by the side of their tractor in their faded blue dungarees and waders, both smoking smelly pipes and taunting the young uniformed officer who was watching
them.
Vos introduced himself. The uniform took him and Bakker to one side and told them what he’d found. The two men, both known to the local police, appeared to be trying to recover a crashed
car from the dyke when he turned up.
‘They never called us,’ the young officer said. ‘God knows what they might have done if I hadn’t come along.’
‘Got it out of the ditch?’ Bakker suggested.
He gave her a caustic look and told them about the Kok brothers. They’d been spoken to regularly about minor offences: drunken arguments in Volendam, poaching, scavenging for scrap without
permission.
‘Big time hoods then,’ Bakker added with a smile.
The uniform grunted something and then Willy Kok called over, ‘Whatever that young man’s telling you about us . . . it’s all lies. All we do is have a few too many beers from
time to time. You go arresting fellers in Volendam for that and you’ll be building new jails all the way back to that city of yours.’
Vos and Bakker walked over to them. They were staring at her as if she were some kind of unexpected apparition in these parts.
‘That’s a policewoman?’ Tonny asked.
‘That is,’ Bakker replied.
Willy nodded at the uniform officer.
‘Don’t suppose you’d fancy his job, would you? They sent that young chap here all the way from Eindhoven. No wonder he don’t look happy. Don’t belong . .
.’
Vos asked about the car and what they’d found.
‘We’re paid to clean out the channels,’ Tonny said firmly. ‘That’s what we do. Grass. Weed. Prams. Bikes. Them townies . . .’ He cast a glance at the uniform.
‘Specially ones from down south . . . I reckon they think the countryside’s just one big dump for them to chuck whatever crap they feel like.’
Vos wandered over to the dyke. The back end of the SEAT was sticking out. The number plate was clearly visible. It was Simon Klerk’s vehicle.
‘Do you have a rope?’ he asked the brothers.
‘Got two,’ Willy replied. ‘Who’d go working out here without a couple of ropes to—’
‘Get them,’ Vos ordered. He looked at Bakker. ‘There’s a bunny suit in the back of the car. More your size than mine.’
She put her hands on her hips. All four men stared at her.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for forensic to bring a team out?’
‘We don’t know we need a team, Laura.’
‘Laura,’ Tonny Kok repeated. ‘That’s a good name. She seems a nice girl, that lass of yours, sir. Friesland from her voice I’d say. A northerner . . .’ He
scowled at the uniform. ‘You can trust people from up there. Unlike . . .’
Bakker swore, went to the car, got out the bunny suit and was about to put it on. She looked at her neat red shoes. Willy climbed out of his waders and said, ‘Never let it be said the
blokes of Volendam aren’t gentlemen.’
The uniform uttered a pained sigh and said, ‘It’s all right. I’ll do it.’
She gave him the suit and the giant waders. Tonny Kok tied a thick rope to the frame of the digger, tugged on it and handed the thing over. Then the young officer clambered down the muddy green
side of the ditch and half-walked, half-fell into the slimy water.
‘If there is something there try not to disturb it too much,’ Vos suggested.
He smiled up somewhat viciously and said, ‘Of course.’
‘Just a quick look.’
The man in the clean white plastic suit crooked one leg against the submerged saloon, pinched his nose with his left hand then used his right to steady himself as he sank down into the algae and
weed.
‘Who’d have thought it?’ Willy wondered. ‘The lad’s got manners. When it comes to pretty ladies anyway.’
He broke the surface with a loud curse. They all went silent and watched. There was something in his hand.
‘Rope,’ he cried, tugging on the thing. Willy and Tonny
them.
Vos introduced himself. The uniform took him and Bakker to one side and told them what he’d found. The two men, both known to the local police, appeared to be trying to recover a crashed
car from the dyke when he turned up.
‘They never called us,’ the young officer said. ‘God knows what they might have done if I hadn’t come along.’
‘Got it out of the ditch?’ Bakker suggested.
He gave her a caustic look and told them about the Kok brothers. They’d been spoken to regularly about minor offences: drunken arguments in Volendam, poaching, scavenging for scrap without
permission.
‘Big time hoods then,’ Bakker added with a smile.
The uniform grunted something and then Willy Kok called over, ‘Whatever that young man’s telling you about us . . . it’s all lies. All we do is have a few too many beers from
time to time. You go arresting fellers in Volendam for that and you’ll be building new jails all the way back to that city of yours.’
Vos and Bakker walked over to them. They were staring at her as if she were some kind of unexpected apparition in these parts.
‘That’s a policewoman?’ Tonny asked.
‘That is,’ Bakker replied.
Willy nodded at the uniform officer.
‘Don’t suppose you’d fancy his job, would you? They sent that young chap here all the way from Eindhoven. No wonder he don’t look happy. Don’t belong . .
.’
Vos asked about the car and what they’d found.
‘We’re paid to clean out the channels,’ Tonny said firmly. ‘That’s what we do. Grass. Weed. Prams. Bikes. Them townies . . .’ He cast a glance at the uniform.
‘Specially ones from down south . . . I reckon they think the countryside’s just one big dump for them to chuck whatever crap they feel like.’
Vos wandered over to the dyke. The back end of the SEAT was sticking out. The number plate was clearly visible. It was Simon Klerk’s vehicle.
‘Do you have a rope?’ he asked the brothers.
‘Got two,’ Willy replied. ‘Who’d go working out here without a couple of ropes to—’
‘Get them,’ Vos ordered. He looked at Bakker. ‘There’s a bunny suit in the back of the car. More your size than mine.’
She put her hands on her hips. All four men stared at her.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for forensic to bring a team out?’
‘We don’t know we need a team, Laura.’
‘Laura,’ Tonny Kok repeated. ‘That’s a good name. She seems a nice girl, that lass of yours, sir. Friesland from her voice I’d say. A northerner . . .’ He
scowled at the uniform. ‘You can trust people from up there. Unlike . . .’
Bakker swore, went to the car, got out the bunny suit and was about to put it on. She looked at her neat red shoes. Willy climbed out of his waders and said, ‘Never let it be said the
blokes of Volendam aren’t gentlemen.’
The uniform uttered a pained sigh and said, ‘It’s all right. I’ll do it.’
She gave him the suit and the giant waders. Tonny Kok tied a thick rope to the frame of the digger, tugged on it and handed the thing over. Then the young officer clambered down the muddy green
side of the ditch and half-walked, half-fell into the slimy water.
‘If there is something there try not to disturb it too much,’ Vos suggested.
He smiled up somewhat viciously and said, ‘Of course.’
‘Just a quick look.’
The man in the clean white plastic suit crooked one leg against the submerged saloon, pinched his nose with his left hand then used his right to steady himself as he sank down into the algae and
weed.
‘Who’d have thought it?’ Willy wondered. ‘The lad’s got manners. When it comes to pretty ladies anyway.’
He broke the surface with a loud curse. They all went silent and watched. There was something in his hand.
‘Rope,’ he cried, tugging on the thing. Willy and Tonny
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