Assignment in Amsterdam

by Carrie Bedford

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Miss Benedict. Do you have some information for me?” He sat down on on the other side of the table. His Delft blue eyes seemed even brighter in the subdued light.

  “Please call me Kate. I do have some information. And I also have a couple of questions.”

  “Fire away,” he said. His accent was strong, but his knowledge of English idiom was good.

  “Did Eline Janssen report a burglary at her apartment a few weeks ago?” I asked.

  Nouwen shook his head. “I don’t know. Was there one?”

  “Karen told us about it.”

  “She didn’t mention a burglary this morning. Was anything valuable taken?”

  The waitress approached with a mug similar to mine and put it down in front of Nouwen. She didn’t bother to tell him about the coffee beans which made me wonder if he was a regular here.

  “Karen said not. Just a lot of damage— broken glass, ripped cushions, that sort of thing, but we think maybe he was looking for this.” I handed him my phone to show him the letter Karen had found in the deposit box.

  Nouwen took it from me but didn’t look at it. “Remind me. How do you know Karen Visser?”

  Memories of sneaking into Eline’s room made me fidget on my chair. “I went to find her after we heard about Eline’s death. Eline had mentioned she was staying with her.”

  “And Eline also mentioned Karen Visser’s address?”

  “Not exactly. I did some research. And Karen was kind enough to make time to talk with me.”

  “Enlighten me. Why would you need to talk with Eline Janssen’s friend?”

  “Because I thought someone wanted to stop the house from being sold,” I said. “I’d hoped she might know something about it.”

  Nouwen seemed to think about that for a moment. “You believe the house sale is the motive for Eline Janssen’s murder?”

  “Possibly.” I didn’t say any more, hoping to draw him out on any theories of his own. But he said nothing and took a long swallow of his coffee.

  “Ok. There’s something screwy going on with the ownership of the house,” I said. I told him about the letter from Tomas to whoever Gezagvoerder might be and was happy to see a spark of interest in his blue eyes. I nodded at the phone screen. “If you read that now, you’ll see why we think Zeckendorf might have had a motive to kill Eline.”

  “Zeckendorf?” Nouwen leaned across the table, his eyes lasering in on mine.

  “You’ve heard of them? Do you know what they do?”

  The detective leaned back in his chair. “I can’t talk about it, sorry. But text me that photo and I’ll follow up.” He handed me back my phone, and I sent him the photo. When his phone pinged, he stared at the image of the document for a moment, his forehead furrowed. “No identifiable names or signatures,” he commented finally. “But I’ll get someone to take a closer look. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

  I tapped my fingers on the scarred and stained tabletop, thinking about how to enlist his help. I decided to be direct. “I think there may soon be another death.”

  That got his attention. “What makes you say that?”

  “Let’s say I’m right about Eline being murdered because of the house sale. Now that Eline is dead, Pieter inherits the entire property.”

  “So, you think Pieter Janssen could be in danger. Given what happened to Eline.” He scrolled through some notes on his mobile. “Ah, William Moresby,” he said. “Mr. Moresby seemed convinced this morning that Pieter Janssen is our prime suspect, as he now inherits everything.”

  “It’s possible,” I agreed.

  “But you think Janssen is a possible target?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest. It’s not him I’m thinking of. It’s Sam Holden, whom you’ve met. And Alex Hart.”

  One of Nouwen’s eyebrows arched. A nifty trick that conveyed surprise, disbelief, an invitation to say more. I complied, wishing I didn’t have to. But I couldn’t think how else to explain about Sam and Alex.

  “I can tell when someone is in danger,” I said. “More precisely, when they’re about to die.”

  Nouwen looked as though I’d just claimed Bigfoot had killed Eline.

  “Really, Kate? Are you going to solve the case for me?” He gave me a weak smile, looking disappointed. At least he wasn’t hostile, but he wasn’t taking me seriously.

  “Listen. I know it sounds mad.” I held up a hand when he started to speak. “But please hear me out. No, I don’t think I can solve your case. In fact, I need your help. There’s real urgency in finding out who killed Eline, because I think her killer might go after Sam next. And Alex.”

  “So, what? You read tea leaves?”

  I breathed in, reminding myself to stay calm. I needed Nouwen on my side.

  “I don’t read leaves,” I said. “I see air circling over the head of the person who’s going to die.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief,” Nouwen said. “Much more scientifically accurate than tea leaves, I’d guess.” The grin had faded, replaced by a deep crease between his brows.

  In the silence that fell between us, I heard the buzz of voices from the table of Americans, a guffaw of laughter and a high-pitched giggle, the thud of a beer glass put down too heavily. Then the coffee bean grinder started up, drowning out everything else. When it stopped, the silence was intense.

  “Eline had an aura,” I said. “I knew she was going to die.”

  “An aura?”

  “I call it an aura, although it’s not really that. Just moving air.”

  “We’re all going to die. How does it help to see this aura thing?”

  “The aura only appears when death is imminent, usually within a few days, or a couple of weeks at most.”

  “Did you warn her? Did you tell Eline what you thought you could see?”

  “No. There was no time. I was going to talk to her about it, but…”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Police protection for Sam and Alex, while you investigate.”

  “I’d need to justify that to my superiors, and they won’t take kindly to a request based on swirling air.”

  “It’s more than just that,” I said. “We’re being followed by the man with the goatee. I saw him at the bank this morning. And I think he caused an accident in which Sam was injured last night.”

  “Sam didn’t mention an accident when we met this morning. Was he hurt?”

  “Not badly, but he could have been. Listen, the point is that we discovered that secret office, and the goatee man is following us. We’re in danger.”

  Nouwen’s blue eyes widened. “You too?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. But I’m mostly concerned with the others. I hoped you might share information with me. If I knew how Eline died, perhaps that would make it easier for me to protect Sam.”

  To give myself something to do while I waited for Nouwen’s response, I pulled my bag closer and retrieved my hand sanitizer. Its lavender smell rose faintly when I rubbed it into my hands, calming my nerves. As Nouwen watched, he seemed to come to a decision. He leaned forward and spoke quietly.

  “Eline Janssen was knocked unconscious and then tipped or thrown into the canal. She was still alive when she hit the water, so the official cause of death was drowning.”

  “Was it supposed to look like an accident?”

  Nouwen shrugged. “I don’t think so. There were signs of blunt trauma on her skull. And a few other injuries.”

  I thought about poor Eline’s last hours. What had led her to be out alone after telling Karen she’d be home watching television?

  “She must have gone to meet someone she knew,” I said. “Did you find her mobile? Maybe there were texts to indicate where she was going?”

  Nouwen shook his head. “We’re dredging the canal to see if we can find it. There are no guarantees. You can’t imagine the stuff that turns up. Bikes, of course, by the hundred, but also bottles, shopping trolleys, false teeth.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No, really,” he said. “And hundreds of historical artifacts. It’s quite fascinating. But we rarely find what we’re looking for.”

  For a moment, Nouwen appeared far less intimidating, but then the frown returned. “I’ll do what I can to get you some protection. But I’d advise you to leave the city if you are truly concerned for your friends’ safety. I know I asked you to stay, but under the circumstances, that might not be the best option for you.”

  I wondered if he just wanted us off his territory. Having British visitors die in his jurisdiction would be rather embarrassing.

  “I have a good team working on this,” he said, clasping his hands on the table on front of him. I noticed how surprisingly delicate they were, smooth and long-fingered. “We are talking to everyone who knew Eline Janssen and we’re looking for eyewitnesses, of course.”

  “What about Tessa? Did you look into her death? I can’t believe she just fell. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “Yes. We’re reviewing the autopsy report.”

  “You’ll talk to Pieter Janssen? He’s up to something, for sure.”

  “When we find him, yes.” Nouwen sighed. I knew I was wearing out my welcome.

  “And Henk, the caretaker at the house. He knows more than he’s saying. He must be a Zeckendorf employee, don’t you think? He’s been working there for decades, even when the house was empty, so someone must have been paying him.”

  Nouwen held up both hands to stop me. “We are following every lead, I promise.” He checked his watch. “I need to go. You have my number and you can ring me anytime. I will be back in touch very soon. For now, just be patient.”

  Patient. The one thing I couldn’t afford to be. Time was running out for Sam and Alex.

  22

  I walked away from the cafe, wondering if I’d achieved what I’d gone for. Nouwen had been courteous, even quite charming, but had he really internalized anything I’d said about the danger to Alex and Sam? Would he act in time to save their lives?

  Feeling the urgency of getting back to the boat to make sure they were okay, I dug in my bag for my mobile to check the map. At the same time, I felt that familiar prickle on the back of my neck, a sudden awareness of someone standing too close. I turned to see the man with the goatee at my shoulder. He dug something sharp into my ribs.

  “No noise,” he warned. “I’ll use the knife. And things will go badly for all of you. Now come with me.”

  I stumbled a few steps forward, steadied by a hand that gripped my elbow. Within seconds, my attacker had shoved me into the back seat of a car, a BMW, probably the one that had come rushing when Sam and I had triggered the alarm in the tunnel. He climbed in beside me and tapped the back of the driver’s seat.

  “Let’s go.”

  In front, the driver revved the engine and we sped off.

  “Who are you?” I twisted to look at the man with the beard. “Is your name Martin Eyghels?”

  He laughed. “Martin Eyghels died a long time ago. You can call me Max.”

  His English was good, with a hint of a British accent, which sounded a little put on. In the rearview mirror, I saw the driver glance back at us, chuckling. I doubted Max was my abductor’s real name.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You ask too many questions. That’s been the problem all along. Prying, poking around, getting into things you shouldn’t. Irresponsible behavior has consequences. Oh, and give me your phone.”

  When I didn’t immediately offer it up, Max sighed. “Don’t be stupid. I will take it from you if I have to.”

  I handed it over, my only link to Sam. It hurt.

  “We were planning to leave the city,” I said. “I was calling for a taxi to the airport when you so rudely interrupted me.”

  He turned his head to gaze at me. He wasn’t particularly evil-looking, although those colorless eyes were cold. The blond, trimmed goatee and neat haircut showed he was more concerned with his appearance than his shapeless black anorak suggested. In his early forties, maybe, he had a strong build, with thigh muscles that strained his dark-wash jeans.

  His thin, pale lips moved upward into a smile, that same smirk he’d given me in the lobby of the bank.

  “Too bad for you, Kate, that I don’t believe you.”

  My stomach filled with ice. He knew my name.

  “And I do appreciate your going for a walk just now,” he said. “I’d tracked you to this area but you did a good job of disappearing and I’d lost you. So, you can imagine how happy I was to see you coming out of that café. Now you can tell me where Sam is.”

  He didn’t know where Sam was. I exhaled a breath of relief.

  “Did you kill Eline?” I asked, to change the subject.

  “It’s my turn to ask a question, and I have several. First, tell me what you found in the safety deposit box.”

  So that was what he was after. “There were several things in there. What were you interested in, specifically?”

  He leaned over and grasped my arm. His accent slipped a bit, rougher, less refined. “Don’t mess with me. You’ll tell me, or I can ask your friends. I’m sure Karen would be happy to talk to me.”

  Once you find her, I thought. And I wasn’t going to help with that. I’d do anything to keep this creep away from the others.

  He kept the pressure on my arm. “Well? What was in the box?”

  I had to tell him something to get him to back off. “There was an addendum to Tomas’s will adding Pieter Janssen as a co-inheritor with Eline.”

  Max released my arm, and I rubbed my wrist to get the blood flowing again.

  “Ah, Pieter,” he murmured.

  “Do you know where he is? Have you taken him too? Or is he working with you?”

  My questions seemed to amuse Max. He smirked and then leaned over to tousle my hair as though I was a little kid who’d just said something silly. I pulled away, horrified, my heart racing.

  Afraid of provoking another weird reaction and worried that he would touch me again, I stayed quiet, wondering about Pieter. He could be dead. That would explain his absence and his silence, but I wasn’t sure why Max would think that what I said was funny, even in the alternate universe that he lived in. And Pieter hadn’t had an aura when I saw him. But then, Alex didn’t have an aura earlier this week either.

  “Do you know about Zeckendorf?” I asked, which caused Max to lean over and grip my wrist again.

  “What do you know about them?”

  “Enough to know they’re up to no good.”

  “You shouldn’t be so quick to judge us.” He let go of my arm and settled back in his seat. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Why don’t you tell me then? What it is that you do?”

  He chose to ignore me, so I gazed out of the window in an attempt to work out where we were going. The area seemed familiar, but we’d walked everywhere, and everything looks different from a car.

  When we stopped at a red light in heavy traffic, I seized the chance. Unlatching my seatbelt while pulling on the door lever, I braced myself, ready to jump. But the door remained closed, the handle useless.

  “Child locks,” Max said.

  Of course. I should have known. He hadn’t bothered to tie my hands. I was a prisoner in the BMW. But maybe I could attract someone’s attention. Beating my fists on the window next to me, I yelled for help, willing a bored driver to look my way, to no avail. The young man in the car nearest to us stared straight ahead, bobbing his head up and down, presumably in time to music I couldn’t hear.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Max’s voice was low and threatening. I looked back to see him extract his knife from his pocket. With an ornate, carved black handle and a long blade tapering to a vicious point, it was a nasty-looking thing that could have come from a medieval torture museum.

  Defeated and furious, I turned away from the window.

  “Sensible move.” Max tucked the weapon back inside his
anorak. “Now tell me where the others are.”

  I didn’t respond even though my heart was pounding. I couldn’t betray them. They’d soon work out that I wasn’t coming back, then they’d call Nouwen and move somewhere else. I just had to play for time.

  Max clenched his fists until the knuckles went white. “I can force you to tell me,” he said. But he didn’t follow up. Instead we rode in silence for five minutes before he spoke again. “We’re here.”

  The car turned into the empty parking area behind the building that housed the graphics design firm and pulled up close to the entrance. I noticed a bike rack against the wall. It, too, was empty.

  “We’ll walk calmly into the office and you’ll follow my lead,” Max instructed. He seemed to have regained his composure and his fake British accent. “One squeak from you, I will hurt you. Understood?”

  With the knifepoint at my ribs, I stumbled up the entry steps into a spacious lobby, its white walls decorated with colorful framed prints of product adverts, none of which I recognized. The place was empty, and a notice on the desk instructed visitors to ring the bell for assistance.

  Standing at a door to the side of the reception area, Max entered numbers on a keypad. With a beep, the door opened to a narrow landing at the top of the staircase I’d climbed with Sam twelve hours ago.

  Max walked me down the stairs and then at a brisk pace through the tunnel. It was probably just over a hundred meters at most, but it seemed to take a long time to cover the distance between the commercial building and the Janssen house. Plenty of time for me to grow increasingly apprehensive.

  Finally, we reached the other end, where the spiral staircase wound up to the wiring cupboard in the old kitchen of the house. Set in the wall next to the stairs was the steel door that Sam had tried to open last night. Tears of frustration clogged my throat. Letting myself get abducted wasn’t going to help him at all.

  Maintaining his grip on my arm, Max used his other hand to enter a code on the keypad. The heavy door eased open to reveal a brightly illuminated room lined with metal filing cabinets, all painted grey and numbered. In one corner, a metal staircase led upwards. That had to be the way up to the secret office on the top floor. Staring at it, I was taken by surprise when Max shoved me forward, making me stumble on the uneven cement floor. I fell to one knee, jarring every bone in my leg.