Somewhere out there, she thought with a shudder, is a man who knows what happened to Adrijana.
She pulled out the two photos, one from the CCTV and the second from Interpol. The news that Adrijana’s parents had committed suicide had almost been too much to take, she hadn’t processed it yet, couldn’t process it.
She looked at the photos; both reminded her of her younger self. Before her own parents died.
Thirteen years ago today.
She wasn’t able to hold it back any more.
The smell of the schoolroom was seared into her mind. They’d been making papier-mâché face-masks, covering balloons with the sticky pulp, the glue smelling strong and slightly savoury, almost like wood shavings, thickening the air. The head teacher – a temperamental woman whose mere presence could stop dead every kid in the school – came in and started talking in a low voice to the teacher, both sets of their eyes flicking towards her like whips.
They could all tell that something was wrong. Chatter died down, and the next memory Tanya had – she had never been able to recall how she got there – was of being in the head teacher’s small office, rain hammering on the window, which looked out on to the desolate concrete playground, feeling sick to her stomach.
And scared, so scared that she didn’t know what to do, couldn’t move, almost couldn’t breathe.
Her parents had been involved in a traffic accident; a truck driver high on amphetamines – she only learnt that later when, at the age of eighteen, she requested the report – drove straight into the back of their tiny green car, ramming it against a concrete divider on the motorway.
The report had photos from many angles, the car crushed like a Coke can, the bloodstained road surface, figures in hi-vis jackets indistinct in the fog that had gradually – if she understood the sequence correctly – descended after the accident, and a mug shot of the driver.
She’d stared at the photo, trying to pour all her hatred, all her fear and anger and grief, into it, as if by doing so she could become free.
But it hadn’t worked, and had served only to implant his image into her brain, so that even now, years later, she was convinced that she’d recognize him on the streets.
And on the streets he would be. Tanya’d got two dead parents, but, according to the same report, he only got four years, death by dangerous driving.
The foster homes were next, the strange smells, the strange new customs, the strange ways that other families had of doing things.
But with time she hardened and a gradual recovery took place so by fifteen she appeared no different from any of her school-friends, another teenager wading through the painful currents of the teenage condition.
Only things had started happening.
Things which suddenly made her an outsider for the second time in her life.
A knock dissolved the thought, and she stepped across the tiny room, the threadbare carpet rough on the soles of her feet, opened the door, and took the plug-in hairdryer offered to her by a fat, unsmiling maid with a complexion like the residue from a deep-fat fryer.
As she dried her hair she thought again of the previous night. Whilst they were talking, waiting for the guy who turned out not to be Ludo Haak, she’d suddenly had the strongest urge to tell Jaap about her foster father, how he used to come to her when his wife, her foster mother, was out. How he manipulated her, kept her silent.
And she nearly did, despite the fact that she’d only just met him, and despite the fact that she’d never told anyone else, none of her boyfriends, none of her friends, no one. But the habit of silence – lurking in the back of her mind like a dark, lithe beast – sprang on her at the last moment, and she gave in, almost with a feeling of relief.
And that was not good. She realized that she was never going to be free, would never be able to be herself, until this was resolved. What the Americans called closure. The real question, she asked herself as she left the room having dressed, turning to lock the door with the oversized brass key fob, is do I deal with it myself?
61
Thursday, 5 January
08.10
‘Humiliated, I was fucking humiliated, in front of business associates. Do you know the damage that will do to me? To my business?’
Same room as last night. Korssen looked rough, stubble infecting his face. His lawyer sat next to him with glowing skin and a fresh-pressed suit, hair slicked back like an otter’s.
‘I don’t. And more to the point I don’t really care, because you lied to me about the timings on the night in question.’
‘You know what? I’m going to sue, I’m going to sue the department, the whole police force if I have to, but most of all I’m going to sue you, you piece of shit.’
His lawyer, torn between the possible fees he could charge for such an extravagant venture, even if, as he knew, it was destined to fail, and making sure his client didn’t antagonize anyone further, reached out to touch his hand, calm him.
‘I think what my client is trying to say, Inspector …’ He paused to check his notes. ‘… Rykel, is that you’ve jumped the gun somewhat here. You requested a European Arrest Warrant – and frankly I’m surprised that it was granted given the highly, shall we say, scant evidence presented – for my client, who was promptly arrested by the German authorities. I thought the police had to follow certain procedures, due diligence? But perhaps we can get this cleared up quickly?’
‘I’m not saying a fucking thing,’ said Korssen.
Kees, silent up until now, said, ‘We’ll see about that.’
Jaap’s turn to calm someone down, this time with a frosty glance. Kees wasn’t as in control as he should be, and if he didn’t pull it together Jaap was going to have to do something about it.
‘As you say, it was granted, which means someone else higher up thought it worthwhile. So I want to know why your client disappears off to Germany after I pay him a visit to ask about the murder of his business partner. If he can explain that then there is no problem.’
Korssen glanced at his lawyer before speaking slowly, trying to keep control.
‘I’ve already said, I was there to meet with some business associates.’
‘Doing?’
‘One of the businesses I’m a major shareholder in is looking to partner with a firm there, I was going to meet the board before we took the next step.’
‘What sort of business?’
‘We create partnerships between the private sector, government and local authorities, get schools built, hospitals, that kind of thing, though thanks to you I can safely say that months of work have now been ruined.’
So as well as being a rich businessman, thought Jaap, he’s also a saint.
‘Why did you leave in a hurry?’
‘The meeting was brought forward at the last minute, it was originally supposed to be the following week.’
‘I’d like to talk to the people you met.’
‘When you do, maybe you can tell them that it was a complete balls-up on your part, and that I had nothing whatsoever to do with it. That way I might just be able to salvage something from this mess.’
‘I’d still like to know what your argument with Dirk Friedman was about.’
‘Can I get these stupid things off?’ said Korssen rattling the cuffs, a sound like cutlery in a drawer.
‘Not until you give me a good reason.’
Korssen shifted in his seat.
‘I own or part own about fifteen businesses and I don’t have time to keep on top of the accounts. My old accountant left, and I’d hired someone new. Her role is to go through each business on a quarterly basis and report to me, just to check everything is on track. Obviously I’m constantly in touch with the managers of each, but I like to see hard numbers as well. A few weeks ago she came to me with some concerns that she had about Dirk’s business, and we spent a bit of time looking at it. It might have been nothing, but that’s what I pay her for, so I gave her the go-ahead to look back over several ye
ars and see what she could find.’ He paused. ‘I need a drink.’
‘This isn’t a bar. What did she find?’
‘I really need a drink.’
‘Get him a drink,’ Jaap said to Kees.
Kees left, slamming the door after him.
‘She wasn’t sure at first,’ continued Korssen when the sound had stopped reverberating round the room, ‘but by the end it looked like there was money being washed through the books.’
‘How much?’
‘Not a lot, eighty, hundred grand a year.’
‘And this money was going where?’
‘Getting paid out to a couple of consultancies, marketing consultancies.’
‘And how come you’d never seen it before?’
‘The previous guy didn’t spot it, but Maartje had worked as a forensic accountant before working for me so she was trained to spot these things.’
‘And you argued with Friedman over this?’
The door opened and Kees brought in a cup, putting it down roughly in front of Korssen, coffee spilling over the edge.
Korssen took a sip, made a face and put the cup back down.
Not the same as the coffee from his exalted machine, thought Jaap.
‘I went to him with a question, and he claimed not to know anything about it, so I said I was going to contact the consultancies to find out exactly what they were billing us for, and that was when he got jumpy. He said he’d look into it, no reason for me to worry, he’d let me know what he found out.’
‘And you agreed?’
‘Yeah, I knew that something was up, so I let him think that I’d leave him in charge of it, but I got her to do some digging and the more she looked into it the more it was obvious that something was going on, had been for some time. And money laundering is a serious offence, as a director of the business I would be held accountable, even if I didn’t know about it.’
‘People have ended up in prison for less.’
‘Looks like I have anyway.’
‘This is a conversation we should have had the first time round.’
He shrugged.
‘So you then confronted him, the argument?’ continued Jaap.
‘Exactly. He went wild, started talking all sorts of crap, but really I think he was scared, that was the impression I got.’
‘And did you follow up on the consultancies themselves?’
‘Tried to, phone numbers on their invoices didn’t work, and the couple of addresses I went to didn’t exist either.’
‘So that’s the money going out, but to be laundering, it must have been coming in from somewhere?’
‘Christ, you’re wasted in the police. Yeah, there were bogus sales being processed, so we were writing an invoice for diamonds we’d never sold, and then that same money was being paid out to the consultancies.’
‘Like for like?’
‘No, it was better hidden than that. There might be two sales which added up to the same amount going out, but once you saw the pattern it was pretty clear what was going on.’
‘And who was processing the sales?’
‘As far as we could see they were all internet sales, from the same person in Germany.’
‘But surely someone processes them? If a sale comes in off the internet then someone has to actually send them out?’
‘Yes, but all of the sales were from one customer, and the instruction, again given by Friedman several years ago, was that all these orders had to be passed on to him, saying that he’d get them sent out personally.’
‘And then he buried them.’
‘Exactly.’
Jaap sat back.
‘Ever heard of someone called Jan Zwartberg?’
‘No, should I have?’
Jaap slid a photo across the table.
‘Oh, this guy, this is the one I saw Dirk with, at the restaurant, I told you about it. Is he Jan Zwartberg?’
‘Was.’
‘Was?’
‘He’s dead, most likely killed by the same person who killed Friedman. And this one?’
He produced a photo of Haak, still watching for a reaction. Or a too obvious lack of reaction.
‘Never seen him.’
Jaap slid another photo across the table. Korssen looked at it, his face curling with revulsion.
‘Christ, what’s this?’
‘This is where that money you were wondering about came from. Friedman and Zwartberg owned a little business on the side.’
‘I know nothing about this.’
Jaap stared at him, at his eyes. He tried to read them but Korssen was hard to read.
‘What about the Black Tulips?’
‘What black tulips, what are you talking about?’ Korssen shot back.
Does he look nervous? wondered Jaap. Or am I just hoping he does?
‘Just a gang, you know, people who smuggle illegal stuff into the country. Guns, drugs, and it seems, based on this, children.’
‘I don’t know anything about this. If Friedman was involved in something like that I don’t see what it has to do with me.’
Jaap noticed Korssen had switched to Friedman, not Dirk.
Trying to distance himself.
‘And this?’ He reached down to the bag Kees had prepared earlier and pulled out the leather face mask; it flopped on to the table, the zip clattering against the surface. ‘We found it at your house.’
‘You’ve been in my house, you piece of shit. My private life has got nothing to do with you.’
‘No, you’re right. Just as long as this is between consenting adults then it doesn’t have anything to do with me. But if this has anything to do with children, then it most definitely becomes my business,’ said Jaap.
He pushed the chair back, metal scraping on the concrete floor, and stood, pulling both photos and the mask back.
Then he produced the phone they’d found in Zwartberg’s mouth, wrapped in an evidence bag.
‘You got a phone like this?’
‘No, should I?’
They hadn’t found one at the house, and Korssen had been searched when he arrived. But it didn’t prove anything. Easiest thing in the world to ditch a mobile phone.
‘Give me the number of the people you were seeing in Germany.’
The lawyer, who’d faded into the background, cleared his throat.
‘It seems to me that you don’t need to hold my client whilst you do that.’
Jaap had already stood and made his way to the door, his hand on the handle. He turned back and looked at them.
‘Procedure.’ He shrugged, like his hands were tied. ‘Due diligence.’
62
Thursday, 5 January
09.14
‘Kees, I need you here now,’ Jaap shouted down the stairs.
He’d seen Kees rush off as soon as they’d left the room Korssen was being held in. He had to update Smit in twenty minutes and had too many other things to do without waiting for Kees.
‘Yeah, I’ve just got to –’
‘Now.’
As he walked to the main office he thought back to last night. He’d been ready to file a report on Kees, pulling and discharging a weapon without sufficient reason was a serious offence, though it was more the lack of control it showed that worried him.
He’d even started typing it out on his laptop, but after staring at the black words on the white screen he found himself highlighting the text and his finger inching for the delete key.
In the end he’d left a message with Smit; it was probably best handled off the record.
He stopped by the murder board, checking all the new red names. Last night had yielded a bumper crop – a total of five were showing.
Red ink. Blood spilled.
Two were as yet unidentified, the Inspectors’ names listed below each.
‘Is he there?’
He turned to see Tanya, her face raw from the cold outside, the skin round her eyes particularly red.
But she still look
ed good.
Better than good, and despite everything going on he felt something tighten inside.
‘Could be one of these two.’ He pointed to the unidentifieds, trying to shake off the feeling.
‘I hope not,’ she replied.
‘Did you get the Van Delfts’ finances?’
‘The bank’s going to fax them through this morning. Should tell us if they really did pay for her or not.’
Kees skulked over, and Jaap led them into the incident room.
‘We’re running out of time,’ he said as they sat down. ‘We’ve got to get on top of this today. Kees, where are you at with Korssen’s alibi?’
‘I spoke to someone in Hamburg, they’re going to send someone out today to check it out, but they said it wasn’t going to be a priority.’
‘Did you tell them what we’ve got going on here?’
‘Yeah, but they didn’t seem that concerned, said that they had problems of their own.’
Jaap thought for a moment he could get a flight there himself, but dismissed it, it would take a massive chunk out of his day.
‘We’ve got Korssen here. If he’s the one responsible for the killings then all we need to do is find Haak; Korssen can’t kill him from his cell,’ said Kees.
‘No, but he might not actually be doing it himself, he could have hired someone,’ said Tanya.
‘I agree,’ said Jaap, ‘we can’t take that chance. Hassle the Germans, I want to be able to confirm whether Korssen’s alibi is false or not. If it is then we can go back at him hard. I wasn’t convinced by his performance back there, he’s arrogant and thinks he’s better than us. But given what we found yesterday at that loft we’ve got to consider the possibility that he wasn’t responsible, we might even be doing him a favour by holding him inside where no one can get to him.’
He thought back to the photos and the videos they’d found at the loft.
‘Judging by the amount of material we found there, our suspect pool just widened tenfold, so we’ve got to focus on Friedman’s and Zwartberg’s background and cross-reference it against the list which Grimberg is supposed to be getting to us this morning. Tanya, could you chase him up, I suspect he may still be dragging his heels.’
After the Silence: Inspector Rykel Book 1 (Amsterdam Quartet) Page 21