Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet)

by Jake Woodhouse

  And it had rattled him, that much was clear.

  Dehydrated, she thought. Yeah, right.

  Her phone rang, startling her. From the number she could see it was the lab.

  ‘Does it match?’ She’d asked them to check the knife she’d found and the holster on Jaap’s second victim.

  ‘Yeah, same make, same size,’ came the response.

  She hung up.

  Looks like my theory is right, she thought.

  Which meant her next move was going to have to be the Coffeeshops. Which was unfortunate as it meant the only real way of finding anything out was traipsing round them.

  Before Jaap had rushed off they’d agreed she should pursue this, but having spent a while listing them, she’d lost track of the number already. She realized it was going to be a needle-and-haystack job.

  I’d no idea there were so many, she thought.

  Her phone rang. It was Jaap.

  ‘How’d it go?’ she asked. ‘Too late again?’

  ‘No, this was still running. Hank got hit though, he’s in an ambulance now.’

  ‘Shit. Bad?’

  ‘He’s out cold. His leg got mashed up with a shotgun, lost a lot of blood.’

  ‘You’re okay?’

  ‘Yeah, kind of. But I think we’re getting somewhere. Before Hank passed out he gave me a name for who he thinks runs the grow operation.’

  ‘Anyone we know?’

  ‘Bart Rutte,’ said Jaap. ‘We’re going to need to track him down. I’m working on that now, but I just wanted to let you know I spoke to Smit, he’s agreed to Kees working on this with—’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘No … Look, I know you don’t like him, but he did come up with the photos, and I think he could be useful.’

  I’ve got to tell him about Kees, she thought, glancing around.

  She looked around. There were too many people here, fellow inspectors whose ears would prick up at what she had to say.

  ‘Listen, there’s something I need to tell you,’ she said as she headed for the exit, holding her breath as she approached the men’s toilets. ‘It’s about Kees, I don’t think … Jaap, are you there?’

  From behind the toilet door she heard the sound of something being smashed. And whoever was doing the smashing seemed to have a bad case of Tourette’s.

  It, and this didn’t surprise her, sounded like Kees.

  The line was dead.

  Did he just hang up on me? she thought as she hit the call button. It went straight to voicemail.

  She rushed back to her desk, picked up her list and the photos of the people involved with the case. Then she looked up Rutte’s file on the system, printed out his mug shot.

  Better get out of here now, she thought.

  Down in the carpool the desk sergeant had gone AWOL. She waited for a few moments, keen to get on, keen to leave before she saw Kees. After a few more seconds she reached into the booth, grabbed a set of keys, scribbled a note and went in search of a car.

  She pressed the unlock button but none of the cars beeped or flashed their lights for her. She dashed back, grabbed a second set, and was this time rewarded by a car right at the end coming to life.

  ‘Hey, wait up,’ said the exact voice she didn’t want to hear.

  She turned to see Kees step into the carpool, the door swinging shut behind him. All she could think about was the name she’d circled on the attendance logs.

  Whoever it was had been in touch with the homeless woman. And the homeless woman had been casing one of the places which had been cleaned out.

  That can’t be a coincidence, she thought, looking straight at Kees.

  He didn’t look too bad – the colour had come back to his face – but his eyes, always startlingly blue, were bloodshot. His facial muscles were tight, like he was angry.

  ‘Feeling better?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah. Just got a lot on,’ he said, rubbing the back of his head. ‘So, looks like we’re both working on this case now. I guess Jaap told you?’

  Tanya tried to think quickly. If he was involved, was it even safe going with him? He was arrogant, she’d seen that during their relationship, and he took risks. But fundamentally she’d always believed he was a good guy. He’d saved her and Jaap’s lives last year, shooting to kill without hesitation, or even knowing why he was doing it.

  And the man who had shoved the homeless woman under the train had short hair, nothing like Kees’ overly-long style.

  It can’t be him, she thought. It can’t.

  Tanya turned towards the car.

  ‘He did,’ she said, hoping she wasn’t just about to make a massive mistake. ‘So let’s get going.’

  34

  Sunday, 9 May

  13.44

  Jaap was standing just outside the station, leaning back into the car Pieter had just dropped him off in. Petrol fumes wafted up. Pieter was heading over to the hospital, to see how Hank was doing.

  ‘Let me know when you get something,’ said Jaap.

  They’d worked out the guy they’d arrested only spoke Romanian and were trying to find an interpreter so they could question him.

  ‘Will do,’ said Pieter.

  ‘And Rutte, where do I find him?’

  ‘He’s got a place in De Wallen, one of those live sex show things. That’s his cover, we’re pretty sure he launders his drug money through that. We watched him for a bit – he’s there every night. We asked if we could bug the place, but they turned us down.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Not enough bugs available, apparently.’

  As Jaap wrote down the name of Rutte’s sex joint he marvelled that he lived in a country where a business specializing in live sex shows could legitimately be a front for an illegal drugs operation.

  ‘Okay, keep me up to date with Hank.’

  ‘Always the fucking hero, getting himself shot like that,’ said Pieter with a laugh.

  But Jaap could tell he was scared under the bravado.

  He closed the door and watched as the car lurched away.

  Hank was in a coma. The ambulance crew had been grim-faced, and got him out of there as quickly as they could. He tried to remember if Hank had children. Jaap knew that people who went into comas often didn’t come back out.

  Or if they did they weren’t ever the same.

  Before Floortje’s birth Jaap had not really thought about the danger his job involved, it was just part of it and he dealt with each situation as it came. But Floortje had changed all that, and he found he was starting to become acutely aware of the possibilities. He could be killed, and then Floortje would be without a father.

  She’d have to grow up without me, he thought.

  Death.

  The inevitable fact of life.

  His time in Kyoto had been an attempt to come to terms with it, with the fact that he’d killed two people, and for a while he thought he’d succeeded.

  But now he had a daughter everything had changed.

  His phone started ringing. He was finding he’d developed a Pavlovian response to it. Each time it went off his stomach clenched, expecting it to be news of another killing.

  But when he looked it was Saskia. She’d sent him a text earlier, asking him if he was going to be free to look after Floortje tomorrow and he’d yet to answer.

  He could choose between green or red.

  He chose red.

  The station was quiet, and he went to his desk and sat down.

  Things were starting to take shape. Most investigations were simple. The killer was known to the victim, and the average time it took to identify and arrest them was less than twelve hours. Jaap knew from experience that if after the first twelve hours the killer was still not obvious then the case was going to be one of two types. The first could stretch out for days, weeks and months before through either luck or sheer dogged determination the police got a result. The second type were the ones which were never going to be solved.

  These
were rare, and Jaap had only had one of those in his career.

  He wasn’t keen for another.

  Jaap pulled up Rutte’s file again and hit print on the photo. Rutte’s face slid out of the printer, twice. He also looked up businesses in the red light district and finally found the one Pieter had mentioned. Jaap grabbed the sheets and made his way towards the incident room, taking them with him. He stood in front of the whiteboard he’d marked up earlier, trying to work out what he was missing.

  If Teeven and the other victim were part of Rutte’s drug operation, why were they getting killed?

  Something pinged in his head. The newspaper article he’d skimmed earlier about a corporate takeover bid.

  Is that what’s going on here? he thought as a uniform stuck his head round the door. Is this an underworld takeover? Someone muscling in on the cannabis growing business?

  ‘Call for you, line three.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I think she said her name was Sasha?’

  ‘Saskia?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one.’

  ‘Tell her you couldn’t find me,’ he said.

  He found some tape and stuck one of the photos on to the whiteboard.

  As he stared at it he wondered if he was looking at the killer.

  Tanya’s theory broadly fitted what they knew so far, with one major exception; it did nothing to explain why Teeven and the first victim had been watching him. And Tanya.

  His phone rang again.

  Okay, okay, he thought as he reached for it, expecting it to be Saskia.

  But it turned out to be an unknown number.

  ‘It’s Bart van Rijn,’ said the voice when he answered. ‘I got a message saying you want to know something about one of our ex-inmates?’

  ‘Martin Teeven. I’m guessing you’ve seen the news?’

  ‘News? I’m coming off shift over two hours late just because one of our guests set the fire alarm off. They know that causes huge hassle for us, that’s why they do it. We’ve had people in to try and make them tamper-proof, but there’s always some fucker who finds a way to trip it again. Anyway,’ he continued, maybe sensing Jaap’s lack of enthusiasm for the topic, ‘how come you wanted to talk about Teeven?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Peacefully in his sleep?’

  ‘Beheaded.’

  ‘Oh, I did hear about that. He was one of those? Shit.’ Jaap heard him breathe out slowly. ‘He was hard work and all, but beheaded … I’m not sure anyone deserves that.’

  ‘Hard work how?’

  ‘He was one of those who always claimed they were innocent. Most of the people in here face up to what they’ve done, you know? They might not actually feel any regret, but I always think those that deny it are probably the most dangerous. I’ve seen it a few times, the ones that lie to themselves. It can kind of tear their minds apart after a while. Some of them really come to believe they’re innocent, and they get this whole paranoid conspiracy theory thing going on. Which is never good. He used to claim that the cop who put him away had framed him.’

  What, thought Jaap, if he really was innocent? Would that push him over the edge?

  He didn’t even want to think about that right now. Because that could be a serious motive for revenge.

  ‘Was he friendly with anyone on the inside?’

  ‘I don’t think he was. Kind of a loner. Which again is never a good sign.’

  ‘Did he ever get any visitors?’

  ‘You know, I’m pretty sure he did. There was this guy who kept visiting him, like once a week at least. But the thing is, after a while Teeven stopped wanting to see him.’

  ‘He refused?’

  ‘Yeah, he told us to tell the guy he wasn’t home. At least he had a sense of humour.’

  ‘Why did he refuse?’ asked Jaap.

  ‘I don’t remember. I’m not sure he gave a reason.’

  ‘Who was the visitor?’

  ‘Can’t remember that either,’ he said. ‘Listen, I need to get going, I’m—’

  ‘This is really important. I need you to check the records – whoever it was must have signed in.’

  Jaap could hear the man breathe out slowly again.

  ‘Okay, hang on.’

  As he waited he thought about revenge. Teeven had been a small, a tiny, part of Jaap’s job; he’d done the work, got him convicted, then moved on.

  Teeven hadn’t.

  It looked like all Teeven had done was sit in a jail cell working up his hatred of the man who’d put him away, honing it like a knife.

  ‘Got it,’ said Bart. ‘The guy who kept visiting him was called Geert Blinker. Mean anything to you?’

  Jaap thanked him and hung up.

  The name did mean something to him.

  Jaap had arrested Blinker several years ago for flashing in Vondelpark.

  There’d been reports of a man who’d hide in the bushes by the pond and leap out stark naked whenever a lone woman walked past.

  He’d never tried to assault anyone; all of the women had said he seemed more concerned with them looking at his, as one of the victims described it in the official report she filed, piteously small penis.

  He’d only been caught when he flashed the wrong woman, a lesbian fitness coach, who’d run at him, chased him through the bushes and pinned him down on the far side until someone answered her calls and dialled the police. Jaap had been closest.

  When he’d turned up Blinker was lying there, covered in scratches from the bushes, with only a pair of white trainers on.

  He looked up Blinker’s file. Given that he’d been convicted of a sex offence, his current address was listed in the register. He scooped up Rutte’s mugshot off the table and headed for the door.

  35

  Sunday, 9 May

  18.56

  ‘Where next?’ asked Kees as they got into the car, following another unsuccessful Coffeeshop visit.

  Tanya had been letting Keyes do the talking, observing him, trying to work out if he really was involved in her case.

  Kees pulled out into the road in a way which didn’t surprise Tanya, who was pushed back into her seat by the acceleration. An old couple shuffling along the pavement looked up at the engine’s noise.

  ‘Leidseplein,’ she said, checking the list she’d made earlier.

  ‘Shit, you should have said.’

  ‘Maybe you should’ve asked before tearing off,’ she shot back.

  He glanced in the rear-view before yanking the handbrake up and skidding the car round. Once they were straight again, Tanya bent forward and picked up the paper which had slid from her lap.

  ‘And can we go any faster?’ she asked.

  Kees didn’t respond.

  She looked back at the list; she’d crossed off at least fifteen so far. No one had known any of the men in the photos. Or no one had admitted they had, anyway.

  ‘So, how’s it going?’ she said, dropping the sheets back on to her lap. ‘In general?’

  ‘You know,’ he said, settling back into his seat and fiddling with the window button on the door as he steered one-handed. ‘All right.’

  She reached out and flipped the radio on.

  ‘… and it will be tomorrow that Matkovic is finally put on trial. Security has been stepped up here at the ICTY in Den Haag, and prosecutors are expecting—’

  Kees clicked the radio off.

  The rest of the short journey was devoid of conversation.

  They parked up and walked to the Coffeeshop, a large neon sign of a dog smoking a joint drawing in tourists who’d come to Amsterdam with just one thing on their cultural agenda – horticultural bliss.

  Tanya’d never seen the attraction; the few times she’d smoked it’d just made her feel sick. And she suddenly remembered one of those times had been with Kees, back when they were together. Briefly.

  They’d been sitting on the roof of her block of flats, watching the night sky, when Kees had produced a joint. At first she’d p
assed, but then on his third or fourth pull had reached out and taken it from his mouth, the paper damp when she put it to her lips.

  And it hadn’t just made her sick, it had made her paranoid as well, bringing back her time as a foster child. She seemed to remember that she’d thought Kees had been working with Staal, trying to trap her so he could come back and get her again. She remembered crying, trying to get away from Kees, hitting him when he tried to calm her down.

  They’d broken up the next day.

  And here she was again, thinking about Staal. She’d been trying not to think about him since her failed attempt to confront him yesterday.

  Am I chickening out? she thought as they stepped into the Coffeeshop. Am I letting myself become distracted on purpose?

  The interior was low lit, and despite the hour, practically full. Groups, mostly men, sat around tables pulling on joints. Some were subdued, staring into space, others more animated, laughing the laugh.

  The dull tang of skunk hung heavy in the air, matched by underwater slo-mo bass thudding from the speakers like pumped sludge. Kees went to the guy dishing out joints from behind a long stainless-steel bar and showed him the photos.

  ‘Seen these?’ he asked without preamble, raising his voice to compete with the music.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ asked the guy. He had a tight T-shirt on, military hair with a lightning strike shaved out on one side. Fat rolled on his neck, and his right lobe held a silver earring. Tanya wasn’t surprised to see it was the shape of a cannabis leaf.

  She flashed her badge at him. He looked at it then begrudgingly turned back to the photos Kees was holding out.

  ‘Can’t say I do,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Should I?’

  ‘They’d be supply side,’ replied Kees. ‘Not customers.’

  ‘Not my thing,’ he said. ‘You’d need to speak to Wouter. He deals with that.’

  ‘He here?’

  The man shook his head but didn’t offer anything else.