Hells gate, p.1
Hell's Gate, page 1
Hell's Gate
Copyright © 2022 by Tica Morgan
Published by Rakuten Kobo Inc. as Kobo Originals
First publication in Dutch language © 2019 Tica Morgan, Kwade Hoek | Mooie Moorden #3 Kobo Original in cooperation with Gloude publishing, Amsterdam
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Translated from Dutch to English by Scott Emblen-Jarrett
Copyedited by Bryony Leah
Cover Concept and Design by Margo Togni
Production by Bright Wing Media
All rights reserved. For information about permissions to reproduce this book address Rakuten Kobo, 1-135 Liberty Street, Toronto, Ontario, M6K 1A7.
ISBN 9781774535974
Website: www.kobo.com/originals
Table of Contents
TUESDAY (STILL)
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
MORE BY TICA MORGAN
Landmarks
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Front Matter
TUESDAY (STILL)
* * *
“Zoë?”
Slowly but surely, the blurry spots she could see turned into recognizable objects, and the faint outlines became familiar faces. The first person she saw was Leo, the musician and her hero when it came to deciphering codes, who was bending over her, looking concerned. Behind him, her other colleagues stood waiting, the same worried looks on their faces.
“Zoë?”
She quickly realized she’d fainted. How awkward. She must’ve collapsed right at the moment she saw the coffin’s contents on the big screen. Sven, the escaped psychiatric prisoner who’d been sending her codes for weeks, had killed a girl and left her in exactly the same way he’d left another victim more than six years ago: in a coffin, near a road, dressed in a long, light blue princess dress. Not in Dirksland this time, but the UK—near Graffham, to be more precise, a tiny little village of just over five hundred inhabitants.
“Are you okay?” She was helped to her feet and seated in a chair.
“I am, yes. Sorry about that. I’ve never fainted before in my life. It must be because I haven’t eaten much today. It won’t happen again.”
“Are you okay?” repeated Liam, the detective chief inspector leading the investigation from Sussex. He was the one who’d found and opened the coffin while a colleague of his filmed it for the benefit of Zoë and the team in the Netherlands.
She looked at his face on the big screen, the camera so close it made his nose look ridiculously large. “Yes, I really am. Can we just move on, please?”
Leo placed a glass of water in front of her and squeezed her arm.
She turned her attention to the screen, hoping the others would do the same. It worked. All her memories came flooding back: the last code, the box with the note addressed to her with the new location on it, the coffin their colleagues on the other side of the North Sea had found there with the murdered woman inside, and above all, the sheet of paper lying on the body with the message “Game On” written on it. Despite the slightly dazed feeling in her head, Zoë tried to focus on the screen and what was happening in the UK.
Liam had taken the sheet of paper from the coffin and was now holding it up in front of the camera so it was clearly visible to them. Sven had filled the reverse with writing. Zoë took a good look. They were rules for a game, written in Dutch.
“I’ll take a picture of it and send it over,” Liam said. “Can someone translate this as soon as possible and send it back to us?”
“Of course.”
“My colleague, John, is filming the area around here for you, and then we’ll really have to crack on with the investigation. I suggest you watch that part, and we’ll contact you when there are any new developments.”
Zoë promised they would.
A moment later, a photo appeared on Zoë’s phone screen: the piece of paper listing the rules of the game, which she forwarded to Achmed, who duly printed out several copies and handed one to her. Sven had drawn up six rules. Zoë read them intently along with the rest of the team:
1. Game on, Queen! This princess is a starting bonus. Tomorrow the official contest starts.
2. A clue will follow on every third day.
3. Between the sixth and ninth day, the battle will take place. If you win, you can save the princess; if you lose, then she is dead.
4. The players are Queen Zoë and King Sven. If the queen does not participate, the princesses will have no chance.
5. To ensure that the queen is participating, an article must be posted in the Sussex Times the day after tomorrow with a photo showing that she is in the UK.
6. Three is the number of perfection, and the equilateral triangle is the symbol of kingship.
“He’s completely insane,” Zoë heard Henk grumble.
For once, she agreed with him.
She translated the rules as well and as quickly as she could and texted them to Liam. Admittedly, they left her dumbfounded. Stunned into silenced, Zoë poured herself a coffee and gave Leo a gentle nudge, then she gestured to De Wit’s office and asked who else wanted to join her to think about the meaning behind the rules of the game.
Achmed, Leo, and Rob walked with her. Achmed took a few pictures of notes and phone numbers that had been written up on a whiteboard and then wiped them off. They needed space. He picked up a marker pen from a tray and stood next to the whiteboard, arms crossed.
“Just say it.”
“Sven is planning to kidnap a woman within seven days at most, maybe sooner. A woman we may be able to save,” Zoë said.
“He’s in Sussex.” Achmed wrote Sussex down as he mentioned the location.
“And you have to get to England as soon as possible.” Rob nodded in Zoë’s direction.
“He’s most likely got a place where he can lock up girls and store his stuff.” Zoë added.
“And a means of transport that can accommodate a coffin.”
“What about accomplices?” Leo asked.
Zoë shook her head, feeling immediately dizzy. She took a deep breath. “No, I don’t think so.”
On De Wit’s desk was a lonely mandarin. She picked it up, peeled it, and started to eat the segments even though they were mostly dried up. It didn’t matter—her stomach needed to be filled with something. She didn’t feel like fainting a second time. At seeing this, Rob got up and walked to the team room without saying a word. Within a minute he’d returned with a sandwich, which he gave to Zoë.
“Cheese,” he said.
Zoë was grateful for the food and eagerly took a bite. “What else?”
“Will you really go to England?” Leo asked.
“I don’t know. It feels wrong to respond to a murderer’s demands, but if I don’t, I fear we’ll have more deaths on our hands. I want to discuss it with the prosecutor. Actually, who is the prosecutor? I’ve not met him yet.”
“They’re a she, actually,” Leo answered. “Van Dinteren. Not very experienced, but nice. If all’s well, she should be on her way here now.”
Being nice was no good to Zoë. The prosecutor she needed had to be good, experienced, and creative—someone of the same caliber as Eric Dijkstra, the prosecutor she’d dealt with during the mutilated escorts case, or Alice Wiersma, the prosecutor in the Almekinders and Hetty cases. Yet she knew there weren’t many people of that caliber in the role of prosecutor. Zoë hoped Van Dinteren would at least dare to make bold decisions.
“Well, what do we make of the last line?” Leo asked.
“It’s pretty clear he likes triangles,” Zoë said.
“Let’s think out loud.” Leo pointed to the note. “He’s going to send instructions on days three, six, and nine. Perhaps he’s planning to kidnap three girls, or his game will consist of three parts. He might try to do something with the Morse code again. Nine days and a fight, nine days of rest, and then nine days and a fight, just like with the codes. And he’s going to use an equilateral triangle, either as a clue or perhaps a map.”
Rob and Achmed looked admiringly at Leo, and for the first time that day, Zoë felt relieved. Sitting next to her was someone who was truly capable of thinking outside the box. She was happy with her remarkable new friend. Achmed wrote Leo’s ideas up on the board.
“In the next five days,” Zoë said, “a girl will be kidnapped somewhere in Sussex, or she’s already been kidnapped. I assume our colleagues in the UK have already requested the most recent and relevant missing persons files. We also need to find and trace companies that sell or rent out princess dresses. An order for three dresses would certainly stand out. Then we need to investigate if the coffin is homemade, and if so, which wood it’s made from. As far as I recall, the coffin Sven used six years ago was one he made himself. We’ll make another appointment with Sven’s liaison at the psychiatric unit. I know you’ve spoken to this psychologist before, but we need to ask more specifically about Sven’s plans, his behavior, and her overall impression of him.” Zoë was back to her old self, and she was just getting warmed up.
Achmed filed an accident report while Rob finished off dealing with a co uple of practical matters. The four of them then stared at the whiteboard. There was plenty that needed to be done as there was now a murder investigation underway in the UK with all the paperwork and police procedures to go with it. Zoë was curious to see what the forensic investigation would bring to light.
“Have you guys heard anything from De Wit?” She needed the quiet voice of the experienced detective, his friendly eyes, and even the perpetual aroma of loose tobacco that clung to him.
“Not much. His mother had a massive heart attack, falling over and breaking her arm and collarbone in the process,” Rob said. “It doesn’t sound good.”
It doesn’t sound like he’ll be coming into work anytime soon, Zoë thought. She started to grow restless. If Sven had his way, she’d have to be in the UK tomorrow to have her photo taken for a newspaper to prove she’d arrived. It didn’t feel right to submit to his demands, but at this point she could see no other option. In practical terms, there was a lot that needed to be arranged if she was going to travel to Sussex so soon. She needed to talk to the prosecutor, Tom, Jean, and her family, get a plane ticket, book a hotel, and pack. How long would she be away for?
Kenneth suddenly shot through her head. She’d forgotten she’d need to call him too. He should have been one of the first on her list, but instead he was last. Typical.
By the time she broke from her thoughts, Achmed had taken a photo of the whiteboard and forwarded it to them. He worked fast.
“Is Van Dinteren here yet?” Zoë asked.
“I haven’t seen her yet,” Rob replied.
It was taking far too long for Zoë’s liking. Immediately, the song “It Takes Too Long” by Davina Michelle popped into her head. A completely random thing to think about in that moment, but it was a nice song nonetheless.
“Do you have her number?”
Achmed picked up his phone, and seconds later Zoë received Van Dinteren’s contact details. As she walked into the hallway to make the call, a blonde woman came walking toward her.
“Prosecutor van Dinteren?”
The young blonde woman nodded. Zoë put her age at about thirty. She wore a dark blue dress with a matching jacket, and her most striking feature was her green eyes, framed by a dark outline.
“Zoë Janssen, I presume?” she said.
Zoë stuck out her hand and got a limp handshake in return. Too hard was irritating, but a limp handshake she found far worse—it was as if the person couldn’t be caught and might slip away at any moment.
Together, they walked back to the briefing room, where they took a seat after some brief introductions. Achmed quickly informed Van Dinteren of the events, and she listened silently while taking notes.
“To be honest, I don’t know exactly where things stand regarding police cooperation with the UK post-Brexit. I’ll look into it and get back to you about the relevant procedures. At the moment, I see few other possibilities than you traveling to Sussex tomorrow, Zoë. I’ll discuss with the higher-ups whether it’s wise to set up a joint investigation team or stick to just having parallel investigations, though I assume the latter would be easier. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about those details. Would it also be wise to send someone with you?”
Zoë looked searchingly at the others.
Achmed seemed deep in thought. “I think it would be wise, and a good idea in general, for Zoë to fly over there with some additional support. I’ll be replacing De Wit for the time being, and I’ll direct the investigation from here. Rob?”
“My English is abysmal.”
“What about Jeroen or Henk?” Achmed asked.
Please not Henk, Zoë thought. She didn’t have much in common with Jeroen, but anyone was better than Henk. “What about one of my own colleagues from the island?”
“Not such a bad idea, especially since we’re already down one man. Do you have someone in mind?”
Zoë’s mind immediately turned to Linda. Her father was English, so there would be no language barrier to worry about, and she was incredibly smart.
“Linda Stevens. Smart, her dad’s from the UK, and she’s a great talent, I think.”
“Give her a call.” For a relatively inexperienced officer, Van Dinteren was very decisive. “I’ll arrange the legal side of things, and Achmed, can you sort out of the admin side for Zoë?”
“I will, and I’ll tell Liam you’re coming tomorrow.” Achmed nodded. “I’ll get you on the earliest flight possible. Can you let me know if Linda decides to go with you? I’ll need her details.”
Zoë walked back into the hallway. There were a lot of people she needed to call. Linda was first on the list, and she could hardly contain her joy. Of course she’d come along, and she asked if she could get a copy of the case file too as she wanted to do some prep. They agreed Linda would speak to Tom about what would be happening, and Van Dinteren promised to do the same if the request was approved. Tom wouldn’t be happy, Zoë expected. “Tom shouldn’t complain too much,” Linda quipped.
Zoë then called Kenneth, followed by her brother, Derk, and then Jean. To the latter two she could disclose little more than the fact she’d have to travel to England for an international investigation, and neither of them probed any further as they knew it would get them nowhere. Zoë arranged with Jean that she’d come over that evening to say goodbye to Fer and Bing. Although it wasn’t her week and the boys wouldn’t be coming to hers until Sunday, she still wanted to see them before she left. She needed to.
She glanced out the window. It was gray, and Rotterdam looked bleak and depressing. It felt as if tomorrow she were traveling directly into the lion’s den, right into the hands of Sven, who was probably now building a new coffin for some girl Zoë may or may not be able to save. She’d be going to a country that wasn’t home, where she’d have to work with all new people, when all she needed right now was warmth and closeness.
Kenneth was shocked when he heard the news, though he didn’t insist on coming over to see her before she left, which disappointed Zoë. Tonight she would have liked to hold him in her arms, but she didn’t dare make the suggestion herself, figuring he should have been able to sense it.
“I don’t think there’s much left for me to do here.”
Leo was standing behind her. In all the commotion, she’d completely forgotten about him.
“Sorry,” she replied. “There’s just so much to arrange all at once.”
“Of course, of course, I understand. I wish I could do something for you. Let me know if I can. I don’t have many gigs in the next few weeks.”
“Wait a minute.” She grabbed him by his elbow, and together they walked over to the young prosecutor. “Could you see if Leo can be appointed as some sort of external expert?”
Van Dinteren gave her a quizzical look. “That’s quite a lengthy procedure.”
“Please?”
“What kind of expert?”
“A coding expert,” Zoë responded without missing a beat.
“I’ll try my best.”
Zoë walked Leo out. “I assume I’ll see you soon. I fear your expertise will be indispensable over the coming weeks, otherwise I’ll have to invite you out to join me for a whiskey or two.”
“I’d be more than happy to combine the two.”
Zoë smiled as she was reminded of the empty whiskey bottle in Leo’s workshop. When he gave her a hug, she held him for longer than she normally would. With all her emotions slipping through her fingers, she felt the need to grab onto people and things and hold them tight for as long as possible.
Leo let her go and gave her a wink, and she escorted him back to the front desk.
“Take care, Zoë.”
“You too, Leo.”
His long, dark coat fluttered behind him as he walked away.
Zoë walked down the hallway lost in thought, making a list in her head: send the case file to Linda, drive home, do a final load of laundry, pack the bags, look for her passport, bring a pillow, check what time her flight was and which hotel she was booked into, inform Tom, and call De Wit. She was sure the list wasn’t complete, and the whole thing made her anxious.
As had so often happened in recent months, it was all too much for Zoë. One step at a time was all she could manage for now. If she were religious, she would have prayed. Dear God, help me get through the next few weeks, help me stop Sven, and make sure everything I hold dear to me remains whole, would have been her message. In her universe there was no God, however, so she’d just have to do all this by herself with everything she had inside her.
