Джеймс Паттерсон - Lost

Albert said, “Then let’s deal with the detective.” He paused, then said, “No, let’s deal with Funky-Eyed Bitch first. That should be relatively easy.”

“When do you want to do it?”

“We can do a little surveillance tonight. Let’s see what happens. But I promise, by the time you’re ready to ship those people to Miami, she won’t be a problem anymore.”

Chapter 35

TWO HOURS LATER, Hanna and Albert stood on a street corner in Haarlem, about twenty kilometers outside of Amsterdam.

Albert glanced down the slowly sloping hill to a redbrick road that led to a pleasant-looking three-story apartment complex.

Albert turned to Hanna and said, “How on earth did you find exactly where she lived?”

“Heinrich got the information for me. And he’s still quite upset that you threatened him with a knife. I had to pay him more than double what I normally do.”

Albert grinned. “Usually the knife gives me a discount. Maybe next time I can make my point more clearly.”

Hanna said, “He even found out that she lives with two cats. It sounds like he knows someone at the national police headquarters. Say what you want about Heinrich, he can be subtle and inconspicuous.”

Albert pulled his survival knife from under his sports coat. In the lamplight, his eyes seemed to glow. He said, “I can go down there and finish this right this minute.”

Hanna shook her head. “We need to wait. We can’t do it anywhere around this apartment complex. The cops would be all over us. And I don’t want to risk anyone finding out that I have ears everywhere. If we did something like this, there’s no way Heinrich would ever give us information again. And there’s no guarantee he’d keep his mouth shut.”

She turned and looked down at the building. The apartment was on the second floor, and several lights burned. The Funky-Eyed Bitch was home.

“We need to do this in the street somewhere,” Hanna said. “That way it won’t be traced back to us. With any luck, it could be written off as some kind of random act of violence. Maybe they’ll believe some refugee went crazy and stabbed her. I’m just not sure how we might find her later.”

Albert said, “I have an idea.” He reached into the outer pocket of his sports coat and pulled out a case about the size of a deck of cards.

“What’s that?”

“The tracker you told me to buy. I was going to test it to make sure I understood it. This will work perfectly.” Without waiting for a reply, Albert started walking toward the parking lot on the side of the apartment building. The very first car in the lot was a Volkswagen Golf hatchback with a police emblem on the dashboard.

He was already on his knees checking the batteries in the store-bought tracker when his sister caught up to him.

“Do you know how to use it? Can it be traced back to us?”

“No, it can’t. And we need to practice with this gadget. Once we have the diamonds, we’ll want to be sure we know how to track them accurately.”

Hanna heard a door shut. She glanced around the corner of the building to see Detective Marie Meijer strolling down the sidewalk toward the parking lot.

Hanna barked in a harsh whisper, “Hurry up. She’s coming.”

Albert smiled and said, “Last chance. I can kill her right here, right now.”

Hanna shook her head.

Albert said, “Got it. Let’s get out of here.”

Hanna was surprised by the rush she got from doing something as simple as this. Her heart was racing, perspiration forming on her forehead. They stepped onto the sidewalk with their backs to the detective, and Hanna put her arm around Albert’s waist as if they were a couple on a date.

She heard the car door open and shut, then the pinging sound of an underpowered engine as the detective pulled away from the parking lot.

Albert brought up his phone and opened an app. He said, “We got her. Let’s see where she’s headed.”

Chapter 36

THERE WAS A different vibe between Marie Meijer and me the next evening. The swelling in my eye from the suspect’s elbow had receded during the night, but I was still disturbed by what I’d seen after the raid by the Koninklijke Marechaussee. The image of the dead girl stuck in my head. Her pretty face would never smile again.

It’s easy for a cop to pretend he’s seen it all and nothing bothers him. The reality is that if you see too much, there’s nothing anyone can do to save you.

So on the job, I never minimized the tragedy I saw. It kept me human. Connected. I embraced the fact that I could still be shocked. I tried to stay positive, and I genuinely liked people. Most people. Even knowing what I knew, I gave people the benefit of the doubt. Like my dad used to say, people do what they have to do. Of course, he was using that as an excuse for why he was leaving my mother, but I could see how it made sense.

Now we were back in De Wallen, the largest of the red-light districts, and Marie was showing me the building where she believed the human-trafficking ring operated. We walked because it was faster than sitting in traffic, no matter what kind of car you had.

I didn’t like seeing the young women in bikinis behind windows. I knew what a hard life prostitutes had, sanctioned by the government or not. The girls in the booths with red lights worked twenty-two hours a day. The booths were closed from six to eight in the morning, then opened again for the businessmen to stop for a quickie on the way to work.

I was surprised at the number of tourists, some with children, casually walking down the district’s narrow streets. We slipped into a café for a quick break.

Marie took a sip of coffee and stretched her arms. She seemed more relaxed in this setting. She said, “What’s your social life like back at home?”

“Dull to nonexistent.”

She smiled and said, “I doubt that. A tall, handsome police officer in a city like Miami? I bet you’re busy every night.”

We’d shared a lot over the past couple of days, but I wasn’t quite ready to get into my home life with her. At least, not the details about my mom. We sat quietly for a while longer, then I finally had to ask her about her eye.

She focused both eyes on me and said, “It’s a birth defect. Why? Am I not pretty? Would I be a freak in Miami?”

I held up my hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve. It’s just that you’re so confident and your eye doesn’t seem to bother you. You even made a joke about our eyes matching. I was just curious.”

Marie waved off my apology and said, “I try not to be self-conscious about it. The doctor said the eyelid droops slightly because of damage to a nerve. I used to wear nonprescription eyeglasses to hide it, but when I turned thirty, I realized anyone who was bothered by my eye was not someone I wanted in my life.”

I said, “‘Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.’”

Marie gave me a dazzling smile. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who said that?”

I couldn’t hide my own smile. “Anne Frank.”

“So you have a quote for every situation.”

I laughed. “I picked that one up reading about Anne Frank last night.”

“Why did you learn all these quotes?”

“My bachelor’s degree is in philosophy. I noticed that it freaked out my coaches at the University of Miami when I spouted quotes. No one expects a big tight end to go to class, let alone study. I knew there was no way I was going to go pro, so I studied hard.”

Marie gave a dainty laugh. “What does one do with a degree in philosophy?”

“Go to law school.”

“And how does someone who went to law school become a police officer?”

That, I was not about to get into. There were too many complicated elements involved. I could’ve told her that I wanted to make a difference in the world or that I liked the excitement. Instead, I just shrugged and said, “I like my job.”