Knowledge is not enough.
To actually convict, evidence is required, enough facts to prove beyond any kind of doubt that to do otherwise would itself be criminal.
But can I get enough evidence? Jaap thinks as he accelerates hard away from the kerb where Harry is just getting into his own car. Can I get the proof?
Because finally things are starting to connect.
Harry’s fired up too; he missed what he thought was his best chance to bring Van der Pol down when the raid Tanya’d worked on turned out to be a set-up. But the news Jaap’s brought him is resurrecting his chances. Jaap gets the feeling he’s not going to let another opportunity slip by.
He checks the time. Smit’s press conference is due to start in less than half an hour, and Jaap reckons he should have the most up-to-date information beforehand. After all, this could be a much bigger coup for Smit to pull off. Linking these killings and the distribution of the films to Van der Pol would be enough to bring down a massive criminal enterprise.
Somehow Jaap believes Smit will be up for that.
He dials Roemers on the hands-free.
‘Anything?’
‘Give me time. And Jaap?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you.’
Smartass, Jaap thinks as he hangs up.
Despite knowing the broad outline, there are still details which he can’t work out, small things about the case flapping round his head like loose ropes in the wind.
Not that that’s unusual; if you went into the police hoping that you’d know everything about every crime you investigated, you were going to be very disappointed indeed. There are some things, Jaap’s learnt the hard way, you’re just never going to know. But that doesn’t stop his mind from probing.
And one of the things it keeps coming back to is, he still doesn’t get how Haanstra knew Pieter Groot had been transferred to the hospital. Sure, he may have been watching the station and got lucky. But really, why would he? Same goes for Kooy.
Just by the Concertgebouw a lorry starts a three-pointer, blocking traffic in both directions. Only it turns into a nine-pointer before the driver actually makes it round, allowing the sluice gates of traffic to flow again.
Two minutes later Jaap’s at the station. He rushes towards the press room, just catching Smit before he goes in. When Jaap’s finished updating him, Smit says, ‘You’ve got the say-so of a dying man in prison? He’ll be dead by the time it goes to trial so his testimony will have to be recorded. It will get ripped to shit by the defence. You know that.’
They’re standing just outside the room where the biggest and most important conferences are held. Smit’s team has done a good job of rousing pretty much any journalist within driving distance. He’s sold this one big.
And he’s not happy to have anyone, least of all Jaap, make him step out there and cancel it. Cancel his big moment in front of the cameras.
‘I’m just asking for more time, I think there’s a bigger prize here.’
‘Van der Pol?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Have you got anything other than the testimony of a convicted felon?’
‘Not yet, but—’
‘Listen—’ Smit looks around, before continuing ‘—Van der Pol is basically untouchable. People have been trying for years to get him and no one has. And I’ll tell you why that is, he’s smart, and he doesn’t make mistakes. I’ve been closer to the current investigation to bring him down than you think, and sometimes I get so fucking frustrated that we can’t get him on anything. So unless you’ve got something concrete, I’m going out there to announce we got the killer and you are going to take that leave.’
A press officer steps out of the room and gestures to Smit.
‘OK?’ Smit says after a few moments’ silence.
‘Yeah, OK,’ Jaap replies.
Smit gives him one last look before turning round and pushing through the door, walking up to the lectern like a returning hero. As Jaap walks away he hears Smit opening up, welcoming the press, warming them up for something big.
Something stings his mind. He stops dead in the corridor. Then he walks back to the door and looks through the glass pane.
At Smit holding the stage like an orator. His suit crisp, the scrape on his shoes still there, but hidden from the press by the lectern, his gestures and speech designed to give the impression of a strong hero, fighting the good fight. And winning it too.
The sting in his mind intensifies, and starts off a cascade of thoughts.
Suddenly he starts to run.