After the Silence: Inspector Rykel Book 1 (Amsterdam Quartet)

by Jake Woodhouse

  Kees knocked and went in. There were two people in the room, and that helped bring everything into focus, a shot of adrenaline clearing out the system. Smit was sitting behind his desk, and Inspector De Waart in a chair just off to the side.

  Both had smiles on their faces.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Smit said, despite the fact that Kees, as far as he could tell, was already in. He felt there was a creepy, false cheer about the way Smit was talking. ‘You know Inspector De Waart of course.’ Kees nodded. ‘So let’s get down to business, please take a seat,’ said Smit.

  ‘Inspector De Waart is in charge of the investigation into Inspector Andreas Hansen’s death,’ continued Smit and De Waart nodded slowly, ‘and wanted to ask you a few questions. I’ve told him that you are …’ He coughed into his hand. ‘… looking after Jaap at this difficult time.’

  Kees’ stomach contracted. He’d already made up his mind, he was doing this for his career, but now that he was actually here he could feel a sick reluctance to start grassing on a colleague.

  Especially as he was now being asked to do so not just in front of Smit but another Inspector as well.

  Meaning the chances of this getting out were suddenly doubled. If word got around – and what did they always say in those mafia movies, you can always smell a rat? – then his career would effectively be over. He’d be shunned, despised. It was one thing answering to Smit, quite another having De Waart involved as well.

  De Waart spoke for the first time, his grainy voice lower than Smit’s.

  ‘I’ll just give you a brief outline of where we are currently. As you know, Andreas Hansen was found dead with a single bullet wound to the back of the head by the side of a road in Amsterdamse Bos two days ago. There was very little at the scene to give a reason or any idea of why he’d been there, other than footprints showing that at least three people had also recently stepped on the verge.

  ‘Then, as you’ll no doubt have heard, at the press conference announcing his death a journalist made an accusation which we’ve had to take very seriously.’ Smit nodded emphatically to emphasize De Waart’s speech. ‘Namely that he was somehow involved with child pornography.’

  Smit took over. Kees wondered if they’d rehearsed the routine.

  ‘And I don’t need to tell you how damaging to all of us things like that can be.’

  ‘No,’ replied Kees.

  ‘So we started looking into it,’ continued De Waart, ‘we had to, and found that before he was killed, Andreas Hansen, or somebody else, had wiped his computer clean of everything. Which makes me think that he was aware something might well be going to happen to him. I should just mention that Jaap Rykel took Andreas’ computer to the tech lab shortly after his body was discovered, claiming that the computer must have been wiped by a … what was it?’

  ‘A Russian gang that they’d been investigating earlier in the year,’ completed Smit.

  They have, thought Kees, rehearsed this.

  ‘Exactly, a Russian gang, as if they wouldn’t just take it and burn the thing if they were really worried about what was on it. So we’re left with two possibilities: either Andreas himself wiped it, or Jaap did after he’d found out about Andreas’ death to help cover for his friend. Which would mean that …’

  ‘Jaap knew what Andreas was into, and may even be involved himself,’ finished Smit.

  They let Kees absorb what he was being told.

  Could Jaap really be involved with something like that? he wondered.

  ‘So you see, our conversation from the other day is more relevant than ever. Do you have anything to report?’

  The buzzing returned to Kees’ ears, only stronger.

  Louder.

  37

  Wednesday, 4 January

  09.01

  ‘Right here.’

  Teije bent over Jaap’s shoulder and jabbed a transaction in a sea of transactions which had been highlighted in pink, the ink smudging slightly towards the end of the stroke. Jaap’d had a text from his sister Karin on his way to Teije’s place; he decided he was going to drop in on her after he was done with Teije. Which didn’t look any time soon.

  ‘And that relates to these’ – Teije thrust another bit of paper into Jaap’s view with two transactions, also pinked – ‘which add up to the first amount. These people were clearly good at whatever it is they’re doing, there’s a fair amount of money sloshing around here. But when they came to moving it?’ He shook his head. ‘Amateurs, total amateurs.’

  Teije had spent his career working for global corporations advising them on tax, or tax avoidance to give it the full, unofficial, title. And as such knew every trick in the book.

  And then some.

  ‘So in effect money was coming in from here –’

  ‘Yeah, it’s going to take a bit longer to trace exactly where that is coming from, I think Switzerland, which may complicate things a bit …’

  Jaap’s phone rang; it was Inspector Bloem.

  ‘Inspector Bloem, thanks for calling back.’

  ‘I got your message, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m working a case which looks like it might be linked to yours, Sergeant van der Mark contacted me –’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Well, we’re getting somewhere, and I think Tanya can contribute –’

  ‘Sergeant van der Mark should be back here already, I ordered her back, are you saying she hasn’t left?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t, but I’ve got two dead bodies, and possibly two more on their way, and I need her here. And, as I said, we have a suspect in common so we’ll be advancing your case at the same time.’ He shifted gear, aware after his confrontations with Smit and De Waart that he seemed to be making enemies. ‘I’d really appreciate your help on this.’

  Jaap could hear Bloem’s breathing, the heavy rasp of tar-laden lungs. Teije made the drink motion to him but Jaap declined.

  ‘Okay.’ His tone of voice said otherwise. ‘She can stay for one day, after that if you haven’t got anywhere then she’s coming back, no extension.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The words nearly stuck in his throat. ‘We’ll keep you updated.’

  ‘Damn right you will,’ said Bloem. Jaap heard a click, then silence.

  He put his phone away.

  Maybe, he thought, as he turned his attention back to Teije, I could swap Kees for Tanya.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘so the money comes in and then goes out to these three, Zwartberg, Haak, and this one, which is a smaller amount.’

  ‘Yeah, that one I’ve traced now, it’s going to someone called Paulus Fortuyn, I’ve got two addresses here.’

  Jaap looked at it, one in Haarlem and one in the red-light district, and pulled out his phone.

  ‘Kees, it’s Jaap, where are you?’

  ‘Just at the station, I was –’

  ‘I’ve got a name, Friedman was paying a Paulus Fortuyn. Get a squad car to this address in Haarlem’ – he made Kees read it back – ‘and then meet me at 35 Bloedstraat in’ – he checked the clock on the wall – ‘twenty minutes, got that?’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘And Kees?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘If you get there before I do, wait, don’t go in without me.’

  38

  Wednesday, 4 January

  09.12

  Tanya knew she shouldn’t have answered when she saw it was Bloem calling.

  ‘What I want to know is what you did to get your new boyfriend so hot for you? On your knees were you?’

  Tanya found her jaw was tight.

  ‘I think you need to work out where your priorities are, because right now I’m not sure I’ll have a place for someone like you on my team.’

  I think you need, Tanya thought as she hung up, to go fuck yourself.

  She was waiting to meet Inspector Guus Visser from the Eastern District, who’d called twenty minutes after Jaap had put out a nationwide call on Haak. Visser had a lead on Haak and had offered
to pick her up at the station. As she sat she remembered what Jaap had said yesterday about Interpol. She borrowed a computer and pulled up their website, finding the missing-persons section.

  There were thousands of images, from people all over the world, young, old and everything in between. Each one a tragic story which would never be told.

  This will take me for ever, she thought.

  She picked up the phone, eventually getting through to someone who said she could send the photo over to them, but the chances of anyone there getting round to trawling through the pictures looking for a match was slim to none. Without a name, she was told, she might as well forget it.

  She slammed the phone down on the desk, and started clicking through the pages, scanning for the girl. As her eyes jumped from photo to photo her mind started raking over what she knew, and what she and Jaap had talked about last night.

  She’d asked herself if people really did that, pay for a child who in all likelihood had been trafficked for that purpose, kidnapped, taken away from their parents? How could you live with that? Live with the knowledge that somewhere out there were a mother and father, crying in the night for the loss of their child, lives destroyed for ever with the uncertainty, the cruel hope which would taunt them, scrape at them, force them to think that each day might be the day when their child was found, safe and well?

  It was the same hope she’d felt for years, maybe still felt even now, that her parents would turn up, despite knowing that was impossible. And the same hope she used to feel each time she was forced into bed by her foster father, that this time would be the last.

  It was sick, and if the Van Delfts had done exactly that then they’d got what they deserved, payback for the misery they’d caused. But then maybe they were victims too, perhaps they were naive enough to believe what they were told, that the child they were buying was actually an orphan, rescued from some repressive culture or regime where they wouldn’t have survived on their own. Coupled with their desire to have a child, they might have convinced themselves they were doing good.

  Just as she’d been deluding herself all these years, pretending it had never happened, and that she’d be able to lead a normal life if she just buried it deep enough.

  Deep, too deep.

  Or maybe not deep enough.

  She’d been clicking through pages as she thought, her finger and eyes working independently of her brain.

  She clicked through to the next page, twenty-seven of god-knew-how many, and there she was.

  Mid-way down.

  Tanya pulled out the photo she had of her. The angle was different in each, and the photo onscreen was of a younger-looking girl. But the basic bone structure was the same, and her hair was red.

  This is her, she thought, her breathing fast all of a sudden. This is the girl.

  She quickly read the details.

  Adrijana Fajon had gone missing just over two years ago, from Slovenia.

  Tanya reached for the phone; her fingers seemingly not under her control, she misdialled twice before she got it right on the third time.

  When she got through to someone she requested the full file, and the woman promised to get it over to her on email within half an hour.

  As Tanya hung up her mind was racing.

  ‘Now I know who you are,’ she said, looking at the photo again, comparing them to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake.

  ‘Hey, are you Van der Mark?’

  The voice startled her. She turned to see a man, short, with a thin face and sharp eyes.

  ‘Yeah.’ She rose and they shook hands.

  ‘A colleague of mine saw the call on Haak, he knows someone who might be able to help.’

  ‘Is he not coming?’

  ‘He’s on a case, can’t spare the time. Talk to photos often?’ He winked.

  They left the building and got into Visser’s car, where the radio was on low. He leant forward and turned the dial up as he pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘… Police have yet to confirm that the latest murder in the Jordaan is linked to the murder on Sunday of the businessman Dirk Friedman, but sources close to the police hint that there is a connection. And staying with the police, Inspector Andreas Hansen, also found murdered on Sunday, is alleged to have been involved with child pornography. For the latest we’ll go to our reporter Annette Groot.’

  ‘Thank you, Pieter. The allegations, and we must stress that they are only allegations at this stage, were made in this morning’s edition of De Telegraaf and other papers, and seem to point to material found on Inspector Hansen’s computer whilst investigators were trying to piece together the mystery of his death. We asked the officer in charge to comment but he was unavailable. However, we were given a short statement saying that the investigation was ongoing and that more details would be released later on. Over to you, Pieter.’

  ‘Thanks, Annette, sport now …’

  ‘Bad shit that, if it turns out to be true,’ Visser said as he swung the volume dial round to off.

  ‘The guy I’m working with, he knew him. He was his partner.’

  ‘Yeah, who?’

  ‘Jaap Rykel, he’s the one who put the call on Haak out?’

  Visser shook his head.

  ‘Haven’t met him. Amazing how many of us there are really. I guess in an ideal world we wouldn’t need any police, we’re just a symptom, you and I.’

  He waved a finger lazily in the air between them, then looked across at her and asked, ‘Not a good thought?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘My dad told me not to go into the police, said it was like putting your finger over a crack in the dam. In a way he was right, but I’ve been doing this for over twenty years now, and, well, I’m still not sure I was right, or if he was.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  Visser swerved to avoid an old man on a bicycle who’d suddenly cut in front of them. The old man shouted something at them. Tanya noticed his teeth were half black.

  ‘My dad?’ he laughed, shaking his head. ‘He was a doctor, guess he knew something about the futility of it all. Seriously though, what else are you going to do with your time? And if you manage to solve even one crime that’s got to be worth it. Especially if solving that crime means finding an abducted child.’

  She looked out the window, the rows of shops filled with Christmas displays, looking tired now, forlorn. She shivered, the damp cold reaching a hand down her neck. She thought back to the faces she’d seen on the Interpol site.

  Tanya had fallen asleep in her hotel room with the picture of the girl in her hand, and the doll she’d found at the scene of the fire, determined she was going to give it back to the girl. The girl who she now knew was called Adrijana. She’d dreamt she was little again, her foster father coming for her, and she was unable to escape.

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ she said, watching a man being pulled along the pavement by a small dog. ‘Just as long as I find her alive.’

  39

  Wednesday, 4 January

  09.23

  ‘Hey,’ Karin said as she opened the door. They hugged and she invited him in.

  ‘I can’t stay, I just wanted to check up on you, see how you were,’ said Jaap.

  She was standing there in flannel pyjamas which were baggy at the knee, and her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in days.

  ‘It comes and goes. I feel a bit better today.’

  Jaap noticed her eyes were filling up though, and she looked away. He hugged her again.

  ‘I’ve got to go, just give me a call, whenever you need, okay?’

  He felt her nod, her head resting on his shoulder, and then he released her. As he turned to leave she spoke again.

  ‘Thanks, Jaap, it means everything to me, you know that, don’t you?’

  Time for his eyes to well up.

  His phone rang. It was Roemers.

  ‘Have you got anything?’

  ‘I’ve been working on that laptop you asked me to look at, and you
r friend Andreas?’ Jaap could hear raised voices and the sound of a glass bottle hitting brick off to his left. ‘He had some seriously tropical browsing habits.’

  40

  Wednesday, 4 January

  09.43

  Kees looked up at the building, four storeys in total on a pedestrian street. The ground floor was taken up by prostitutes in their glass-fronted cubicles, some sitting on tall stools waiting, and some with the curtains closed, a client inside.

  He looked at them.

  Dogs for the most part, he decided, but one of them made him think of Carice.

  The women themselves reacted differently to their prospective clients; some sat, almost demurely, perched on their stools, others gyrated up against the glass, their flesh tinged, almost bruised, by the lighting which gave the area its name.

  They were tall, short, thin, fat; every taste, ethnic or otherwise, catered for, though from what he’d seen on the short walk from Dam Square, beauty was the possible exception.

  Jaap did, he thought, eyeing the one who was looking more like Carice the longer he stared, tell me to wait though that’s probably not what he’d had in mind.

  The sun was beginning to rise over the roof, a gold coin edging upwards, the light reaching the ground in the narrow street. He checked his watch; he’d been here for nearly half an hour, the cold starting to bother him.

  Where is he?

  The door, wooden and worn, black paint chipped off in places to reveal an earlier coat of blood red, had two buzzers on the wall next to it.

  Fuck it, he thought, might as well do it myself.

  35b yielded nothing so he tried 35a, and after a half a minute a voice, too crackled by the intercom to sex, came on.

  Shortly, after Kees had explained what he wanted, the door opened to reveal a squat woman with no neck and blonde spiky hair.

  ‘We need to get that thing fixed.’ She nodded to the intercom. ‘Drives me mad. But anyway, you said you’re police?’