Death on the Canal Page 8

  ‘Do you think he’s right?’

  ‘I can understand why the boss is worried. The other dealer killed six people, all tourists, and we can’t afford to let that conviction get overturned. But someone died under my hands. Even if he was just a drug dealer, I still feel oddly responsible.’

  ‘But you did all you could.’ He took another piece of bread and reached for the jar of peanut butter, but my frown made him pick up the low-fat spreadable cheese instead. ‘Had you been drinking?’

  ‘Just a few glasses.’ I pushed my plate away. ‘There was a doctor on the scene too. It wasn’t just me. I feel as if I shouldn’t care, but I do.’

  ‘Are you not going to have any more? Have some more.’

  ‘No thanks, Dad, that was plenty for me.’

  ‘How about a satsuma?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m trying to give them up.’

  My father didn’t laugh at my joke but helped himself to a slice of salami, rolled it up and ate it in one big bite.

  ‘And there’s something else,’ I said. ‘The woman who’s the main suspect, I think I saw her give Piotr a photo of a toddler. I can’t help but think that this isn’t purely about drugs. That this child has something to do with it. Nobody is interested in that angle. So the case got moved to the other team and I’m going to be nowhere near it.’

  He got up and carried the tray back to the kitchen. The meat and cheese went back in the fridge, the bread stayed behind on the work surface, then he pushed the rest of the tray in its entirety into one of the kitchen cabinets.

  ‘The other team can take care of it. I’ll stop thinking about this dead man.’ I cleared the rest of the table. I took my plate and put that and the knife and fork on top of his. ‘But I had his blood on my hands. Quite literally.’

  ‘This bothers you.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it bother you? It’s possible, just possible, that I could have done more. That I’m now responsible for yet another death.’

  ‘Are you thinking about the other man who died? That time you discharged your weapon?’

  ‘Discharged my weapon. It sounds so clean.’ I paused. ‘Let’s just call it what it was, shall we? The man I murdered.’

  My father looked at me with a deep frown between his eyebrows. ‘Not murder. It wasn’t premeditated.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad, that makes a lot of difference.’ My voice was sarcastic. I opened the dishwasher. ‘Is this dirty?’ On his nod, I put everything in.

  ‘If you don’t investigate this, you’ll still be here next week, next month, wondering if you should have done more.’

  I closed the dishwasher door. ‘Do you know who I bumped into?’ I made it sound like a change of subject. ‘Ronald de Boer. He worked with Piotr Mazur. He’s a security guard now.’

  ‘I heard he’d moved out of Alkmaar after the inquest.’ My father’s voice was remarkably unconcerned. I would have been much harder on someone who’d tried to stitch me up.

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ I said.

  ‘I’m glad you testified at his hearing. I think it made things better for him.’

  ‘I didn’t want to help him, but I felt it was only fair to tell the truth about what happened.’

  ‘He did save your life. You were unarmed and he had to shoot someone. You of all people should know how that feels.’ My father finished cleaning the sink and put the cloth away.

  ‘If we’re keeping score, then yes, on the plus side, I have to admit that he saved my life. On the other hand, it was his misjudgement that put me in danger in the first place.’ It was hard to feel any gratitude towards Ronald. Because of him, I’d been shot. My father was right: Ronald had taken the gunman out, thereby making sure I wasn’t actually killed, but I would never have been in that situation if it hadn’t been for his blindness to what had actually been going on.

  ‘And you’ve never made mistakes?’ my father said, as if he could hear my thoughts. ‘You really should forgive him. I have.’

  I grimaced. ‘After what he did to you? It’s not that easy.’

  ‘If I can, then you should,’ my father said. ‘Anyway, about Piotr Mazur. I know you, Lotte. You’re like me: you can’t let anything go. For your own sanity, you need to find out who murdered him.’

  ‘How am I going to do that? It’s being moved to another group.’

  ‘Ask to be seconded,’ my father said after a slight pause. ‘Call your boss. You know it’s the right thing to do.’

  There weren’t many people I trusted, but my father was one of them. He knew me and he knew this job. It was too warm to argue about anything anyway, or even to think things through properly.

  I got my mobile out of my handbag and dialled the CI’s number before I could have second thoughts about it.

  That evening I sat in my front room with all the windows open. Ever since I’d made the call, I’d been calm. The curtains hung down limp and no draught came through the flat to give any relief. The only thing drifting in through the windows was buzzing mosquitoes. It was the price I paid for living on a canal. A trickle of sweat ran between my shoulder blades. Even wearing a sleeveless top and linen trousers I was hot. The wooden floorboards were lukewarm under my bare feet. Pippi lay on the floor stretched out as long as possible, but there was nothing she could do about being covered in fur.

  I went into the kitchen and held the insides of my wrists under the cold tap for a few minutes. I stared at the water as it ran over my skin and cooled down the blood in the vulnerable blue veins. The boss had been hesitant about accepting my request but he had to admit it made sense. I’d been right there at the bar where everything had happened. That was enough reason to have me help out Adam Bauer and his group.

  The doorbell rang. I dried my hands and pressed the button on the intercom. It was Ingrid. I didn’t have to ask why she was here. I buzzed her in and waited by the open door until she’d climbed the three flights of stairs.

  She hadn’t even got over the threshold before she started to speak. ‘The boss just called me. Is it because of me?’

  ‘Hi, Ingrid, come in. Do you want a drink?’ I still had a bottle of white wine. I’d put it in the fridge on Thursday, just in case Mark wanted to come back with me. As that clearly hadn’t happened, and wasn’t going to happen, I might as well open it now. Without waiting for her reply, I walked to the kitchen and got two glasses down.

  She pulled the front door closed behind her with a definite click and followed me. ‘Lotte, don’t avoid me. Let’s talk about this.’

  ‘Chablis okay?’ I opened the fridge and took the bottle out.

  ‘I feel bad about this,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to work with me any more, do you?’

  I stabbed the corkscrew in the top and eased the cork out of the neck with a satisfying pop. I liked the sound. I never bought bottles with screw tops, purely because I didn’t get the same pleasure from opening them.

  ‘I knew that murder had brought it all back,’ she said.

  I poured the wine and handed her a glass. ‘Cheers.’ I held my own glass against my neck. It was wonderfully cool and I sighed from pure bliss.

  ‘I’ll request to be moved instead. You can stay working with Thomas.’

  ‘Come through. Sit down.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to make it up to you. I know it was my mistake.’

  ‘Ingrid …’ I wanted to say that this had nothing to do with her, but that would be too harsh. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ Next I’d say we should remain friends. ‘I was there when Piotr Mazur bled out. I saw the guy who OD’d. He had the table next to me. I was right in the middle of all of this.’

  ‘You can give Adam Bauer your statement.’

  ‘I feel responsible. You understand that, don’t you?’ My voice was languid. It was too warm for anger or annoyance. I was tempted to hold the cold glass against the soles of my feet but thought better of it. I’d do that once Ingrid had left.

  ‘I don’t believe you. Piotr Mazur was a small-time drug dealer. It
’s not the kind of case you normally get obsessed with.’

  I drank some of my Chablis. It really was rather good. Mark would have liked it. ‘It’s great how you can use “obsess” and “normally” in the same sentence while talking about me.’ I put the glass back against the veins in my neck.

  She frowned. ‘I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.’

  ‘It will just be for a few weeks. Only a little while.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s not about me? You’re sure you don’t just need some space? Because, you know …’ she took a sip of her wine, ‘I would hate for the team to split up. I would hate to lose my mentor.’

  I could feel my face pulling into a grimace and put my glass to my lips to hide it. I held the cold wine on my tongue and only swallowed when it had warmed up to the same temperature as my mouth. ‘It won’t be for long. But when I get back,’ I said, ‘please stop treating me like you owe me something.’

  ‘I have nightmares about it.’ She held her glass between both hands. ‘I see that guy again, his gun pointed at me, I see his finger twitch on the trigger and I’m frozen to the spot. I know that I need to do something but I’m paralysed. In my dream, you’re not there and I die.’

  ‘In my nightmares,’ I said, ‘he puts the gun down but I still shoot him.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, he would have done it. He would have killed me.’

  I topped up my glass. Ingrid had hardly touched hers.

  ‘But oddly enough, it’s not about that,’ she continued. ‘It was my responsibility. I should have taken the shot and I didn’t. It’s made me question if I’m actually any good at this job.’

  ‘I’ve fired my gun fewer than ten times in the twenty years that I’ve been a police officer. It’s not what makes you a good detective.’

  ‘But it’s about being able to do it when you have to. What if he’d threatened someone else? What if he’d threatened you and I couldn’t take the shot? What then?’

  ‘That didn’t happen. It’s all fine.’

  She leaned forward. ‘I know it’s on your conscience, this death, and I know it should have been on mine. That’s what I feel awful about. That’s what I feel I owe you for. Not for my life, but that you’ve spared me the guilt and are carrying it with you instead.’

  Chapter Nine

  I paused on the threshold of what would be my home for the next few weeks. None of the three men in the room looked in my direction. Their eyes were glued to the whiteboard at the far end of the office. DI Adam Bauer’s broad back concealed the contents from view. Should I knock? Say hello? The longer I stood there, the more awkward it was. Maybe it was best if I just joined them. I took a step forward and my handbag bounced against the door frame.

  Bauer turned round at the sound. ‘There she is! Our temporary team member.’ He said it with a jollity I could imagine him using with his favourite snitch. ‘Come in. Meet the rest of the group. We’ve cleared space for you.’ He pointed towards a spare desk opposite Tim Poels. ‘You should have seen what we found once we started emptying it out. I think Tim’s entire wardrobe was in there.’

  Tim reached over to extend a hand across both desks. His handshake was almost too firm. He didn’t show that we’d met before. We both wanted to keep that quiet. ‘The woman who worked so hard to save a drug dealer’s life. We’re honoured.’ His voice had a teasing edge.

  ‘I knew what I had to do, because I heard you had to have balls to be allowed in here.’ Something made me say the words before my brain could question the wisdom of them. Not nerves. Something else. A second of silence, then a surprised guffaw from Bauer. Whatever I was known for, I was sure it wasn’t my sharp repartee. The total attention felt like stepping into a hot bath, uncomfortable at first, then very soothing. ‘Thanks for letting me join you.’

  The third man didn’t bother to get up. He just acknowledged me with a raised hand and said, ‘Maarten Wynia.’ Knowing what these guys did, he’d probably worked through the night and was just at the end of his shift. ‘We even removed a pair of Tim’s underpants,’ he said. ‘We didn’t think you’d like to work with that in your drawers.’

  I couldn’t think of anything funny to say to that comment and decided to ignore it.

  I dropped my handbag on the floor and pulled the chair back. ‘What can I do?’ My father had been right to tell me to come here. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and here was an important case to keep my mind occupied. It felt like a holiday.

  ‘We should use you for what you’re good at,’ Bauer said.

  What was I good at? The answers flashed through my mind. Watching people. But also pulling the trigger. Killing a man. My muscles tensed.

  Bauer must have read the look on my face. ‘I know you’re great at looking at older stuff.’

  ‘I guess so.’ Some of the tightness the memories had brought drained from my shoulders.

  ‘After we locked our dealer up, Tim has been monitoring the ODs. It was just to make sure there was nothing the defence team could use as ammunition. Let’s look at them all again. We’d like to think that this Karl was a one-off, but if any other heroin ODs look dodgy, we need to check.’

  I nodded. I could do what Bauer wanted me to do and still find out who’d killed Piotr Mazur. ‘I overheard that guy Karl talking about drugs. Maybe he scored heroin on purpose.’

  ‘No, we spoke to a couple of the guys from inside the bar. The ones in the yellow T-shirts. They said he definitely hassled them for coke.’

  It seemed that everybody was a better witness to the events of that evening than me. No wonder nobody had contacted me yesterday to take my statement.

  ‘You’ll work with Tim. Is that okay?’There was something dismissive in Bauer’s tone.

  ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘Maarten and I are going to have a chat with a few more dealers to get info on Mazur, just in case anybody has heard any rumours.’

  Maarten looked at his watch. ‘Not much point,’ he said. ‘Too early for any of them.’

  ‘We still haven’t found the woman?’ I asked. ‘The one in the floral dress who was with Piotr Mazur?’

  ‘No, no sign of her.’

  It was then that I realised there wasn’t anything on the whiteboard about Piotr. Not his photo, not the photo of the woman nor the photo of the child. That must still be with Ingrid and Thomas downstairs. I could pick it up later.

  ‘We should search Piotr’s flat again,’ I said. ‘Ingrid didn’t find any drugs.’

  ‘Sure,’ Bauer said. ‘Do that, then check the old ODs.’ He headed out with Maarten.

  I started up the computer. As I typed in my password, I noticed Tim looking at me over his screen.

  ‘This is going to sound stupid,’ he said, ‘and I don’t want to offend you.’ He took off his glasses, as if that would allow him to see me more sharply. ‘But were you scared?’

  I took my hands from the keyboard. ‘When?’ A strand of hair fell into my eyes and I tucked it back behind my ear.

  ‘When you shot that guy. He had his gun pointed at Ingrid.’

  I rubbed my forehead with the base of my hand. ‘You’ve done your homework.’

  ‘Everybody talked about it. I’ve never shot anybody. I’ve never been shot at.’ He sounded as young as he looked.

  ‘You want it to stay that way. I’m not particularly proud of it.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  But in his eyes I could see admiration.

  A quick count of the doorbells at the block of flats where Piotr Mazur had lived indicated ten floors of apartments. The place definitely wasn’t luxurious but it didn’t scream crime either. Still, the sweet, flowery smell of dope was hanging in the elevator as we went up to the fourth floor. Just the kind of odour to get me prepared for searching a drug dealer’s flat.

  The corridor leading to Mazur’s flat was open to the elements on the right, and I took a step closer to the wall so that the drop didn’t beckon quite so much. Number 41 was at the fa
r end. The open balustrade allowed a perfect view of the perfect sky. The railings had been painted an identical blue, as if inspired by summer weather.

  Tim opened the door with the key that Thomas and Ingrid had used three days ago when they searched the place the first time. They hadn’t found anything. I followed him into the flat.

  ‘Wow,’ he said.

  I was assaulted by images of Amsterdam. The walls of the living room were covered with hundreds of framed black-and-white photographs, hanging side by side to form alternative wallpaper. They were all A4 size and the result was intense and overwhelming. These weren’t tourist snaps but artful close-ups, blown up to expose details that normally stayed hidden.

  ‘Not what I’m used to seeing,’Tim said. ‘Murdered dealers normally live rather differently.’

  There was a subtle pattern in the way the photos were placed. From left to right they zoomed in ever-closer on details. The row at eye level started with the spire of the Westerkerk and finished with the skull that adorned the church’s east door to remind those entering that death was close and you’d better repent while you could. The row on the far wall began with a canal house and finished with the decaying grouting around a lone brick. I scanned the room. There wasn’t a single person in any of the photos.

  ‘Where do you want to start?’ Tim said.

  I could have stayed looking at these images for hours, to figure out where each shot was taken. ‘We’re going to have to take these off the wall.’ As the patterns were still intact, I doubted that Thomas and Ingrid had done that, and if we were trying to find something that they’d missed, it could well be here.

  ‘That sounds like you’re volunteering. I’ll take the bedroom. Who knows what kind of photos I’m going to find there.’ He disappeared before I could even say that I could do with some help in here.