The cleaning logs were spread out in front of her. They’d arrived while she was out, and she’d started to look through them, too tired to take them elsewhere.
But she just couldn’t seem to concentrate, her head was still too spacey.
She covered them up and went down to the canteen. She grabbed an orange juice and took it back to her desk, the gunk they put in it to convince you it was made from real oranges sticking in her throat.
But it cleared her head, enough to get back to the logs.
A few minutes later she had her answer.
And she wasn’t sure she liked it.
Her phone rang, it was Jaap.
He was talking before she’d even got it to her ear.
‘Hey, slow down,’ she said.
‘Teeven and Rutte aren’t working together; Teeven was ripping off Rutte’s grow houses to get back at him.’
‘For what?’
‘Teeven went to jail years ago instead of Rutte. For murder. Rutte threatened to kill his mother so Teeven had no choice.’
‘We got something too, Teeven wasn’t just robbing Rutte,’ she said. ‘One of the Coffeeshop owners ID’d him. Apparently he was also selling on what he stole.’
‘Even more reason for Rutte to want him dead then.’
He gave her an address and told her to get Kees and meet him there.
She scribbled it down.
‘Hey, grumpy,’ she shouted across the room. ‘Let’s go.’
38
Sunday, 9 May
19.53
‘So what’ve you got?’ said Jaap.
He’d left Blinker and just as he’d dived into the red light district at Zeedijk his phone registered a call from Pieter.
‘More than enough. The Romanian basically gave up Rutte and the whole operation including addresses of all the current grow houses. Seems he and his cousin, that’s the one you shot, were in charge of all of them, they spent their time going from one to another making sure everything was growing right.’
‘And were any of their houses robbed?’ asked Jaap, silently thanking Pieter for the reminder that he’d killed someone.
‘Yeah, and that’s where you’re going to be interested. This guy claims they contacted Rutte – his cousin had been here longer and spoke a bit of Dutch – and told him they wanted protection for when they were doing their rounds. They were scared that someone was going to try and bust one of the houses when they were working there, and he told them not to worry as the problem was being dealt with.’
‘When was that?’
‘When was what?’
‘When did Rutte say that?’
‘Friday night.’
‘I’ll need the transcript,’ said Jaap before hanging up and dialling Smit. Smit had been leaving messages for him, most of which seemed to be demanding a result before anyone else got killed, a point he reiterated when Jaap got through to him. Once Jaap had listened to the character assassination he explained what he had.
‘Okay, bring him in. I want this closed down as soon as possible.’
Sure you do, thought Jaap as he hung up and turned on to Oudezijds Voorburgwal. He spotted Tanya and Kees up ahead, standing by the canal, slightly apart. Normally he’d not take two other people to an interview, but he wanted to put the maximum amount of pressure on Rutte. Shock and awe, the military called it.
‘Hey, you ready?’ he said as he reached them.
Kees took a large drag on a cigarette, flicked it into the canal, and threw his head back, shooting out a jet of smoke into the air.
‘Hell yeah,’ he said.
Tanya looked at Jaap and rolled her eyes.
They walked across to the building, just as Jaap’s phone started ringing.
He checked the screen.
‘I’ve got to take this,’ he said. ‘Go in and make sure he’s there. If he is don’t ask him anything until I get there. And don’t let him leave, either.’
39
Sunday, 9 May
20.14
‘Police,’ said Tanya as she and Kees walked into the room. ‘Is Bart Rutte here?’
They were on the third floor; the window facing the canal was blacked out, a large desk stretched along one wall, and a woman sat on a swivel chair surrounded by piles of papers and two computers.
On the wall above the desk were three monitors showing the scene downstairs; two angled at the audience seats, and one directed towards the stage. At the far end of the carpeted room a pair of double doors stood closed, with a sign saying PRIVATE.
The paying public weren’t the crowd Tanya would have expected. If someone had asked her who frequented this kind of place she’d have said lone men, not the couples she saw making up a large part of the audience.
The woman swivelled round. She had short hair, and a robust bone structure covered in the leathery skin of a tanning-salon addict.
‘You’ll have to wait,’ she said, indicating the doors at the far end. ‘He’s got someone in there with him.’
‘Let him know we’re here,’ said Kees. ‘I don’t want him taking long.’
She stared him down while picking up a phone from the desk. She spoke, listened, then replaced it.
‘He’ll be five minutes,’ she said, indicating a sofa below the blacked-out window.
Tanya sat down and found her eyes back on the monitors. This time she looked at the stage.
A man and a woman were there, the woman completely naked, sitting on a chair with her legs apart. The man walked closer, then dropped his trousers. Kees sat down next to her. He was watching too.
They watched in silence, and it soon appeared that something on stage was going wrong, badly wrong. There was no sound, but it was clear the audience was unhappy.
The woman was trying her best, she really was. But it wasn’t the man’s night.
‘Errr,’ said Tanya, attracting the woman’s attention. ‘I think you may have a problem.’
The woman glanced up at what was happening on stage. Kees had started laughing, and Tanya was joining in. She’d never seen anything so ridiculous.
‘Shit,’ said the woman. ‘He’s useless. And he’s on the maximum dose already; if he takes any more his heart is going to give out.’
She got up, glanced towards the door marked PRIVATE, then headed out the way Tanya and Kees had come in. ‘Stay there,’ she said as she disappeared through the doorway.
Kees was laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes.
The crowd were throwing things now, and the man and woman had given up and were heading for the wings just as a fully clothed man burst out in front of them. He was moving fast and ended up colliding with the naked man, knocking him backwards into the woman, who skidded into the chair. The chair swayed on the edge of the stage before toppling over. The clothed man didn’t even look at the chaos, he just ran past and jumped down into the audience.
Neither Tanya nor Kees were laughing now.
‘That’s …’ said Tanya.
‘… Rutte,’ finished Kees.
He was making for the exit.
Tanya and Kees sprang towards the door.
40
Sunday, 9 May
20.18
‘Look, I know this isn’t ideal,’ said Jaap, glancing down at the canal water.
It was rippled, each tiny wave picking up neon from the surrounding buildings.
The phone was red hot against his ear. He wasn’t sure if it was radiation or Saskia’s anger.
‘Damn right it’s not ideal,’ replied Saskia. ‘I’m heading down to Den Haag now. And Jaap, if you do manage to tear yourself away from your job early, like tomorrow say, then I’d really appreciate some help with Floortje.’
‘The way things are going I may be on track. I’ll let you know. I’m sorry this came up, but you know how it is.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Saskia, breathing out. ‘Look. I’m sorry we argued over this. I know you don’t really have a choice. It’s just that this trial is the one
chance we’ve got to put that butcher away, and it’s my responsibility.’
Despite their different jobs, they were both on the side of good.
So why do I feel what I’m doing is more important? thought Jaap. Did I learn nothing in Kyoto?
‘I know, and you’re going to do it,’ Jaap said as he watched a group of teenagers exit one of the buildings, all buzz cuts and bravado. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go, but I’m really close to tying this up. I’ll let you know.’
He hung up and took a breath.
If Rutte is our man, thought Jaap, I might just make it down to Den Haag after all.
He turned back to the building, tourists walking past it, laughing, taking photos. Jaap was ten metres away when a figure burst out of the front door, jumped the three steps to the pavement, startling a group of women giggling at the neon sign. The man hesitated for a moment, looking up and down the canal with quick head movements, his whole body primed for flight.
He looked a lot like Rutte: older perhaps, but the heavy eyebrows were still there, and the widow’s peak was even more pronounced as the hair either side was receding. He was tall too, taller than Jaap. Which put him well over six foot something.
Rutte swung his head past Jaap, then back towards him. Their eyes met. They stared at each other for a second, each waiting for the other to make a move. A group of tourists walked between them – a bunch of young men on a stag night judging by the fact they were all wearing miniskirts and high heels – and Rutte took advantage of the cover, powering off north up the canal.
More tourists had appeared, and Rutte was having to shove his way through them.
Jaap was after him, trying to stick to the path Rutte was creating through the bodies. He had to jump over one man who Rutte had slammed to the ground, a bag of French fries fanning out in the air, just as Rutte skidded right on to the bridge leading to Oudekennissteeg.
Rutte made it over and dived into the pedestrian passage on the far side, and as Jaap followed he could hear running footsteps behind him, but he didn’t have time to turn and check them out. He pumped his limbs harder. Rutte was heading for the next bridge, the one which would take him to the Oude Kerk, where there was more open ground and lots of people.
Jaap was closing in, only five metres or so behind. Rutte clearly hadn’t spent the intervening years keeping fit. Jaap could hear his breathing; it didn’t sound too good.
Which was better for him.
Two metres now, on the bridge, but Rutte, sensing that Jaap was about to spring, ducked sideways, knocking over several bikes which were leaned against the railing. Jaap tried to go round them but caught a foot against a handlebar, tripping him up and spinning him sideways. He hit the ground hard, winding himself, and he felt the skin on his hip get shredded on the rough stone.
A figure rushed passed him. It was Tanya.
Rutte was just going down the hump of the bridge when Tanya leaped off the apex, managing to grab a leg just as she hit the ground.
Rutte, off balance, spun round, but his momentum kept him going, and he fell on to his back, his head cracking against a pop-up urinal.
Tanya was on him, trying to flip him on to his front to cuff his hands, but he squirmed free and threw a punch up. Jaap saw her body rear up, and she dropped sideways, clutching her throat, her mouth an O of surprise and pain.
Rutte was up on his feet, moving again. He was bent low, like he’d hurt his back, and he was using one of his hands to help him along, Quasimodo-style.
The crowds, aware that something was going on, were parting for him as he headed towards Oude Kerk.
Jaap sped past Tanya, who was now on her back, still clutching her throat, but she was breathing.
Rutte was upright now, and Jaap put everything he had into his limbs, closing the gap. He barrelled into him, knocking him to the ground. Jaap pinned him in the back with his knee and slipped a plastic tie over his wrists, pulling it tight.
‘Guess what,’ he said to Rutte as he hauled him to his feet. ‘You’re under arrest.’
41
Sunday, 9 May
22.58
‘Need a lift?’
Tanya had left Jaap briefing Smit. Rutte had requested a lawyer so they couldn’t question him this evening, and despite the fact she was tired and it was late, her throat still aching from Rutte’s blow, despite now having to work on two cases, and despite doing this all while she should have been on leave, she had decided to walk through the centre of town to the ferry which would take her over the water to her flat in Amsterdam Noord.
She needed the time to think. About her case, about how Kees was involved, if at all, and about her foster father. She’d heard back from the tram company. Her request had proved fruitful. Several of the drivers on the route the homeless man had singled out did know of a man in a wheelchair, and they all gave the same tram stop that he got out at. Tanya had left a message for Smit and requested surveillance at the stop; she’d not heard back yet.
They always want results, she thought, but they don’t like spending money to get them.
She was walking up Rokin, travelling north, pressing through crowds of people heading out for the night and wondering what she could do, when she heard a familiar voice and turned to see Kees, his face framed in the lowered window of an unmarked.
‘Lift?’
Her stomach flipped like a fish stranded on a drying riverbed.
Now’s the time to ask him, she thought.
‘Sure,’ she said, moving round to the passenger side. As she touched the door handle her fingers sank into something soft.
Someone had stuck gum there.
Once she was in, Kees eased the car forward; she tried to wipe her fingers clean, trying not to think about saliva.
‘Where’re we headed?’
‘Amsterdam Noord. We can take the tunnel.’
‘Tough day, huh?’ said Kees as he changed lanes quickly, failing to use the indicator.
‘Yeah, you could say that,’ she responded, knowing she should ask him but reluctant all of a sudden.
‘You know, I’ve got something that might help.’
At a red light he pushed himself up off the seat and reached into his jeans’ back pocket. He pulled out two slender objects, moulded to the curve of his backside.
‘I got these earlier,’ he said, holding out the two joints. ‘Purely as research.’
Tanya was about to refuse, but then reached out and took one.
What the hell, she thought.
There was no traffic in the tunnel, and Kees sped through.
Sodium strip lights pulsed down on them at intervals.
As they emerged on the north shore Tanya looked up and saw the moon, surface pitted in the darkness.
They reached her address, but she then redirected Kees to a small playing field two blocks away. She didn’t want smoke in her flat.
Or Kees.
Kees parked and they made their way on to the playing field, a rectangle of grass which was already beginning to wear away in patches from the dry weather. Thin trees, not yet trusted to stand upright without posts, surrounded the area, and a skate park rose up in one of the far corners, its curves and boxes like an alien cityscape.
Beyond that Tanya could make out, over the tops of a row of houses, the upper decks of an enormous ocean liner moored in the IJ.
They made their way to the skate park, clambered up one of the quarter pipes, the metal coping still warm from the day.
The first couple of pulls made her cough, but she gradually relaxed into it and they sat, neither saying anything
A few minutes in, Tanya knew she couldn’t put it off any longer.
‘Kees,’ she said.
‘Hey.’
‘We need to talk.’
Kees took another hit, holding it in for what seemed like an age before tipping his head back and blowing a pillar of smoke straight up into the darkness.
‘Yeah … Sure.’
She told him about the calls
placed from the station to the homeless woman, but he stayed silent, concentrating on his joint.
‘So, you were the only one at the station when all those calls were made.’ She twirled her joint slowly between her thumb and first finger. ‘Are you involved?’
Kees took another hit.
‘Listen, I’m going to tell you this, but I’d really appreciate it if it, you know, stayed between us?’
‘Depends what it is.’
‘Yeah, fair enough,’ he sighed. ‘Okay. I’ve got into a bit of trouble – debt – and the only way to pay it off was with some information. I did make those calls, but I didn’t kill her.’
‘It was you tipping the gang off, about where the cannabis farms were.’
She didn’t phrase it as a question.
Kees nodded, then rubbed his eyes as if the smoke was bothering them.
‘The thing is, victimless crime, right? I mean, some gang rips off another gang, big deal.’
‘Except the first gang have now started killing the second gang.’
‘I know, but that’s nothing to do with me. I just passed on the information.’
‘So you know who some of these people are, and you’ve just stood by and watched it happen?’
I thought this stuff was supposed to calm you down, she thought. It wasn’t having that effect on her.
‘Hang on,’ he said, shifting round to look at her. ‘I don’t know these people. The person who … set this thing up, I don’t even know them.’
Tanya’s head was spinning. She wasn’t sure it was from the joint.
‘This debt. It’s drugs related, I’m guessing?’
‘I got behind with some payments, that’s all. And I wasn’t given much choice in the matter. Basically I had to help out or they’d send some evidence that I’d been using. They’d taken photos of me picking up the stuff.’
‘So they let you have drugs without paying, then called it in?’
‘Yeah. I … I should have seen it coming really. They knew who I was. Or rather what I was. I guess it was planned.’
Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) Page 16