to say it.
12
First thing in Marnixstraat Pieter Vos dispatched Laura Bakker to look for the missing papers concerning the Timmers case. When she came back with nothing he told Van der Berg
to join her. Normal service was resumed in the Drie Vaten so Sam had stayed with Sofia Albers. The office remained quiet. It was August. So many people on holiday. So little to do.
After three hours of tedious paperwork Vos went and joined them in the archives. The duty officer was getting sick of the sight of them.
Bakker said, ‘I told you, there’s hardly anything here.’
‘You did,’ Vos agreed and led them back to the office and the coffee machine.
Frank de Groot, the commissaris whose name was on the file deletion records, was off for the day. His daughter was getting married in Utrecht.
‘We could always phone him,’ Bakker suggested, more in hope than expectation.
‘They’re just missing files,’ Vos said. ‘There’s probably a simple explanation. It can wait a day.’
He handed out the coffees and they went to sit around his desk. Vos listened to their ideas in his customary non-committal fashion.
‘Besides,’ Van der Berg added, ‘if we didn’t know those files were missing we wouldn’t even be bothered. The case is as good as dead . . .’
‘You said we never found who killed that family,’ Bakker pointed out. ‘This Ollie Haas screwed it up. How can it be closed?’
‘It’s not closed,’ Vos said.
‘If there are no files how can it be open?’ she wondered.
Bakker smiled, preened her long red hair at that. A persistent young woman, she was never shy of an argument and both Vos and Van der Berg had learned to avoid these unless they were absolutely
necessary.
‘How about Haas?’ she added.
Van der Berg sighed and said, ‘We don’t know where he lives. If that old girlfriend of his hadn’t phoned yesterday we wouldn’t even be—’
‘Ollie Haas has a house on the outskirts of Volendam,’ Vos cut in. ‘Quite an expensive one. He retired there just under five years ago. I checked.’ He pulled a sheet of
paper out of his drawer. It was a page from an estate agency website. ‘The place is valued at three-quarters of a million euros. He lives there alone. It’s up for sale.’
He passed Van der Berg the printout.
‘That’s a lot of bricks for a police pension,’ the detective noted. ‘Ollie Haas is an Amsterdammer. He was brought up in Oud-Zuid. Why the hell would he move out to
Volendam? The locals won’t even talk to you until you’ve been in the place thirty years or more.’ He slapped the page on the desk. ‘Something’s wrong. I’m with
Laura. If we’ve nothing better to do – and I don’t see we have – I think we should poke our noses round a bit. Talk to Haas again. Find out what happened to those
files.’
Bakker retrieved one of the few folders still remaining from the Timmers case and opened it. There were photos of the parents, a gruff-looking man, angry, coarse face, faded blue
fisherman’s smock. A pretty fair-haired woman, too good-looking for him most would think. Then three little blonde girls in tight scarlet satin shorts and white shirts grinning for the
camera.
‘What a way to dress up kids of that age,’ she grumbled.
Gus and Freya Timmers were thirty-nine when they were killed. The mother and daughter died of multiple stab wounds in their tiny fisherman’s cottage behind the Volendam seafront. Her
father suffered a single shotgun blast. Freya and Jo were found in the parents’ bedroom. He was in the room the triplets shared. Ollie Haas believed Mia and Kim only survived because they
were at the waterfront collecting a prize in the talent contest from Gert Brugman, the singer with The Cupids. He could find no motive for the crime and no likely culprit.
Brugman had stayed on the waterfront all night, drinking. Rogier Glas left the event for a meeting with the band’s manager, Jaap Blom, in the cafe Blom ran in the town. Frans
12
First thing in Marnixstraat Pieter Vos dispatched Laura Bakker to look for the missing papers concerning the Timmers case. When she came back with nothing he told Van der Berg
to join her. Normal service was resumed in the Drie Vaten so Sam had stayed with Sofia Albers. The office remained quiet. It was August. So many people on holiday. So little to do.
After three hours of tedious paperwork Vos went and joined them in the archives. The duty officer was getting sick of the sight of them.
Bakker said, ‘I told you, there’s hardly anything here.’
‘You did,’ Vos agreed and led them back to the office and the coffee machine.
Frank de Groot, the commissaris whose name was on the file deletion records, was off for the day. His daughter was getting married in Utrecht.
‘We could always phone him,’ Bakker suggested, more in hope than expectation.
‘They’re just missing files,’ Vos said. ‘There’s probably a simple explanation. It can wait a day.’
He handed out the coffees and they went to sit around his desk. Vos listened to their ideas in his customary non-committal fashion.
‘Besides,’ Van der Berg added, ‘if we didn’t know those files were missing we wouldn’t even be bothered. The case is as good as dead . . .’
‘You said we never found who killed that family,’ Bakker pointed out. ‘This Ollie Haas screwed it up. How can it be closed?’
‘It’s not closed,’ Vos said.
‘If there are no files how can it be open?’ she wondered.
Bakker smiled, preened her long red hair at that. A persistent young woman, she was never shy of an argument and both Vos and Van der Berg had learned to avoid these unless they were absolutely
necessary.
‘How about Haas?’ she added.
Van der Berg sighed and said, ‘We don’t know where he lives. If that old girlfriend of his hadn’t phoned yesterday we wouldn’t even be—’
‘Ollie Haas has a house on the outskirts of Volendam,’ Vos cut in. ‘Quite an expensive one. He retired there just under five years ago. I checked.’ He pulled a sheet of
paper out of his drawer. It was a page from an estate agency website. ‘The place is valued at three-quarters of a million euros. He lives there alone. It’s up for sale.’
He passed Van der Berg the printout.
‘That’s a lot of bricks for a police pension,’ the detective noted. ‘Ollie Haas is an Amsterdammer. He was brought up in Oud-Zuid. Why the hell would he move out to
Volendam? The locals won’t even talk to you until you’ve been in the place thirty years or more.’ He slapped the page on the desk. ‘Something’s wrong. I’m with
Laura. If we’ve nothing better to do – and I don’t see we have – I think we should poke our noses round a bit. Talk to Haas again. Find out what happened to those
files.’
Bakker retrieved one of the few folders still remaining from the Timmers case and opened it. There were photos of the parents, a gruff-looking man, angry, coarse face, faded blue
fisherman’s smock. A pretty fair-haired woman, too good-looking for him most would think. Then three little blonde girls in tight scarlet satin shorts and white shirts grinning for the
camera.
‘What a way to dress up kids of that age,’ she grumbled.
Gus and Freya Timmers were thirty-nine when they were killed. The mother and daughter died of multiple stab wounds in their tiny fisherman’s cottage behind the Volendam seafront. Her
father suffered a single shotgun blast. Freya and Jo were found in the parents’ bedroom. He was in the room the triplets shared. Ollie Haas believed Mia and Kim only survived because they
were at the waterfront collecting a prize in the talent contest from Gert Brugman, the singer with The Cupids. He could find no motive for the crime and no likely culprit.
Brugman had stayed on the waterfront all night, drinking. Rogier Glas left the event for a meeting with the band’s manager, Jaap Blom, in the cafe Blom ran in the town. Frans
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