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  “I’m going to go and pick up Niels,” Hans said.

  “Fine, then I’ll just leave this page open.”

  A little later Hans returned with Niels.

  “Niels, summer vacation is right around the corner, and we were thinking that maybe it would be a good idea to look around online a little bit at different destinations.” He pointed to Petra’s laptop. “We were looking at the Caribbean, and suddenly we saw these nice pictures. This is Curaçao, a tropical island where you can play practically any type of water sport that you can imagine.” He motioned toward the screen to encourage his son to look at the pictures of paradise on earth.

  Niels stood next to Petra and looked at the gorgeous pictures. “So, this is where you want to go this summer?” he wanted to know.

  “Well, it’s an option,” Petra answered. “We all need to agree on where want to go. But it seems really nice to me.”

  Niels shook his head. “Not to me,” he said decisively.

  “Why not?” Hans asked.

  “Because there are other things I’d rather do. There is summer karate training, and Jerry has two tournaments and I’m allowed to join them on the bus. He’s already arranged it with the team coach. Also, Jerry and I really want to go fishing this summer. Pike and bass!”

  A silence fell. Jerry Tenvoorde had moved to Baarn from Amsterdam earlier that year and was now in Niels’s class. He had become the most popular boy in school from the moment he arrived. He was a great soccer talent and according to him he was at the top of the list of the various scouts and professional teams. But before they could steal him away, he began playing for the local soccer team and quickly became their most valuable player.

  Niels barely had contact with Jerry during the first few months; the new kid had quickly worked his way up to being the new “hero” of the school. A position he now had to share with Niels, after the story about what had taken place in Italy and Niels’s role in catching the killer came out. In sharp contrast to the extroverted Jerry, Niels barely spoke about his experiences, which made him unintentionally more popular with his classmates. But still, Jerry and Niels ended up becoming close, and now they were best friends.

  “But we haven’t even talked about that karate training week yet, and now you’re saying that Jerry has soccer tournaments and you already made plans to go fishing,” Hans said in a tone he instantly tried to correct after he heard himself. “Which I do understand,” he added quickly, trying to save himself. “But we would also like to have a real family vacation together.” He looked at Niels and gave him a good-natured smile. “Right?”

  Niels shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, I understand that. But I just don’t feel like going to another country this year. ” It was quiet for a moment. Then he added, “I would really like to stay at home, right here in Holland.”

  Hans thought quickly. Something suddenly occurred to him. “Pike and bass, huh?” He smiled slightly. “Have you ever heard of trout? In Holland, trouts are the strongest fish. If you happen to catch one on your fishing rod, you really have to work very hard to rein it in. Sometimes they jump out of the water to try and escape the line.” He reenacted his words by pretending to be a fisherman who had to pull back his rod. “I know of two trout ponds, reasonably close by. What do you think about the three of us, or four of us, if your mother wants to join us, going fishing there?”

  “So Jerry could go too?”

  Hans nodded. “Better yet, we will offer to take him. You have to pay to fish in a pond like that and we will pay for it. We may not catch anything, so in that case we will buy fresh trout at the store next to the pond and put it on the barbeque at night. Trout is one of the best tasting fish in the world, it’s a real delicacy.” He grinned. “But of course we are going to catch a lot of those big suckers on our own!”

  Niels nodded. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Like fun?!” Hans pretended to be surprised. “We’re going to have a blast, man. Fishing and barbecuing! Right, Petra?” Hans asked with a semi-guilty face.

  “If you guys would really enjoy that, then I’m in.”

  “So, we’re going for it then?”

  “Yes,” Niels answered. “Cool that you’re inviting Jerry along.” He wormed his way out of his father’s bear hug and walked to the door. “I’m going to go finish my games, okay?”

  “That’s fine,” Petra said.

  Once Niels was back in his room, Petra looked at Hans with a crooked grin. “You always get your way, as usual.”

  Hans shrugged his shoulders and laughed with her. “Hey, even if it means I have to run around through the city butt-ass naked, if it means it will make him happy, I will do it. Better yet, I will continue to walk all the way to Amersfoort if I have to.”

  Petra conjured up an image of Hans walking the streets naked and laughed loudly, shaking her head. “You go right ahead, but try to keep your ass … uh … I mean your head in the game.”

  45

  July

  Martuccia looked down the hallway from Chief Commissioner Orlando Tissone’s luxurious office, where he could see a small army of detectives gathering. The men and a few women were waiting on the arrival of Prosecutor Paolo Fabiano and Giorgio Dossena from the much-hated internal affairs department. The twosome could arrive at any moment now, and the police force, present in the hallway, was ready to give them an ice-cold welcome.

  The reason for all the commotion was the investigation that internal affairs had launched into Martuccia. According to them, there was a possibility of improper police conduct in the hotel room; it was possible that he had shot the man too quickly. He should have given him a chance to surrender. The justice department supported internal affairs’s investigation, making it a federal case.

  When Martuccia’s colleagues heard the news of a possible prosecution case, they decided to leak the news. All of them had their sources in the press, and the news that the justice department supported this investigation of a true hero hit the streets fast.

  The public response was predictable. The collective outrage was big. How in the world had the justice department gotten this stupid idea to prosecute the detective that had rid them all of the Monster of Garda was mystery to everyone. It had to be another dirty political game. One of so many—they ought to be ashamed of themselves! This time, they weren’t going to stand for it. There were large protests in all of the big cities, and Prosecutor Paolo Fabiano’s windows were broken. Thankfully, no one was injured during any of these events.

  “I hope they all keep calm,” Martuccia said.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Chief Commissioner Orlando Tissone answered. He was a large man, close to sixty, who had experienced quite a lot during his career with the police. He wasn’t easily impressed by a little fuss at the police department. “Those boys will all blow off some steam, and then everyone will go back to work,” he said in a very self-assured and matter-of-fact tone. “That’s how it’s going to go and that’s it. There’s not going to be a case, Carlo,” he continued in the same tone, much like an uncle addressing his nephew while giving good advice. “This whole thing was brought on by some pencil pusher who thought he had a brilliant idea.” He smiled with pity.

  “I hope so,” Martuccia said. After Salvatore Patronello’s death, they discovered he’d been an IT tech for the city of Verona, of all things, who had total access to all computers at city hall, which explained how this sick mind had gained access to certain information. In the period immediately following Patronello’s death, Martuccia had been in the press a lot. In the beginning, he thought it was fun; it fed his ego. But the attention took on such large proportions that, in addition to his work life, it seeped into his private life. It came too close. He was recognized and congratulated in the streets by strangers. His wife, Ciara, was also recognized, something that she quickly began to loathe. Then suddenly Giorgio Dossena appeared on the scene, basically announcing that internal affairs saw him as a murderer rather than a hero. It had been a real s
lap in the face.

  Suddenly, there was turmoil in the hallway. Martuccia had to control himself not to jump up and go see what was going on.

  “Ah, your friends have arrived.”

  Prosecutor Paolo Fabiano and Giorgio Dossena from internal affairs didn’t appear to be fazed by the critical police force’s massive welcoming committee. They looked straight ahead as if all the detectives weren’t there and walked straight toward their destination, Tissone’s office. Fabiano was in his late forties, quite tall and slim for an Italian man. He wore an immaculate gray suit with matching tie and fashionable glasses. Even his briefcase was high quality. Dossena looked like his exact opposite. He was in his early thirties, was more inclined toward corpulence, and wore jeans with a dark suit jacket.

  Roberto Parolo was the first to step in front of the pair. Fabiano and Dossena both ignored the muscular detective’s provocation and walked around him.

  Antonio Ranocchia was next one who tried to block their way. “Do you know the difference between an internal affairs employee and a catfish?” he asked in a loud voice. The two men also ignored him but when they tried to pass Ranocchia, he raised his voice even more. “One is a bottom-feeding scum-sucker, and the other is a fish.”

  All of his colleagues burst out laughing.

  “That’s a good one, Antonio,” someone from the group shouted out.

  The experienced Luca Mandelli now walked along side of Fabiano. Unlike the two other provocateurs, the prosecutor didn’t ignore this much older detective “Et tu, Brute?” he asked in a low voice so that only Mandelli could hear him. “Have you also come to stab an old friend in the back, to go along with popular opinion?

  “If you decide to persecute Martuccia, you can consider our friendship over, Paolo. Then Bianchi and Esposito died for nothing.”

  “As you wish,” Fabiano said as he kept walking.

  Mandelli could only shake his head in disappointment. It looked like he was completely finished with Fabiano now.

  When the pair reached the police chief’s door, Filippo Tardelli stepped out of the row of waiting detectives. Without any further ado he made his point. “This nonsense must stop today,” he said firmly. “If you continue with this, I will assure you that all of us will quit. Then the scum of the world will take over the streets of Verona and its surrounding areas.”

  “That’s right!” someone screamed. “If you hang Carlo out to dry, all of us will resign.”

  Just before Fabiano passed him and headed straight for the door, he nodded to Tardelli. “Duly noted,” the prosecutor said in a cynical tone and entered the office together with Giorgio Dossena.

  Followed by the eyes of a dozen curious detectives looking through the window in the hallway, everyone shook hands in the office. Fabiano and Dossena sat across from Martuccia and Chief Tissone.

  Fabiano put the briefcase down beside himself and looked just as stoic as he had while walking along the corridor. A moment later he spoke. “After the examination of the Martuccia file and after extensive deliberation, the Ministry of Justice has decided not to prosecute.” Right after he spoke these words he stood up, shook their hands again, and walked to the door.

  Dossena hesitated for a moment and stopped in front of Martuccia. “This was not personal, Carlo. I did my job, nothing more or less.”

  Martuccia nodded. He found it strange that Dossena’s words affected him at all, but did not show it. He remained seated until the two were out of sight, then he stood up and walked into the hallway where his supportive colleagues waited for him.

  When he appeared there and stuck up his thumb, the cheers were deafening.

  46

  August

  The hook and bobber landed in the water with a loud splash, about ten yards from the side. “That was a good throw,” Hans said, satisfied.

  Niels and Jerry watched carefully as he gave them fishing lessons.

  “Now, pay attention, boys. The trick is to bring back your line at the same speed. In between, you can give some quick pulls with top of your rod. Trout are predators, so you can’t use artificial bait in this pond. The shininess and movement are irresistible to the trout. So they would bite into it right away, which would take all the fun out of it. By placing the worm on the hook and making that movement, you trigger the trout’s hunting instinct.”

  Petra looked at the whole scene from her folding chair with a smile on her lips. Although Hans presented himself as a real expert to the boys, he was absolutely not a fisherman. Most of what he said about fishing for trout he had read on the Internet. He really wanted to make it a special trip and make sure that the boys had lots of fun. So, he had read a lot and hoped that what he had read in a book and reality weren’t too far apart in this case.

  Fifteen minutes later Jerry hooked one. “Yes!” he screamed out enthusiastically. “I got one!” He pulled his rod back hard, which made the top bend. Before anyone could even respond, the line went limp again.

  “Ah, sorry, dude,” Hans said regretfully. “But you have to pull gently; otherwise, you jar the hook right out of the mouth instead of in it. Pull it in little by little, remember?”

  Jerry cursed under his breath and pulled his line in. He had lost his first trout and was pretty upset about it.

  Hans tried to cheer him up. “Well, at least you hooked one. I’ll bet you that there’s another trout right behind him. So stay focused.”

  The top of Niels’s rod now started to bed. “Got one!” he called out.

  Hans immediately put his rod down on the ground and walked over to him. “Keep turning it slowly; don’t make any sudden movements with your rod.” He turned his head and called out to Jerry: “Will you grab the fishing net, Jerry? Then we’re going to land this fish nicely.”

  Land, Petra thought. That seemed like one of those typical fishermen’s words he had plucked from the Internet. She put her book away and saw how Niels and Jerry finished the job.

  She observed Niels closely. He was happy. He was a cheerful child again. What they had been so afraid of had not happened. He didn’t suffer a setback. Once in a while, mostly at night, he would see images from that night in the hotel room. Then he would be frightened for a while, but would go back to bed. “He is dead and will never come back,” he would say to them, but was actually saying it to himself.

  Around four thirty, Hans walked over to her. “So, what do you think?”

  Petra nodded. “Yes, I think we’ve had enough for today. We still need to prepare dinner.”

  Hans walked back to the edge of the pond, where the boys were still happily fishing. He clapped in his hands. “Okay, that’s it for today, gentlemen. It’s getting late, and we got what we came for.”

  The boys protested. “Can’t we stay a little bit longer, Dad? We only got eight trout!”

  “Only eight?” Hans answered with supposed genuine amazement. “You mean to say we already have eight trout. That’s two apiece. Trout is a very rich fish, so you will be full very fast.”

  “I could easily eat four,” Niels protested.

  “In your dreams,” Hans countered. “Besides, we still need to clean and fry those fish. Do you have any idea how much work that is?”

  “I assume that the gentlemen would like fries with that?” Petra asked. Cheers went out all around.

  On their way back to the entrance, where they had to return their fishing gear at reception, the boys carried the fishing net together, the eight trout inside. They had both caught three, which made Hans the loser of the day.

  “Look at that,” Niels said. He pointed with the tip of his rod to a series of little flags hanging above the reception desk. “There’s one missing here also. Do you think it is Brazil too?”

  Hans and Petra froze for a moment, but acted as casually as possible. “At a trout-fishing pond?” Hans asked in a careless tone. “I don’t know if they fish for trout in Brazil. Why do you ask?”

  “Just because,” Niels responded casually. “I saw one was missing there,
just like in that box at Christmas, when I wanted to get rid of the Brazilian action figure. Whatever happened to that box anyway?”

  Hans made a hand gesture indicating he had no idea. In truth he knew exactly where that box was. “I think it may be somewhere in the attic, but I’m not entirely sure.”

  “What do you want with that box?” Petra asked. “To put it in your room?”

  Niels looked at her with surprise. “No way. Those figures are for little kids in grade school, and I’m going to be in middle school now. I’m going to put it up for sale online. But it has to be complete; otherwise, I won’t get a lot of money for it.”

  “I know a couple of good soccer sites,” Jerry said. “You’ll sell them there in no time.”

  “Ah, the businessman speaks,” Hans said, laughing. “What do you want to do with the money?”

  “Buy my own fishing gear, of course,” Niels answered casually as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “These rented rods are all old and worn out. That’s no good. If I’d been fishing with my own equipment today, I would have easily caught ten!” He brought the tip of his rod down again and walked with Jerry to the reception area by the entrance. “Let’s go—I’m hungry.”

  Hans raised his hand. “Coming, we’re right behind you!”

  Niels kept walking and turned his head toward them. “It’s not a problem if you need to stay a little while longer.”

  Hans looked at him with surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, while we turn in our fishing gear, you could go back and practice some more. Maybe then one day you will be as good as we are and can catch just as many fish as us!” He threw his head back, roaring with laughter at his own joke.

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