Sun of the Sleepless (5 page)

The vision changed for her as she suddenly remembered walking past this place with her mother as a child. How old was she, maybe nine or ten years? It may have been 1941. Was it October or November? She could not recall, but it must have been around then as she did remember her mother telling her how she should be good or
Zwarte Piet
would come and carry her off. She had been scared and promised to behave.

On that occasion the grey figures standing guard were not herons, they were soldiers, soldiers with steel helmets and grey uniforms and the only bird she remembered was the depiction of a stern-faced eagle, its wings spread wide. Martha blinked her eyes to eradicate the memory before it led her to other more traumatic recollections and walked on past the waters.

She looked across to the opposite side of the wide road, at the bright stalls of the market on the Lange Voorhout Plein, bringing her back to her purpose, immediately focussing and cheering her. She smiled and wondered what she might find today; she hoped that her new acquaintance Gertrude had managed to locate some nice books on art and beauty as she had requested, more, she was keen to know whether they could have an afternoon coffee together. It would give her something to look forward to after a morning spent wandering about the stalls and a generally otiose trip into the shopping district. She looked again and thought that she had spotted her - yes - the red hair. Had she just seen a flash of recognition upon her face? She could not be sure, even though her sight was good for her age she really needed her glasses to see clearly at this distance but she would know soon enough.

Martha followed the contours of the chicane leading to Korte Voorhout, reached the pedestrian crossing opposite the market and halted. Traffic was so heavy along this road at this time of the morning and people in their cars could be so inconsiderate, always rushing. Those little scooters and mopeds were worst, always ridden so aggressively by youths, girls as well as boys, youngsters without a care in the world and a lifetime of experience to look forward to. She started to cross and reached about halfway before she paused in her thought and slowly turned to look back over her left shoulder at the heron, it was not clear but it seemed that it had gone, flown away to a different time and place.

Martha turned back to the crossing but only managed to take a couple strides more before her last two split-second moments of consciousness were upon her. In the first instant she imagined that her rib-cage had been viciously squeezed in the grip of a giant hand, violently expelling every breath of air from her lungs. In the second instant she believed that the entire right side of her body had been bludgeoned by a thunderous blast that had smashed the side of her head and crushed her shoulder, her arm, her hip. All sentient thought was extinguished as her palsied body was sent spinning to the ground and then there was nothing, nothing at all.

The tram driver was jolted to full attention at the sound of a dull thud and for an instant he was transfixed by the grotesque image of a horribly distorted face pressed against the flat glass of the windscreen before it disappeared from view. He jammed the brakes on and sensed the passengers of all three cars being thrown forward, hearing some cries of dismay and some swearing aimed at him; the tram quickly halted but without so much as a screech from the steel wheels on the tracks to indicate the urgency.

He threw open the little driver's door and leapt from his seat in one motion, jabbing repeatedly at the glowing green 'open' button for the front set of doors. After what seemed an interminable second or two the door opened with a sigh and a clunk and in one bound the driver was down the steps to the road. At that point he simply froze.

Glancing down he could see what appeared to be a foot in a low heeled shoe, a left foot he judged from the shape of the sole, poking out from immediately below the side of the nose of the tram. The foot was partially attached to what could have been a long rolled cut of meat straight from the butcher's block but, oddly, swathed in a stocking. It was only partially attached because the blunt lower edge of the metal bodywork on the right side of the tram had managed to gouge through the flesh and some of the bone and the fresh meat dripped blood freely.

The driver slowly placed his palm against the side of the tram and indecisively peeped around the corner to the front. He could see a large bundle of something or other, maybe rags, wrapped up in a long winter coat and wedged under the front of the tram compressed by the large flat metal plate that was supposed to act as the safety plough. The right arm of the coat was splayed out pointing in the direction of the tracks with what seemed like a human hand with rings on the fingers reaching out of it and resting inertly on the cobblestones, just short of the large wooden ring handles of a discarded shopping bag. He crouched slightly and could see more clearly, the lower right limb was scrunched under the left at an awkward angle and poking out of the top of the coat was a mass of intertwined wires, a braided mix of what appeared to be the finest steel and copper threads. It was a confusing sight.

The driver was suddenly aware of sounds, not from beneath the tram but from right next to him. He heard gasps and murmurs and then felt a shove as he was pushed aside. He saw a man was kneeling down in front of him, touching the coat, the braided wires, crawling down to get under the tram to retrieve the bundle. The driver was affronted, that was his job, he was the tram driver and he would remove the rubbish that had been so recklessly thrown into the street and that had jammed under his tram.

He made to move but then realised that he could not. He then realised once and for all that it was not a bundle of rags or a bag of rubbish that the tram had bluntly sliced into; the partially severed lower leg, the crushed and lifeless body, the bloody morass of braided hair that covered a contorted and battered face, this was a human being - an old woman.

Rey had heard and seen the incident first; Frans was absorbed in watching the book seller and keeping a second eye on Akosua's position amongst the stalls. His attention was caught by the sudden movement of heads turning to look in the direction of the parliament buildings, but not at the parliament itself, they were all turning to stare at a tram that had stopped at a pedestrian crossing as it headed away from their position, a tram with a tumult of passengers now spilling out from the doors and milling about in front of it.

'What?' queried Frans as he turned.

'I think the tram just hit somebody.'

Rey squinted as the plangent wailing of a woman rose up above the murmuring coming from the direction of the tram. He was momentarily distracted by the shriek of a siren from his left and he became aware of the heavy revving of an engine. The 4x4 of the police team watching the American Embassy roared passed and within fifty metres had passed the carriages of the tram to quickly pull up and brake to a halt across the tracks, the officers scrambling out to deal with the situation.

Looking to the book seller, Rey could see that the girl had stopped unpacking and was also staring at the burgeoning scene. He thought that he could sense an anxious exhalation from her as she brought her hands up as if in prayer and cupped them over her nose and mouth as if stifling a sneeze.

She was now slowly walking around her stall to the pavement alongside the road, still covering her face. She kept moving, taking small steps, then suddenly stopped, exclaiming a winded grunt and choking forward as if she had been punched in the stomach. She launched into a rapid jog and as she neared the crowd milling about the tram, started calling, quietly at first.

'
Mevrouw Korteweg
!
Mevrouw Korteweg
!'

Akosua had seen the shift in the people of the market, the movement of heads and focus of attention to something that was happening in the road beyond the stalls. From her vantage point she could not see what was happening; just that the book seller had left and that something was going on. She glanced at Frans for a moment and then gazed directly at Rey, her real boss. Although Frans was running this operation, in a time of crisis it was her mentor that she looked to.

Looking from the emotional girl back to the stall and then scanning for Akosua, Rey caught her gaze. He knew her well enough to see the imploring question burning behind her eyes, eyes that right at that moment looked for consent, eyes that seemed much brighter than usual, especially now that he was looking directly into them and could detect the difference in their shade.

She was wearing ice blue contact lenses and her irides seemed to luminesce like a cat's eyes. Rey could still tell the meaning of her gaze; she wanted to act, she wanted to go in, check the containers and just grab the book.

He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head but it was enough for her to see and she frowned slightly before nodding in acknowledgement and discretely moving away. Akosua still had to learn the virtue of patience.

'Shit!' Frans exclaimed.

Rey appraised the scene again and thought for a moment, 'This jig is up,' he said distractedly, 'let's fall back. We can't do anything now.'

He jerked his head in the direction of the tram, the crowd, the police and the emotional young book seller talking to a stranger and occasionally swiping under her eyes with a forefinger.

'Look at her, she's in a right state, I can't see her setting up shop again for the next few hours.'

Frans sucked in air between gritted teeth, gave one last glance at the stall and then pursed his lips as he nodded, 'Alright, yes, we meet at the
Brave Hendrik
bar as we agreed. This afternoon at sixteen hundred hours. I'll update Akosua and put
Plan B
into effect.'

Rey smiled knowingly, 'In and out, uh? Do you even have a
Plan B
?'

Frans raised his eyebrows and shrugged plaintively. He gently patted Rey's shoulder and walked off into the now sombre market. Rey sighed and turned to walk in the direction of the Central Station, the discordant rhythm of an approaching ambulance siren growing louder.

That same afternoon, Rey had gone to the bar and had waited for Frans who had turned up twenty minutes late and they now they sat facing each other, considering the morning's events.

Rey's chair creaked and squeaked as he sat back and rubbed his hands over his face to clear his thoughts. He looked around the bar at nothing in particular and breathed in deeply, 'Frans, cock-up just isn't the word for this.'

Frans looked up as the waitress wandered over and placed a dark brown beer in front of him with a cheery but distracted,
alstublieft
. He smiled at her and nodded, '
Dank u wel
!'

'The trouble is,' Rey sighed irately, 'you're having too much fun crafting this little escapade. You've been spending too much time behind a desk. Instead of fucking about and creating an intricate web of events that, in theory, leads neatly to the retrieval of this bloody book, you should just be pragmatic and go and get it! It was right there, she had it at her stall!'

Frans sucked in air through the side of his mouth and made a little rasping noise, 'Well, I suppose you're right,' he grinned impishly, 'so what do you suggest?'

Rey nodded at the implicit hand-over, 'Alright, what is the current SITREP?'

'I sent Akosua off to a very early lunch and told her to wait for new instructions. At the market, the book seller Miss Verker packed up her stall and left early as you guessed she would. I kept back and had a chat with a trader once she had left. It turns out she knew the woman who was hit by the tram. Sad. Anyway, she went home early to rest up.'

Rey thought for moment, formulating a plan, 'Alright, well, if she knew this woman then she probably isn't going to be too bright and breezy for the rest of the week so -'

His eyes drifted to look into vacant space, '- Yeah, get Akosua to get in touch with Verker and ask directly about the book. She can say that she was put on to her by the previous dealer. She can spin a yarn, Akosua is good at that. Then, she can just arrange a hand-over. Job done.'

'- and no more fucking about, eh?' winked Frans.

'Yeah, basically! It is what a normal person would do!'

Frans blinked a couple of times, 'Alright, tell you what, you can fly back to England, there is no point you wasting any more time here, I thought this would be a nice little outing for you but I'm sure we can wrap this up by Monday evening, give the girl a little time to recover. Akosua will be back in England before you know it.'

'Time to recover?' Rey frowned as he shook his head. 'What? On second thoughts, just ring her now, if she answers then she's fit enough to talk. I thought that I was going soft!'

Frans raised his palms as if signalling to halt an oncoming car, 'Alright, alright, we ring her now.'

He reached for his phone and dialled Gertrude Verker's number, prefixed with the anonymity code. Frans spoke in Dutch for a few moments and then looked at Rey, rolling his eyes to indicate that he was waiting.

A short conversation later, a couple of thank-yous and Frans rang off.

'Hmm, an interesting turn of events!'

Rey shook his head fatefully, 'What now?'

'I spoke with a friend of Miss Verker, she is not taking calls at the moment. However, her friend tells me that our girl has decided to take next week off from the fair circuit and will be selling via the internet. Anything we want can be found there. She has an eBay shop and will start putting some books on there Monday morning!'