Carter told her the whole story. At the part about burying the woman in the snow he thought she might crack, but she held up.
“Then the situation is much worse. He has many enemies in the agencies of the other Eastern bloc countries.”
“That’s his problem,” Carter said. “Mine is satisfying his demands and getting that list. What about Fabian Huzel?”
“I’ve been following him for the last three days. He is as wily as a fox. He has a house in the Boorstadt district west of the city. Also two flats. One is in Dijkstraat, off the New Market. The other is on Amstrel on the canal. He never stays in the same place two nights in a row. He also has four cars scattered around the city. He constantly changes them.”
“A very cautious man.”
“Very. The house and both flats are like fortresses. He even keeps dogs in all of them. I managed to get close to him twice on the street. He’s armed at all times, a pistol under his coat in the back and another in an ankle holster. And I’d say from the looks of him he can use them.”
“What about business?”
“Legitimately, he’s a member of the Diamond Exchange, but he’s rarely there. He also has a small shop on Potterstraat where he buys and sells... legally. It probably makes a pittance compared to his fencing. The shop is run by one of his mistresses.”
“One?” Carter replied, cocking an eyebrow. “How many does he have?”
Lorena smiled. “Four, besides the one in the shop. He’s like a pimp, only they don’t sell their bodies. They are contacted by thieves all over Europe and the Middle East when the thieves make a score.”
“Huzel picks up and pays off through his mistresses?”
She nodded. “Huzel himself never actually meets the thief. The police can’t touch him.”
“Not an easy man to pin down,” Carter murmured. “But there must be a way. In the meantime, let’s eat.”
They ordered hutspot, a steaming beef stew with kale, potatoes, and sausage, all of it washed down with excellent beer. Over coffee they resumed the discussion.
“How about routine?”
“The women contact Huzel if they have anything. He picks all of his messages up from a service.”
“My God, Lorena,” Carter growled, “you’re making this as difficult as hell. From what you’ve told me, there is no way of figuring any one place he might be.”
She leaned forward, her voice scarcely a whisper. “There is one thing. It’s a little bit of a long shot, but...”
“What is it?”
“He’s flying out tomorrow morning. The first leg is to Paris, but I did a little bribing and found out that he’s bouncing from plane to plane. The last leg is from Lisbon to Buenos Aires.”
Carter’s eyes narrowed. “That means he’s on his way to meet our pigeon. Doesn’t leave much time...”
“Nick, I think I’ve found two weaknesses, maybe the only ones he has, and they could put him into the open. Huzel is deathly afraid to fly.”
“So?” Carter said, listening with only half an ear now, his mind racing, trying to pick apart what Lorena had already told him.
“As I said, it’s a long shot, but... well, the other weakness is his mother.”
“Lorena...”
“Let me finish. His mother’s ashes are interred in a tomb in Christ’s Church. That’s in Ijmuiden, about ten miles west of Amsterdam. I hit on it when I was going over the file my brother sent me on Huzel.”
“I went over that file,” Carter said. “Wait a minute. I remember now. He visits that tomb every Sunday afternoon. But what good will that do us? Tomorrow is Friday.”
“I was out there, Nick. I had a cup of tea with the caretaker, told him I was a writer doing a story on cemeteries. I got the conversation around to people who regularly tend the graves. Huzel comes so often that the caretaker remembers him. Nick, he remembers several other times — other than Sundays — when Huzel came out to the grave.”
Carter’s eyes were wide. “You mean he’s so afraid of flying that he goes out and talks to Momma before he takes off?”
Lorena nodded. “The dates match with the travel record we have in his file for the last six months. It’s a long shot, but...”
“But it’s better than nothing,” Carter said, dropping some bills on the table. “I’ll call you at your hotel.”
Lorena grasped him by the elbow. “Why don’t you just come by?”
“A lot to do, but I’ll try.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as they parted in front of the restaurant.
He took a water taxi on the canals as far as he could go toward the western part of the city. He got off at Leidsestraat, the wide boulevard that led to the highway into the west country. He found a cab idling at the curb when he climbed the stone steps from the water’s edge to the street.
“Ijmuiden, Christ’s Church cemetery.”
Twenty minutes later he gave the driver some bills to wait, and walked the old cemetery until he found the Huzel tomb. Then he walked the perimeter, checking out every tree and finding the caretaker’s shack.
Basically the area was level, but there was a rise about forty yards from the entrance to the tomb. There were a few trees and two large grave markers that could be used for concealment.
It would have to be done from there. Anywhere on the road itself or the approaches to the tomb would be too open.
He returned to the taxi and had the driver troll the streets of the village until he spotted a long-term parking lot beside a grocery co-op. One look told him that it was also used as a commuter lot for the bus stop into Amsterdam. The coin machines would belch out tickets for up to a week’s duration.
“Where to now?” the driver asked.
“Back to the city,” Carter replied, checking his watch. “Just drop me a little east of the Damrak.”
The driver’s eyebrows shot up a bit, but he flipped his windshield wipers back on and slipped the taxi into gear.
Carter could almost read the man’s thoughts. There was no way a local could figure out a foreigner’s tastes. The well-dressed gentleman had visited a fine old cemetery, and then wants to be taken to the red-light district!
The seat of sex in Amsterdam is not as loud or as garish as the Reeperbahn of Hamburg, but it is just as varied and every bit as alive.
Twice Carter almost got lost. The little shows that advertised sex aids, live sex, peep shows, and the eerily crimson-lighted windows with scarcely dressed women were so much alike that it was difficult to find a landmark.
At last he spotted the sign and turned into the Yum-Yum Club. A king’s ransom in guilders got him by the bored matron at the door. Through dingy velvet curtains he stepped into the dimly lit main room of the club.
The show was on. On a slightly elevated stage, a young man and a not-so-young woman were locked in anything but love. It was all carnal to the soft accompaniment of flutes and violins.
“You like a table down front? Good to see all the action.” He was shorter than Carter but twice as wide, Chinese, and looked a little like a young Mao Ze-Dong with muscles.
“No, the bar will be fine,” Carter replied. “I have business with Mr. Potts. Tell him that Nick is here.”
“I will do that.”
Carter was halfway through a stein of beer when the Chinese returned.
“This way, please.”
Carter was led up a flight of stairs, down a corridor, and up to a door marked Office. He could easily have found the way himself, but the Chinese looked like a man who liked to do his duty.
Carter rapped on the door and a voice like velvet said, “Enter.”
The office was like day compared to the club below’s night. It was a pleasant air-conditioned room that offered Oriental rugs, a mahogany reading table with an assortment of newspapers and magazines, all in Dutch, a mahogany settee, and, in the corner and protected by a desk, an almond-eyed girl with porcelain-smooth off-white skin and straight black hair. She wore a bright print dress and an exotic silver necklace, and she finished a line of typing before she glanced up.