Free The Wrong Girl by David Hewson Page A

anyone in Amsterdam?’ Bakker asked her.
    ‘Most of the people I meet don’t give me a name. A real one anyway.’
    Vos glanced at his watch without thinking. She glared at him for that.
    ‘Am I wasting your time?’
    ‘No. I was wondering when he might ring.’
    ‘He said he wants money. How much?’
    That had puzzled Vos. Still did.
    ‘He was vague . . .’
    ‘How can I pay him? The likes of me?’
    A good question. One that worried him.
    ‘Let’s deal with that when it happens.’
    ‘And this man he wants released? Who’s he?’
    Vos had thought he might not need to address that question. That the papers would offer all the answers that morning. They were full of the outrage in Leidseplein and the shooting of a young Briton who’d adopted a foreign name and thrown three flash grenades into the crowd. But there wasn’t a single word about the kidnapping of a child. Given the time the press had to work on the story there could be only one explanation. Someone, De Groot or AIVD, had demanded and got a media blackout on the grounds that it might jeopardize the case.
    He gave her the brief facts.
    ‘I want to see this man Alamy,’ Hanna Bublik said. ‘I want to look into his face and ask him why my daughter’s been stolen from me.’
    ‘Why don’t we find you somewhere to sit here?’ Bakker suggested. ‘We can keep you up to date during the day.’
    ‘No!’ Her voice wasn’t shrill. Nowhere near hysterical. It was firm and controlled and when she spoke she looked only at Vos. ‘What good am I doing like that?’
    ‘If . . .’
    ‘You wanted to go over the CCTV footage,’ Vos cut in.
    Bakker nodded.
    ‘Then do it. We can talk to Alamy. If he can say something. Give us a message to pass on . . .’
    Hanna looked at him, surprised. As if not many people took note of what she said.
    ‘You’ll do this?’
    He got up, checked Renata Kuyper’s phone. Lots of battery. A good signal.
    ‘We need to go now. Laura, have a word with De Groot’s office. Get us clearance into the secure unit at Schiphol. We’ll keep it brief. Either Alamy plays along or he doesn’t.’
    Hanna finished her coffee, got up from the table. Looked grateful.
    ‘What if the kidnapper calls?’ Bakker asked.
    He took out the phone.
    ‘Everything coming into this line gets monitored whether I’m here or not. Control can listen in the moment I answer. He won’t ring from a traceable phone. We know that . . .’
    ‘But . . .’
    He pointed to the door.
    ‘Talk to Frank’s office,’ he said. ‘We’re leaving now.’
    An awkward breakfast in the narrow house on the Herenmarkt. Saskia picked at her cereal, barely eating. Henk Kuyper ate steadily in silence, going over the details in the paper. He looked a little hung-over.
    ‘Why’s there no mention of what happened?’ Renata asked when he wouldn’t look up from the page. ‘The girl . . .’
    ‘They print what they’re told,’ he muttered and reached for another croissant. ‘What do you expect?’
    She blinked, fought to hold back the fury.
    ‘This isn’t a game. One of your crusades. It’s about real people. That little kid’s gone missing . . .’
    Saskia brushed back her long fair hair and put her hands over her ears. Then shut her eyes tightly.
    A nod at their daughter.
    ‘Don’t you think she’s been through enough?’
    ‘Jesus! It’s nothing to what that poor woman’s having to face. Are you serious?’
    He reached out and touched Saskia’s hair, then stroked her cheek. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Renata couldn’t read the look on her daughter’s face. The girl was always closer to her father. Henk was never there to tell her what to do. He was in his study, working the computer, making quiet phone calls. Fixing the world. Drinking wine. She was the one who had to tell Saskia to tidy her room. To stay and do her homework however much she hated it.
    ‘Go and get ready for school, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Mummy and Daddy need to