The House of Dolls by David Hewson Read Free Book Online

laptop or iPad or any one of the three phones he carried and checked constantly.
    ‘The less money people waste on dope and whores the more they’ve got to spend somewhere else,’ Margriet Willemsen said with a smile.
    Hendriks shook his head.
    ‘Not everyone’s here for the culture. They’re after—’
    ‘Those are people we can do without,’ Prins interrupted.
    ‘I’m not so sure of that,’ Hendriks continued. ‘The trade associations are worried they’re going to get hit on footfall by maybe twenty, thirty per cent. That’s big money. People not buying food, drink. Clothes. Souvenirs. They’re nagging their councillors.
Your
councillors.’
    ‘Think of all the ones who’ll come instead,’ Prins said. ‘Better people. Richer people.’
    Hendriks stood his ground.
    ‘They won’t go down De Wallen. Why? To see a bunch of closed coffee shops? Some empty cabin windows? This is the centre of the city we’re talking about. You could be killing it—’
    ‘If you won’t do it we’ll find someone who can,’ Margriet Willemsen broke in. ‘We won the election—’
    ‘You don’t have a mandate to piss off everyone,’ Hendriks snapped. ‘Do that and they’ll hang you. If Theo Jansen or that evil bastard Menzo don’t get there first.’
    The smile never left her face.
    ‘What are you saying? That we need to look out for the crooks now?’
    Hendriks didn’t take his eyes off Wim Prins.
    ‘You’re threatening their empires. What do you think? They’re not going to sit back and wait.’
    ‘They won’t have much choice,’ Prins said. ‘I talked to Marnixstraat this morning. Jansen’s due to be released this afternoon. He and Menzo are going to be at each other’s throats. We’re the last thing on their minds. They can fight it out between each other and we’ll clean up the corpses when it’s done. There’s never been a better time to throw out the rubbish . . .’
    ‘And what about your daughter?’ Hendriks asked.
    The civil servant’s pale face had colour for once.
    ‘You’re not the only one who talks to Marnixstraat,’ Hendriks added. ‘They’re worried as hell about what you’re asking for. They said—’
    ‘My daughter’s my concern. Not yours. Margriet was right. If you feel you can’t pursue the agreed policy of the council you should resign. We can talk severance if you like.’
    He was a coward at heart, Prins thought. Now was the time to test it.
    ‘I’m paid to offer you advice, whether you want to hear it or not.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Prins replied. ‘We’ve listened. Now will you kindly do what we’ve asked?’
    The first phase was almost ready. Within a month the city would start to turn to the civilian staff who usually dealt with traffic and minor street crime. They would be empowered to enter coffee shops and arrest on sight. Pick up pimps, hookers and dealers, call the police and hand them over.
    Hendriks kept tapping the table with his pen. But he hadn’t started to make notes yet and that meant something.
    ‘These are unarmed men and women we pay to hand out parking tickets. You’re asking them to harass criminals in the street.’
    ‘That’s their job now,’ Prins insisted.
    ‘And when one of them gets beaten up? Or killed?’
    ‘Then we crack down harder,’ Willemsen replied.
    ‘Is there really anything else to talk about?’ Prins asked, glancing at his watch.
    Margriet Willemsen shook her head.
    Alex Hendriks picked up his three phones, tucked his iPad beneath his arm and left.

9
     
    Marnixstraat didn’t look any different. Office after open office. Then, finally, homicide with its lines of desks, reports and photos on the wall, detectives, men mostly, working computers and phones.
    Faces that were familiar. Koeman with his droopy brown moustache, eyeing Laura Bakker as she walked, the way he did every female officer, looker or not. Thin, miserable Rijnder, trying to work up a smile. Van der Berg, the genial office drinker, raising an