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

by Jake Woodhouse

  ‘Just fucking get on with it,’ yelled Kees as he shoved a drunk back into the cell.

  The man stumbled on the steel threshold, put his arms up and smacked into the wall. He was turning round, presumably to complain, when Kees slammed the door shut on him.

  I need to get out of here, he thought. Now.

  The station was still in chaos, and he’d been roped into getting all the suspects back into their cells by Smit. There were eight more suspects waiting to be ferried back from where they were being held outside. But all he could think about now was getting to the woman’s address before she split. She must’ve noticed her wallet was missing, and she’d probably figure that it could lead back to her.

  Fuck it, he thought, as he reached the ground floor.

  He ducked out the back, just as he saw Smit stepping off the stairway, talking on his phone. Kees wasn’t sure if Smit had seen him or not.

  Getting to the address would have normally taken about ten minutes, but the snow slowed him up, and by the time he got there, a terraced red-brick out south, he was sure she’d be long gone. He wanted to hammer against the door but managed to make himself press the bell instead. The snow was falling heavily now, starting to settle properly.

  The door opened a crack, and he recognized her, despite only seeing a tiny portion of her face. She tried to slam it shut but he was stronger and forced his way in. She was running up the stairs, then she tripped and he managed to grab a foot and haul her back down. He could smell her perfume, and her fear. She tried to lash out at him, and he had to pin her arms back on the stairs, kneeling on her thighs until she screamed, and spat in his face.

  Then she started sobbing, and her muscles relaxed, and he knew that she was beaten. He yanked her to her feet and marched her into the ground floor room, shoved her on to a sofa, and pulled the roller blinds down on the window leading out to the street.

  ‘It’s not what you think …’ she managed between sobs, her face buried deep in her hands.

  ‘No? Running away from the scene of a murder, then assaulting a police officer, me, at a place connected with the first murder? How is that not what I think?’

  She looked up at him, her face puffy with tears, eyes red.

  ‘That was you in the … the loft?’

  ‘You’re the one who knocked me out, gagged me and then put me in a box – you tell me.’

  ‘I couldn’t really see, it was dark and I was petrified.’

  ‘You were petrified? I think you’d better start telling me what’s going on.’

  109

  Friday, 6 January

  15.42

  Silence.

  A pulsing universe of pain radiated out from the back of Jaap’s head.

  Maybe he was dead.

  That’s what the hexagram had warned against: darkness, maintain light.

  But if he was dead why could he feel pain?

  In Kyoto, Yuzuki Roshi had always said, ‘Just sit.’

  And so he’d sat.

  He’d sat, and tried to let go of his thoughts, tried to forget what he’d done. But it didn’t work; the more desperately he sought to rub out the memory the more vivid it became, growing in intensity until he felt like screaming.

  He and Andreas were just at the end of a long shift when a call came out, a report of a domestic disturbance in process. They were only a few blocks away. Andreas had wanted to leave it, Jaap called back and said they’d go.

  But by the time they got there it had turned into more than a domestic.

  The neighbour who called it in, a woman with tired, frightened eyes, filled Jaap and Andreas in. The shouting had blown up five minutes before, but it was the scream which had made her pick up the phone.

  Jaap pushed the door open with his foot, gun outstretched.

  A man was standing in the main room.

  With a knife.

  Held to a woman’s throat.

  He’d already made a gash stretching from her wrist to her inner elbow. He looked up, like he’d been expecting someone, and Jaap could see from his eyes he was on something strong. Probably crack. Maybe other stuff too.

  ‘Stay back.’

  His voice confirmed it. The woman whimpered.

  Jaap could see she was pregnant, blood from her arm gushing over her rounded stomach.

  They didn’t have long, she was losing blood.

  ‘I told her not to do it. But now it’s all fucked up.’

  ‘I’m sure we can sort it out, but first I need you to put down the knife,’ said Jaap.

  ‘You don’t understand, it’s too late. And I told her not to do it.’

  Andreas was outside calling an ambulance whilst Jaap tried to calm the man. And for a while it seemed to be working, the man started lowering the knife from her throat.

  The knife moved down.

  Then Jaap realized why, he was simply moving the knife, down towards her stomach.

  The crackhead must have seen realization in his eyes.

  He sped up the movement, down, then out ready to stab back in.

  Jaap fired.

  Fired until the clip was empty and the crackhead had slumped back against the wall, dragging the woman down with him.

  Jaap ran across the room, the floor sticky with the woman’s blood which had flowed from the cut on her arm.

  She didn’t seem to be moving.

  He looked down and saw why.

  Seven for the crackhead.

  One stray for the woman.

  All this time, he thought, and I still can’t let it go.

  Maybe he was dead now, maybe this was his Karma. Waiting for a real shitheap of life to be reborn back into. Payment for the woman’s death.

  He heard a weird sound echo round him, a kind of muffled wail.

  It was only when his body started shaking, and he felt two liquid streams tickle his cheek as they dribbled down, that he realized he was crying, as if the tears were a strange currency of regret, trying to make payment for his mistakes.

  The woman’s death.

  Andreas’ death.

  Karin’s death.

  When it subsided, the sobs becoming more and more spaced out until they finally stopped, he tried to sit up again.

  Something had changed, he could feel it. As if the tears had strengthened him. He couldn’t do anything about their deaths. But he could make sure whoever was responsible was held to account.

  He didn’t want to leave it to the laws of Karma, or fate, or whatever.

  And he didn’t care if it was revenge more than justice.

  What’s the difference anyway? he found himself thinking.

  He opened his eyes; his left felt gummed up, didn’t open fully. It was pitch black, and for a moment he panicked that the blow had somehow made him go blind. But he could smell, there was a damp, metallic tinge to the air, and it took a few moments for him to work out he wasn’t in the same place he’d been when he passed out.

  He’d known, a split second before the impact – some sixth sense kicking in too late – what was about to happen.

  Stupid, he thought to himself, really fucking stupid.

  He listened, wondering where he was, if he was alone. The sound of his breath was all he could hear, and something was jamming into his hip. Trying to move his head made the pain, if that was possible, worse.

  Jaap mentally scanned his body, checking that it was all there. After a few moments he came to the conclusion that nothing was missing, but that his hands were tied with some kind of thin cord – biting into the flesh when he tried to separate them.

  He tried to sit up, his feet scuffling against the floor, sliding, finding nothing to push against. Shifting his whole body sideways he tried again, and this time he found something with his foot. He pushed against it and managed to get himself into a seated position.

  The wall was cold on his back; he put his head back slowly, and could feel the tender spot where he’d been hit.

  They’ve locked me in a shipping container, he thoug
ht.

  A moment of panic rose, and he tried to calm himself by breathing deeply but it didn’t help. Here he was trussed up. He could be on a ship headed out to Russia for all he knew. His body would be discovered by customs officials in a few weeks’ time.

  Footsteps rang out, reverberating madly through the air. Someone was walking on top of the container. They passed right over him, and continued, before stopping when they reached the end. Suddenly Jaap remembered that he’d shot the man hitting Tanya, he’d seen him recoil just before being knocked out, which would mean it was the other man he was dealing with. The shorter man.

  Bolts slid, something turned, metal on metal, and the door swung open. A man, short as Jaap had guessed, stepped into the container and walked towards him. Jaap couldn’t see his face, the light was behind him. He gave Jaap a kick in the ribs with the tip of his boot, winding him and knocking him down. Then he grabbed Jaap’s legs and started pulling him towards the door. Jaap struggled, tried to kick his legs apart, but the man turned round and stamped on his stomach.

  After that he let himself be dragged.

  Outside the snow was coming thick and heavy, and made the sliding easier, though it rode up into his jacket, making him gasp for breath. The sky was dark, but the dock was lit at intervals by pale fluorescents, the falling snow only visible in their pyramids of light.

  Jaap lifted his head, muscles in his stomach shooting pain from the effort. He could see where they were headed, a ship, the massive dark hull looming up from the concrete edge, rust stains dripping down from the bilge holes, and he knew that if he had to do something it would have to be soon. But he couldn’t think of anything, his brain seemed paralysed.

  Everything swayed, seemed to go to a point, and he passed out again.

  110

  Friday, 6 January

  15.56

  Up the gangplank.

  The man struggled, strong as he was, with Tanya’s weight, his foot slipping in the snow, compacted from whoever he’d brought up here before.

  It must’ve been Jaap, she realized.

  Her hands were bound, as were her feet.

  The man’s phone rang; he paused, pulled it out and answered, listening for a minute.

  ‘Okay, you get rid of them. Get rid of all three. And I’ll finish dealing with this bitch.’

  He’s going to kill them, her mind screamed. Do something, do it now!

  She lunged on to her side, curled herself round one of the vertical poles which dotted the gangplank, and pulled her feet back trying to off-balance the man, just as he was pocketing his phone. He tried to compensate, shooting his foot out behind him to stop the sudden pull, but it slipped and he loosened his grip slightly, his arms automatically trying to correct his balance. He let out a yelp which would almost have been comical in another situation.

  Tanya took the opportunity, flailed both her legs free and slammed her right leg into the man’s chest. Pain seared through her thigh as she felt the stitches tear open. He toppled over backwards, hitting the surface hard, sliding down head first on his back. His phone fell out of his pocket and over the side.

  It was seconds before she heard the splash.

  She rolled back into the centre of the gangplank, hauled herself up, and looked down to see the man, sliding fast, smack his head into one of the same poles that had given Tanya her chance. She lunged down the ramp, needing to get to him before the man had a chance to get up, pull a weapon.

  But as she got closer she sensed he wasn’t moving.

  When she reached him, she could see that in hitting the pole, the rest of his body had splayed round to the right, the neck at an unnatural angle. She crouched down to check his pulse. It was there, but it faded even as she pressed her fingers into the man’s throat. She looked at his face, a snowflake landed on one of his open eyes.

  The eyelid didn’t blink.

  She watched as the flake melted.

  Snapping out of it she frisked the body for weapons. Her hands found two tucked into the man’s jeans, one of which was her own. She took both, jamming the second into her coat pocket. She found a penknife on a key ring, her fingers so cold it took her several attempts just to get the blade open.

  It took even longer to free herself, the blade small and blunt, cutting through the rope one fibre at a time.

  Once loose she shook as much watery slush out of her jacket as she could; the snow had collected as she’d been dragged and had melted against the flesh of her back making her shiver.

  Or is that fear? she thought. Fear of what they’ve done to Adrijana. And Jaap.

  She followed the trail up on to the deck where it turned left, heading for the stern. The snow helped keep her footsteps quiet, and as she approached the open deck she slowed down.

  Peering round the corner she could make out a figure, about ten metres away.

  It was Jaap. Her heart thudded.

  He was kneeling, facing away from her. She scanned for other figures. She couldn’t see any. She crossed the space, the metal deck slippery under the snow.

  Jaap flinched.

  ‘There’s someone else here, and they’re going to kill them. We need to go,’ she said to him as she undid the gag wrapped tightly round his mouth but before he could say anything she felt intense pain in her leg.

  It was only when she looked down at the slick of blood oozing out of her thigh, melting the snow like lava, that she became aware of the noise of the gunshot.

  Jaap heard the shot.

  He saw the spurt of blood, and twisted round just as De Waart stepped out from a doorway on the first floor of the control tower, his gun trained at Jaap.

  Tanya moaned next to him, both hands clutching her leg, trying to stop the bleeding. He hoped the bullet hadn’t hit an artery, but the volume of blood said otherwise. Then she was quiet. Jaap could tell she’d passed out.

  De Waart walked slowly to the left, down the steps to the deck, moving the gun closer until Jaap could see the dark bore hole, and behind it the face with impassive eyes.

  ‘I’d like to confess,’ De Waart said, voice calm, an eerie smile on his lips. ‘I’m going to kill you, just like I killed Andreas. And your sister. But I’d like you to know I hadn’t meant to kill her, I thought she was you.’

  ‘You think you can cover up their deaths? You think that no one’s going to ask questions?’

  De Waart smiled, and relaxed his gun arm downwards.

  ‘I thought about that. But I’ve already written a report showing that it was Grimberg who killed Andreas and your sister. These abuse cases, very sad, but … volatile.’

  ‘And no one’s going to wonder about my death?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy. I’ll tell them I killed you,’ said De Waart smiling again. ‘I’ll say that you were attacking your girlfriend here, must have been the grief which tipped you over the edge. Such a shame I wasn’t able to stop you killing her. If only I’d arrived a few seconds earlier. Tragic really. But then with your history …’

  Jaap’s heart was slamming hard against his chest, he thought it would break through his ribs. De Waart was probably right, and presented with an easy solution no one would look any deeper.

  His mind raced so fast it felt slow. He wanted to say something, but one look at De Waart’s eyes told him that it was pointless. Nothing he could say would make a difference.

  Nothing could change what he was. So Jaap just held his gaze.

  Everything became clear, as if he’d been back in Kyoto, sitting, emptying his mind.

  He wanted to live. For himself, for Tanya.

  But he knew he was going to die. He thought of the woman he’d killed, the guilt he’d been living with over the years.

  He closed his eyes.

  I’m going to die, he thought, I need to forgive myself.

  ‘What the fuck,’ asked De Waart as he stepped forward and raised the gun again, ‘are you smiling about?’

  The shot had rung out less than a minute before Kees reached the corner. />
  He’d made his way up the gangplank, but had turned right towards the front of the ship, skirting round the deck on the far side. It was a detour which had added several minutes, and he hoped the shot didn’t mean he’d made the wrong decision, got there too late.

  Kees crouched at the corner and listened, the thick snow not only making it hard to see but softening sound as well. Which had been good for his approach, but was less useful now. He wanted to look round but needed to establish what was going on first.

  There was a man’s voice up ahead, but he couldn’t tell what he was saying. Then a second; it sounded like Jaap.

  Kees looked at his knuckles holding the gun out in front of him. They were white. And it wasn’t because of the cold.

  Fuck it, he thought.

  He slowly rolled his head round the corner, the metal of the ship’s wall freezing against his cheek. Snowflakes blurred his view, but he was pretty sure there were three figures down on the deck. Tanya was lying, one of her legs bloody, and Jaap was kneeling next to her with his hands behind his back, looking at a figure standing just in front of him.

  Kees couldn’t make out who it was. He might be able to get a better view if he retraced and came round from the other side.

  That’s going to take me too long, he thought.

  Then he saw the figure step right up to Jaap and raise the gun, pointing it in his face.

  Before he knew he was even doing it, Kees found he’d sighted the man. The trigger’s resistance was at the last point before it gave, like a foot on the clutch.

  His finger twitched.

  He felt the recoil.

  The figure’s head blossomed red.

  111

  Friday, 6 January

  16.38

  Tanya lay in the back of an ambulance.

  She looked down as the hi-vis paramedic gently lifted the blood-soaked fabric of her trouser-leg and started cutting through it.

  Beyond him, outside the back doors, uniforms floated through the snow. Blue lights flashed.

  She’d passed out just after the shot had hit her leg. When she’d come round Jaap was bending over her, and Kees was also there. They’d said something, about who’d shot her, but she hadn’t really heard, all she could think about was Adrijana and the two other girls.