A State Of Sin Amsterdam Occult Series Book Two Mark Hobson (romantic novels in english TXT) 📖

Reaching across for them, Pieter again noted the times, seeing that everything matched up. The van on the security camera appeared four minutes before Nina’s 112 call timed at 7:12PMand then left the Bakkers’ house barely two minutes before the police patrol car arrived at 7:20PM - two minutes. They had missed the abductor by barely two minutes. Even more disheartening: the police patrol car had entered Vondelstraat from the opposite end from which the van driver, with Nina probably bound and gagged in the back of his van, had left the scene. Thus the two vehicles had not passed one another, and the van would not have been caught on the police car’s dashcam.

Pieter rubbed at his temples and got to his feet. In the corner, the coloured lights on the small Christmas tree were still flickering intermittently, so he strolled over and started tightening the tiny bulbs one by one, checking for a loose connection. As he worked his mind mulled over what the footage meant.

It didn’t show much, but it was nonetheless quite revealing.

What it suggested was that whoever the man in the van was, he must know the Bakkers, confirming his earlier theory. The van had temporarily halted before the entrance gates, as though waiting for someone to open them. There was an intercom system on the gatepost, so the obvious scenario was that the driver had buzzed through to announce his arrival, and on confirming his identity, somebody inside had opened the electronic gates for him.  Either that or the driver was pretending to be somebody else as a ruse to gain entry.

It was just a damn shame that the camera footage showed nothing they could follow up on. No images of the driver and no clear shots of a number plate meant they were at a dead end with this thread.

Unless?

Pieter stopped what he was doing.

On the night of the fire, before he even knew they were dealing with a double murder and an abduction, Pieter had waited in his car while the firefighters doused the flames. He’d parked alongside the nursing home at that end of the street, and he remembered seeing the elderly residents eagerly watching the drama unfold through the windows.

It was a long shot. Because of the impenetrable fog they would probably not have seen anything of note, just like the camera hadn’t.

But it was worth a try.

Ernie Clegg was an ex-British paratrooper now confined to a wheelchair, not as a result of too many jumps, but because of an age-related deterioration in his pelvic bone. He looked resplendent in his dark blue blazer and his beret, his chest puffed up to show off his line of military decorations. He was waiting on the top landing of the nursing home on Anna Van Den, in his usual spot by the huge corner window. The carers told Pieter that he sat here most days and nights, watching the world go by, enjoying the view across Vondel Park and along the quiet suburban street.

When Pieter found him, he had a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes.

“They have parakeets you know, in the park - in Amsterdam? Wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen them myself, but there they are, near the statue. You see?”

He handed them over, and Pieter took a look, but it was coming up to four o’clock in the afternoon in mid-December and he couldn’t see anything in the gloom. “Oh yeah,” he told Ernie, “sheesh.” He handed them back.

He pulled up a chair and made himself comfy.

“You the copper? They told me you were coming. Can I see your credentials? I’m saying nothing until I see some proof, Mister. For all I know you might be here to steal all my dead wife’s jewellery.” He turned to look at Pieter. Ernie had a big, bulbous, purple nose, with a hair growing out of the end, and sparkly blue eyes that still, even after all these years, had the thousand-yard-stare.

Pieter dipped his hand into his coat pocket, but paused when Ernie snickered.

“I’m pulling your leg, you daft bugger.”

He twiddled with the joystick on the armrest, and his electric wheelchair pirouetted on the spot to turn and face his visitor.

“What can I do you for then? I presume it’s about the fire the other night?”

Pieter looked through the window. From here they had a good view along Vondelstraat, towards the burnt-out shell of the large house, which was surrounded by blue police tape. Down below was the spot on the side street where he’d parked his car on the night of the fire, and where his car was now.

“You like to sit here a lot, I understand?”

“Aye lad, nothing much else to do in this place. All the others are down in the common room right now, sitting in a circle and passing around a big rubber ball. What the hell for I don’t know. And later we have some young kid coming along, to plonk away on her tiny keyboard and sing us songs. She’s as flat as a fart, I tell you. If I hear Roll Me Over In The Clover one more time, then I think I’ll take a swan dive through that window like Professor Hawkins. It’s all the old biddies sing here in Holland.”

“So I presume you had a good view of everything then? Of the fire?”

“Yes, apart from the bloody fog, which spoilt things. But once it flared up good and proper, the flames got rid of that. I could feel the heat right through the glass. And before you ask, no I didn’t start it to relieve the boredom, I have witnesses to back me up. I was in bed at the time. Not my bed,” he added with a wink.

Pieter indulged him with a nod of understanding, one man to another.

“On the night itself Ernie, did you see anything suspicious? Or anybody acting weird?”

“Well, when the fire started, as I say, I was otherwise engaged. But someone else started hollering