The Tulip Eaters by Antoinette van Heugten Read Free Book Online Page B

twitching when he first saw her mother’s body on the floor. When she was hysterical about Rose and he tried to calm her down. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
    Richards avoided her eyes. “It looks like we’re at another dead end.”
    “What do you mean?” She made him meet her eyes.
    “We just got another call from Dutch Immigration,” he said quietly. “Apparently the ‘Wim Bakker’ whose information was on the passport is not the man who killed your mother.”
    “But that doesn’t make sense!”
    “The Dutch police have confirmed that Wim Bakker is a heroin dealer who was arrested when he went through Immigration in Amsterdam six months ago. He is now in prison.”
    Nora shook her head several times. She needed the puzzle pieces to fit and they didn’t. “But how would this man who killed my mother get his hands on a fake passport?”
    Richards stubbed his cigarette out on the grass and straightened. “Dutch Immigration says that because of Bakker’s incarceration, the killer could have gotten it anywhere. When a Dutch citizen is wanted for arrest, the typical protocol is for his passport number and photograph to be placed on a list for the Immigration agents to check in case the criminal tries to leave or enter the country. If the agent finds such a number on the list, they’re supposed to confiscate the passport and immediately alert airport security so the suspect can be taken into custody.”
    “So why didn’t that happen?” Nora was furious. “Why was he permitted to go to Schiphol, waltz through Immigration, take a transatlantic flight and enter the U.S.?”
    “Because he had an excellent forgery. He replaced his photograph with that of Wim Bakker, but he didn’t change the fingerprints.”
    “But wasn’t the passport number the same?”
    Richards shook his head. “One digit was altered.”
    “How could that happen? Are they just idiots? People must try to get away with this all the time.”
    “They told us that the forgery must have been done by a professional.”
    “The black market?”
    Again Richards shrugged. “They don’t know. Whoever did it had specific knowledge of the special papers and symbols used, the particular sequence of numbers and precisely what information was required.”
    “Are the Dutch police going to figure this out?”
    “It’s out of their jurisdiction. Immigration is in charge and they’re looking into it.”
    Nora sat and felt her shoulders sag with hopelessness. “That’s the Dutch way of saying that they’ve done all they’re going to do.”
    Richards stood. “I wish I had better news.”
    Nora turned away, forcing herself not to cry. She heard her voice come out in a defeated whisper. “Me, too.”
    They walked silently back to her car. Before Richards turned off the path toward his own vehicle, Nora grasped his arm. “What about prints? Did the crime investigators find any?”
    Richards shook his head. “We have the killer’s prints, obviously.”
    “No, no! I mean the kidnapper. He didn’t necessarily wear gloves, did he? Surely he touched something—the front doorknob, the furniture, maybe even Rose’s bassinet.”
    “Well, if the killer wore gloves, we have to assume his accomplice did, too. Besides, we’ve dusted the entire place,” he said wearily. “We did find a few latents, but the FBI isn’t ready to say anything until they’ve run them through Quantico.”
    “And when in hell will that be?”
    Richards looked at her, surprised. “Soon, Nora. We’re pressuring them.”
    Nora thought a moment. “What about footprints?”
    “It appears that there was a struggle and movement on the staircase to your mother’s bedroom, and other footprints in the entryway and dining room.”
    She looked up at him, feeling almost hopeful. “Maybe they were looking for something. Maybe that’s why they were all over the house?”
    Richards shook his head. “We combed the house thoroughly taking prints, seeing if anything