The Two Sisters of Borneo

by Ian Hamilton

  It took more than ten minutes to get to the Melancholy Miller. The umbrella had kept her head and torso dry, but the bottoms of her pants were soaked and her running shoes were squishing. The pub was small, only ten tables spread around a horseshoe-shaped bar with six stools on each side. She looked for a man in a brown suit. There were two men at the bar, neither in a suit, and two tables were occupied by what looked like students. She sat at the table farthest from the bar. The bartender, tall and thin in a grey T-shirt and blue jeans and looking much like a student himself, yelled at her in Dutch.

  “I only speak English,” she said.

  “What would you like to drink?” he said, switching languages.

  “I’m waiting for someone. I’ll order when he gets here.”

  A few moments later a short, squat figure burst through the door, a hooded yellow rain slicker covering him from head to knee. He stood in the doorway and stared around. When he saw Ava, he pulled back the hood.

  “Ms. Lee?” he said.

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m Smits.”

  He pulled off the slicker over his head, scattering water in all directions, hung it on a hook, and started towards her. He was no more than five foot six but had to be well over two hundred pounds. He was almost round, his weight evenly distributed and firmly layered, with no jiggling of excess flesh. He looked surprisingly fit to Ava; she noticed how quickly he moved, his body in rhythm, and it occurred to her that he might be a very good dancer.

  His head looked immense, but its size was probably exaggerated by his small, almost delicate facial features. He had tiny pink ears with lobes the size of pearls. His lips were thin and drawn. Deeply recessed blue eyes gazed at her from under light brown eyebrows that were so fine she wondered if they had been plucked and shaped. He was bald, with just a hint of fringe the same colour as his eyebrows.

  “Ms. Lee,” he said when he was two paces away, offering his hand.

  “Mr. Smits, you should have told me about your orange tie,” she said.

  He looked down at his tie, loosened at the neck, its tail resting on the upper ledge of his belly. “We Dutch love our orange.”

  He took a seat across from Ava and made a fuss about settling in. “Sorry to be a little late.”

  “The weather is atrocious.”

  “It’s typical enough.”

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Of course.”

  Ava motioned to the bartender. “We’ll order now.”

  “What do you want?” the bartender asked.

  “I’ll have a glass of Pinot Grigio,” she said.

  Smits looked at his watch. “I’ll have a Heineken,” he said and then turned back to Ava. “I’m trying to cut back. I don’t drink now until after six in the evening, and even then I try to limit myself to two.”

  Ava didn’t know if he was making a joke. “Thanks for seeing me at such short notice,” she said.

  “My pleasure.”

  “How long have you been doing this kind of work?” Ava asked.

  “Six years. I was actually hired by the man who started the business, but he died eighteen months on and I found myself running it. My wife says some things are meant to be, and this is one of those things. I would never have had the courage to quit my job and start out on my own. My partner’s death gave me no choice. It’s worked out well, better than I could have believed.”

  “You’re a one-man firm?”

  “Yes, so I don’t like to work more than a few cases at a time. Whatever jobs I have get my serious attention.”

  “And I could be one of those jobs?”

  “If you think I’m up to it. Not everyone thinks so. I don’t always make a good first impression.”

  “Are you always so candid?”

  “Don’t know any other way to be.”

  “Then we should get along.”

  He sat back in his chair, squirming as he tried to get comfortable. “Do you need references? You didn’t mention anything like that on the phone, but I thought I should ask.”

  “Are you good at what you do?”

  “I’m the best in Amsterdam,” he said, and then paused. “Mind you, there aren’t many other detectives who focus on money matters. Here it’s all about sex and drugs and gambling and infidelity.”

  “So I noticed when I tried to find someone.”

  “I thought about advertising myself as an accountant and actually set up a separate listing, but it didn’t generate any business so I got rid of it.”

  The bartender arrived at the table with their drinks.

  Smits raised his glass. “Proost.”

  “Yambui.”

  “Where are you actually from? I don’t recognize your accent,” Smits said after draining half his beer in two immense gulps.

  “I’m Canadian. Of Chinese origin, of course, but very decidedly Canadian. This business I need you to look into, though, involves a company in Borneo. My partners and I own a venture capital firm in China and we’ve recently made a major investment in the Borneo operation. It’s gone extremely sour.”

  “Canada . . . Borneo . . . China . . . the Netherlands . . . that’s the way all business seems to be now. The days of operating in one market are long gone.”

  “And will never come back.”

  “No,” Smits said, as if he regretted it.

  “In any event, I have some paperwork to leave with you,” Ava said, reaching for her bag. She extracted the files that May Ling had given her and passed them to Smits. “This will give you the basic information about all the companies and people involved, and the nature of the bankruptcy.”

  He glanced at the paperwork. “I’ve heard of Meijer, but only in passing. Janssen is a new name to me. Timmerman I know. They have a decent reputation as bankruptcy trustees.”

  “That may be the case, and if it’s true, then whatever we can dig up to prove that Meijer and Janssen colluded to defraud us of thirty million dollars should prove useful and actionable.”

  “I said they were decent, not saints. They’ll still want to collect their fees.”

  “We’ll be good for whatever fees they would have earned if the bankruptcy was genuine.”

  “That’s good to know. And now there’s just the small matter of proving that something underhanded went on. You seemed not quite so sure of that when we talked on the phone.”

  Ava sipped her wine and then noticed that Smits’s glass was empty. “Another beer?”

  “Please.”

  Ava caught the bartender’s eye and motioned at Smits’s glass. “Well, I’m quite certain that something funny was done. Whether it was in Borneo or here or some combination of the two, and whether it involved both Janssen and Meijer in partnership with the Borneo thieves or just Janssen and Meijer by themselves or just Janssen and the Borneo bunch, I don’t know. We’ll handle things in Borneo, so don’t worry about that. What I need you to do is burrow as deeply as you can into Janssen’s business. I want to see company and banking records for as far back as you can go. I want to see the details of how they were financed, and just how entwined Meijer and Janssen were, and I want to understand the relationship between these two companies — personal and business. And when you’ve got all that information, I want you to analyze it and give me your best assessment as to what happened.”

  “You said you’d look after Borneo. What you find there could help me, no?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll pass everything along to you.”

  His second beer arrived. He eyed it lovingly and this time half-emptied it with only one gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds like you’ve been involved in this kind of investigation before.”

  “Once or twice.”

  “Good. Then you’ll know I need some time. I can’t
make bank records and the like just materialize overnight.”

  “How much time are we talking about?”

  “Maybe a week.”

  Ava nodded. “That’s fine. It may take us that long to start shaking out things in Borneo.”

  Smits eyed his beer. “I’m not having any problems sticking to my six-o’clock rule, but the two-beer limit is still a bit of a challenge.”

  “You aren’t driving, are you?”

  “I am.”

  “Don’t you think —” Ava began.

  He smiled. “I live about two kilometres from here. My bicycle is parked out front.”

  “Can you manage the files and the bicycle?”

  “I’m very high-tech. I have a carrier basket.”

  “Indeed,” Ava said. “Now, what kind of retainer do you want?”

  “A thousand euros?”

  “That’s fine. Is there an ATM near here?”

  “Just around the corner,” he said, pointing.

  “Finish your beer. I’ll be back.”

  She had to use two bank cards to get the cash. When she returned to the pub, Smits had a full glass in front of him. “I’m getting worried about that bicycle,” she said.

  “I have a low centre of gravity.”

  “I’m not sure what that means,” Ava said, the wad of cash in her hand.

  Smits looked at the money and shrugged. “I didn’t bring a contract with me.”

  Ava counted out the thousand euros and passed it to him. “Just give me your business card. I’ll email you tomorrow with a summary of our understanding. You can sign it and send it back.”

  “And how do I contact you?”

  “Email is best,” Ava said, and then thought about how often she was away from her computer these days. “But just in case, here is my cell number. You can call or text me.”

  “I won’t be in touch unless it’s important.”

  “That’s best. I don’t need updates, so if I don’t hear from you for a day or two, I won’t worry about it. I know how disruptive to investigative work anxious clients can be.”

  He had his glass in his hand, poised to meet his mouth, and now he glanced at her over its top. She saw a question forming in his eyes and turned her head.

  “I won’t bother you,” he said. “But if there’s been any funny stuff going on, I’ll find out. I may ride a bicycle to work but I know my away around a computer. I couldn’t spend as many years as I did with the Dutch Tax and Customs Administration and the KLPD without making a lot of contacts, which I’ve been careful to maintain.”

  “Tell you what,” Ava said. “You bring me the information I need to prove that Janssen screwed us over, and I’ll make sure there’s a nice bonus in it for you.”

  “That’s not necessary. My daily rate is enough to ensure you’re going to get my best efforts.”

  “Mr. Smits, I have to say that I’m really pleased I’ve hired you,” Ava said with a smile.

  ( 13 )

  Ava ate dinner in her room at the hotel. The once-familiar feeling of jet lag was seeping through her system. It had been a long time between trips, and she had forgotten how fatiguing this kind of travel could be. It was barely nine o’clock when she finished eating, but her eyes kept closing. She crawled into bed with the idea of watching television for an hour or so. She had barely turned on the set before she fell asleep.

  It was semi-light outside when Ava woke. She glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was already eight o’clock. She walked to the window. The morning sun was draped in heavy black clouds that continued to unleash rain; it had been constant for more than twenty-four hours.

  After a bathroom run she made a coffee and turned on her computer. Both May and Amanda had sent emails.

  May wrote, I reviewed and signed off on the lawsuit this morning. It is attached. As you will see, the lawyer is accusing Mamat and Tambi of every corporate crime you could possibly imagine. They will be served later today. I’m leaving for Hong Kong at one and then connecting to Wuhan. Call me after the bankruptcy hearing. I should be mobile-accessible by then.

  Amanda was even blunter. We sued the brothers’ asses off today. Ah-Pei and Chi-Tze are nervous. I told them it was the brothers or the business. They chose the business. Not that they really had a choice. May Ling was determined to go ahead, with them or without them.

  Ava opened the attachment from May and skimmed over it. The basic thrust was that Mamat and Tambi had either assisted in or executed a scheme to defraud the company. It named Janssen Volker as a co-conspirator. They were suing the brothers for the $25 million that had been taken, plus another $10 million in damages and costs. A covering letter made mention that a copy of the lawsuit had been sent to the Commercial Fraud Division of the Royal Malaysian Police in Sabah, requesting a criminal investigation. Another copy had gone to the brothers’ bank, asking that their accounts be frozen until the matter was adjudicated or otherwise settled.

  Ava replied to both of them. Let’s hope the suit gets the reaction we want. It would certainly help our credibility with the Dutch bankruptcy trustee if either the police or the bank takes any action.

  She then transferred the documents to a memory stick. The bankruptcy meeting was in less than two hours. She had just enough time to shower, dress, eat a light breakfast, and print copies of the documents to take to Timmerman.

  At a quarter to ten she left the hotel with a golf umbrella in one hand and the concierge’s written directions to Timmerman in the other. Although the offices were only a ten-minute walk from the hotel, getting there involved a number of rights and lefts that Ava wouldn’t trust to memory.

  The constantly shifting wind at times drove the rain right into her. She wore only a white button-down shirt, abandoning her nylon jacket in favour of a more professional look. That was a mistake, she thought more than once, feeling the chill down to her bones. It was with a sense of relief that she finally found the two-storey red-brick building that housed the Timmerman offices.

  She twisted and tugged at the solid brass doorknobs with no success before she saw the intercom to one side of the entrance. She pushed the button.

  A woman’s voice spoke in Dutch.

  “I’m here to attend a bankruptcy meeting that Timmerman is having at ten o’clock,” she said.

  “Just a moment, please,” the voice replied.

  The entrance was open to the sky and the rain continued to pelt down. Ava tried to position her umbrella to deflect it and in the process blocked her view of the front door. She heard it open, walked directly inside, and closed the umbrella.

  “You must be Ava Lee,” a man said. “I’m Patrick Visser.”

  He was at least six foot six, Ava guessed, a skeleton of a man whose vertically striped grey suit made him look taller, thinner, and even more frail. His face was as long and bony, but his blue eyes were lively, almost gay, as he stared down at her.

  “I am.”

  “I know you said you were coming, but I rather hoped you wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “No one else has come — or will come, I wager — and I was in the middle of some other work. Now I will have to put it on hold.”

  “Given the situation my company is in, I don’t see any need to apologize.”

  “Of course not. Despite the circumstances, it is nice to meet you,” he said, offering his hand. “But since you’re the only attendee, do you mind if we meet in our small boardroom rather than the meeting room we reserve for hearings?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “Then follow me.”

  He led her down a hallway whose walls were decorated with photos of Amsterdam illuminated by pot lights. Every office door they passed was closed. He opened the last one on the right and stood back so she could enter a small room with a single round wooden table and four aluminum and
leather chairs.

  “I need to get the file,” he said. “Shall I bring you back a coffee or tea? Perhaps some water?”

  “No, thank you.”

  When he left, she sat down at the table and took from her bag the two copies of the lawsuit and its accompanying letters that she had printed at the hotel. She placed both sets in front of her.

  The file Visser had under his arm when he came back into the office was a good four inches thick. He tossed it onto the table. “I wasn’t sure how much detail you wanted.”

  “As much as possible.”

  He nodded and then sat. “I made duplicates of everything I have for you to take away.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The information won’t be much different from the notice we sent, or from what I told you over the telephone.”

  “Janssen is bankrupt, Meijer is the only secured creditor, and the rest of us are screwed?”

  “More or less.”

  Ava slid one set of her papers across the table to him. “I thought you should see this,” she said. “We’ve launched civil legal action in Sabah against Janssen and two former officers of our company. We are also seeking criminal indictments.”

  “Here in the Netherlands?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I don’t believe that anything you do in Sabah will have any bearing on our course of action here.”

  “I’ve also hired a private detective in Amsterdam. He specializes in commercial fraud. He’s looking into the bankruptcy for us, focusing on Janssen and Meijer and their relationship.”

  “Ms. Lee, after we spoke yesterday I revisited all of our documentation. It is, as you will see, quite complete, and it indicates nothing improper in that relationship.”

  Ava shrugged. “We think there was something going on, and between our course of action in Sabah and the detective here, we’re going to find out. In the meantime, there’s the matter of our money disappearing,” she said. “The lawsuit in Borneo has been copied to the bank involved. We’ve asked them to freeze account activity until we get to the bottom of this. We would like you to do the same.”