It certainly was posh, he thought to himself. Their clients, according to the website, included celebrities and sports stars (particularly boxers needing treatment for retinal detachment) politicians and millionaire business executives, as well as members of the Dutch Royal Family. People from overseas flew in for treatment, often staying overnight in the luxury accommodation wing. But the price tag wasn’t cheap. A list of costs for what he regarded as basic surgery such as cornea reshaping or cataract extraction was eye-wateringly huge.
Christiaan Bakker was their senior Ophthalmologist, with over ten years of experience under his belt and a long list of fancy qualifications. According to his LinkedIn profile, he also enjoyed canoeing and playing tennis in his spare time, and a photo showed him holding aloft a trophy he’d won in a mixed-double amateur match last year. The guy sounded phenomenal according to various testimonials; too good to be true, in Pieter’s opinion.
Just then, Kaatje slowed down and turned off the main road, and drove down a short driveway that curved beyond a stand of poplars. Pieter closed down the iPad and looked through the windscreen at the building up ahead.
The clinic was built over two storeys, the buildings spread along the edge of a wide and frosty lawn. Much of their lower floors consisted of large windows and connecting glass corridors, presumably designed to let in lots of light and to give the place a relaxed and welcoming appearance. The upper floors were covered in white-coloured cladding, the walls with curved edges, the roof of the main building topped with what looked like a viewing terrace.
At the far end of the lawn, which was intersected with several paths, the ground sloped down to a narrow boating lake which was frozen over solid with thick ice. Beyond this was the large and open expanse of the Vrije Geer Nature Park.
It certainly was a beautiful setting, Pieter admitted to himself, on the edge of open countryside but handily close to the city centre. However, after they’d parked up in the large car park in front of the lawn and climbed out, the peaceful scene was marred by a low and deep rumble, and they both glanced up to see a passenger jet fly low overhead. Of course, Schiphol airport was just two or three kilometres to the south. So, the place wasn’t in as relaxing a location as the website claimed, thought Pieter, which for some reason made him feel smug.
They walked down the central path over the lawn and approached the large plate-glass entrance, and the automatic doors parted. Inside the foyer, they made for the high reception desk, where a female receptionist smiled a plastic smile and bid them hello.
“We’re here to see your boss,” Pieter informed her, and flashed his police ID
The smile stayed in place but Pieter saw the edges of her eyes crinkle minutely.
“I’m afraid the Director is at a conference in France at the moment. She won’t be back until tomorrow. Can I help you?”
“Ok, well her immediate subordinate, your supervisor, or someone else. It doesn’t really matter. Tell them we want to talk about Christiaan Bakker.”
Mention of the name brought the receptionist up sharp, and her bottom lip gave a slight tremble. “Oh, yes. What a horrible thing, we still can’t believe what has happened.”
Pieter gave her a moment to compose herself, and his tone softened a bit.
“We are a little pushed for time, and it’s important that we speak to someone as soon as can be.”
“Do you have an appointment sir?”
“No.” He glanced around and spied the seating area over to his left. “We’ll wait over here.”
Walking away – he could feel the receptionist’s eyes burning into his back – Pieter led Kaatje across the foyer, their feet squeaking on the highly-polished floor.
The seating area consisted of cream-coloured couches with lime-green cushions and lots of plastic potted plants. Pieter chose one and sat down with a sigh. On the wall was a large flat-screen HD television showing the breakfast news.
He and Kaatje chatted for a couple of minutes, explaining how he had to be back in time for the press conference. So far, news that this was now also a kidnapping case as well as a double murder, had not yet been made public. Pieter hoped to use that knowledge to his advantage this morning.
Just then, a middle-aged man dressed in a white doctor’s coat appeared from a doorway and strode straight towards them, his hand extended in apparent greeting. The scowl on his pale face suggested otherwise.
“Good morning, I’m Julian Visser,” he said brusquely.
Pieter shook the proffered hand but did not rise. He noticed he didn’t offer to greet Kaatje, in fact, he barely acknowledged her presence.
“Inspector Van Dijk.”
“I understand you are here regarding Doctor Bakker? Oh, terrible, terrible business. I am – sorry, I was – Christiaan’s assistant, and I’m still in a complete state of shock and disbelief over the whole sorry tragedy.” He shook his head and took a seat opposite, leaning forward earnestly.
“Yes, the receptionist was saying. What we are here for Mr Visser – “
“Oh please, call me Julian. We prefer first names around here, staff and patients alike.”
“Well, Julian, perhaps you can help us. We are just trying to get an accurate picture of the kind of person your boss, Christiaan, was. What was he like to work for? His professional life, his personal life, that kind of thing? As I’m sure you are aware, the manner of the murders would suggest he and
