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

by Martyn V. Halm

  Behind her, Lau said, “I didn’t say you could go, Ms. Sieltjes.”

  “I don’t need your permission.” Katla kept her eyes on the face of the young Chinese in front of her. “Tell your underling to let me pass, or my price goes up to two-point-four.”

  “She can pass,” Lau spoke. “I’ll get back to you, Ms. Sieltjes.”

  “Let me know if you want me to bring you another accountant to shoot,” she replied without turning. “Or if you plan to supply your own.”

  Katla limped through the doorway and went downstairs, followed by one of the Chinese men. The taxicab was still parked by the door and the driver opened the passenger door. The Chinese man held the door while she climbed inside and closed the door. The driver gave her a speculative look, but she motioned for him to drive.

  As the taxicab bumped along the quay, Katla fished her cell phone from her pocket and looked at her watch. Two minutes to spare. She pressed the speed dial while the driver got out with her keycard to open the gate.

  “Yes?” Bram asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll take the long way home. If I’m not home in thirty minutes, you know what to do.”

  She rang off, rested her head against the headrest and closed her eyes.

  Close call. Too close.

  She took a deep breath, the adrenalin slowly fading.

  The car rocked as the taxi driver got back in. “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

  The driver had to be dealt with—the Chinese would find him and get him to divulge where he’d picked her up. She briefly entertained the idea of killing him—taxi driver is a dangerous occupation, and he wouldn’t be the first to end up getting killed by a passenger. On the other hand, she could try to use him to find the Chinese.

  Katla opened her eyes. “Do you want to earn two hundred euro, Laurens?”

  “Depends.” Thooft gave her a crafty look. “What do I have to do and how much are we talking about?”

  “These Chinese are not on the level, I think you could see for yourself.”

  He gave a non-committal nod.

  “They don’t know where I live. So they will find you and persuade you to divulge where you picked me up.”

  “You don’t have to worry,” he said. “I have a ‘bad memory’.”

  “That kite won’t fly with them.” Katla took two crisp hundred euro bills from her wallet. “I don’t want you to forget you picked me up just outside of the World Trade Center.”

  “That’s right.” He stuffed her money in his inside pocket. “I won’t forget.”

  “You might get a financial compensation for your information. Act eager to earn more and offer to keep an eye out for me. For a suitable fee, of course.”

  “I’d have to have a way to contact them, though.”

  “At their discretion,” Katla said. “Don’t ask for their number. They’re smart enough to see through any attempt to gain intelligence on them. Don’t underestimate them. If they think you’re trying to mess with them, they are liable to torture the information from you.”

  He nodded. “You think they’re Triad?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were. Like I said, these are bad people. It’s important you don’t act the hero, or you’ll end up in a canal without your kneecaps.”

  Thooft didn’t look impressed by that possibility. “So how will I reach you?”

  “I’ll contact you. I want to you to make a stop at the Java Eiland first, then drop me off, then make a couple of stops before you return to your taxi rank. What is your taxi rank?”

  “Stopera. You want me to drop you off at the zoo again?”

  Katla nodded. “Just don’t mention that to them okay?”

  Thooft grinned. “Why would anyone want to be dropped off at the zoo when it’s closed?”

  SLAUGHTERHOUSE

  The slaughterhouse was quiet except for the humming refrigerators. In the middle of the tiled room, illuminated by the harsh strip lights, the naked corpse of Pascal Vermeer hung from a hook suspended from the ceiling. Lau gazed at the faces of the four aspiring members, standing around him in a semi-circle, their hands folded in front of them. His gloved right hand came up, hefting a long tapered blade.

  “In the sink behind you are four knives, one for each of you. Together you will remove the skin and flesh from the skeleton.”

  With two slashes of the blade Lau cut an inverted T across the abdomen and stepped back as the stomach and intestines drooped over the edges of the cut and flopped on the tiled floor. Although the accountant wasn’t warm anymore he was still fresh enough to smell like a butchered pig. Lau’s gloved hand disappeared inside the cavity and pulled out the rest of the entrails. Not all four managed to keep their faces bland and Lau smiled at their discomfort.

  “Twenty minutes. I don’t want any meat left on the bones.”

  They turned for the sink and divided the knives.

  Lau stepped back and joined Nicky, who offered the older man a cigarette and lit it for him. Together they watched the four knife-wielding aspiring members approach the disemboweled corpse. One of them started at the neck and cut down along the left arm, as if following an invisible seam.

  Lau watched his smoke drift to the ventilation in the ceiling.

  Strips of flesh and skin fell on the tiled floor.

  The stench of urine filled the air, mingling with the sickly sweet smell of blood, and someone cursed. Another wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  “If you think this smells bad, try disemboweling a week-old corpse.” Lau approached them, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “The stench will get into your hair, your clothes, your skin. What you eat and drink will taste of death. You will touch your woman and you’ll feel the bones under her skin. Her pliant flesh will feel like yellow fat and gristle.”

  “You’re making me hungry,” murmured the one who cut the bladder and the others sniggered. Lau nodded and said, “I like people with a sense of humour. You can be in charge of grinding the meat.”

  One of them gazed up at the starburst pattern on Vermeer’s forehead.

  “You can take the whole face off,” Lau remarked and stepped up to the corpse. The others parted to give him room and Lau made a swift cut from the left jaw, over the crown of the head to the other side. He dug his fingers into the cut at the top of the head and pulled the skin forward. The features of the corpse folded like a rubber mask, only the eyes remained in the sockets. Lau flicked his knife, severed the skin at the throat and held Vermeer’s drooping face in front of his own.

  Nicky’s cell phone jangled petulantly and he walked to the corridor while he fished it from his pocket. Behind him, someone laughed nervously.

  “I expected you back,” Zhang spoke in Cantonese, in case anyone was eavesdropping on the GSM frequencies. “Where are you?”

  “The tiled room, Vanguard. Getting rid of the evidence.”

  “And the papers?”

  “Apparently she didn’t sign them,” Nicky replied. “Lau let her go.”

  “And you couldn’t prevent that?”

  “I was in the crane, Vanguard. I’m sure Lau will explain what happened when we return.”

  “Put him on. Now.”

  Nicky walked back into the slaughterhouse, held out his cell phone to Lau. “The Vanguard.”

  Lau looked with disgust at the phone in his hand. “I call him back from a normal phone.”

  “I don’t think he wants to wait for that.”

  “I won’t touch your phone. You mediate.”

  Nicky put the phone back to his ear. “I’m sorry. Lau doesn’t want to touch my phone.”

  “I’m not in the mood for his ngong ‘radiation causes leukemia’-theory.”

  “What do you want to ask him, Vanguard?”

  Zhang’s voice became tight with fury. “Why didn’t she sign?”

  Nicky relayed the query. Lau shrugged. “She wasn’t intimidated by my threat.”

  “He should’ve scared
her more.” Zhang broke the connection.

  Nicky put the phone away. “Zhang thinks you should’ve scared her more.”

  “Next time,” Lau replied, “I’ll make her beg me to sign those papers.”

  -o-

  They were almost finished when Chen walked in, looking like an extra from CSI, wearing white Tyvek coveralls he’d donned to avoid leaving fibers in Vermeer’s BMW.

  “Where did you leave it?” Lau asked. “Haarlem?”

  “No, Spaarnwoude. People walk their dogs there at the strangest times, so it won’t be noticed anytime soon.”

  Lau nodded. “You and Nicky go to the Vanguard. Explain what happened.”

  Nicky nodded, but Chen looked unhappy as they walked to the car.

  “He uses us as a lightning rod.”

  “As is his prerogative,” Nicky replied. “What happened, why didn’t she sign?”

  “Lau figured killing Vermeer before her eyes would rattle Sieltjes enough to break her resistance.” Chen gave him a gleeful smile. “She took the papers, asked if that was all she had to sign and tore them up.”

  “You better not smile like that when we brief Zhang.”

  “I know, but it was fun to watch. Lau was doing his best to impress her, but Sieltjes didn’t even blink when he shot Vermeer. He should’ve watched her eyes.”

  Nicky fished out his car keys. “You’re saying Lau underestimated her?”

  “Her eyes were shrewd, calculating. He’s always talking about looking for buttons to push if you want to manipulate someone. That was what she was doing, looking for buttons. And she didn’t give a shit about that accountant.”

  They climbed into the Lexus.

  “So what do we do now?” Chen lit a cigarette. “I don’t think Zhang will pay one-point-nine million for her stock.”

  “That’s why I instructed Gerald to take her picture. He’s always lugging that camera around, might as well make use of it. We’ll circulate her picture, track her down.”

  “That might take a while.”

  “At least now we know what Sieltjes looks like.” Nicky smiled. “All we need to know is where to look for her. And I know where to get that information.”

  ANOUK

  Bram entered and sat on the rim of the bath, a glass of vodka dangling from his fingers. “What if he had a second set of documents?”

  “I would’ve smudged my signature.” Katla plucked the glass from his fingers. “My move surprised him. I guess he expected me to be unnerved.”

  Bram’s face became a mask, a sign he was too busy thinking to show outward emotion. Katla stretched her legs and drank the vodka, liquid fire burning deep in her throat. She put the glass on the rim and sank deeper in the bath, the hot water draining the tension from her legs.

  His face became animated again. “You’re sure they’re Chinese?”

  “Quite sure,” Katla replied. “They didn’t look Japanese, Vietnamese or Korean to me. And I’ve met enough Chinese on my trips to Hong Kong.”

  “I have a Chinese friend,” Bram spoke slowly. “If Lau belongs to a triad or a gang, there’s a chance Tsui Pak Yun might know where to find them. Or at least who they are.”

  “How well do you know this ‘friend’?”

  Bram pointed at his eyes. “He belongs to the brotherhood.”

  “Blindness is not an indication of reliability. You trust him?”

  “I don’t know where his allegiance lies. He’s inscrutable that way.”

  “How do you know he might be able to help?”

  “One of my shiatsu patients is an influential Yakuza. Yun knew this and approached me to mediate in a ‘troublesome situation’, since I was in a position to sound out my patient to his willingness to put an end to the situation. Things worked out, so Yun is indebted to me.”

  “But his allegiance may lie with a triad that’s affiliated with Lau.”

  “If Lau is triad-affiliated.”

  “Lau didn’t just kill Pascal, he executed him.” Katla placed the glass on the rim of the bath. “He was in command, but seemed to follow a strategy that wasn’t his.”

  “Because he didn’t foresee your move?”

  “Anyone can fail to anticipate the improbable, but a strategist would be interested by an unexpected development, not angry. Lau’s anger rendered him incapable of improvisation, which allowed me to seize the initiative.”

  “So he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box.”

  Katla grinned. “No, he’s not. And they overplayed their hand, which puts me at an advantage.”

  “They’ll try again.”

  “They lost the element of surprise, Bram. I’ll be even more on guard, from now on.”

  He picked up the empty glass and rose to his feet. She thought he would say something, but his face became mask-like again and he left the bathroom.

  Katla floated in the bath, her gaze on the ceiling.

  Bram reappeared. “Your Sphinx phone. Pascal knew your number. Can it be traced? Is it registered?”

  “It’s a pre-paid, but if you have the number it can be triangulated if you have the equipment. They might not have tried that before, but they will probably try now. I switched it off, though. And removed the battery, to make sure.”

  She watched Bram undress slowly and walk to the basin to brush his teeth. He disliked the buzzing sound of her electric brush, so he used a regular brush, even if that took longer. Katla studied his angular frame, the tips of his black hair brushing his bony shoulder blades, his muscular legs covered with fine dark hair.

  She sat up in the bath. “Can you come over here?”

  He halted at the rim and she caressed his legs with her soapy hands until his penis quivered. His stance widened as she slipped her hand between his legs and cupped his scrotum. With a wash cloth she cleaned his penis, stroked his erection until his breathing became ragged. She released him and rose to her feet. Bram took the brush from his mouth and she kissed some toothpaste from the corner of his mouth.

  “Hand me a towel?”

  He put the brush back and handed her a towel. She dried herself, kissed Bram and led him by his erection to the bedroom.

  -o-

  Bram’s cell phone rang. Katla opened one eye and focused on the floating green digits of the alarm clock.

  03.15.

  Bram snored beside her, oblivious to his ringing phone. She shook him by his shoulder. “Bram, wake up. Your phone is ringing.”

  He picked up the phone just as it stopped ringing. “What time is it?”

  “A quarter past three.” Katla took the phone from his hand and read the display. The number was in his contacts. “Anouk called.”

  “Anouk? It’s not like her to call at this hour.”

  Bram took the phone from her hand, called the Voicemail service, listened and pressed 1 for repeating the message as he handed the phone to her. Katla could hear a girl’s voice, sounding tearful and murmuring Bram’s name, then a crash and the message stopped.

  “Maybe you should call her back.”

  Rubbing his face Bram sat up and dialled. He listened for a while. “There’s no answer, goes straight to Voicemail.”

  “Maybe she can’t reach the phone.”

  Bram frowned. “I should go over.”

  “You want me to take you?”

  “Would you? She lives at Prinseneiland, close to the Galgenbrug.”

  “I know the area,” Katla replied. “Get dressed.”

  Bram wandered back to the bedroom. “We have to swing by my place. I don’t have her keys with me.”

  “What are her locks like?” Katla asked. “Like yours or better?”

  “About the same. Why?”

  “I’ll bring my picks. Save us some time.”

  -o-

  The Vespa motor scooter puttered through deserted streets glistening with puddles. The rain had turned into a light drizzle that coated her helmet with fine droplets. Katla wiped her visor with the squeegee on her glove and turned right, taking the
tunnel at Tussen De Bogen.

  “Bickerseiland?” Bram asked over her shoulder.

  “Yes,” Katla replied. “I’ll take the Kleine Bickerstraat to Galgenbrug.”

  “It’s the second door on your right, after the bridge.”

  Just after the Galgenbrug were two small two-story houses joined under one roof. Katla parked her Vespa next to the second door and read the small plaque under the doorbell. “What’s her last name?”

  “Ravensdonk,” Bram replied. “Why?”

  “Just checking. Wouldn’t want to open the wrong door.”

  The tumbler lock provided about as much security as a Nepalese curtain. She opened her tool case, selected an electric pick gun, inserted the prongs and pulled the trigger. The prongs vibrated, depressing the tumblers, and she twisted the gun to open the lock.

  “That’s quicker than a key,” Bram spoke. “Not much security.”

  Katla pushed open the door and stepped back. “You go first.”

  Bram moved without hesitation into the dark hallway. The tiny house smelled of the same incense Bram burned in his basement. Katla put the pick gun back in the case and followed him, her hand searching for the light switch. She found a round knob and twisted it. Spotlights bloomed to life, suspended from cables that ran the length of the hallway. The walls were plastered white and adorned with abstract paintings.

  Bram called her name from somewhere in the back. Katla passed a closed door and entered the second room on her left. Two Siamese cats streaked past her legs and ran into the kitchen at the end of the hallway. The room was dark, except for a tiny halo of light around a reading lamp mounted over the headboard of the double bed.

  On the bed lay a nude girl, curled in a foetal position, her pale skin translucent in the light except for the dark swirling pattern that covered her shoulder and upper arm. Her hair shone an unnatural shade of red and her ears and nose were pierced.

  Bram crouched by the bed and whispered to her, his hand against the side of her face. The girl’s eyes flicked in her direction as Katla came around the bed and stood next to Bram.

  “What’s wrong?” Katla asked. “Are you sick?”

  “She has a subluxation of the L2.” He palpated the girl’s spine. “The second vertebra in her lower back has shifted.”