How did the killer know Groot was at the hospital?
Jaap’s walking, hoping the movement will get things flowing, when his phone rings. It’s Tanya, and she’s going off at a hundred mph.
‘Slow down,’ Jaap says.
‘—so I sent him the photo and he called me back right away. And I was right, I had seen him before.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Totally, and Harry is as well. It’s the same guy, Jaap, no question.’
‘Send me his number.’
Up ahead a man’s kneeling in front of a metal gate fronting one of the townhouses. Beside him the tools of his trade, stuff Jaap doesn’t even know the proper names of. The man’s all business, his movements practised and precise. He slides his heavy visor down, adjusts the blue flame, then gets to work, festive sparks exploding when it touches the metal. Jaap doesn’t look away quick enough.
By the time Jaap gets to the station the text’s come through. And he can still see the outline of the flame, like it’s got burned onto his eyes. He leaves a message and hangs up.
His fingers drum.
He’s watching the phone, never a good sign.
It stubbornly refuses to ring. He tries to will it, imagine it ringing and him picking it up. Hopeless. He’d once heard a radio programme about how successful people used visualizations in their lives. So far it’s not doing much good.
He spots Arno across the room talking to one of the team, the man who wasn’t that into child support. He decides to call a meeting in the incident room in fifteen minutes, hoping that by doing so his phone will start ringing.
Smit walks past. ‘Update?’
Jaap doesn’t answer, still trying to make the phone ring. As he sits there a kernel of an idea starts to form.
Smit clicks fingers in Jaap’s face.
‘Earth to Rykel? Are you receiving?’
Jaap’s staring at his phone, his constant companion, which goes everywhere he goes. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Your office.’
Smit raises an eyebrow, then nods.
‘I’ll be there in five,’ Jaap says. He gets up and rushes downstairs to where the incoming are processed. The duty sergeant heeds his order and returns with a small cardboard box, taped shut. Jaap rips it open, finding Pieter Groot’s wallet and house keys.
But he’s not interested in these.
What he’s interested in is the phone.
He picks it up, the screen black. But when he punches the home button it comes on and asks for a passcode. The battery icon’s red. But the reception bars are full.
He drops it back in the box, heads upstairs.
‘Which gives us a massive problem,’ Smit says a few minutes later, once Jaap has got to his office and explained his theory.
Trees dapple shade through the window.
‘Yeah, I’ll get Roemers on to it, see if the killer’s been tracing his phone somehow. My guess is that it was being traced and the killer knew he was here.’
‘OK, I get that. But that doesn’t explain how he knew he was taken to the hospital. Are you saying he waited outside, saw him being taken and followed him there? Kind of unbelievable.’
It doesn’t work, Jaap knows it. But what else has he got?
‘Yeah, I know, seems too … time-consuming on his part. Unless he knew Groot was going to try and kill himself, but …’
‘What’s the alternative?’ Smit asks. ‘That he’s somehow got access to our internal information? I just don’t see it. And seriously, if the police network has been hacked, well, we’re fucked.’
For a moment Jaap sees Smit is genuinely concerned. And rightly so. If a criminal has managed to get access to their systems then they might as well give up now and let the country run itself into the ground.
But he still enjoys Smit looking worried. It’s not something he sees very often. The dislike between them is a two-way street – always has been, always will be – although really, in the end, they’re on the same team.
‘I think it’s worth getting Roemers to look into it,’ Jaap says.
Smit breathes out long and slow. ‘I’ll get him on it,’ he says once he’s got all the oxygen out of his lungs. ‘Anything else?’
Jaap fills him in on HelpingHand before moving on to what he’s just learnt. ‘It’s looking like he’s been associated with a large criminal gang, which should make getting his name easier. And once I’ve got a name—’
‘Which gang?’ Smit asks.
‘Van der Pol’s.’
Smit sits back in his chair. ‘Really?’
‘Like I said, just waiting for confirmation. Tanya recognized his face from when she was down in Rotterdam, working with Inspector Borst. I’m due to speak to him any minute now, chances are he’s going to be able to give me a name, possibly more.’
‘OK, this is big,’ Smit says.
‘Yeah, I think it could be what we’ve been waiting for.’
Smit stands up, steps over to the window overlooking the street below.
‘Good work,’ he says. Clearly it’s painful. ‘But before you go, there’s something else. It’ll not have escaped your attention that the press are starting to crawl over this like the shit-eating beetles they are.’
‘Really?’ Jaap says.
‘Really,’ Smit replies, eyeing Jaap. ‘One in particular, Michiel Berk, has been kicking up a fuss, saying you’re not returning his calls—’
‘I don’t work for that particular shit-eating beetle.’
‘I know, but reality check here? We have to deal with them. Now, I had a call from Annie Meijer at RTL4. There’s a slot this evening.’
‘Is there,’ Jaap says, noncommittal. Because he knows what this means.
‘There is. And I’d like you to do it. You’ll need to call her back to confirm – here’s her number in case you don’t have it.’
‘Just think, if you’ve managed to find the killer by then you’ll be a hero, on live TV.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Jaap says.
‘And now—’ Smit reaches for his phone—‘I’m going to have to make sure anytime anyone is brought into the station their phone gets turned off.’