Vanished

Chapter 19

In the squad room, Laura was working at her computer with her earphones in. Tinny instrumental music could just about be heard as Ridley and Jack walked past. She removed the headphone cable from her phone and allowed the synthesised Baroque muzak to escape. ‘I’ve been on hold with this particular department for twenty minutes. The music’s driving me insane. I’m still trying to track down the military insignia the guy in the old photo with Avril is wearing.’ Laura plugged the headphone cable back into her mobile and took out one of her earphones, so she could multitask. ‘I’ve given Anik a copy of the photo in case he can find something out whilst he’s in Amsterdam.’

Ridley asked if Anik had checked in since getting on the Eurostar. Laura’s voice went up an octave and stayed there. ‘Oh my God, sir, if he checks in one more time, I’ll delete his number! He’s been upgraded, so will not stop checking in. He’s had a croissant for breakfast, and for lunch he had a jambon and Gruyère baguette with a Mediterranean pasta pesto salad. I mean, that’s just a ham and cheese sarnie with a side salad, right?’ Ridley waited for her to answer his question properly. ‘He arrived at a quarter past one, sir. He’s to meet with Lieutenant Garritt Visser who’ll act as translator if he needs one. Jessica Chi’s parents were away last night at a family birthday, and don’t get back till 5 p.m.’

‘Good, thank you, anything else?’

‘Yes, we are still trying to trace David Summers, that’s Avril’s young brother. I’m waiting for call backs.’

Visser was a striking young man with vivid blond hair and high cheekbones. His English was perfect. ‘Welcome to Amsterdam, Lieutenant Joshi.’ Anik didn’t correct Visser on his rank. ‘I’m Lieutenant Garritt Visser. I spoke to Mr Chi on the telephone and they’re on track to arrive at Il Kantine cafeteria at 5 p.m. Do they know why you’re here?’

Anik confirmed that the Chis knew it was about their daughter, but that they were not yet aware of her death. It had been kept out of the newspapers due to the wider drug operation.

Visser nodded. ‘Mr Chi’s English seems very good, so I won’t step in unless you ask me to, or unless I sense that either of them needs clarity. Does that sound OK to you?’

‘That’s perfect. Thank you, Lieutenant Visser.’

‘Call me Garritt. Please. The NDSM ferry takes us directly to the cafeteria, so we’ll be about an hour early. Would you like to look around?’ Anik declined, saying that he’d rather spend the time getting himself prepared for the conversation with the Chis. But he added that afterwards, he’d appreciate being escorted to Zeeheldenbuurt as that’s where his B&B was located. ‘The rest of my day is for you. We can do whatever you need to.’

Il Kantine was a large converted warehouse, now a three-storey venue with meeting rooms, bar, restaurant and extensive terrace overlooking the docks. It retained much of its industrial look, with the high ceilings and huge windows adding to the character. It was 4 p.m. when they got off the ferry and walked the two minutes along the waterside footpath. Garritt suggested that Anik sit at the corner window table, as it would be the most private area. Then he got menus and two glasses of iced water until they were ready to order. Most of the other customers were young and looked like art students; probably connected to the many art colleges and galleries they’d passed on the train and the ferry. It was one of the very few occasions in his life that Anik had felt old. Garritt returned with a jug of iced water, two glasses and two menus. He asked if Anik would like to eat before meeting with the Chis.

‘I don’t think I could. Just a cappuccino, maybe.’ He neglected to mention the two meals he’d already had on the train. ‘It’d be nice to find somewhere to eat afterwards, though.’

For the next hour, Anik and Garritt spoke about anything other than the death of Jessica Chi. They got on well, being of a similar age, and with similar interests: namely Wimbledon, cars, women and being a police officer. Garritt was from a police family going back four generations. He’d never considered any other path in life. He was saddened by Anik’s route into the police force: ‘My family thought it was suicidal for me to join the police — they’re not popular where I’m from. My dad’s not spoken to me in nearly three years, ’cos when I joined up, his mates said he had to choose... me or them. He’s ashamed. Skin colour’s still a big issue in some parts of London; add a uniform and you get racism on a professional level. And not just from the public.’

Garritt shook his head, as if in shame at belonging to the white demographic. ‘So, I left the uniform behind as soon as I could and the squad I work with now is brilliant. I love it.’ Anik knew that he sounded doubtful. ‘I gave up so much to pursue this job. I expect too much back, too quickly. I know I do. But this job owes me.’ Anik laughed at how weighty the conversation had suddenly got. ‘I appreciate days like this. I don’t get them as often as I’d like.’

Garritt got the coffees, then occupied himself by catching up on emails before stepping outside to make some calls, leaving Anik to prep for the meeting.

At a quarter to five, Anik looked up from his notebook to see Garritt speaking with a couple in their late fifties. The man looked very trendy in light blue jeans, biker T-shirt and trainers, with his grey hair pulled back into a ponytail. The woman wore a long skirt and high-collared blouse with a large brooch at the neck, a fringed shawl draped around her shoulders, and wooden clogs that looked as though she’d hand-painted them herself. Her long black hair was twisted into a low knot down her back. Garritt shook hands with them both, then led them indoors.

By the time they reached the table, Anik’s heart was beating out of his chest. He surreptitiously wiped his right palm on his trouser leg as he stood to greet them. The man introduced himself as Henrick and his wife as Matilda. Anik offered to get them a drink, but Henrick said that the iced water would be fine. They settled into their seats as Garritt went to the serving counter to get two clean glasses.

Matilda placed her hands together on the table and nervously picked at her nails. Henrick put his hand gently on top of both of hers, to stop her from fidgeting. ‘We know why we’re here.’ Henrick’s words stopped Anik in his tracks: how could they possibly know that their daughter was dead? ‘We warned Jessica because we knew what the value was. She said she was told it was a copy, but I knew it wasn’t.’ Matilda gripped Henrick’s hand and squeezed. Henrick continued, oblivious to the fact that Anik had no idea what he was talking about. ‘I know that one of his last watercolours to come up for sale went for £2 million at Sotheby’s. That’s double the estimate, and that was back in 2014. It was bought by a private investor.’

Garritt returned to the table with a fresh jug of iced water and two clean glasses. As he poured drinks for the Chis, Henrick went on.

‘Of course, anything from the Pre-Raphaelite period is worth a considerable amount, even more so as it was known that an oil version exists and is, I believe, in the Russell-Cotes Art Gallery in Bournemouth.’ Garritt looked at Anik quizzically, confused by the conversation he’d walked in on. Anik gave a little shrug. ‘So, you see, I knew it was authentic. Rossetti’s nude Venus Verticordia. And I easily recognised his model as Alexa Wilding. I made Jessica tell me how she’d come by it. I knew it couldn’t be legal.’ Matilda brought her free hand quickly to her mouth and closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. Henrick looked at Anik in desperation. ‘Jessica gave me her word that she’d return it. Did she? She swore to us. Please tell me she did.’

Anik had no option but to come clean. ‘Mr Chi, I’m sorry, but I’m not here about a painting.’ Matilda caught her breath and Henrick, clearly realising he’d just exposed a crime he needn’t have mentioned, was wishing he could turn back time. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news,’ Anik continued. ‘Five days ago, a body was found. I’m sorry to say that it was your daughter, Jessica.’ Matilda continued staring, seemingly frozen in time. Henrick just shook his head. ‘I’m afraid there’s been no mistake. It was Jessica.’

Anik opened a small A5 file and slid Jessica’s student travel card across the table towards her parents. The two sides of laminated plastic had come apart due to being submerged in the pond, and the colours of Jessica’s passport photo had blurred slightly. ‘It’s wet.’ Henrick’s voice was panicked. ‘Why is it wet? Did she drown?’ As soon as he said this, Matilda’s emotions finally burst free, and she began to cry loudly. As she fumbled in her shoulder bag for a handkerchief, Garritt tried to calm them in the language they knew best.

‘We will require a formal identification if you could possibly come to London,’ Anik continued after a short pause. He had done several death notifications in his years on Ridley’s team, but this was the first time he’d had to use an interpreter to help him. He felt awful that these parents were basically hearing about their dead daughter twice, getting the facts from Anik, and then clarification from Garritt. ‘Your daughter didn’t drown, sir. There was a fire. We don’t believe that Jessica suffered at all.’ Anik knew this was a lie, as the post-mortem had clearly identified smoke in Jessica’s lungs, meaning that she was alive as the fire raged around her. But Anik thought Mr and Mrs Chi were distressed enough without imagining that their daughter might have been burnt alive. ‘Mr Chi, when did you last see Jessica?’

Henrick couldn’t look Anik in the eyes. ‘Two months ago. In London. I, er... I’m no good with addresses. I could drive there from the ferry, completely from memory but, I can’t tell you...’ Anik assured Henrick that they had Jessica’s London address, but they didn’t know whether she had a second home in Amsterdam. ‘Jessica has a room in our apartment. Had.’ Anik glanced at Garritt, who asked the Chis, in Dutch, if they’d like to take a short break. Henrick shook his head and took a deep breath before continuing. ‘She had an on-off boyfriend. Adam, I think. He had a property here which she sometimes stayed at, but I don’t think he has it anymore. He was pleasant. Polite. I never saw his place, but the part of town it was in is good. So, we knew he had a good job and could look after Jessica. I’ve not seen him for almost a year.’ Henrick then asked Matilda to look through her address book and find the address for Adam. She snapped into action and obediently did as she was asked, seemingly relieved to have a task so she didn’t have to listen to the conversation.

‘Mr Chi... you thought I was here about a stolen painting. Rossetti’s Venus Verticordia.’ Henrick’s eyes quickly filled with tears once again, as the thought occurred to him that his silence over his daughter’s illegal art dealings might have contributed to her death. ‘I need you to help me now, please. By telling me everything you know.’

Henrick showed Anik several pictures of the painting in question on his mobile phone and repeated that he was certain Jessica had returned it after he warned her that it was genuine. He also insisted that, if the painting was stolen, Jessica had not been the one to steal it: she’d insisted that she’d been given it and he believed her. As the interview came to an end, Anik asked if he could see the bedroom in their apartment reserved for Jessica.

The scenic walk to the Chis’ apartment was marred by the awful conversation they’d just had. Anik had come to Amsterdam and shattered their lives into a thousand pieces... and he wasn’t done yet.

Jessica’s bedroom was an attic space with a balcony that provided a view of the docks. There were a few clothes and one pair of shoes in the single wardrobe, but nothing else. Jessica hadn’t stored anything personal there: no documents or personal effects, and the only two photos Anik found were both from childhood.

Back in the main area of the apartment, which looked and felt like an art studio, Anik had one more line of questioning to pursue before he could leave the Chis to their grief. ‘I’m sorry to ask you this, but do you know if Jessica was ever involved in drugs?’

Henrick seemed so emotionally drained that he couldn’t muster any feelings of offence. ‘She dabbled in cannabis, as is the way for many people in Amsterdam, young and old. She never took anything stronger, if that’s what you’re asking.’ Henrick handed Anik a piece of paper, with a handwritten address. ‘My wife has written down the address for Adam, but I’m sure he no longer owns it. I think now we’d like you to go, please.’

Anik was more than ready to leave. He told them that once they were ready to come to London to do the formal identification of Jessica’s body, they should contact Lieutenant Garritt and he’d help them. Garritt gave them a sincere smile that said ‘I’m here for you’ and they both left.

Garritt walked Anik towards his B&B in Zeeheldenbuurt, whilst reading the address written in shaky, grief-stricken handwriting by Matilda. ‘This apartment is on the way. From memory, I think the whole building is now being rented to the business sector.’

Garritt was right: the address was for a tall, narrow building with four floors and a roof terrace. The top apartment that had been occupied by Adam was now the temporary home of a German businessman in Amsterdam on a three-month training contract. He had no knowledge of any tenant who had been there before him. He was able to direct Anik and Garritt to the owner of the building, but all he could remember about Adam Border was that he was polite, quiet and lived in London for most of the year. Although he did assume that Adam was Dutch, because he spoke it fluently.

Once the short interview with the owner of Adam Border’s old place of residence was over, Garritt uttered one, incredibly welcome word: ‘Beer?’

Anik and Garritt sat at a small waterfront bistro table sipping cold beer and eating a giant pizza between them. Apart from compiling his notes, Anik had nothing to do and the rest of his evening was free, while Garritt’s only instruction from his boss had been to look after the English policeman. Then Anik made the mistake of turning his mobile back on. Dozens of messages and images pinged through from Laura, asking him to try and identify the uniform being worn by the unknown soldier. She’d provided names and addresses of training academies, army barracks and army hostels. And she’d been sure to mention that, although she was the one texting, the request had come from Ridley.