‘Chief Inspector Girvin?’

  She did not expect to hear her name and swung round surprised. It was a uniformed police officer.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Commissaris Jansen asked us to pick you up and take you to headquarters.’ He smiled reassuringly.

  ‘How...’ she began and then decided to save her question until she met Jansen.

  They escorted her to a marked Mercedes police car and she was aware of people watching as the door was held open for her and she was shepherded into the back. She felt like a felon on the run being arrested and was sure that was how some of the onlookers were interpreting it too.

  The two men did not chat either between themselves or to her so she spent the time looking out the window and watching clumps of tourists milling about. She caught glimpses of some of the canals and boats of all sizes where people lived on the water.

  * * *

  Jansen stood up from behind his desk and moved round to greet her. She was not sure what she had expected him to look like but the man in the flesh lived up to the expectations his voice had raised. His face was tanned even at this time of year. His wavy blond hair sat neatly on his collar. His thin lips suggested a fastidious character but his eyes told a different story. They were stunningly blue and there was a devilish twinkle to them. He had enjoyed surprising her.

  ‘Chief Inspector.’ He held out his hand and held hers briefly as she returned his smile, aware of his aftershave, a masculine earthy fragrance, which reminded her of the outdoors and spring.

  ‘That was quite a welcome, Commissaris. How did you know where to pick me up?’

  ‘I’m a policeman. I knew what time your plane landed. We picked you up on security cameras at Schiphol and tracked you onto the train. Then it was just a matter of despatching officers to meet you when the train arrived. You were bound to come out the main entrance and we had your picture.’

  ‘Where on earth did you get my picture?’

  ‘A little bit of research and we found you in a photo from your local paper when you were heading up an investigation into a murder in Belfast last year.’

  ‘Very impressive. Just a pity you weren’t more efficient in getting us the information we were asking for last week about our dead traveller.’

  A frown clouded the Dutchman’s face. Gawn bit her lip. Maybe she had been too harsh or at least rather undiplomatic. She needed his help; not to alienate him.

  ‘I’m sorry. This case has me frustrated. We can’t seem to get a handle on it at all. I apologise for suggesting you weren’t helpful enough.’

  Jansen directed Gawn to a sofa in the corner of his office and sat down opposite her in an easy chair.

  ‘I understand what it’s like,’ he said graciously. ‘And I must admit we could maybe have got back to your man a bit more quickly. I apologise too. So, apologies out of the way, let’s start over. Coffee?’

  He had a cafetière of coffee and two cups and saucers sitting ready on a side table.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How do you take it?’

  ‘As it comes.’

  He poured a cup for her and reached it across. She couldn’t help glancing at his hand. No wedding ring.

  He poured another cup for himself, took a sip and then asked, ‘Now, how can we help?’

  ‘I need to speak to de Bek’s family. I met his son but it was when he was over to identify his father’s body so it wasn’t the best time to be asking a lot of questions. And I’d like to speak to Mrs de Bek and also visit where he worked.’

  ‘You think his death is connected to his work?’

  ‘Not his death. No. We know that was natural causes. But there was something else going on with him. If I’m being honest, I have no idea what this is all about. We have reason to believe he was trying to smuggle something into the country but whether that had anything to do with his work, we ’don’t know.’

  ‘We have checked in to de Bek more closely since you phoned. We have had our suspicions about his boss for some time and I should tell you as well, de Bek’s daughter has come to our attention in relation to drugs but he was under our radar.’

  Gawn’s quizzical expression encouraged him to add to his comments. ‘Gert Meyer, we have long suspected but never been able to prove, is one of the main fences in Amsterdam. Everything from stolen artwork to black market guns, he’ll trade in it. But we’ve never been able to prove anything. And we’d never suspected he was involved in the smuggling of any of the stuff, just trading in it so we weren’t investigating de Bek as a possible smuggler, I’m afraid. Meyer’s legitimate business is long-established and well-known in Amsterdam and it has a good reputation among booksellers and collectors. De Bek’s reputation was good too.’

  ‘And de Bek’s daughter?’

  ‘She has a record for drugs, mostly for possession but a little bit of dealing as well.’

  ‘Then it would be good to talk to her too.’

  ‘All that should be possible. I’ll get someone to phone the de Beks and let them know we’re coming. I think it will be alright to go straight to Meyer’s. They’re open for business so there should be no difficulty just dropping by. The de Bek girl might be more of a problem. She doesn’t live at home but I have men looking for her. Finish your coffee and then we’ll go.’

  Chapter 22

  Jansen had driven them himself. She’d been surprised, when they left police headquarters, to have him lead her to a little red Fiat 500 car. It wasn’t quite the type of car she would have associated with him. If she’d thought about it, she would have expected him to drive something big and powerful, perhaps a sports car. Any of the senior officers she knew selected cars which reflected their position and their idea of themselves. Even her. He had noticed her reaction.

  ‘This is my faithful little city runabout. It’s brilliant for our narrow streets and our busy traffic. Of course, it would be absolutely useless for car chases but then I don’t get involved in too many of those nowadays. Promotions always bring more paperwork and more time behind my desk.’

  ‘You miss being out on the street?’

  ‘Yes.’ He didn’t elaborate but she could tell he was enjoying guiding her through the busy streets, skilfully avoiding bicycles which seemed to expect right of way in every situation and often appeared out of nowhere risking their rider’s life. He pointed out some of the places of interest they were passing, but not too many. He didn’t want to imply they turned the investigation into a tourist trip.

  Eventually they entered a narrow street bordered on one side by a canal and on the other by tall buildings. Some were four and five storeys high, others only two, so that the overall impression was of irregularity as if the buildings had developed organically some growing taller while others had remained stunted. All seemed impossibly narrow. Some seemed to be private homes, a few with net curtains offering some privacy from the passers-by just inches from their front doors. Their balconies were festooned with plants bringing some colour and life to the scene. Some were shops but there were few shop signs. These were more discreet premises. The people who would be shopping here would know where they were going and what they were looking for. They would not be casual window shoppers.

  Jansen drew the little car into an almost impossible space pointing diagonally outwards over the canal. Gawn noticed that the houses opposite fronted right down to the edge of the water. Some had boats moored outside their windows. It was a pretty scene.

  ‘Here we are.’

  Gawn looked around. There was no clue as to which building was their destination until they had got out of the car and walked across the roadway. She was amused to note a “no bicycles” sign painted on the cobbles with two bicycles chained to a pole within inches of it. Jansen led her to a plain dark brown front door. There was a knocker and to the side of the door a brass nameplate identifying this as Meyer Antiquariat. Jansen knocked and they waited. They didn’t have to wait long. Gawn was surprised when the door was opened by a young woman. She had expected a man, probably a fairly elderly man, to be the keeper of the door in such an establishment. Instead, this woman was barely out of her teens. Her long blond hair was tied back neatly in a single plait reminiscent of a schoolgirl. Her eyes sparkled in welcome. Gawn had expected to step back in time with ancient books all around but she did not expect to be transported back to the 1960s. Yet this girl was dressed as Gawn had seen pictures of her mother in her pseudo-hippy days. Denim dungarees over a tie-dyed T-shirt looked so incongruous in this setting. Her youth and vitality were a stark contrast to the rows and piles of old books and the pervading musty smell which assailed their nostrils.

  Jansen introduced himself and Gawn and explained that they wished to speak with Meneer Meyer. The girl replied in impeccable English with faint traces of an American accent.

  ‘If you’d like to follow me. He’s in his office.’

  They followed her through the narrow avenue left free between the rows of books. Some were open, heavy tomes with gold-edged pages and illuminated writing. No one else was in the shop. Gawn thought that patrons would make an appointment. There would be no casual dropping-by on a whim here. They reached a dead end. They could go no further without opening a heavy wooden door. The girl asked them to wait and then disappeared through it. Jansen turned round and smiled at his companion. ‘Interesting place. Just think of the accumulation of knowledge and experience combined in the pages of these volumes.’

  Before Gawn had time to respond, the door opened again and a square man stood in front of them. At least that was her immediate impression. Gert Meyer, if indeed this was he, was as wide as he was tall. A small, cheery-looking individual with a gloriously bald head which shone in the light coming through the window behind him giving an almost halo effect. He was dressed as Gawn had anticipated for such an occupation. His Dickensian appearance complete with waistcoat and cravat was so over-the-top that her first reaction was to wonder if this was a costume and he was playing a role.

  ‘Good day, good day.’ His hearty welcome took them both in, his hooded eyes flicking from one to the other. ‘Please come into my office.’ His English was good. He stood back and chivvied them into a surprisingly modern and well-organised office. A heavy antique dark wood desk with detailed carvings on its legs took up a large proportion of the space. The walls were lined with shelves holding not the expected books but bulging lever arch files and piles of folders. Business must be good. Behind the desk, against the back wall was a row of steel grey filing cabinets all neatly labelled. A selection of indoor plants in various stages of wilting sat along the top trying to bring a lively touch but failing miserably. A dark painting of Madonna and Child hung on the other wall.

  ‘Please sit. How can I help you?’ Before they could answer he continued, ‘I take it this is about poor Willem.’ Meyer levered himself into a leather revolving chair, his ample body overflowing the arms and bulging out in flabby mounds. He did not look comfortable.

  ‘How long had de Bek worked for you? Jansen asked.

  ‘Nearly ten years,’ came the quick response.

  ‘And his work was satisfactory?’

  ‘More than satisfactory. Willem was a trusted employee. He handled most of our more important or delicate transactions.’ Meyer did not elaborate and Gawn found herself wondering what sort of delicate transactions he meant.

  ‘Was there a particular reason why you chose to send de Bek to Belfast?’ Gawn queried, keen to get to the point of her visit.

  ‘No. I don’t travel myself anymore. I find it too much of a strain these days. It’s really only Willem or Piet – that’s Piet Meulenbelt – but Piet’s a junior. He doesn’t have the same experience as Willem. He hasn’t been with me long so Willem did most of the business when travel was required.’

  ‘And why did you want to deal in person?’

  Meyer looked puzzled. ‘That wasn’t our decision, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘But the Ulster Museum didn’t request it.’

  ‘No? I presume the museum here did then. I think that’s what Willem told me.’

  ‘Do you know why?’ asked Jansen.

  ‘I’m afraid you would have to ask them, Commissaris. We always try to accommodate our customers. After all they are paying us.’ He smiled and folded his hands across his ample stomach. His hands were tiny, out of proportion to his body, and white, the hands of a woman, thought Gawn.

  ‘You’re not aware of Mr de Bek having any enemies?’ Gawn felt they hadn’t learnt anything to help her yet. She wanted to move on. There had to be something in this man’s life or background that had brought him to the attention of criminals.

  ‘Enemies? No. Willem was a quiet, inoffensive man. I couldn’t think of him doing anything to anyone that would make him enemies.’

  ‘And there’s been no change in his behaviour over the last few weeks?’ added Jansen.

  Meyer didn’t respond right away. He stroked his chin with his hand as he considered his answer. He hesitated before saying, ‘I think he might have had something on his mind. I don’t interfere in other people’s lives. He didn’t confide in me but I had the impression, nothing stronger than that, Commissaris, that he was troubled. Something had happened.’ He cocked his head to one side, like a wise old owl, and waited for a reaction.

  Gawn jumped in quickly. ‘If he didn’t confide in you, is there anyone else he would have talked to if he was in trouble?’

  ‘You mean apart from his family?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I don’t think he would have told Piet anything. Piet’s a good boy, a hard worker, but he’s just that, a boy. If Willem had problems at home or with money or something, I don’t think he would have turned to Piet.’

  ‘Anyone else? What about Miss…?’ Gawn didn’t know the girl’s name but she nodded towards the door to indicate who she meant.

  ‘Kiki? I don’t think so. She’s hardly more than a girl, not much older than Piet. But please ask her if you wish.’

  Jansen stood up and Gawn took her cue from him.

  ‘We’ll have a word with Kiki on our way out and Piet too if that’s alright?’

  ‘Of course, Commissaris. Anything to help.’

  Meyer remained seated behind his desk. He did not try to stand or offer to see them out but that suited them fine. They would rather talk to the other two without Meyer hovering in the background anyway.

  They found Kiki and a young man whom they took to be Piet standing in the shop examining a pile of invoices.

  ‘Kiki,’ began Jansen. ‘We were wondering if you and Piet could answer a few questions.’

  Piet looked mildly concerned but the girl turned an inquisitive look towards them.

  ‘Ask away.’

  ‘Did Mr de Bek say or do anything that you thought was strange recently?’

  ‘You mean stranger than usual?’ The comment came from Piet and was accompanied by a laugh.

  The two detectives didn’t speak. They just waited sure, from experience, that the boy would not be able to resist adding to his response.

  ‘He was a control freak. He had to do everything himself. Had to know what everyone else was doing all the time. He used to watch me, couldn’t trust me to do anything myself. Had to check up on me. It must have driven his family mad. That was probably why his daughter ran off.’

  So that was why she had left home.

  ‘When was this, Piet?’

  ‘Last year. She ran off with her boyfriend last summer. According to him, the guy was not good enough for his daughter. He had a whole rant about it. Went on and on. Always complaining about his children. He must have been murder to live with.’

  This was a new side to their victim. They were glad that they had arranged to visit the family as soon as they left the shop. It would be interesting to see the family dynamic in action. In Belfast, Nico had given the impression of a dutiful and grief-stricken son but Piet was suggesting that all was not well with the family.

  ‘What about you, Kiki? How did you get on with him?’ Gawn asked.

  ‘Alright. He was a bit formal but he wasn’t handsy like some of the old men I’ve worked with. He was always respectful.’ Her eyes had flicked towards the office door as she answered and Gawn wondered if she found Meyer “handsy”.

  ‘And you didn’t notice anything strange or he didn’t confide anything in you?’

  ‘I don’t think he would have confided in anyone here.’ Her eyes strayed towards the office door again. ‘He was very private but there was one thing.’

  They waited.

  ‘He was getting some funny phone calls’

  ‘By funny, you mean what?’ Jansen asked.

  ‘I don’t really know. I just know someone would phone him on his mobile and he’d rush off so I couldn’t hear what was being said. One time, he turned as white as a sheet at whatever it was they said, and once he rushed out afterwards. I assumed to go home but I don’t know.’

  They were learning something new, a new side to de Bek, a side which might indicate he was in some sort of trouble or mixed up with dangerous people.

  ‘When was this? Recently?’

  ‘Over the last two or three weeks.’

  ‘Thank you. Both of you. If you think of anything else, please let me know.’ Jansen handed the girl his card.

  Once outside, the Dutch detective turned to Gawn.

  ‘Do you have his phone?’

  ‘There was no mobile among his belongings on the plane.’

  ‘Perhaps he left it at home. If we could get hold of it, we could trace his calls and see who was contacting him and find out why.

 

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