“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.
AMULET
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.”
“He might not be willing to answer them, Ah Yun. Not without preamble.”
“How did he come upon the corpse?”
“I didn’t ask,” Bram replied. “And if you want to ask him that yourself, you need to be more forthcoming with your information.”
Tsui Pak Yun drew on his cigarette, the intake of breath followed by the grating of gravel from extinguishing the butt under his shoe. “This pendant is an identity card, disguised as an amulet. The symbol on the front is to distract from the inscription on the back, which identifies the bearer as an initiated member of the Kau Hong.”
“A triad?”
Tsui Pak Yun clicked his tongue in disapproval. “The Kau Hong are ordinary thugs, former street runners for the 14K. They copy the triad structure to keep their members in line and instill fear and respect in their victims, but they have no connections.”
“A rogue organisation?”
“They cause trouble, but not enough to warrant measures. Altogether they have about seventy members. Not much of an organisation.”
“You think so?” Bram asked. “What’s the normal amount?”
“The Dutch 14K branch has about two hundred members. And that’s a branch, not the wh
ole organisation.”
“So, what are the Kau Hong into? Drugs, gambling, prostitution, extortion?”
“Fringe work. Strictly minor. The market is pretty much divided between Dai Huen Jai and 14K, so the Kau Hong are left with the crumbs that fall from the table.”
“Smuggling?” Bram inquired.
“Could be,” Tsui Pak Yun replied, lighting up a fresh cigarette. “What makes you think they’re smugglers?”
“Just guessing. If they would be, what would they use?”
“Means of transport, you mean?” He hawked and spat. “The airports are Dai Huen Jai territory and the 14K has the harbours tied up, so they’d have to smuggle over land.”
“Or smuggle past the smugglers.”
“How? They have no ships.”
“Or airplanes,” Bram added.
“Or airplanes, yes.”
“What would the 14K do if they found the Kau Hong had ships or airplanes?”
“Sabotage them,” Tsui Pak Yun spoke curtly. “Why?”
“I’ll ask my friend to contact you.” Bram rose from the bench. “You can keep the pendant to show the 14K.”
Tsui Pak Yun didn’t reply. Snorting didn’t count.
Bram walked away from the bench and switched off Katla’s voice recorder.
-o-
Lying in the aura of sweat and sex, huddled under the damp sheets, Bram breathed her scent, glad that Katla never used perfume to mask her fragrance.
“You think I can trust him?” Katla asked, drawing his arms tighter around her. He kissed the nape of her neck and murmured, “You have to take into account the kind of person he is. In Europe you have the werewolf, the loup garou. In Asia, you have the werefox, or kitsune. Whereas the loup garou is essentially evil, the kitsune is often benevolent, although he likes to deceive or play games. Tsui Pak Yun is like that, a wily old fox who likes to play games. Don’t underestimate him and you’ll have no trouble.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“When we meet, he only takes Snoop, his guide dog, but I don’t know if he’ll come alone to a meet with you.”
“Guide dogs don’t attack people, do they?”
“They might be protective of their charge, but Snoop is gentle. If you don’t make sudden moves.”
“How blind is Yun?”
“Far beyond legal blindness. Or he wouldn’t have a dog.” Bram pointed at his ruined eyes. “Normal acuity is twenty-twenty vision. Legal blindness starts at 20/200, where you see at twenty centimeters what another person discerns at two meters. At which point you become eligible for disability benefits and are no longer allowed to operate vehicles.”
“But you don’t get a dog if you can still see that much.”
“With a mere four thousand guide dogs to be divided among two hundred thousand blind people, it’s unlikely that one would be granted to someone who’s merely extremely near-sighted.”
“Did you apply for a dog?”
“I don’t need one. I have Zeph.” He rubbed his nose through her hair. “And you.”
“A guide dog would give you a wider radius.”
“Probably, but have you ever smelled a dog after a rainstorm?”
“Seriously? That’s your reason for not applying for a guide dog?”
“Yes. Anyway, Tsui Pak Yun is not so discerning in the olfactory department, so you won’t have to do more than mask your scent with a little after shave lotion. Just make sure he doesn’t touch your skin.”
“You think he can guess my gender from my skin?”
“Female skin differs from male. And his sense of touch is better than mine.”
“I’ll give him wide berth.” She yawned audibly. “He’s that good?”
“He spends his life examining precious stones, Katla. And he is proficient at Braille, which is quite rare for someone who went blind at his age.”
“You’re proficient at Braille.”
“Learning Braille requires sensitive fingertips and dedicated exercise to built up sufficient speed to enjoy reading. Adults have to be motivated and train diligently to attain proficiency.”
“Well, you’re motivated enough to keep up your skills.”
“I’d learn Braille just to read martial arts texts without you or Zeph having to read it to me. When you read it yourself, you understand the meaning much better.”
Katla rolled on her side, her left hand reaching behind her and pulling at him until he spooned against her back. With her hand lingering on his buttocks she murmured, “Where does Yun get his information?”
“I think the 14K retains him in an advisory capacity. Like you do with me.”
“I ‘retain you in an advisory capacity’?”
“I’m not an active participant in your homicidal enterprise, but I counsel you in matters of strategy. You don’t have to take my advice, but neither would the 14K have to take Ah Yun’s.”
“Deep,” she murmured sleepily. “I hope it absolves your guilt.”
“I don’t feel guilt. I haven’t killed anyone.”
“It’s not the tool that kills, but the brain that moves the hand.”
“You killed twenty-seven people before I knew you. And the last two didn’t need much strategic assistance.”
“Nor did the sentry,” Katla murmured. “As long as his gun wasn’t centered on Zeph anymore when I attacked. Martial artists are rarely difficult to kill.”
“I thought it was easier to kill someone who didn’t know how to fight.”
“Trained fighters are predictable,” she replied sleepily. “They try to disable or maim and most of them have an inflated view of their abilities. Ordinary people get scared and their fear fuels their will to survive. And they might surprise you with their ingenuity.”
“And this sentry couldn’t?”
Katla didn’t reply, her breathing slowing down, growing deeper. Like her sentient self slipped away. One moment she was there, the next he spooned against a warm husk. Her head, heavy with sleep, hindered the circulation in his biceps and his fingers started to tingle. Bram retracted his arm and rolled on his back.
Strange, how he felt guiltier about forgetting to count the sentry than about him getting killed. Katla often consulted him in strategic matters, but the decision to kill remained exclusively her own. What worried him was the ease with which she chose to kill over other options. Maybe killing got easier after a while, but the taking of a life should never become perfunctory.
Katla murmured unintelligibly and turned around, her arm snaking over his chest as she buried her head under his armpit, her breath tickling against his ribs. He caressed her face, his fingers gliding over her smooth brow.
What bliss, not having a conscience wearing you down.
BIJENKORF
Katla parked her Burgman near one of the bicycle racks bracketing the square between the Beurs, which housed the non-virtual part of the Amsterdam Exchange, and the Bijenkorf, an upscale department store similar to Harrods in London and Bloomingdale’s in New York City. She entered the huge department store, aptly named The Beehive, and went straight to the perfume department, where she skirted the sickly sweet female fragrances counter and stopped by the after shave section. On the glass counter various testers of men’s scents were displayed. The girl behind the counter was talking to her co-worker, not paying her any attention as Katla took a small reddish-brown flask, sniffed the inside of the cap, and sprayed some after shave lotion behind her ears. Before the sales girl could try to sell her something, Katla turned on her heel and stalked away to the leather goods department near the opposite entrance, close to the Dam Square.
About fifteen minutes before their appointment a wizened old Chinese man wearing wraparound black glasses entered De Bijenkorf through the Dam Square entrance, guided by a black Labrador and followed by a young Chinese man. Katla tracked Tsui Pak Yun and his minder up the escalators to the restaurant on the fifth, where the old blind man sat down in the last booth on the left. The dog slipped under th
e table as the young man pressed the frail old man’s hand and walked away. Katla followed the minder to the escalators, where the young man went down one floor and walked past the books and magazines to the Literary Café. Shielded behind a Cosmopolitan, Katla watched him buy a cappuccino, sit down at a table and pull out a PDA device. She put the Cosmo back in the rack and took the escalator back to the fifth floor.
Tsui Pak Yun hadn’t moved from his perch. Katla strolled past him and checked her exits, then turned to his booth. He looked even frailer up close, his wrinkled hands covered with liver spots, his cheeks were deeply lined and his white goatee sparse but immaculate maintained. The available space in the booth would put her with her back to the escalators. She switched on her voice recorder and cleared her throat to lower her voice.
“Ni hao, Ah Yun.”
“Ni hao.” The old man tilted his face in her direction, eyes hidden behind the wraparound sunglasses. “Are you Bram’s friend?”
“Remove your sunglasses,” Katla spoke. “Show me your eyes.”
The old man’s eyes, half covered by nearly translucent eyelids with epicanthic folds, were pale and unfocused. She had no way to check if he was truly blind, but he didn’t seem to be faking it.
“Thank you,” Katla said. “Slide over to the other side of the booth and take your dog with you. I need a clear view of the restaurant.”
The old man did as he was ordered. “You sound comfortable around blind people.”
“Or I could just not care about your affliction.” Katla sat down and put the voice recorder between them to record the conversation. “It’s your cross to bear, not mine. Do you carry a cell phone?”
“Why?”
“Hand it over.”
Tsui Pak Yun took a battered Nokia from his pocket and held it out to her. Katla took it from his fingers, clicked off the back casing and removed the battery. “I’ll re-assemble your phone after the meeting.”
“You sound a tad paranoid.”
Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) Page 15