees went to his desk and started making calls, and Jaap bashed out a quick report summary for Smit.

Whilst he waited for it to print he unlocked his desk drawer and looked down at his gun, a standard issue Walther P5.

His hand hovered for a second, just the sight of it bringing back a day seven years ago.

A day he’d fucked up.

Badly.

He picked the gun up, feeling the weight, the texture on the grip.

He could feel his finger pumping eight times.

The ringing in his ears.

Blood smearing on the wall as the two bodies slid down slowly.

Andreas had sorted it all out, messing with the positions, covering for Jaap’s mistake.

He was there for me then
, thought Jaap as he felt the gun’s weight, the feeling of power,
and last night I failed him.

Jaap turned the gun over and thought about what had happened next, the gradual deterioration. He’d felt like he was a jigsaw on a wall. And the bits started to fall out, one by one. It was then the white streak had appeared in his hair; he remembered the morning a few weeks after the incident when he’d first noticed it glaring out at him in the bathroom mirror.

He carried on for six months, his relationship with Saskia deteriorating, before one day he just couldn’t get out of bed.

Literally.

Saskia had moved out by then, but Andreas dropped round wondering why he hadn’t turned up for work.

He got Jaap to talk to a shrink. The shrink didn’t help
him. But he did write a recommendation that Jaap be taken off active duty until such time he was deemed fit for work.

They said the rest would make things better. That and the pills they gave him.

The rest didn’t help, if anything it made things worse, and the pills didn’t do much either. Principally as he flushed them down the toilet each day, the little blue sphere bobbing in the turbulent water before disappearing.

After two months at home Jaap couldn’t bear it any more. Dragging himself out of bed following yet another sleepless night he packed a bag and went to Schiphol airport.

He picked a flight at random, and spent the next few weeks moving around, staying only until he felt compelled to move on, each new destination again picked at random.

By the time he found himself in Kyoto he’d run out of money.

And out of willpower.

Wandering round the city, the first snow of winter falling, and darkness thickening, he took shelter at a small temple in the Ukyo-ku ward.

He felt like he couldn’t move any more, and lay down outside.

They discovered him several hours later and took him in. He woke the next day in a tiny room.

He was politely asked to move on. He didn’t have the energy to argue. But he didn’t have the energy to go either.

After a few days a monk, Yuzuki Roshi, took pity on him, and got him a job in the temple kitchen. Payment was food.

And several hours of sitting every day.

Non-negotiable.

So Jaap sat, and months later, after the plum trees had blossomed, after their petals had fallen, after the sticky summer heat had subsided and the insects that buzzed round his face had shrivelled up and died in the first frosts of autumn, he knew that he had to go back.

But on the flight home he’d sworn to himself that he’d never carry a gun again.

And here he was holding it in his hand.

After a moment’s hesitation he returned it, locked the drawer, retrieved the report from the printer, and headed to the floor above.

Smit wasn’t ready for Jaap when he arrived at his office so he called Sergeant van der Mark.

‘Hey, sorry it took so long to get back to you, I’ve got a bit of a situation on my hands.’

‘That’s okay.’

‘What I didn’t tell you earlier was that Andreas Hansen was killed last night –’

‘God … I’m sorry.’

‘And I think Haak is involved.’

‘How?’

‘I’m not sure, but we’re going to need to go through what we’ve each got.’

‘There’s something else. The couple that were killed had a child, and it’s missing.’

Jaap saw Smit standing in the doorway, looking at him. He knew Smit didn’t like to be kept waiting.

‘I’m going to have to call you back.’

‘Yeah, fine. I might even be in Amsterdam tomorrow, I
really need to find out about Ludo Haak, so maybe we could meet?’

‘Sure, let me know what time you’ll be arriving.’

Jaap looked over at Smit as he put away his phone, wondering how much he’d heard.

Smit ushered Jaap into his office. The room was furnished in a style which was clearly meant to convey power and seriousness, but ended up looking like a set for an eighties film about Wall Street greed.

Rumour was that Smit was aiming for Chief of Police – he’d spent the last six months trying to get everyone’s clearance rates up, which presumably would form part of his bid for the top job. If Smit did move up, the position of Station Chief would become free, and Jaap figured he would be best placed to take on the role.

Though there’s always De Waart
, he told himself.
What if he goes for it too?

Smit sat behind the ostentatious dark wooden desk and Jaap took the seat opposite.

‘How are you holding up?’ started Smit.

‘You know, pretty shaken.’

‘We all are,’ he said shaking his head, ‘we all are. Do you need a few days’ leave?’

Jaap knew this was coming and had prepared.

‘Well, I was hoping I could take on Andreas’ case?’

Smit looked at him as if he were an idiot.

‘You know I can’t allow that, if the press found out …’ He let it hang. ‘And anyway De Waart is taking the case.’

‘De Waart?’ Jaap tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

Smit’s tone slid down the temperature scale.

‘Yes, De Waart. I know that he and Andreas didn’t get on, but he’s a professional, he wants to see justice served as much as anybody else in the department.’ He paused, and when he started again his voice had warmed up a bit. ‘Maybe I can get you a few days’ leave, I can always let Kees run your case.’

Jaap had been thinking about the break-in at his houseboat. Luckily he’d been out when whoever it was broke down his front door. If he’d been there then who knew what could have happened. But then again, if his sister Karin hadn’t called in a total state – six months back from Afghanistan and nowhere near over what she witnessed – then he’d have gone with Andreas. In which case Andreas might still be alive.

Or we’d both be dead
, he thought.

‘Well?’ asked Smit.

Jaap thought of Andreas, his brain splattered over the concrete, and he thought of Saskia, carrying Andreas’ child.

He was going to nail whoever was responsible, he had to.

And being on leave would make it more difficult, even if he was going to have to hide what he was doing from Smit.

‘There was something else. Andreas’ laptop has been wiped clean. I think whoever killed him did it.’

‘Why?’

‘He must have had some information on there, something to do with the case we were working’ – Smit was giving him the fish eye – ‘and my houseboat was hit last night. And do you know what was stolen? Nothing. Whoever busted my front door down took nothing.’

Smit, elbows on the table, steepled his fingers, sniffing
surreptitiously at the tips. There was something there which he was deriving a certain amount of pleasure from. His eyes fell to the report Jaap had put on his desk. Jaap waited.

‘You and Andreas, you were getting somewhere with this case, the gang, Black Tulips I think you said they were called?’

‘Yeah, I think we were really close.’

Smit thought for a moment.

‘I wouldn’t normally ask this, but as we’re a man down I want you to carry on with the Herengracht case. From what I’ve seen here’ – he tapped the report – ‘I agree with you, there’s a good chance whoever killed Friedman is going to try and get to the people who own those other numbers. If that’s the case I can’t afford to let Kees run it on his own.’

Those people might be my only chance to find out who killed Andreas
, Jaap thought,
I’ve got to get to them before the killer does. But I still don’t know why the killer left the phone in the first place.

‘And I’ll need you to brief De Waart on what you know first thing tomorrow,’ continued Smit. ‘But this has got to be clear, you go nowhere near De Waart’s investigation.’

‘Okay,’ Jaap said, getting up, Smit’s smile like a shark spotting a lone seal bobbing on the surface of the ocean, ‘I’ll stay right out of it.’

‘And Jaap?’

‘Yes?’

‘I know you had to take time out a few years ago, so if you start to feel the pressure … well, just let me know, okay? We can’t have another … mishap.’