The chapters of Chester Pinkerton

Prolouge

Mr Von Kroon's pointed shoes tapped loudly off the pale brick walkway that ran down Nieuwstad, adjacent to a finger of the River Vecht.
Mr Von Kroon, although born and raised in the Netherlands, seldom visited the small riverside town of Weesp, just southeast of Amsterdam, but today was no ordinary day and Mr Von Kroon was at the beginning of a long journey.

Few clouds peppered the otherwise clear blue sky and the midsummer sun blessed the small town with a high but comfortable heat, its rays piercing peculiar shadows through the sharp and richly green trees that ran architecturally even along the riverbank.
Any person in their right mind would have no choice but to stop or at least slow pace to marvel at this picturesque town, however Mr Von Kroon was anything but in his right mind.

Charming little bridges crossed the river at conveniently spaced intervals, decorated beautifully by bright and colourful flowers in full bloom. Neat white railings ran the short length of the bridges and stunning flower baskets hung from the quaint Victorian style lampposts, however this did not impress Mr Von Kroon, not as it once had, for he is a man on a hunt and each step he takes brings him closer to his prey.

He had already passed two café's but neither establishment was the one he was looking for. Hide from me if you can, he thought, but I know you are here somewhere.
Undeterred, Mr Von Kroon continued his long stride up the neat uniformed pathway; passing a short line of parked cars, a busy bike rack and a variety of delighted dogs with their owners, all out for an afternoon stroll in the sun.
The river sat silent and almost motionless as the population of this small town busied itself up and down its banks. Normal day-to-day tasks were met with blossoming smiles and eyes that held even the slightest of twinkles, like the inhabitants of Weesp all shared in its secret of youth and beauty.

The Café Cornelia has a small golden bell above its entrance door, which sings its cheerful chime every time a patron enters and leaves, however Mr Von Kroon had already made his way over to a small square table and taken up residence on one of its simple, yet brightly coloured chairs by the time anybody had noticed him.

The smell of coffee beans and freshly baked muffins swirled together and danced off the walls and ceiling, never leaving the room. The café seemed smaller to Mr Von Kroon than the others he had passed, but unlike their more traditional gloom, this one brought the senses to life with its brave use of rich turquoise, vibrant mustard and warm greys that spread throughout, basking in the bright rays of sunlight that poured in through the open windows.

Mr Von Kroon removed his black fedora and placed it on the table beside a rustic looking jar, half full of white and brown sugar cubes. His once long dark hair – now in a war slowly supressed by greys – hung unloved and unmanaged around his long face, which demanded him to perform a quick flick of his neck in order to whip a few strands away from his eyes, like a lion tamer lashing his whip in frustration.
He wore a long dark jacket that he had decided to leave on, and even if the temperature beneath it exceeded that of the – as promised by the local weatherman – second warmest day of the year so far, Mr Von Kroon would never have you believe it. Although his wife would often use the word stubborn to describe him, stubbornness had no part to play here, only focus and determination. His discomfort, if he even felt any, was just a pointless distraction.

Before long a woman approached him with a small note pad in hand and a natural smile across her face. She wore a cream coloured apron with the words Café Cornelia stencilled across it in black and had her mousey brown hair up in a bun, fastened together with a pencil.

'Goedemiddag,' the waitress said in way of greeting before asking Mr Von Kroon if she could take his order. 

She wrote down his order using a pencil that she'd previously slipped behind her ear, leaving the other one tied up in her hair. Her face became an expressionless mask as she scribbled down a black coffee and blueberry muffin, a task that made her appear ten years older.
She thanked Mr Von Kroon before walking away, for the first time aware of his dark and mysterious demeanour, and as she busied herself behind the counter, could have sworn she'd noticed the room grow darker around him, like he emitted shadows with every passing second. Preparing his coffee she bit her lip and wished she'd stolen a better look at his face.