Back at the station Bakker handed the tape to the operator who fed it into a machine. Wall looked around the room. They had rooms like this back in New York for analyzing tapes and discs from CCTV cameras or any other type of photographic or film medium. But here the equipment looked brand new, with no coffee cup rings decorating the metallic housing.
The operator was not old, middle or late twenties, had very pale skin, with dark rings under his eyes. His hands moved at lightning speed over the machines that all sprung to life, then he hit a button and two large monitors lit up showing the darkened pathologists' room.
He hit the play button and the tape began to roll. The only light they could see came from the two round windows in the main door on the far side of the darkened room. The tape ran for about thirty seconds before one of the windows darkened.
"Right there, stop." Wall said.
The operator hit a button and the image froze. They could see no outline of the face, just a black patch covering half the glass on the door.
"Can you get a close-up on that?" Wall asked.
"Sure, no problem." The operator clicked on the mouse and zoomed in on the door. The picture was identical to the one they already had.
"Could you brighten that up somewhat?"
"We could try," the operator replied, then pulled down a menu on the screen and clicked a command. A separate box opened with three sliders in the middle. He moved one from left to right, and the screen got lighter. The outlines of the face only slightly improved. It would still be unrecognizable to many people, Wall knew.
"Can you improve any of the details on the face?"
"Just a bit maybe. Because there is so little light to start with, so it's hard to make something out of nothing."
The operator clicked on another menu and a box appeared on the screen, then typed a number into a field and pressed enter. The outline of the image and some of the contours of the face came into view.
"I'm afraid that's the best I can do," the operator said.
"Make a print," Bakker said. Within seconds a large print came out of the printer. They all studied it and compared it to the original. It was slightly better, but not by much.
"Okay, thanks a lot," Bakker said.
The operator was about to press the eject button when Wall put his hand on his arm.
"Hold on, we are not finished yet. I want to see the complete tape."
"We already know what we are going to see," Bakker said.
"First you're a photography detective, and now you're into making predictions?" Wall said sarcastically.
Bakker looked up at Wall and slumped back into his chair. "You're right. Sorry about that, but this shit is getting to me."
"That's okay." Wall replied. "What we've seen these last couple of days is enough to freak anyone out. Roll it back to the beginning."
The operator pressed the rewind button and the tape zoomed back to the start. He pressed another button and the monitors lit up once again and began to roll.
At no time was it possible to see the face clearly through the window. They watched the complete footage. At the end of the tape the face turned away from the window and disappeared.
"Nothing." Bakker said.
The operator was about to press the eject button once again when Wall objected.
"Wait, go back. I want to see it again."
Bakker led out a deep sigh and scratched his shaggy hair. The operator re-wound the tape. There was nothing new to be seen.
"Can you slow down the last couple of seconds." Wall asked. The operator went to a few seconds before the face disappeared from the door. They watched it again frame by frame.
The dark face dominated the window once again. The frames ticked slowly forward. The only movement they could see were tiny white dots of the eyes of the person in the window moving from left to right, scanning the room.
Suddenly the face turned away from the window and the light shone back in.
"Stop." Wall said, leaning in close to the monitor. "Go back a couple of frames."
The operator clicked back to frames. Once again, blackness.
"Go forward one frame," Wall told the operator. He advanced the frame forward and stopped. The face could now be seen pulling away from the window.
Although slightly blurred from the movement, there was more detail.
"Can you clean that up?" Wall asked.
The operator clicked on a few buttons on the keyboard and the image sharpened up a little. He then brought back the contrast which gave it more detail. When finished he printed the image. Although the print was still blurred, it was an improvement.
"That looks more like it. Thanks a lot pal," Wall said, patting him on the shoulder.
"You're welcome," the operator replied, looking relieved.
"Could you give me about twenty prints?" The operator looked at Wall and shifted his gaze to Bakker, who just nodded.
Back in the squad room Wall sat down behind his computer.
"How do you say in Dutch have you seen this man."
"What are you going to do?" Bakker asked.
"That hospital is really big and it will probably take us days to go around asking staff if they have ever seen this guy in the picture. I'm going to put one of these photos and each floor beside the lifts. Everybody will see it, then maybe we'll get a response."
"You can't do that."
"Why not?"
"You are not allowed to put up photos of a suspect just like that."
"Why not?"
"Privacy regulations."
"Well fuck privacy regulations. This is a police investigation connected to multiple deaths."
"I'm serious. It's just not allowed."
"Why not? Wall asked once again."
"Because," Ribb said, looking down at Wall.
He hadn't noticed him standing next to him and wondered how long he had been there.
"Because we are not one hundred percent certain this is the man we are looking for."
"You're kidding, right?"
"The man you see looking in through the window is at this moment only a man looking through a window. He could be a hospital employee or a patient, or someone from another company, so we are not allowed by law to put up photos of someone just looking in a window. It's a violation of his privacy."
"What the hell is the world coming to with all this privacy regulation shit. What about the privacy of those dead people and their families. What would they say if they knew a privacy regulation was holding the police back from catching the person who killed them."
"Putting up a photo and asking have you seen this man is more or less, in the eyes of those who see the photo, accusing him of a crime. If he is really innocent he will remain suspect in the eyes of the people who have seen the photo."
"Then how the hell do you find suspects around here. Voodoo? Black magic?" Wall said angry. He picked up a photo, "You mean I'm not allowed to show this anywhere?" he shouted, then threw it down on the keyboard.
"That's not what I said. Of course you are allowed to go around with the photo asking staff at the hospital if they recognize the man, but you are not permitted to hang them up around the hospital, or anywhere else."
"Okay." Wall said, finally relenting, then stood up and grabbed the photo. "Come on Bakker. Shake the fleas out of your head and let's get moving. We've got to interview a hospital."
"I can give you extra men for that."
"No thanks," Wall replied, before Bakker could say anything.
As Ribb turned and walked back to his office, Wall grabbed the rest of the photos and left the squad room with Bakker. Outside in the car park they got into Bakker's old Citroen. Wall rolled up the bunch of photographs.
"We still can't put them up in the hospital,"
"Did I say I was going to put up these photos up anywhere?"
"No, but?'
"Just get us to the hospital, okay?
"Sure, okay."
For the second time that day they stood outside the la
rge red brick building that seemed to Wall to be pretty new. But then again even the three hundred and fifty-year-old buildings along the canals' looked just as new as well. The Dutch knew how to keep everything looking nearly perfect.
Outside the front entrance to the right was a group of male and female smokers enjoying their shot of nicotine. One or two were obviously patients, with gowns covering their nightdresses and pajamas. Some were accompanied by visitors, probably friends or relatives, including staff in white medical garments, white coats and white tunics - all outside for a smoke.
Wall reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out the police ID Ribb gave him. It was a credit card sized piece of plastic with his photo, name, and some other details. It was a world away from his shiny gold colored NYPD detective badge. At least that looked and felt as if it had more significance to it. Of course they also had a plastic credit card with the usual ID details and a photo, but he was sure no country could beat the genuine metal NYPD shield that made him proud every time he showed it.
Inside the main doors they stopped at a yellow reception counter on the right where a man wearing a security badge on his white shirt looked up from a monitor and smiled at Bakker and Wall. He was colored, not African, Wall thought, probably Indonesian, one of the old Dutch colonies.
"We are from the police," Bakker said in Dutch and showed him his ID.
"You probably know there was a break-in last week in the pathologists' lab." Wall said.
"Yes I heard about that," the guard replied, in perfect English.
Wall handed him one of the photos. "Do you recognize this person?"
The guard took the photo and studied it. "No, I'm sorry."
"Well, if you spot him or anybody like him could you give us a call?"
"Of course." The guard was about to give the photo back.
"Keep it," Wall said. "Show it to your buddies later. Maybe they might put a name to the face." Wall turned and headed immediately for the lifts. Bakker had trouble trying to keep up with him.
"Where are we going?" Bakker asked.
"We are going to play detective," Wall replied. "Ever done that before? It's really cool. We're going to question some people. You will like it. You get to talk and meet wonderful people and asked them all types of questions."
"Very funny," Bakker replied.
When the lift doors opened on the first floor, they stood before corridors to wards behind closed doors to the left and across the hall. They took off to the left and headed for the doors, which opened automatically. At a central post they came across two nurses.
One was filling in a form while the other was drinking coffee.
"I wonder if you could help me," Wall said.
The nurse with the coffee was small, with dark wavy hair, greeted him with a smile.
"Of course. Are you lost?"
"Not now, Wall replied. "I'm a police officer working for the Dutch police department in Amsterdam, and we are trying to identify this man." Wall showed her the picture.
"Is he a criminal?"
"He could be," Wall said, glancing at Bakker, who obviously was not pleased with that answer. "That is something we still have to determine."
"I don't recognize him."
The second nurse leaned over, glanced at the photo, and shook her head. "Sorry, I don't recognize him either."
"Could you keep this behind your little desk there," Wall asked. "Maybe one of your other colleagues will recognize him. And if they do they can contact us."
"How?"
"We are at the station on the?." Wall looked expectantly at Bakker.
"Marnixstraat," Bakker said, "but the official address is on the Elandsgracht."
"Yeah, that's the one."
"Have you got a name? Or a number I can call?"
"My name is Detective Harvey Wall."
"Number?"
"Ehhhh? I still just have a mobile number in the states. I've no idea what my desk number is here in Amsterdam. '
Bakker reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card and handed it to the nurse. She took it and stared at it. "Rechercheur Bakker?"
"That's me," Bakker replied in Dutch. "You can get in touch with him through me," he said.
"I'll do that," she looked once again at the card. "How long has this card been in that pocket?"
Bakker scratched his shaggy hair. She dropped the card onto the counter.
"If you don't mind, I'm going to have to sterilize that before I pick it up again," she told Bakker in Dutch.
"Thank you very much for your help," Wall told a nurse.
"You're welcome," she replied, and gave Wall the briefest, yet most tempting smile. Wall turned to find Bakker half way down the corridor.
"Sorry, got to go," he said, and flashed her a smile in return.
They both reached the lift at the same time.
"What was all that about." Wall asked. "What did she say.
"Nothing interesting."
"She didn't seem impressed with your card, that's for sure."
"There was nothing, okay." Bakker replied.
"All right, enough said." Wall turned towards the stairs to go to the next floor. "Let's take the stairs."
"You're worse than my mother," Bakker moaned.
"If I was your mother, I wouldn't let you out on the streets looking like that."
They went to all the main wards before they ran out. Bakker claimed to have suddenly run out of cards. Wall improvised by writing down his number on the back of all the photographs.
Chapter Twenty-Five