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

by Jake Woodhouse

  Everything had gone.

  56

  Wednesday, 4 January

  21.13

  ‘… and he said that Andreas was mixed up in child pornography. Jaap, I can’t take this. I don’t understand what’s going on.’

  Saskia’s voice, coming through the hands-free kit in the car, sounded distorted, alien. Even so, he could tell she was scared. Really scared. He flicked the indicator and pulled left on to Leidsestraat, heading for the station. Leidsestraat was ostensibly traffic-free, given over to trams and pedestrians, but Jaap didn’t feel like going the long way round. And who was going to stop him?

  ‘Listen, De Waart doesn’t know what he’s doing –’

  ‘Andreas was never into that, he wasn’t. You have to tell him, you have –’

  ‘I don’t think he’s going to listen to me right now.’ Raising his voice, angling his head towards the mic by the rearview mirror. He noticed a motorbike one car behind him, its headlight blinding. ‘Listen,’ he continued, ‘I think I may be getting somewhere with this case, and I’m going to be able to prove that Andreas wasn’t into that … stuff. It’s just going to take a little while. I’ll be round later, I’ll let you know more then.’

  The thing is, he thought as he ended the call, I’m not sure I’m getting any closer at all.

  He checked the rearview again.

  The bike was still there.

  57

  Wednesday, 4 January

  21.28

  ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ said Korssen.

  ‘Do you find something funny about murder and child pornography? Because I have to say I don’t,’ Jaap shot back.

  The interview room was lit with a single bulb, unshielded, and the air was stale with sweat and fear. It was like a stage set, the sparseness of it all designed to give a guilty mind nothing to latch on to, nothing to distract itself.

  He knew how effective emptiness could be.

  He’d faced it in Kyoto, wrestled with it. He wasn’t sure now if he’d won.

  ‘But what have I got to do with that?’

  ‘I don’t know, which is why you’re here, and we’re having this little talk. But what I do know is that your business partner winds up dead, an associate of his, who he’s running a child porn business with, is also killed, and after we talked, you do a runner. If you were in my shoes, what would you think?’

  Something tightened in Korssen’s face.

  ‘Get me my lawyer.’

  ‘Where’s Ludo Haak?’

  ‘Who the fuck is Ludo Haak?’

  ‘I think you know.’

  ‘I’m not saying another goddamn thing until you get me my lawyer.’

  Jaap stood up.

  ‘Find him a cell,’ he said to Kees, and went for the door, turning back once he’d opened it and was half outside, ‘and see if you can find a busy one, don’t want our friend here getting lonely.’

  Once Korssen was settled in – Kees had found a group of tourists for him to stay with, tattooed tossers on a stag night which had ended in the usual brawl – Jaap called Tanya, agreeing on where to meet. But before they left Kees mentioned something which caught his attention.

  ‘Totally wiped?’

  ‘Yeah, all my reports and stuff, gone.’

  Jaap checked his watch, it would be tight, but he needed to get the laptop over to Roemers, find out if it was the same as Andreas’.

  ‘I’m going to drop it off with Roemers to have a look at. You head over to meet Tanya, I’ll catch you up.’

  Kees unplugged his laptop and handed it to Jaap.

  ‘And Kees?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Keep it civil between you two, okay?’

  58

  Wednesday, 4 January

  21.57

  ‘So you think it’s a victim killing off Friedman and the people he worked with?’ asked Tanya, looking out of the car window. None of the four street lights were working, the only illumination coming from windows, stark light from unshaded bulbs. They were sitting in an unmarked, watching the building entrance, hoping that Ludo Haak was going to make an appearance soon.

  Jaap stretched his legs out as far as they would go under the dashboard and yawned. Kees was parked three back, and Jaap had decided he’d rather wait with Tanya.

  Obvious, really.

  And not least as he was getting bad vibes from Kees. He seemed to be reckless. And angry.

  Jaap knew about both.

  And he knew they were not a good combination.

  ‘It looks like it, the phones make that pretty clear. But there’s a whole load of things I don’t get.’

  ‘Like where’s the girl.’

  ‘And how come Andreas is dead. If it was a victim killing these guys off why would they kill Andreas as well.’

  ‘The news reports –’

  ‘Fuck the news reports, all that shit about him being into porn, it’s just not true.’ He breathed out slowly, aware that he’d snapped. ‘Sorry, it’s just …’

  She reached a hand out and touched his.

  ‘I know, it’s okay,’ she said.

  ‘The thing is, I’d spoken to Andreas on Sunday, he asked me to take a ride with him, he thought he was getting somewhere on that case I told you about. And there’s a good chance if I’d gone …’

  ‘You can’t think like that.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Maybe if you’d gone with him you’d both be dead now.’

  Jaap toyed with telling her about the houseboat break-in, and the motorbike, but decided against it. He was exhausted again, and he was just getting used to sitting there with Tanya’s hand on his own.

  It’s been so long …

  Her phone started ringing; she took her hand away and pulled out her mobile.

  ‘I think it’s the investigator, from Ljubljana,’ she said before answering it.

  Jaap listened to the conversation, in English. Tanya’s was better than his. He tried to stretch his legs out a bit further but there wasn’t room; he found the lever down by the side of the seat, but it was jammed.

  Tanya had shown him the file from Interpol and the photo of Adrijana. The resemblance was there, but it wasn’t what anyone would call a 100 per cent match.

  ‘When was this?’ asked Tanya after a few moments. She listened some more, then thanked whoever it was and hung up.

  Jaap looked at her, he could tell she was shaken.

  ‘Adrijana’s parents.’ She swallowed and looked out the window. ‘They killed themselves three weeks ago.’

  He paused to watch a young Algerian come out of the building, stop to light a cigarette, hunched over the flame, his face flickering for a second, then walk up the street away from them, the tip of the cigarette like a firefly.

  All his training in Kyoto had been to try and accept suffering. Yuzuki Roshi had said that was the only way to be free of it, annul its terrible power. It had all seemed so simple there, cloistered away from day-to-day life, from relationships, from people and the evil they did.

  But now it wasn’t simple.

  He reached his hand out to Tanya’s, she gripped it, her face still averted.

  Then he noticed a figure emerging from a car which had just pulled up outside the building, a hood making him look like an executioner.

  ‘Is that him?’ asked Tanya, her voice strangled with emotion.

  Jaap strained to see his face but couldn’t get an angle.

  The hooded figure took one last drag from a cigarette and then threw it on to the ground, blowing the smoke up into the night. He stepped through the doors and disappeared. Jaap and Tanya both reached for their door handles at the same moment. He checked the rearview to make sure Kees was alert. His head was back against the headrest. Jaap couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not.

  ‘Let’s go and find out.’

  Jaap walked back to Kees’ car and rapped on the window. Kees jerked forward, opening his eyes, then got out.

  ‘I need you alert. Wait at the foot of the stairs, Tanya
and I are going up.’

  There were nine storeys, and it was on the seventh that they heard the shouting, a woman with a foreign accent telling him she didn’t have the money, and a man’s voice, presumably Ludo Haak’s, telling her that he didn’t give a toss, he wanted to be paid, and if she didn’t have the cash he’d take it in other ways.

  They rushed up the next set of stairs, Jaap spotting the open door three down the corridor. As they pushed their way in they saw the figure shoving someone to the floor. Jaap ran forward, but the man, still wearing his hood, must have had some sixth sense.

  He slammed his elbow up into Jaap’s face, jarring with the force of a freight lorry against his jaw. There was no pain at first, just shock from the blow, and where his head kicked back against the wooden doorframe.

  Tanya lunged forward but he knocked her back, she tripped over one of the steps behind her and fell awkwardly, her leg twisted.

  Jaap ran after him and could see him taking the stairs four at a time. He followed, a rushing in his ears like a waterfall, head feeling light from the blow. They’d started on the eighth, and the figure was a floor ahead of him already. He could hear the ricochet of his steps below, slamming off the hard surfaces like firecrackers. Jaap had to close ground before they got to the car, and he tried to push himself to go faster.

  He turned the last corner to see the hood flying back, caught in the wind like a full sail, before the figure ducked into the car, the door slamming shut. Tanya was right behind him, her breath loud in his ear.

  Where is Kees?

  Jaap sprinted forward, his heart pounding against his ribcage and his lungs burning, getting to the kerb just as the car pulled out into the street, clipping the car parked in front.

  Then he saw Kees, he was off to the left, not where Jaap had told him to wait, running towards them, the cigarette he’d been smoking leaving a trail of red sparks as he flicked it away and reached for his gun.

  No one had been shot at – Jaap didn’t even know if the man was carrying a gun, though it was probably a safe bet that he was – and Kees shouldn’t be doing this. The rule, drilled into raw recruits from day one, was ONLY SHOOT WHEN SHOT AT. He shouted out to him, but Kees couldn’t hear with the roar of the car.

  Or he chose not to.

  Jaap watched as Kees, still running, raised his gun.

  The first bullet hit the back windscreen.

  The glass cobwebbed.

  It was hard to tell what happened with the second. The car swerved, smashing right into the front end of their own. Jaap heard metal crunch.

  Kees was closest, only metres away, the gun still in his hand, Jaap shouting not to shoot again.

  The car was trying to reverse, tyres smoking, the engine at full revs, the two vehicles’ bumpers locked together, before one of them gave, the car shot back and Kees had to dodge sideways to avoid eating metal.

  Jaap was running, Tanya by his side now. She was yelling something to him but the words were getting lost in the air, not connecting properly with his ears. And he could tell she was limping, forcing herself forward before it became too much and she dropped back.

  Kees was within reach, skirting, reaching out for the door handle, when the car lurched, the gear change from reverse kicking in, and it took off, Kees running alongside, his shouts covered by the shriek of tyres.

  By the time it skidded round the corner with a long drawn-out screech of rubber, it had left him behind.

  Jaap had jumped in their own car, trying to get it moving, the ignition firing on the third attempt, but the steering wheel wouldn’t shift. He yanked it hard, nothing. The crash must have jammed the wheel, maybe forced the axle, all the while the thought running through his head like a mantra, Get him, get him, get him.

  Tanya’s hand yanked the door open, grabbed the radio and called it in, the plates would be on the system within seconds.

  But, as she hung up, they both knew it was too late. Kees was walking back along the road, gun still in hand; he looked like he was cursing. Faces had appeared at windows, only to disappear as quickly.

  Just shadows and phantoms of the night.

  They didn’t want trouble.

  And seeing things was definitely trouble.

  Tanya looked across at Jaap, bent forward, his forehead on the wheel.

  The car would be found in a similar area in a day or so, torched. The driver would not.

  ‘It wasn’t him,’ she said getting her breath back.

  He looked up at her, his brain pulsing, damp heat rising up out of his clothes, his jaw feeling like it had been crushed.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She looked down the street, watched Kees. ‘There wasn’t a tattoo on his neck.’

  Jaap hit the steering wheel.

  59

  Wednesday, 4 January

  22.42

  ‘Why has no one caught whoever did this?’ asked Saskia.

  Jaap reached out to touch her, calm her, but she shrank away.

  A horned moon spiked the sky in the window behind her, and lower in the darkness the neon of Amsterdam glowed.

  ‘I’m working on it.’

  ‘Don’t keep saying that!’

  ‘You don’t think I want to find them too?’ Rage flared in him like phosphorus pulled from water. ‘Huh? You think I’m spending my days screwing around?’

  He turned away. He’d been doing a good job of controlling his anger since Andreas’ death, partly as he had something to focus on, but it was starting to burn. Two deep breaths then he continued, ‘I’m sorry … I’m sorry.’

  He could hear her start to cry again behind him, and he turned and went to her, cursing the Black Tulips, cursing Andreas, but, most of all, cursing himself.

  DAY FOUR

  60

  Thursday, 5 January

  07.59

  Thirteen years ago today, thought Tanya as she opened her eyes.

  She tried to push the thought away before it turned into a cascade of what ifs.

  What if her parents hadn’t gone out that day?

  What if she’d never been orphaned?

  What if her foster father hadn’t …?

  It was no good. The same old thought patterns, wearing away at her like water carving a channel through rock. She stretched and got out of bed, yawning, her eyes feeling puffy, enormous.

  The rumble of trams had bracketed her night, and unfamiliar noises kept waking her. There’d been the raised voices of drunks, planes descending with their dull roar and something – rats? – scurrying around in the roof above her.

  The bed, like the hotel, was cheap. It creaked with the slightest movement and sagged in the middle, and when she woke, grit in her eyes and mouth dry from the metallic beer she’d drained from the mini-bar, her spine felt like it had been pummelled with a metal rod, swollen and stiff.

  And the cold probably hadn’t helped either. She checked the radiator, it was turned to on, but the amount of heat coming off it would struggle to melt an ice-cream.

  The shower was, thankfully, hot, the thin needles of water helping to loosen her back muscles. She wondered what Jaap was doing, thought about how hard it must be having to sneak around investigating the murder of a colleague, a friend.

  Of course, the rules were there for a reason. It would be all too easy to let emotion take over, cloud judgement to the point of making serious mistakes.

  But then, she thought, trying to get the nasty pearlescent liquid from the half-empty bottle to lather in her hair, he seems pretty in control, far more than I’d be.

  Though what would happen if he actually caught whoever was responsible? Would that threaten the case in court? Would a defence lawyer make a meal of it – vigilantism, broken procedures – allowing them to create a chance for their client to walk free?

  And how would that impact her case?

  Do I, she thought as she rinsed what little foam she’d managed to create, have to get there first?

  She could see he was hurting.
>
  There was something in his eyes which she’d noticed but had been unable to place.

  And she liked him. He was different, though she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. In any case he wasn’t like Kees, which could only be a good thing. She could feel her presence made Kees uncomfortable, and she wondered if that was what had made him pull his gun and shoot last night.

  Lucky for him he missed, she thought.

  Whilst they’d waited for someone to pick them up and tow the car, Jaap had taken Kees aside, far enough away from her so that she couldn’t hear the words, but close enough for her to know he wasn’t reciting poetry. There would be questions asked and surely they would suspend Kees.

  She hoped so, she knew how volatile he was, how he might jeopardize her case. And she also hoped it wouldn’t put her into conflict with Jaap. There was something about him … She remembered the feel of his hand …

  Out of the shower she towelled her hair dry and reached for the tiny white plastic hairdryer mounted on the wall.

  Click.

  Nothing.

  The receptionist, once he’d actually answered the phone, seemed to promise to get one sent up, but given the language barrier – she wasn’t sure where he was from but it sure wasn’t close by – there was room for doubt.

  She wrapped her hair in the damp towel, reeking of strong chemical laundry detergent, and her mind drifted back to Jaap.

  Ease of communication was something she didn’t have in her day-to-day life any more, if she’d ever had it at all. But talking with Jaap in the bar the other night, and then when they were waiting for Haak, had proved it was possible. Given the right situation or, more importantly, the right person, she could loosen up.

  I really need to get out of Leeuwarden, she thought.

  There’d been a message from Bloem, and she’d not even listened to it.

  She glanced out of the window, the sky bright like liquid glass, a seagull wheeling round one of the spires on the Rijksmuseum.