The Devil's Playground (49 page)

Dieter the favour. He’d given him some bad information last

time. Not his fault. Believing rumours became one of the

hazards of the job. But Dieter had made the debt clear and

Quirk knew that SPAR didn’t fuck about. But Jesus, having

to deal with these fucking imbeciles they sent! They’re going

to screw it up, he knew. And he just as surely knew that he

would have to get the films from them, that they couldn’t be

trusted and besides he wanted, no, he needed to see the films

just once before they went to Germany, to a black safe

somewhere in a wall. He had to see them. Absolutely. And

who would have more right? Dieter didn’t care who got the

films to him as long as he got them.

Quirk unpadlocked the door of the annex. He crawled

silently through the dark, not needing light, knowing the

spaces well, avoiding the heavy objects, and found the little

crawl-away hole behind the fake fireplace. He pulled the face

away and there it was — warm and comfortable and so …

He bent down into the hole until his body was submerged

and he could feel the cold, rich smell of earth around him,

like sweet fruit, and he felt his heart quiet and when he pulled

the fireplace back into position and the darkness swallowed

him, then he began to feel good, with the soft earth all

around him and nowhere to fall.

*You trust him?’ Greta sat across from Karl at a small pizzeria.

She wanted to get him off the subject of Holocaust deniers.

He’d spent the whole time walking back from that piercing

parlour ranting and raving about these people.

Karl looked up. Okay, so they weren’t arguing. Maybe

twenty-four hours, maybe longer. It felt good — still, there

was that tension between them, the tingle that couples get

when they know the words they want to say will come

cracking out like whips. ‘No. But we need him,’ he replied.

‘For the time being.’ He didn’t want to tell her of his plans

for the films, not yet. He knew she’d be far more impressed

after the fact, when he held them and he knew that Dieter

would be too, impressed at his daring, his initiative and lack

of fear. Yes, things were starting to look up. He thought

about the whores he’d fucked since arriving and wondered

if Greta could see their traces on his face. He thought not.

Otherwise there wouldn’t have been this temporary truce.

No. But all he could think about was the next one. And how

to get rid of Greta for the moment. Send her on some fool

errand. And then he caught himself. Shit. He knew he should

concentrate on the job at hand, how to make sure that the

man had the films … but he thought perhaps he might try

a brunette today, hadn’t tried any of those yet, yep, that

sounded like a plan and there was nothing that Karl appreciated

as much as a plan well made. ‘Greta, dear,’ he said,

offering her his most genuine smile (for he was thinking of

those other women). ‘We need rope and tape.’

‘I thought the piercer was providing that.’ She smiled,

wondered what made Karl look so happy.

‘We can’t trust the old man to. We have to do this

ourselves, otherwise, well, Dieter won’t take any excuses,

you know that.’

She knew. She got up. She understood what they needed.

Better than he did. She always planned this side of things.

And hell, the sun was out. Maybe it would be nice to get

away from each other this afternoon, maybe it would make

the night so much sweeter.

‘I’ll see you back at the hotel.’

‘Don’t be too obvious,’ he said, meaning when buying the

rope, but realizing, too late, that actually he was saying it to

himself, and he noticed that he was hard, ready and hell,

superwilling. He smiled, got up, kissed her on the cheek. ‘I

love you.’

He saw her face relax and break into a genuine smile. He’d

said the right words.

‘Love you too.’ She kissed him, turned and was gone.

Van Hijn had spent the night crouching in the bushes. Hiding

the trails his breath made and making sure that his partner,

only three months on the job, held the camera correctly and

shot what they needed so that he could be off the case as

soon as possible. It was their third night at the 200 and this

time they’d struck gold. They’d taped over an hour of footage,

enough to make arrests and secure convictions.

He got out of the shower, towelled hard, trying to get the

last traces of the animal smell off him. He made an espresso

and watched the sun smear itself over the horizon. His whole

body ached. He took a couple of painkillers and finished off

the cheesecake in the fridge. Checked his watch: 8 a.m. Time

to go again.

He rang the now familiar bell at AYN and waited for the

door to be sprung. He felt every step of the long climb in

his bones, felt his stitches giving way, slowly rending apart,

but he kept going. He caught his breath on the landing while

the camera verified that he was still the same person who’d

appeared below.

‘Hello, detective,’ Piet said as he stood on the other side

of the door, a last precaution.

Van Hijn smiled, walked past him and straight to the main

desk. Piet followed.

‘I need to know who’s selling the films,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry, detective, but as I told you on your last visit

that is information we cannot…’

Van Hijn slammed his fist down on the table. Piet jumped.

‘I need to know now. This is no longer just about the films.

People’s lives are in danger. At least one person has already

been killed …’ A pause. ‘I have an offer to make.’

Piet sat down, visibly unnerved by the detective’s burst of

anger. ‘What offer?’ he said, almost meekly.

‘Give me the address and name. When I recover the

films, I’ll give them to you.’ He stared at Piet, waiting for an

answer.

‘You don’t expect me to believe that, detective. With all

respect, the films will undoubtedly be taken for evidence,

catalogued and shelved, and just as undoubtedly in a few

months’ time perhaps, another auction will be posted.’

‘There will be no evidence gathered this time,’ Van Hijn

said. “You will have the films, you have my word on that.’

Piet stared at him for a moment, gauging the detective’s

sincerity. He’d had the address for a week now, routed back

through the auction site until it was isolated to a single line,

snaking through a single flat. He exhaled deeply to show his

disapproval and turned to the computer, punching some

keys that, in turn, printed out an address, a name.

‘Here,’ he said, giving it, still somewhat reluctantly, to the

detective. ‘Don’t let those films get into circulation.’

Van Hijn took the paper, slipped it into his pocket. He

understood what was meant, the chance he had to undo the

shadow of his father’s deeds.

When he was outside, clear of the sweep of the cameras,

he took out the paper. Read the address. A stone’s throw

from where Jake was found, or should that be a body’s

throw, Van Hijn thought to himself as he read the name, an

English name, Dominic Ripton, and he remembered what

Jon had said, about a Dominic being the only person who

could help him. He had to call Jon, warn him. He stepped

into a phone-box, rang the number. The hotel landlord told

him that Jon hadn’t been back all day. Van Hijn slammed

the receiver down, cursed.

Perhaps it was already too late.

‘Don’t go in there.’

Jon wrenched his wrist out of the other man’s grip. He

looked up and saw the face, so familiar now, the one who’d

been following him these last few days, present in his dreams,

soaking his sheets, ruining his nights. He grabbed the man’s

hand and shoved him back. Something in his head snapped,

a massive spike driven through his brain. Jon flung himself

at him and they went down together. Scrabbling in the

semi-dark until Jon was on top, his knee in the man’s crotch,

his fist pounding at his face.

‘Stop, please,’ the man screamed. Jon continued. ‘Jon!

Stop it.’

The sound of his own name snapped him back. He looked

down at the man whose face was now bloodied and bruised,

his hair a mess. ‘How do you know my name?’ he shouted,

realizing just how out of breath he was.

The man tried to sit up but Jon kept his hand firmly on

his collarbone, pressing down.

‘How?’

‘Jake told me you’d come. He said to expect you.’

Jon let go. Unable to think. He watched as the man slowly

sat up, wiped his jaw, ran his bloody hands through his hair

and smiled. ‘My name’s Dominic’

Jon moved aside. Picked up the useless canister of mace,

put it back in his pocket. Took out his cigarettes. Offered

one to Dominic.

We’d better get out of here,’ Dominic said, accepting the

cigarette, letting Jon light it for him.

Jon shook his head. ‘Tell me here.’

Dominic exhaled smoke. ‘I’m surprised they haven’t heard

us already.’

‘Who?’

‘The people who are after the films.’

Jon looked towards the door of the piercing parlour. He

felt his skin go cold. ‘But I saw you go in there the other day,

after you followed me.’

Dominic leaned towards him. ‘I made a mistake. I tried to

rectify it that day. It didn’t work. That’s why I need you now.

I need you to come back to my place.’

‘No way,’ Jon said, knowing how easy it would be to step

into another trap like the one at the Doctor’s flat.

‘I have something for you. It’s at the flat. You want it,

you’ll have to come with me.’ He began getting up slowly,

rubbing his side, wiping the blood away from his face. Jon

grabbed his arm and helped him. ‘Something Jake left?’

he asked.

Dominic nodded.

They walked to Dominic’s flat. Through the rain and

empty streets. The silent stars. Jon stayed a couple of paces

behind Dominic, both to make sure that he wouldn’t run

and to avoid conversation. They didn’t say a word as they

stumbled past the gardens where Jake had been found and

up towards Dominic’s studio flat. Jon noticed how it overlooked

the park. He remembered the man in the bushes that

first night.

‘Why take a photo of me?’ he asked.

Dominic looked round. ‘So that I could identify you. So

that, if anything happened to me, the police would have a

photo of you … somewhere to begin from.’

Jon shook his head and gulped at his drink. The answer

didn’t satisfy him and he suspected Dominic had simply

done it to scare him.

‘I’m being followed too,’ Dominic said. ‘There isn’t that

much time left.’

Jon had no idea what he was talking about and was,

instead, keeping his eye on the psychotic-looking dog sitting

in the corner of the room.

‘Followed by who?’ Jon asked as the dog eyeballed him.

‘I told you, those who want the films.’

Jon leaned forward; the dog loped towards him. ‘The

films are here? You have them?’

Dominic shook his head. ‘You don’t think I’m that stupid,

do you?’ He disappeared into the small kitchen enclave.

Jon inched up to the dog and stroked it.

‘Jake liked Bill. Took ‘im walking a lot,’ Dominic said

when he returned. ‘Take a seat.’

Jon sat on the small armchair, sinking deep down into its

faded and tattered cushion. ‘I still don’t understand why you

had to follow me or how you even found me.’

‘Jake told me to.’ Dominic waited while the information

sunk in. He could see that Jon was having trouble with it.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Jake came back from London. He told me all about you.

Even said you’d be coming soon. I had no idea what he was

planning to do but I knew that he wanted you here.’

Jon stared at his feet, the grainy floorboards below him.

‘In Amsterdam?’

Why do you think he left your phone number in the

book? I guess you found the recordings he made.’

Jon nodded, still unable to say anything.

‘You want to know why, of course you do. But don’t look

at me. I didn’t want you or anyone else involved. It was

Jake’s decision and he never fully explained it to me. I think

he thought you’d find it “educational” — at least that’s as

much as he told me.’

‘And it wasn’t because of Suze?’ Jon finally said.

‘What do you mean?’ Dominic shifted in his seat again.

“You know exactly what I mean.’

Dominic tried to light a cigarette, burnt his fingers on the

match. ‘Okay, what the fuck do you want me to say? But

that was not why I followed you. Not at first. But then I had

to know. Things were changing between us. Progressing. I

knew she’d see me in a different light once she found out

about the films … and then you come along and fuck it all

up. Jesus, I wanted to kill you. You stole her from me.’

‘I didn’t steal anyone. She wasn’t an object to be stolen.’

Jon wondered what Dominic thought their relationship was

like, all roses and romance probably.

‘She would have been mine,’ Dominic said, slumping back