A State Of Sin Amsterdam Occult Series Book Two by Mark Hobson (golden son ebook .TXT) 📕

divers from the harbour unit had fished out the mobile phone from the canal. But when Pieter arrived after lunch on Tuesday he found the place quiet and the gates chained up and it took five minutes of shouting and rattling the padlock to get anyone’s attention. Finally the portacabin door swung open and the owner, a fat man with more hair up his nostrils than he had on his head, came shambling across, scratching at his stomach where it poked out below his sweater. Pieter saw that he also had very few teeth, probably as a result of smoking too much weed or drinking too many sugary drinks.

He had to show his police warrant card to get him to open up, and even then he did so reluctantly, mumbling under his breath as he dragged one half of the gates open.

He led Pieter to the portacabin.

The mangy dog – who was called Otis – made a token gesture at snarling as Pieter walked by, but it was too old and tired to do much more and it slinked back into its kennel to chew on an old rubber bone.

The inside of the cabin was stifling hot. The small heater was turned up to max and all of the windows were shut. On the desk was a laptop playing a clip from a porn movie. The fat owner turned the screen away, but he didn’t bother to hit the mute button, and so their conversation was conducted to the accompaniment of moaning and groaning.

Pieter got straight down to it, asking about Tobias Vinke and what the man knew about him.

“He was one of life’s losers,” he replied bluntly, nodding at his own analysis. “Yes, one of life’s losers.”

“How do you mean?”

“He just was. Some people are like that, they get what they deserve. They attract attention by simply being odd. They spend their whole lives being the butt of the joke, an easy target, and they do nothing to stand up for themselves.”

“And that’s how it was for Mr Vinke, was it?” Pieter tried to catch the other man’s shifty eyes, but they moved about so much that it proved impossible. “You gave him a hard time did you?”

“Woah, not just me! Everybody did.”

Like that made it alright, thought Pieter.

“What was he like as an employee?”

The fat man shrugged. He tapped at the keyboard on the laptop, his beady eyes like tiny gimlets as they now watched the movie clip.

“He was okay, I guess. He got on with his job. Give him a task to do and he’d do it all day without a murmur. I can’t complain on that score, I admit. Can’t complain.”

“How long had he worked for you?”

He shrugged. “A couple of years maybe. Not too sure.”

“Can you check your files for me? I need an address.”

“Files?” He looked around the tiny cabin and laughed. “This isn’t the kind of business that keeps files. I pay cash-in-hand for a few hours work here and there, whenever I need a hand.”

“That kind of business eh?” Pieter remarked.

From the laptop came the sound of a braying donkey.

“If I ever needed Vinke I would just text him, and tell him to get his backside down here. And a couple of hours later he would show up.”

A couple of hours? Pieter made a mental note.

“What about the other men who work here?”

“What of them?”

“How did they get on with Mr Vinke?”

A sly smile appeared on the man’s podgy face and he gave a tiny shake of his head. “Nobody got on well with Vinke. Like I told you, he was odd. Mind you, after what they did to him once, I don’t blame him for not being very pally. Don’t blame him at all.”

He chuckled quietly.

“I’m waiting.”

Pieter thought he might be a little reticent about spilling the beans, especially if whatever had happened amounted to harassment, but to his surprise the owner of the boatyard seemed willing, even eager, to tell him.

“It was meant to be a joke. The boys just wanted a giggle that’s all, to blow off a bit of steam. Anyway, they waited for Vinke to turn up for work one day, and when he came strolling through the gates - a couple of summers ago this was, before his daughter died before you have a go -  well as soon as he arrived, the boys jumped him see, and they bundled him across to the quayside. He was screaming and hollering but it made no difference ‘cause they dragged him over and shoved him into one of those oil drums you can see there.”

Pieter turned to glance through one of the tiny windows, seeing a row of drums lined up alongside the canal.

“They pushed him inside and they screwed the lid on.”

Pieter spun back. The other man was trying to stifle a laugh.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Not much. It was just a joke, man,” he repeated.

“So then what? They just left him in there for a bit?”

“Nah! Where’s the fun in that? They tipped it over and rolled him around the place, backwards and forwards. He had a fair old ride around in that thing. The boys wanted to roll him right into the water but I put a stop to that, you’ll be glad to hear.”

“I bet you felt all warm and fuzzy inside afterwards.”

He leaned his fat face across the desk top, making brief eye contact for the first time.

“Do you know what, officer? I damn well wished I’d let them. Knowing what a psycho he’d turn out to be it would have been for the best. For that poor little lassie he took, and for her folks. They’d all still be alive and well today. I’ve been torn up about it ever since.”

The smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Hey, but the funniest part of all, when he was inside that old oil drum getting wheeled around the yard, he wasn’t by himself in there. The boys, get this, the boys had put half