The city pathologist Jim Conver had two bodies laid out on the stainless steel tables when they entered. The sound of the ventilation fans in the background dominated the traditional stillness.
"This is Detective Jim Bakker," Ribb said, introducing him to the pathologist. "He spotted your clients in the deaths column and alerted me to them."
Conver nodded in acknowledgment to Bakker, then gestured to the bodies.
"You've already met Carola Munk, but this is Frank Brandsma, who had a history of heart trouble. Fortunately, when he died, he left his body to science. And after his death a few days ago my colleagues carried out a regular dissection of his heart. They expected to find the usual cause of his heart attack. Strangely enough, they found something else. He has the same condition as the girl. A heart defect that is so serious he would have been incapacitated from the day he was born, meaning he would not have been able to walk twenty meters without an oxygen tank. Both should have had died within one or two hours after birth. But here they are now."
Bakker looked closely at the open chests and dissected organs on the stainless steel tray next to the bodies. Ribb remained where he was.
"So how they could end up living for years with a heart ailment totally unnoticed is a mystery you might want to look into. I don't know whether it's a crime or a fluke or whatever, but something is not right, that's for sure. I've already talked to a number of heart specialists about this and they are as baffled as I am."
"Find anything else unusual?" Ribb asked, scratching his head.
"No." Conver said, firmly. "There are no needle marks or suspicious injuries of any kind. Stomachs show regular foodstuffs and nothing out of the ordinary. At the moment the only thing they have in common is that they both died in the middle of the night, probably between two and four in the morning."
"Let me know the results when you get them. I'm going to send over a team to seal off both apartments and get them checked out. Unfortunately, their deaths were not exactly suspicious, so any evidence we could have bagged might have been dumped, removed, and altered, or just wiped away with a cleaning cloth." Ribb turned and headed for the door. "We'll keep in touch," Ribb said, and they were gone.
"Isn't that weird?" Bakker finally said, as they got into Ribbs car and headed back to the station.
"Something different, that's for sure. I want you to look at the backgrounds of these people. See if you can find any connection other than the street they live on."
"Sure, no problem," Bakker said, in a near whisper. "Do I get any help on this?"
"Not yet. You found the connection and I think you can look into this without any distraction. It's early days, but we are not looking at a crime. It's unusual, sure, but I can't as yet see any criminal intention."
Back at the station Bakker found Harvey Wall chatting up the female officer at the front desk.
"Come on," Bakker said. "I'll show you around the station."
"You're too late," the desk officer told Bakker. "I've already shown detective Wall around and introduced him to Boddin and a number of other officers.
"Great, thanks a lot Sylvie. You just spared me from officer Boddin. I owe you one."
"You're welcome."
"Let's go out for a coffee," Bakker said, as he guided Wall out the door and onto the street.
"You mean a coffee shop? I've read about them. You go in for a coffee and you come out stoned out of your brain."
"I did not mean one of those coffee shops."
"Oh. Okay, sure. I'm right behind you."
"Have you got the bike?"
"Are you kidding?" Wall said, looking down at Bakker. "Last time I rode a bike I was about twelve. I stole it from a fat Italian kid who lived down the block. Damn thing nearly got me killed, and I've never been on one since."
"Well, that will need to change for a start. You will need one in Amsterdam. It's the best and only way to get around with ease."
"I don't know," Wall said, hesitantly. "It looks pretty dangerous with all the narrow streets you have here. And those tram rails, they are so dangerous. And if that doesn't get me it will be one of your trams, they travel at speed. I can see myself going home in a box with an imprint of one those steel wheels on my face."
"It's easy, you get used to it in no time." Bakker said, laughing it off. "A friend of mine has a few extra bikes. I'm sure he'll lend you one."
Then Bakker turned and pointed to an oncoming tram "Come on, we've got to get this," he said, as he darted towards the tram. "I know the best place for a coffee on the Leidseplein."
In the tram, Bakker scanned his travel card on the gray scanner. The machine beeped - a green light lit up, then bought an extra card for Wall from the conductor.
Minutes later they stepped out onto the busy Leidseplein. In the middle of the large famous square, a crowd was gathered around the young man in his early twenties with bright red hair juggling different fruit. Harvey Wall could make out a banana, a cucumber, an orange and a tomato. Bakker walked away from the crowd in the opposite direction towards a yellow stone building across the street.
"That is where we are going for coffee," Bakker said.
Suddenly there was the sound of a bell clanging quite close. Bakker reached out and grabbed Wall by the elbow and pulled him back to avoid an oncoming tram, which only missed him by a whisker.
"Goddamn, that was freakin' close," Wall said, sounding unnerved. "Those things are dangerous,"
"You get used to it, just remember to keep your eyes and ears open. Didn't you hear the bell?"
"I did, but I didn't think it was for me."
"Could have been your famous last words," Bakker said, as he crossed the street, keeping his eye on the trams, bicycles and cars coming from different angles.
Wall looked up at the impressive building they were heading towards. "What is that?"
"That's where we're going, Hotel Americain.
"You mean American hotel."
"No, it's actually called Hotel Americain, and they serve one of the best coffees around."
"Have they got Starbucks inside?"
"No," Bakker replied, "but it's excellent and not in a paper cup."
Up the front steps, and through the revolving door on the right, they entered an imposing large dining area. Harvey Wall looked around at the early twentieth-century art deco room. Magnificent stained glass chandeliers that looked like an upside down Chinese umbrellas hung from the ceiling. Arched windows decorated at the top with stained-glass art deco designs gave Wall the feeling he had just stepped back in time.
"Nice place." Wall quietly said, nodding his head as he stared at the striking surroundings. Near the center of the dining area was a long reading table, and at the far end next to the window a large grand piano. "Classy. Can I get the latte?"
"Sure, anything you want, except they don't sell joints."
"No need, this is the coolest joint I've seen in years."
They were guided to a table by a waiter. Bakker ordered the coffees in Dutch.
"I'm going to have to learn some of that language of yours. But some of you speak as if you've got something caught in your throat."
"I know, that's the G," Bakker said, then made it sound as if he was clearing his throat.
"G for guttural, right?"
"You could put it like that."
"Say, what's with that chief of yours? I thought he was going to be really pissed at me for making a fool out of those two clowns who came to pick me up at the airport."
"Well, in a way I think he enjoyed himself. It's been all over the station, everyone has had a good laugh about Kaps and Dop. You really made a fools of them."
"But what about me nabbing those idiots who robbed the pizza place? He was like a pussy cat. He didn't ball me out or anything. Back home, my boss wouldn't take kindly to me having so much fun if I just arrived in the city."
"Well, that's the way he is. He's an easy-going cool guy who only gets annoyed if you really fuck up."
"My boss was an a
sshole who did everything to make my life miserable, just like my last wife. You married?"
"Yep, to my job."
"Okay, you're one of those. I get it. So that's why you look like shit. We got one or two guys like you on the force back home."
"Thanks for the compliment," Bakker said, as the two coffees arrived. Wall looked down at the small cup of coffee the waiter placed in front of him.
"Christ, you call that a cup of coffee? I thought your beer was small, but this is ridiculous."
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's a quarter cup of coffee and not even that, an eight, that's what's wrong with it." He looked dumbfounded at the little cup.
"You could be right, but our coffee is a lot stronger than yours in the states."?????????????
"I'm not so sure," Wall replied, shaking his head. He sipped the coffee. "Hmm, not bad."
"How long are you going to be staying?"
"Six months."
"I thought the exchanges were much shorter than that."
"They usually are, but my boss was giving me a pretty hard time so I asked for the longest possible stay." Wall leaned over to Bakker. "Tell me," he said, lowering his voice. "What's the deal in this city. How many murders do you have a week?"
"A week?" Bakker laughed. "You would be lucky to have one or two a month. Sometimes not even that."
"You kidding?"
"This is not the wild west like you're used to in New York. People cannot easily buy or carry guns here, so the less guns you have on the streets, the less problems they create. Of course, we have other things..."
"Bicycles," Wall said, interrupting Bakker.
"You're not far off the mark there. Bikes can be really dangerous. More people die from bicycle accidents than shootings in this city.'
"See, that's what I thought. Goddamn dangerous, and you want to get me one? What about knifings, drug crimes, prostitution. Hold on..." Wall leaned in close to Bakker once again. "Prostitution is legal here, right?"
"It is. For about fifty euros and fifteen minutes of your time, a woman can make a man very happy. Overrated if you ask me."
"Okay, I get it, so maybe you're into guys, right?"
"No, I have girlfriends now and then, but they keep getting in the way of my work."
"Maybe you should just hire them to do your laundry. Believe me pal, you need it?"
"That's an idea, thanks." Bakker replied, looking unphased by Walls comment. Bakker finished his coffee "Come on, let's get out of here. I'll show you around the area. It will be your district for the coming months."
"Do we also cover the red light district?"
"We do serious crime in Amsterdam, and that takes in just about everywhere in the city, including the red light district. You won't have to worry about crossing into anyone's territory."
"Okay, cool."
Bakker paid the bill, and within minutes they were back out onto the Leidseplein.
"Come on, let me take you on a little tour," Bakker said, as he headed towards the Leidsestraat.
Wall, feeling wary, kept his eye on the trams coming at him from the front and back. These trams were more than dangerous, he thought, they were deadly. If Bakker had not caught him just on time, he was sure the tram would have killed him.
At the Prinsengracht they stopped on the bridge and stared at the majestic sixteenth-century buildings lining the canal waterfront. Front gables painted dark brown or black, others in natural red brick. Nearly all the buildings were topped with a small square or a bell-shaped construction, and almost all had a protruding beam with a hook on the end overhanging the front of the buildings.
"What are they for?" Wall asked, pointing to the beams with the hooks.
"They use them to lift the furniture in and out of the houses. Many of the old buildings and apartments in Amsterdam have very narrow stairways, making it nearly impossible to get furniture in and out. They pull the furniture up using those beams and hooks with a pulley and rope and get it into the house through a window which they usually remove. They were especially designed for that back in seventeenth century."
"Do they still do it like that?"
"Sure, all the time, but usually students who cannot afford a regular moving company with a mechanical lift."
"No shit. This is one crazy town. Say, how about taking me to one of those other coffee shops you mentioned."
"Sure, why not." Bakker replied.
Chapter Eleven