A Cold Death in Amsterdam (Lotte Meerman Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

finding out the answer.
    ‘Can’t remember. Anyway, read what’s in there. Petersen has been dead for over ten years. He can wait,’ he pointed at his paperwork. ‘This can’t.’ He unscrewed the top of his fountain pen again. ‘Thanks, Lotte.’ He gave me a quick look. ‘Are you OK with this? Working on this, I mean?’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘The shooting—’
    ‘I had no choice.’
    ‘I know, I know.’ He looked at his screen again.
    ‘There won’t be a problem – he shot at me first.’
    ‘Yes, good for the case review but . . . Anyway. As long as you’re OK with it.’ His eyes went back to his paperwork and I was dismissed. I knew what he was thinking: that I was angry and upset with being shot at. But I knew I’d made the kid do it. I didn’t feel angry or upset. I felt guilty.
     
    Her years in the Financial Fraud department had made Stefanie more efficient than I remembered. She’d left a stack of files by the side of my desk. I started to go through them. She was right: Otto was killed just one hour after he’d been paroled. I flicked through the papers until I found the photos. I liked starting with the photos. The body had been found on the path two metres from his own front door. There was no weapon. The crime scene was clean of footprints or any debris. The CI’s report contained the statement from Karin Petersen, Otto’s wife. She’d claimed to have been waiting outside the prison when her husband was shot. I turned over the pages until I found the text of the interview with the prison guard. He’d remembered Karin and confirmed her story: she was there at Otto’s time of death. I made some notes with my pencil. I wanted to double-check this. Why was she at the prison when her husband had already been released and was on his way home in Alkmaar?
    Hans passed by the back of my chair on his way out. He said goodbye and gave the threatening weather as an excuse for leaving early. I nodded, only raising my eyes from the reports to check my watch. It was just after half past four. When he’d gone, I stared out of the window and watched the clouds hang over the canal. They were so heavy they barely floated. Gravity would pull more snow out of them before the day was over.
    I searched for the report from Alkmaar. It didn’t seem to be there. I turned page after page in the files. Finally I found it somewhere in the middle: six pages stapled together in the top left-hand corner. An insult to the dead man, this staple. Was this not important enough to warrant a proper cover? I scanned the pages: a technical report, one page describing who called in the murder, some photos – and that was that. This was first-day stuff. The CI must have taken the investigation over quickly. I went back to the CI’s papers and checked the date he made the first notes. Otto Petersen was killed on 17 April 2002. The CI’s first report was dated 3 August 2002. Almost four months. What had happened in between? I found official requests for more information from the CI. No response from Alkmaar. In total there were five attempts by the CI to get additional files from them, but no sign that anybody ever replied.
    And then I saw his name on one of the forms in the back of the file:
Original Investigative Officer for the Alkmaar police: DI Piet Huizen
. I weighed the six pages with the staple in my hand, then rolled them up and tapped them on my palm.
    When I’d joined the police, I hadn’t told anybody about my father. It was none of their business. Not talking about him had become a habit.
    I didn’t want to meet the prosecutor tomorrow. I didn’t want to meet him at all. I would at least postpone that encounter if I went to Alkmaar to see my father. With a bit of luck, someone from the prosecution office would collect the reports while I was away. Afterwards, I could use the clear conflict of interest as the reason to hand the Petersen case straight back to Stefanie.

Chapter Three
     
    I rearranged the cards