A World Without Secrets (29 page)

I ignored the facial expressions as all three men grimaced. I assumed they were trying to mask their minor displeasure with the importance I was placing on an insignificant item. Or perhaps they were wondering if my reputation was earned and whether inviting me into the investigation had been wise. I already knew who the crooks were and where the stolen artwork was secreted, but I sure couldn't tell them that my information came from watching the robbery. I needed to come up with something plausible that would both reinforce my reputation and entitle me to the offered recovery reward.

"Thank you for your time today, gentlemen," I said as I extended my hand, first to Director Hilhorst and then to Captain Van der Burg, and finally to Locher. "I think I've learned everything I can from the scene of the crime."

"What now, Colt?" Rudy asked as he shook my hand.

"Well, we'll have to wait to see about that blood smear. We should at least learn the blood type. If we're lucky, perhaps they'll be able to perform a DNA analysis and cross match it against criminal records. I also want to follow up on this button with Interpol. Perhaps Ambrose can learn something useful. We might be able to learn which manufacturer uses it, on what products, and where they were sold."

"That's an awful lot of information to expect from a wood chip and a loose button," Kurt said.

"Sometimes the biggest criminals are tripped up by the smallest clues."

After dropping the button off at the Interpol office, I returned to my hotel so I could change out of my suit and go casual.

I had removed the small tracking devices from my coats, but I took time to look at the rest of my possessions, trying to determine if they had placed devices in anything else. I wished I had brought some of my bug detection gear, but I hadn't
really
thought I'd need it. I slipped an evidence pouch with one of the tracking bugs into the pocket of the coat I'd be wearing.

When I didn't find any other bugs, I finished dressing and went down to the bar. In the bathroom, I used the gizmo in an attempt to see if the button might have come from one of the art thieves. I zoomed into the place where I had found it and discovered that it wasn't there the day before the robbery. It was too dark to see if it had appeared during the robbery, so I jumped ahead to midday and looked again. It still wasn't there. In an effort to save time I tried to tag the button, but the gizmo wouldn't lock onto it. I supposed it was too small. Up to that point I had only locked onto much larger objects or people.

Before leaving the stall, I did a quick surveillance of my suite. No one had come while I was gone except the maid. It was possible she could have planted a mike somewhere, but she hadn't been obvious about it if she had. I decided it would be best if I continued to use the restroom stall when I needed to use the gizmo.

I stopped at the bar for a quick whiskey and soda, then did the tourist thing for the rest of the afternoon. I knew the tiny tracking devices couldn't have much range, so I enjoyed the game of trying to spot my shadows. I pegged three. I knew Schaake had been serious about tailing me when he used the four miniature tracking devices, but I hadn't expected him to assign an entire taskforce to follow me. If I'd seen three, there had to be more. The tracking device might even have had audio capability. There was some sophisticated equipment out there if the money was available to pay for it, and governments always had the money. The only motivation I could imagine was that Schaake hoped to solve the case before me by using my leads, thus sparing his department the embarrassment of being shown up by an *cough* American.

I decided to make a game of it and led the people following me on a zigzag trail across Amsterdam. There were a few amusing minutes when I stopped into a museum. A security guard recognized one of the cops tailing me. The guard tried to strike up a conversation with his friend and couldn't seem to take the hint that his friend was on assignment. When the guard did finally understand, he walked stiffly away but kept watching me until I left the museum. I suppose he felt that if his friend was tailing me, I must be a criminal.

As the dinner hour approached, I took a cab to one of the restaurants Schoenberg had pointed out the first day. The food was excellent, and as I had guessed, the bill was for more than I'd once spent on food for an entire month.

After returning to my hotel, I sat down at the desk in my suite and again studied the investigation data in the file folder, searching for something to support my eventual report. I went to bed frustrated.

While having breakfast in my suite the next morning, my cell phone rang.

"I just heard from Schaake," Kurt Locher said when I picked it up. "The substance on the wood chip is indeed human blood. It's Type AB, RH-Negative. Neither of the workmen who repaired the skylight damage are a match. Schaake has sent a forensics team to the museum to cut out that area of the trim work. They'll enter it as evidence in the case, but it'll probably take ten days to get the DNA work completed and another one or two to run a search for matches."

"That's great, Kurt. Too bad we have to wait that long."

"It has top priority over every other case in the lab. The area under the skylight is in the shadows and doesn't get hit with direct sunlight, but it's been quite a while since the crime so it may be difficult to get an accurate read. The testing takes longer when the blood has degraded."

"I know. Have you heard any rumors on the street about the art being offered for sale?"

"Nothing yet. But we have all our informants listening. They'd love to get a piece of the reward pie."

"Nope, that's mine."

"You sound confident, Colt. Have you heard something?"

"Not yet, but if the artwork is still in Europe, I'll find it."

"But how? I mean, it was great you spotted that blood, but you said you don't speak any of the languages here other than English."

"Money is the universal language, Kurt. People usually find a way to communicate when you wave greenbacks, pounds, or Euros under their noses."

"But you've only worked in the U.S. until now. You can't have any contacts here."

"As of this moment, no— but that will be different tomorrow."

"I wish you luck, my friend. We've had our informers out seeking information for months. And we've offered substantial sums for any information leading to the recovery of the paintings."

"Sometimes people know things they don't associate with a theft. It takes someone with the right experience to put all the tiny pieces together and solve the mystery."

"Shall I chill the champagne?" Kurt asked jokingly.

"Give it a few days. I'll let you know when."

I heard a click, and then my phone chimed to tell me the signal had been lost. I guess he was no more accustomed to using a sign off than a greeting at the start of the conversation.

I knew I couldn't just sit around for two weeks until the DNA report was completed and hope they would find a match. Well, I could— I loved the hotel and the city— but I didn't want to. Amsterdam might have been one of the cleanest large cities I'd ever been in, but the dirty city by the disgusting but spectacular Hudson River was my home, and I loved her like no other. So what if I rarely saw anyone sweeping the sidewalk outside their building or that I couldn't see more than a few inches into the water at the harbor? It was New York.

I finished my breakfast and showered but didn't shave. The dark stubble would help me blend into the environments I planned to frequent. Before traveling to Europe, I had identified each of the perps by following them around until I discovered their names. I knew the places they frequented, and I intended to begin visiting them and allowing myself to be seen there for later proof of my investigation. But I didn't want my tails to see me there yet, so I dressed as casually as I could and removed the tiny transmitter from the jacket. I placed it in the desk with the others, then left my suite.

I used a back stairway to descend to the lobby level and then exited through the rear to the hotel's garden. The entire block was composed of three- to five-story buildings, but I was able to hop a low wall into the rear yard of a tavern that faced the Keizersgracht canal and walk through the tavern to the street. Until then I had only entered and exited through the front of the hotel where the single occupant of a nondescript car had always been watching the entrance from just across the canal.

I spent the day in restaurants and taverns, buying drinks and doing my best to communicate with locals who looked like they would kill their mother for a Euro. I had taken some basic art classes in college, so I had made sketches of two of the perps. I was no artist, and they were really only resemblances of the real people, but I made a point of offering money for information about them. I kept a wary eye out for police tails and gang members, but I'd seen none. Until I'd begun my slumming, I hadn't realized how prevalent the drug culture was in Amsterdam. It made drug issues in New York seem minor by comparison.

At dinnertime I headed for a restaurant I'd seen during my tourist day. I'd been careful not to imbibe very much during my day of boozing, preferring to let my contacts drink my drink as well as their own, so I treated myself to a large mug of beer as I waited for my snert with rookworst and roggebrood.

The soup and bread were delicious, and I followed that up with boerenkoolstamppot. For dessert I ordered appeltaart and coffee. As I left the restaurant I patted my stomach lightly. I felt good. All the food I'd had since arriving in Amsterdam had been great, although I'd have to admit to having shied away from any of the herring or eel dishes.

I entered the hotel the same way I'd left, through the garden, and didn't encounter any of the tails I'd spotted previously. Of course, they might have changed the team or even removed the stakeout completely, but I doubted the latter. Schaake had planted some very expensive bugs in my clothing. As long as they hadn't been retrieved, I knew he was watching. And I confirmed they were still there by checking for their presence in my desk.

I spent the next several days among the lower classes in places where other tourists never went, if they were smart. I made a point of visiting every one of the earlier locations and talking with the same people if they could manage some degree of English. I asked about the same two individuals every time and showed the pictures. My goal was to be instantly recognized when Schaake's people began showing
my
photograph around. I always shaved after returning to the hotel each evening so my stubble would look about the same each day.

Sunday was spent in my suite, watching a little television, talking to Kathy, and reading the English newspapers. I also went through the investigation file again. I think I already knew it as well as I could, but I was desperate for something that would support the final report I'd already written in my head. In the late afternoon I put a tracking device back into my jacket and went for a walk. I spotted that same auto across the canal, and after a few blocks, I spotted a couple of the tails I had tagged earlier.

After returning to the hotel, I visited the bar and headed to the washroom so I could use my gizmo in the stall. I watched myself as I consorted with the lower forms of life in Amsterdam during the past week, looking for anyone who might be watching me, or any of the thieves. I did see one face repeatedly. He seemed to be following me, but didn't act like a cop. I marked him using the gizmo's tagging feature and then jumped to different times throughout the day. He was always close to where I was, even when he couldn't see me directly. A few times he watched me in the reflection of a shop window, and once he watched me from a hallway window in a third story apartment building across from the tavern where I was spreading cheer in the form of free drinks while I asked questions. He was good. I wondered if I should be worried. What was I saying? Of course I should be worried. For the first time since joining the FBI, I was glad for those months of training at Quantico and for the deadly weapon I was required to carry at all times for self-protection.

I wanted to try to identify the guy who was tailing me, but I couldn't stay in the stall any longer. I put the gizmo away, flushed the toilet, and made a pretense of zipping my pants as I stepped out. A guy washing his hands at the sink glanced up at me, then continued with what he was doing. He was gone by the time I'd washed and dried my hands.

Out at the bar I ordered a drink, then headed for one of the comfortable black leather, barrel-style chairs at a small circular table. I'd only been there a few seconds before Ambrose of Interpol stopped at my table.

"Join you?" he asked.

I nodded and said, "Sure."

He dropped into the chair opposite mine as the waitress brought my drink. She took his order, then retreated to the bar.

"You've been busy," Ambrose said.

"Have I?"

"That's what I've heard. First you find a blood smear at the crime scene that no one else spotted, then a button in the alley, and now—," he paused for minute, "you're talking to every drunken sot in the city and buying them drinks."

"It's cheap information," I said.

"Is this how they do it in America these days?"

"I don't know how others do it. I'm at a bit of a disadvantage here because I'm off my home turf, so I'm doing what I can. How did you hear of my wanderings?"

"I have my sources."

"I'm sure. One of them wouldn't happen to be about thirty, skinny, with long, stringy brown hair, would it?"

"Nope, not one of mine. Mine's about sixty with a short white beard, always smells like a distillery and looks like a pile of clothes someone just found in a trash pile."

"That could fit any of two dozen I've spoken to."

"That's the idea."

"Anything on the button I found?"

We paused our conversation when the waitress brought his drink, and he took a sip.

"It's from a work shirt available in thousands of stores and on-line catalogs," he said. "There are two dozen places in Amsterdam alone that carry that product."