Ribb looked down at the number that lit up on the LCD screen and realized immediately the dam had burst.
Sietske van der Kalk was a journalist with the national newspaper the Telegraaf, and one of the few media people who had his direct number. It was also a number Sietske rarely used. Protocol was that anyone from the media, including Sietske, would call the press officer, who would as usual give as little information as possible. The press officer would then call him or send an email to let him know who was on to the case - Sietske would never call him directly. This time there was no call beforehand, which meant that Sietske wanted a direct one-to-one before publishing anything. He probably ruled out the press officer as a hindrance in getting confirmation on information or photos he already had. The problem on Ribb's mind was which death was connected to his call: Raemon Dort, Carola Munk or Frank Brandsma? Harry Ribb reluctantly picked up the telephone.
"Harry Ribb speaking," he answered as if he did not know who was on the other end of the line. He never answered using his title.
"Harry, its Sietske."
They were roughly the same age and started working in their respective jobs about the same time. Harry first encountered Sietske when he was nearly a year on the force.
Unlike Harry, Sietske was a Fries, and one of the reasons why Harry allowed him access to his direct line. There was never any pussyfooting with Sietske, he was very sober in his way of working, straightforward and direct to the point. To Harry, he resembled Boddin, but different. People from Friesland were known for their lack of humor, straight-faced logic, and grumpiness. A little more human than Star Trek's Mr. Spock, but not a lot. Harry could picture him, sitting at his desk, with his white blonde hair dangling over his eyes, and an unlit cigarette in his mouth while typing up the article. No doubt he would be rushing it so he could take a quick break to light up to get his nicotine shot; a habit Harry managed to drop when Lizzie was born.
"What can I do for you Sietske?"
"Harry, it's about a death in the Stadionkade, Mr. Raemon Dort."
"What about it."
"First of all I haven't heard anything about this from your press officers' daily briefings. The person we talked to said the body, which was found in the bathtub, was not quite right."
"Define not quite right?" Ribb asked. Let's see how much Sietske knows about this, Harry thought.
"The only thing I can say is that it looked like a Disney cartoon."
"Are you saying we found a dead Mickey Mouse?"
"Ha ha, very funny," Sietske replied, sarcastically. "He was the owner of the apartment, but he looked, I don't know?. two-dimensional."
Harry wondered where he got his information, an officer or the cleaning lady?
"Where did you get this information?"
"You know I can't tell you who my source is Harry."
Harry looked up at the map on the Wall. His officers had informed various authorities about the death and the family, so there was no point in keeping it secret.
"Well, I can confirm the death of Mr. Raemon Dort in the Stadionkade."
"Okay, thanks for that. What did he die off?"
"I'm afraid I can't give you any information on that right now."
"Come on Harry, help me out here."
"You know I can't give you that information.
"Why not? If he was shot I know you would tell me, and if he was poisoned you would also tell me."
"No, I wouldn't."
"All right, you probably wouldn't," Sietske replied, sounding more frustrated at Ribb's answers. "But can't you confirm something our source has said? Of course I won't mention you."
Sietske had done this before and he was always true to his word. Besides, if he ever crossed that line, every force in the country would ignore him for the rest of his journalistic career.
"I can't say anything because we are a long way from getting results on all the tests. The only thing I can say is that Mickey Mouse is alive and well and living in Hollywood."
"Is that all?"
"Good night Sietske."
"Thanks, Harry, bye."
Ribb looked up at the clock on the Wall. He had to get Lizzie to the disco - it was papa time.