'… and we at the university greatly appreciate the donations of your foundation.'
Now Lang understood the professor's consternation. A chemistry professor was replaceable, but a generous contributor…
The Dutch were a practical people.
An older man Lang had not seen before interrupted. 'Forgive me. I am Police Inspector Van Decker.'
Rotund but not obese, pug nose, dark eyes peering out from under bushy eyebrows like those of a small animal hesitant to leave its burrow. Other than contemporary dress, the man could have stepped out of Rembrandt's Night Watch, one of those burghers who paid the artist to be depicted with others of the city's volunteer police force.
He handed Lang a card. 'You are Lang Reilly?'
Lang studied the card before putting it in his wallet. 'I am.'
'You knew Dr. Yadish?'
Lang shook his head. 'Actually I never met the man. He was recommended by a friend.'
Eyebrows arched like bushy caterpillars. 'You hire people you do not know?'
Lang thought a moment, composing his answer. 'Inspector, I am president of the Janice and Jeff Holt Foundation, a multinational charity. We support largely medical care and research for children in third-world countries, but occasionally other scientific causes such as the one Dr. Yadish was working on. I doubt I personally know a dozen of the people actually involved with our projects worldwide. We're fortunate to have people on site like Louis deVille here to keep an eye on things.'
Van Decker turned his attention to Louis. 'How long was Dr. Yadish employed by you before he died in Bruges?'
Louis thought a moment. 'Not quite two years. But he really was not working for the foundation. He was a professor of chemistry here. We gave him a grant, money to do the research.'
Van Decker's expression indicated that he was unsure of the distinction. The universal policeman's notebook appeared. 'He was working on some sort of fuel?'
'A replacement for fossil fuels.'
There was no doubt the inspector didn't understand.
'Gasoline, petrol,' Lang volunteered. 'He was looking for a substitute.'
The policeman made a note. 'That would be good?'
Louis nodded. 'If such a fuel could be replenished like, say, hydrogen, yes.'
'He was working on hydrogen?'
Louis shook his head. 'No. There's already a lot of study going on in that area.'
Van Decker looked up from his pad. 'Then what?'
'I… I don't get involved in the actual research. I do ask for reports. All I know is that he was experimenting with platinum group metals.'
That was the first Lang had heard of the subject of Yadish's work. But then, he could not have been specific about any of the foundation's projects.
'What are platinum group metals?' the inspector asked.
Louis shrugged. 'I am not a scientist, but I understand the group has extraordinary strength, and is used in surgical and dental instruments.'
Van Decker carefully wrote that down for reasons beyond Lang's imagination before he rolled a wrist over and checked his watch. 'It is late and you must be tired. Other questions can wait until we finish with our examination of the room. Perhaps you would be so kind as to join me at my office in the morning?'
Surprised by the sudden concern, Lang readily agreed.
Walking back to the hotel rooms Louis had reserved, Lang asked, 'What are platinum group metals, and what do they have to do with any kind of fuel?'
Louis, looking nervously over his shoulder every few minutes, admitted that he didn't know.
'Call whatever scientific guru you need to and find out.'
'Guru?' Louis sounded as if it might be some sort of animal.
'Professor, doctor, somebody.'
Louis was looking around again. 'What happened to the man who ran away, the other man you shot?'
'Had a boating accident.' Lang pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. 'Which reminds me…' He scribbled a series of numbers and handed it to Louis. 'This is the registration number-was the registration number- of a canal boat named Manna. Call whomever you need to, but I want to know to whom that boat belonged.'
'Belonged?'
'It was the one involved in the accident.'
Louis stopped under a streetlight. 'You did this yourself?'
'OnStar service wasn't available.'
'OnStar?'
Louis looked at his employer in a manner Lang had never seen in the Belgian before. Not only was there the usual respect but something else. Lang couldn't tell if it was awe or fear.
Perhaps both.
NINETEEN
Police Headquarters
Elandsgracht 117
Amsterdam
The Next Morning
Before arriving at the address on Van Decker's card, Lang had insisted on stopping at the same business store where Louis had made copies the day before, leaving the Belgian to wait on the street. Minutes later he emerged, and the two proceeded to the policeman's office.
'The store back there,' Louis asked as Lang emerged. 'What…?'
'Unfinished business, Louis,' Lang said in a tone that encouraged no more questions. 'Now, let's see what the good inspector wants.'
Located on the outskirts of the Central Canal Ring, the four-story building's only distinction was the red, white, and blue stripes of the Dutch flag hanging limply over the door. Inside, the place could have been a police station anywhere. People, in and out of uniform, hurriedly swirled past to the accompaniment of ringing phones and the hum of electronics, Just across the threshold a metal detector blocked entry. Emptying his pockets, Louis asked for directions to the office of Inspector Van Decker.
They were directed to the third floor, which in the
United States would have been the fourth. Europeans did not count the ground level, a custom going back to a time when homeowners were taxed by the number of stories. Lang always wondered how American cities, always cash- strapped, had missed that source of revenue.
The elevator could have been timed with a calendar. When it finally delivered them to the top floor, someone had alerted the Dutch detective. He was waiting as the doors creaked open. He greeted them with what could have been a 'good morning,' turned, and led them to the end of the hall.
His office was sparse even by government standards: two uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs, multiple filing cabinets, and a plank floor that had seen a lot more foot traffic than polish. A computer terminal and keyboard shared a desktop with a single file folder and a telephone. An unmistakably government-issued swivel chair squeaked a greeting as Van Decker lowered himself into it while motioning them toward the two remaining seats.
The chairs were every bit as hard as they looked.
Van Decker produced a pair of eyeglasses from a coat pocket and opened the file, a blunt signal that the inspector intended to get right down to business.
The spectacles were more for show than sight. They rested at the end of the man's nose as he continued to scan the file before lifting his gaze. 'You said you shot both men with one of their own weapons?'
