Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) (29 page)

Tuesday, 11 May
20.01

Kees had pretended to be a falafel delivery guy trying to reach another of the flats, which, he said, had a broken buzzer.

Paul’s flat was at the back of the building, off a corridor with five other doors. The place wasn’t exactly opulent; only one overhead light was actually working, and Kees could hear the sounds of a TV spilling into the space from more than one flat.

It’s like a retirement home
, he thought.

Paul’s door was at the far end, and had a peephole. Kees pressed the buzzer and turned towards the corridor as if looking at something, trying to hide his face. Not that Paul had anywhere to run, but he didn’t feel up to breaking down the door.

As it opened Kees could see that even if there was an escape route it wouldn’t have mattered.

The man in front of him was in a wheelchair.

He nodded at Kees, wheeled himself back and pirouetted round with surprising grace. Kees followed him into the flat, his heart thudding. Over the last few months he’d thought about this meeting many times, thought about what he’d do to Paul.

‘How did you find me?’

The room was neat, a low computer desk on one wall, and filing cabinets along another. It looked more like an
office than a home. The air was stuffy, too warm, too lived in.

‘Does it matter?’

‘Not really,’ said Paul. He sat there looking at Kees, something going on with his face. It took Kees a moment or two to work out it was a kind of smile.

A chair scraped across the floor in the flat above, finally stopping just above Kees.

‘Are you doing this to other people?’

‘A few.’ He shrugged, pointing to the cabinets, the smile more pronounced now. ‘I deal in information. And before you get any ideas you’ve got to know that everything is duplicated. If I die then the whole lot gets released. It’s funny, there seem to be a lot of people concerned for my well-being these days. And before you ask, yes, the woman had to go.’

‘Why?’

‘She’d started to get ideas of her own.’

‘And why the police jacket?’

Paul laughed.

‘Oh that?’ he said once he’d stopped. ‘That was just a bit of fun.’

Kees looked at him. He was trying to hold back a thought, but it broke through.

This is what I’ll end up like.

It set something off in his brain, and his stomach came to life, like the two were linked, like the two were actually one.

He felt like he’d been turned inside out.

‘Why me?’ he managed to say after a few moments, wondering if he was going to be sick. Paul was observing
him, his eyes watery and full of something Kees couldn’t place. Hate? Disgust? Or just a coldness which reached right down into the man’s lack of soul.

‘Why not? Your dealer owed me a favour, told me he had a cop on his list of clients.’

‘So you’re blackmailing him as well?’

‘Not at all. I’ve been paying him for everything you’ve taken.’

‘You’ve been paying
him
?’

He reached over to one of the cabinets, pulled open a drawer, his fingers skipping over a row of files. He reached the one he wanted and pulled it out, offered it to Kees.

‘Here’s every gram that’s gone up your nose – you can see the transaction amounts, dates. I simply pass these on and get reimbursed. Some of the photos you’ve seen before of course.’

Kees didn’t move to take it, he didn’t doubt what was there. Beyond the offered file he could see the poke of the man’s legs; just bones in a tracksuit, wasted muscle.

‘So what, you then sell on the information you get from me?’ he asked, trying to fight down the feeling he had rushing up at him from his stomach.

I’m going to be like him
, he thought.
I’m going to be a cripple.

‘Exactly,’ said Paul. ‘But the best part is there’s a plan for you. Someone’s been very interested in what you’ve been up to, in your activities. A benefactor, let’s say. He’s actually been the one giving me the money to pay your bills. You belong to him now. He’ll be contacting you, I’m sure.’

The room swayed drastically to the left, but it only
seemed to affect Kees; Paul was still in his wheelchair. Kees reached out and put his hand against the wall. When the room had righted he turned and headed for the door.

He no longer cared what Paul did.

Losing his career seemed so insignificant now.

Now that he’d finally allowed himself to acknowledge what his future was going to be like.

As he stepped into the corridor he was sure he could hear Paul laughing.

Tuesday, 11 May
20.07

Sound came back first.

Jaap could hear them talking but he couldn’t make out the words.

It took him a few moments to work out why. It wasn’t anything to do with his hearing, or his brain; they were talking in a language he didn’t understand.

Feeling came back second in the form of pain, his nose and cheekbone throbbing. From his position he figured he was slumped on the floor, head on the carpet. He opened his left eye, slowly, trying not to give away that he was conscious. All he could see was some dark fabric, probably the back of the sofa Krilic had been sitting on when he’d entered the room.

How long ago was that?
he wondered, trying to work out if his hands had been tied.

They had.

Behind his back.

He listened to the voices, mainly Krilic’s, Isovic contributing only when it seemed required. There was little doubt as to who was in charge.

Then there was movement, the sound of keys being scraped off a solid surface, and something heavier – Jaap pictured the gun Isovic had been brandishing earlier – and finally the slamming of a door, the voices instantly muffled before receding.

His brain was still slow, and there was something about the gun which he just wasn’t getting. He shifted position then realized what it was; his own wasn’t in its holster. He was lying on his left side and he’d be able to feel it if it was.

Then he remembered he’d not taken it back from Isovic after they’d left ICTY. He’d been too busy driving, trying to avoid the police.

He should be able to feel Saskia’s phone as well, but couldn’t.

Realization hit him. He’d put it in the car-door pocket when he’d been driving and left it there when he’d followed Isovic inside.

He struggled into an upright position, hampered by his bound hands, then stood up, scanning the room. Whatever was binding his wrists was thin, he decided after a few moments of exploration, so at least it wasn’t cuffs. He might be able to cut through, but there wasn’t anything he could see that would be immediately useful.

I’ve got to get after them
, he thought.
Now.

Looking round again his eyes fell on the TV.

Two strides and he was in front of it.

One hard kick and it was on the floor, but the screen remained intact. He tried kicking the glass. All he got was more pain.

He moved the small side table the TV had been on in front of the screen, pushing it with his foot. Once he’d lined up the corner of the table with the screen he gave another kick.

The reward was a few shards of glass.

He kicked the table away and sat down on the floor, back to the TV, his hands searching for the shard he’d
singled out, his fingers probing the carpet like a hungry spider.

Once in his hand, he could feel sharp edges running along his palm and the insides of his fingers, he tried to manipulate it round to connect with the binding.

His breathing was heavy now. He was battling panic, knowing that every second spent here and not going after Krilic was a second of Floortje’s life running out.

Getting the shard into position was proving difficult, and he had to twist it several times, nicking skin, before he thought it was in position, between his two palms, pointing up at his wrists. He tried a sawing motion, but that didn’t seem to achieve anything other than a cut in his hand.

Next he tried shifting the angle, trying to get the point of the shard on the inside of whatever the binding was, then putting pressure against it, hoping it would slice through.

The glass broke, he felt a bit of it slide into a wrist, he wasn’t sure which one.

Blood oozed, slick and sticky at the same time. Pain was shooting up his arm, he wasn’t sure he could feel his hand.

He grasped the shard with his left and tried again, willing the glass to stay intact.

This time it worked.

Neither of his hands looked like his own, both glistening with blood. Glass poked out of his right wrist. He watched as his drenched fingers gripped the end of it and gently pulled it out, the volume of blood rushing from the wound increasing the further out it came.

He dropped the glass on the floor, clamped his left hand over his wrist and made for the door, trying to work out how long it’d been since Krilic and Isovic had left.

He listened for footsteps in the stairwell, but couldn’t hear any, so he ran down, his head starting to whirlpool again. He didn’t know if it was an after-effect of the punch, or the loss of blood, or both.

A trail of dark fluid spooled out behind him.

Outside it was getting dark.

Which meant he was really running out of time.

Every second he wasted put Floortje in more danger.

He checked for the car they’d switched to once they’d ditched Saskia’s Citroën but it was gone. They must have taken the keys off him while he was knocked out.

He put his left hand on to a car bonnet to steady himself, but the blood starting to pulse out of his wrist again. He slumped down, back against the car’s front wheel, and re-clamped his hand over the wound.

A couple were walking towards him. They looked Algerian, the man thin, the woman less so. They saw the blood on his hands – Jaap saw alarm flare in their eyes – and started giving him a wide berth.

‘Police. I need your phone,’ said Jaap, fumbling for his ID, his right hand definitely not working the way it should. The couple hurried on, eyes averted.

He tried to get up, struggling to his knees, then standing, one leg at a time.

How hard did he hit me?
he wondered as everything swayed,
or is it that I’m losing too much blood?

‘Hey, you all right?’ came a man’s voice from behind him.

Jaap tried to turn, tried to say that he needed help, that time was running out.

His legs dissolved.

All he could think about was Floortje.

The ground zoomed up at him, fast.

Tuesday, 11 May
20.18

Tanya got a signal way back up the road.

But she couldn’t get hold of Jaap, the phone just kept ringing out to voicemail. On the fourth go she left a message explaining where she was.

She hung up and wondered what she should do.

There was less than an hour until the conviction was announced. She needed to make a decision. She could go in on her own, but the chances were Floortje might get hurt – or worse – if things went bad. And despite all this, her mind kept swerving back to Staal, a sickness pooling in her stomach.

Maybe Saskia has been in contact with Jaap
, she thought.

She called and Saskia picked up, her voice frantic.

‘Jaap?’

‘Saksia, it’s Tanya. I really need to speak to Jaap – do you know where he is?’

‘What is it, have you found her?’

Tanya thought for a moment, scenarios running through her mind. The rule book was clear; civilians should not be involved in cases. But she didn’t know what the rule book said about kidnapped babies.

‘I think I might, so I really need to tell Jaap.’

‘Where are you? Have you seen her? Is she—’

‘Look, I know this is tough, but the best thing we can do right now is to get Jaap here.’

‘He’s due to call me any minute now. Tell me and I’ll let him know.’

Tanya thought for a moment. She didn’t want to tell Saskia the details, but she also wanted to get back to watch the boathouse, and there was no reception there.

‘Okay,’ she said, and gave Saskia the address. ‘You wait where you are, we’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got her.’

One she’d hung up and headed back over the wooden bridge, the uneven planks slippery underfoot, she couldn’t help feeling she’d made a mistake.

Tuesday, 11 May
20.24

The siren was really starting to bug Jaap.

He wished it would stop, but it kept repeating its cycle – up and down, up and down. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Reluctantly he opened his eyes. It seemed to require a huge amount of strength, and it took him a few seconds before his brain kicked in; Floortje, the cut on his wrist, losing Krilic and Isovic.

A second later he worked out where he was.

‘Take it easy,’ said the paramedic sitting by his shoulder, his right arm braced up against the side of the ambulance. ‘We’ll be there in a few minutes.’

‘How long has it been?’ said Jaap, trying to sit up, his head spinning so much he had to drop back against the stretcher. A clear IV bag hovered above his head, the tube snaking down into his arm like an alien parasite.

For a moment Jaap pictured a goldfish in the bag.

‘We got a call eleven minutes ago, and we picked you up –’ he glanced at his watch ‘– about three minutes back. Not bad really.’

Not much time lost then
, thought Jaap.

He’d been worried he’d been out for longer, that he might already be too late. Moving his arm up he could see the bandages, the rough white fabric blooming with blood.

‘I’ve got to go. Can you stop the ambulance?’

‘You’ve just lost a bucket load of blood, and it looks like you might still have some glass in your wrist,’ said the paramedic. ‘The only place you’re going is the hospital.’

‘I’ve got a situation on my—’

‘Yeah? I kind of wondered if you’d done it yourself. Then I noticed the tie marks on your wrist, figured you weren’t trying to kill yourself after all.’

‘I need to get moving.’

‘Hey, I know. Don’t worry. I found your ID and I’ve let your colleagues know, so I guess they can take care of whatever you’re working on. Your case.’

‘You gave them my name?’

‘Name and rank. They seemed pleased to hear you were okay, especially some guy called Smit? Said he’d been looking for you, was worried about where you were. He said someone’ll be waiting for you at the hospital.’

They know
, thought Jaap.
They’ve worked out I helped Isovic escape.

Another thought came to him just as the ambulance slowed down and hung a right.

Maybe I should tell Smit, get more people working on finding Floortje.

‘Have you got a phone?’

‘Someone you want me to call?’

‘There’s someone I need to speak to. It’s urgent.’

The paramedic looked at Jaap for a moment, before fishing in his pocket. Jaap sat up, his head spinning, but less than previously.

Jaap got put through to Roemers.

‘Roemers, I need you to track a number for me.’

‘Jesus, Jaap,’ whispered Roemers. ‘Things are going apeshit
here, they’re saying you abducted someone. Last I heard they’ve put a warrant out for you so I really should be hanging up at—’

‘Listen, I’ll explain later, but I really need your help now.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘I’m about to give you a number. I need a location on it – can you just do that?’

Roemers paused; Jaap could hear him tapping keys.

Is he sending someone a message?
he thought.

‘Okay, go ahead,’ said Roemers.

Jaap gave him the number of Saskia’s phone and waited. The ambulance was speeding up again.

‘How long before we get there?’ he asked the paramedic.

‘Less than two minutes now.’

‘How’s it coming?’ Jaap asked Roemers.

‘Got it,’ came the reply. ‘You want the location?’

‘Course I fucking want it,’ said Jaap. The paramedic glanced at him.

‘Okay, okay. No need to snap. It’s out towards Leiden somewhere, just getting the exact position now. It’s moving.’

Jaap swung his legs off the stretcher, jammed the phone between shoulder and ear and yanked the IV tube out of his arm.

‘Stop the ambulance,’ he said.

‘I really think you need to get to hospital. If you go out there you’re going to risk all sorts—’

‘If I don’t there’s an even bigger risk,’ said Jaap as he lurched towards the back doors, trying to work the latch.

The paramedic banged on the partition separating them from the driver.

‘Roemers, I need Tanya and Kees’ numbers. Can you send them to the phone I’m calling you on?’

‘Thirty seconds, they’ll be with you.’

The ambulance stopped. Jaap hung up, got the door open just as the paramedic reached out his hand for the phone. Jaap leaped out on to the road, scanning the street. Houses lined both sides of the road. More importantly there were cars, plenty of them. He turned back.

‘I need to take your phone, but I’ll get it back to you.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

Jaap shook his head. It felt light, floating up from his neck. He put a hand out to steady himself on the door. He thought of Hank, dropping into a coma.

‘Actually it’s a shit phone,’ said the paramedic, shrugging. ‘I reckon given the circumstances you can get the police to buy me a new one, like a serious upgrade? But my number,’ Jaap heard him say as he turned away, scanning the cars, choosing one which looked fast enough. ‘I’ll want to keep my number.’