Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) (18 page)

After their lovemaking Katla had fallen asleep, but Bram had drowsed for an hour, unable to join her. In the end he gave up sleep and put on some music, at a volume just enough to drown out the soft clicking of his new ALVA Braille display, hooked up to a new Apple laptop with the latest screen reader software.
 

The Braille equipment had been provided for free by Bartimeus Foundation, but the ridiculously expensive laptop was a gift from Katla. Although she hadn’t presented the computer as a gift. ‘Research tools’ is what she called it. As her strategic advisor, he had to keep abreast of the latest news. To do that, it wasn’t enough to read the newspaper. Or, the way Bram did in the past, have the newspaper read to him by his sister Bianca.

He wasn’t doing any research now, though. The fascinating aspect of internet was the communities—and not particularly the communities of the blind, but more the communities where you could play online Go. Until Katla hooked him up to the internet, Bram had been taught Go by Tetsuo, who had been his sole opponent for years now. Since Tetsuo was a master at the game and serious about teaching him the intricacies of Go strategy, the years hadn’t been wasted, but now he found he could play Go online worldwide. There was always someone available in another time zone, who was up for a game, to broaden his experience as a well-rounded player. And, unlike in his games with Tetsuo, his opponent didn’t know anything about him apart from his moves on the board.

Right now, his opponent was someone called ‘atarinyc’. Atari was the term for ‘capture threat’, moving your stones in a way that forces the opponent to follow your lead in order to avoid stones being captured. His opponent had been defensive almost from the beginning, playing conservatively, allowing Bram to take the lead and control the game. Bram finished him off with a crushing victory and checked his ranking. He’d shot up two more ranks on the online Go server’s ranking system. Not bad for two months of playing online Go, but if he wanted a real rank, he’d have to enter a regular club tournament. He didn’t know if he really wanted to go public, preferring the anonymity of the online community.

Katla turned over, mumbled sleepily, and resumed snoring again.

Before he met her, Bram had been quite content to live in his own little world—playing music, listening to jazz records, working as a shiatsu masseur, training aikido and playing Go. The Japanese club was situated at the edge of the Amsterdam Red Light District, but despite the availability of all the vice and temptation, he’d lived like a monk—no television or radio; no cell phone, internet or email account.

His watch beeped. Half past two. He’d better get some sleep.

Bram brushed his teeth and slipped under the covers. Shutting down wasn’t easy, he tossed and turned for at least half an hour, because he could hear his watch signal three o’ clock.

In the haze between waking and sleeping, Katla appeared to him out of the fog, her head that of a wolf. A wolf with blood on her jaws. She beckoned him to follow, turned and walked away. Her silvery fur made her hard to distinguish in the fog, but he followed her as well as he could. They passed under huge metal structures on wheels that rolled over cobblestones. Chains jangled petulantly overhead.

Something else stalked through the fog as well, something dangerous. Katla halted and put a finger to his lips. Her lupine ears switched back and forth, pinpointing the malevolent presence. Again she beckoned him to follow her, but he didn’t want to.
 

Without looking back, Katla moved away from him, following the malevolent presence. Bram hurried after her, terrified of being alone in the fog. He heard something behind him and glanced over his shoulder.

Nothing.

He looked in front of him, but Katla was gone.

Bram stopped, listening. The fog dampened the sounds around him. This wasn’t good. He couldn’t call out for her. The malevolent presence would hear him. The fog grew dense and he couldn’t even see his feet anymore.

Why had he followed her? This wasn’t who he was. Suddenly he felt like he was being observed. In the fog, just out of view, someone studied him.
 

Gauged him.

He was a Judas goat.

Katla would look for him. And whoever observed him waited patiently for Katla to come back for him. And when she appeared, the presence would pounce. And she would be killed, because of him.

Katla switched on the Sphinx phone and found the police had called again. She rang back, asked for detective Goedhart.
 

Goedhart came on the phone breathlessly and asked straight away, “Have you been to Mr. Vermeer’s office?”

“Quite often,” Katla replied. “It’s on the Prinsengracht, opposite the Anne Frank Huis.”

“Yesterday, the security company got a burglary alarm.” Goedhart sounded like he read her a report. “The responding security guard came upon three Chinese men who had keys to the office, but they were not inside the office yet. Apparently, the rear window leading to the courtyard gardens was open and a bird was flying about in the office.”

“So why didn’t the Chinese men switch off the alarm?”

“The security guard switched it off, when he entered the office.”

Katla paused briefly. “Was the office burgled?”

“Apart from the open window and the bird, nothing seemed out of order. The Chinese men said they would lock up and reset the alarm.”

“Let me guess,” Katla said. “They didn’t. And when the security guard went back to the office, the office was burgled.”

“Exactly,” Goedhart replied. “So—”

“So, Pascal disappears, his car’s abandoned and now his office burgled by three Chinese who had keys, but no security code.”

“Or didn’t feel inclined to use it.”

“Doubtful,” Katla said. “Using the security code would be preferable to using the ruse with the window and the bird.”

“You missed your calling,” Goedhart said. She could hear the admiration in his voice. “We figured the bird and window was a ruse too. Leaving your window open when you have motion detectors is stupid.”

“And Pascal wasn’t. Thanks for the update, detective.”

Goedhart cleared his throat. “I hoped you’d like to have lunch? To discuss the case? You have great instincts.”

“Regretfully, I have my hands full at the moment, but I wish you good luck with your investigation.”

“Thank you,” Goedhart replied and rang off.

All she needed, a detective hitting on her. Maybe she should be less charming.

Katla shook her head and switched off the Sphinx cell phone.

Police detective Pieter Kouwenoord looked up as Gene Zhang was ushered into his office.
 

“Mr. Zhang.” Kouwenoord rose and shook Zhang’s hand, which lay in his palm like a dead fish. “Good of you to come.”

He sat down and gestured for Zhang to take the seat on the other side of his desk. Kouwenoord resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his trouser leg—he knew the handshake was weak because the Chinese don’t like to shake hands, but that didn’t mean he liked shaking hands with them.

“I was told my firm was under investigation?” Zhang inquired. “I’m not aware of any wrongdoings that would require a police investigation.”

“Do you know a Mr. Thooft?”

“Should I?”

Kouwenoord took the evidence bag with the business card from the file in his drawer and put it on the desk. Zhang studied the card without touching, then reached in his pocket and produced a flat silver box. He placed a business card on the table next to the evidence bag. Apart from the flawless quality of Zhang’s card, the crumpled card in the bag had another lay-out.

“Our firm switched to this new lay-out two years ago.” Zhang pointed at the card in the bag. “And we do not reside at that address anymore.”

“Can you explain how this card ended up with Mr. Thooft?”

“Maybe you should ask him.”

“He’s not in a position to answer our questions, Mr. Zhang. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“I have no idea, detective. We stopped using this business card two years ago. And this is a general business card, it doesn’t feature the name of any of my employees. Why isn’t Mr. Thooft available to answer questions?”

“Thooft was found murdered in his taxi. With this business card wedged in his mouth. Do you have any idea why?”

“Why he was murdered or why our old business card was in his mouth?”

Kouwenoord leant back in his chair. “Both.”

“I can’t answer either,” Zhang replied. “We don’t keep track of business cards and we have our own transport.”

Kouwenoord took the crime scene photos from the file and placed them next to the bagged business card. “What does this look like to you?”

Zhang showed no emotion whatsoever as he looked at the photos of the corpse crumpled behind the steering wheel with his throat slit and a business card protruding from between his pale bloodless lips.
 

He looked up at Kouwenoord. “Looks like a dead man.”

“His throat is slit, Mr. Zhang.”

Zhang nodded. “That appears to be the case, yes. So?”

“This wasn’t an ordinary execution. Using a short-distance weapon like a knife is different from a bullet in the head.”

“More personal, you mean?”

“Sometimes,” Kouwenoord replied. “But in a family feud people aren’t slaughtered like this unless someone is extremely angry.”

Zhang steepled his fingers. “And this man’s relatives are not suspect?”

“His relatives wouldn’t leave your business card in his mouth.”

“Unless they want to throw you off the scent. I’m sorry, but I fail to see what my firm has to do with your crime scene, detective. We had several thousand of these general business cards printed. They were on the counter for anyone to take.”

“Did you or your firm receive any threats?”

Zhang shook his head. “I know where you’re going, detective, but I doubt if your taxi driver was killed as a warning to us.”

“I hope you’re right, Mr. Zhang. This was a brutal killing, I wouldn’t want the person responsible to be interested in me.” Kouwenoord rose to his feet. “I won’t keep you anymore, but I’d like to be informed if you, or any employee of your firm, plans to leave the country.”

“No problem,” Zhang replied. They shook hands and Kouwenoord ushered him out of his office, then went straight to the lavatory to wash his hands.

The Mojo was berthed in the bay south of Zeeburgereiland, to the embankment that separated the calm waters of the Y-meer from one of the busiest waterways in the world, the Amsterdam-Rijnkanaal. Bram walked from the tram stop near Flevopark to the Westelijke Merwedekanaaldijk, and climbed three flights up the open air staircase to the Amsterdamsebrug, highest point of the Zuiderzeeweg arching over the bay. He crossed the bridge to the other side of the narrow strait that connected Amsterdam to the industrial agglomeration of the Ruhr Gebiet in Germany, and descended the metal stairs down to the ZuiderIJdijk. From the bridge it was just a short walk to the Mojo. Bram rang the ship’s bell and walked to the top of the gangway, standing still to give Shaitan the opportunity to drool over his shoes. When the Rottweiler padded away, Zeph still hadn’t shown.
 

Bram walked around the pilothouse to the door and entered, slowly drifting down the steps into the living room. His nostrils filled with the smell of ganja and dirty laundry. A groan came from the direction of the bed.

“Hey, bredda,” Zeph murmured. “You alone?”

“Katla slept at my place. She is not feeling too well. And you?”

“She tell you what happen?”

Bram sat down on the edge of the mattress. “She told me you were hit in the belly.”

“She tell you what she do to the guy?”

“It’s true? She killed him?”

“Unreal, bredda. She rip out his throat with her fingers.”

Bram looked pensive. “That’s why she kept washing her hands.”

“She still upset?”

“Yes.” Bram paused, then asked, “It was self-defence, wasn’t it?”

“Killing him was an accident.”

“What do you mean, by accident?”

“After the guy dead, she push the clump back in his throat. Like she want undo the killing.”

He frowned. “Like she was sorry?”

“Ripping his throat was not intention, but she take no chance on him not going down.”

“That sounds like you think she did the right thing.”

Zeph was silent, then said, “She do bad to do good. Tell her not to be upset no more. Sight?”

“I will. She was afraid you might not like her anymore.”

“She save I-man life, bredda. You still like her, no?”

“I love her,” Bram replied. “But the heart knows no reason.”

-o-

The park was silent enough for Bram to hear the slight tinkling as the chain passed through the hands of the blind jade expert and the soft intake of breath as Tsui Pak Yun encountered the broken links. After lighting a cigarette, Tsui Pak Yun cleared his throat and said, “Value depends on various factors. The age of the stone, the setting, the qual—”

Bram put a hand on his arm. “I’m not selling the pendant, Ah Yun. What about the carvings? Can you read them?”

Tsui Pak Yun hesitated slightly, then spoke, “They’re not signatures, but probably some sort of protective spell. To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about amulets. I know someone who does, but he’d have to study it at leisure. If you leave it with me and come back tomorrow, I can answer all your questions.”

“All my questions?” Bram asked. “Including why you’re being evasive?”

“Evasive?”

“I don’t know what this pendant signifies, but I know it’s not an amulet.”

Someone walked by their bench and Tsui Pak Yun waited until he passed, before he asked, “How did you come by this pendant?”

“Is that important?”

“The rightful owner would never sell it.”

“It was taken,” Bram spoke slowly. “From his corpse.”

Tsui Pak Yun’s breath caught in his throat, but he recovered quickly. “Not by you, I assume.”

“Not by me, no.”

“The person who took the pendant… I’d like to ask him some questions.”