by Rachael Blok
‘I saw all the usual things. I saw a change in his manner. He had mentionitis: you know what I mean, brought up Marieke’s name a few times more often than normal. And then after a month or so, nothing. He stopped mentioning her completely.’
She lifts her hands and scoops her hair into a ponytail, then lets it fall down her back, swinging her head a fraction to the left to lift it all back. She rolls her shoulders.
‘That’s worse, you know? I knew there were still meetings; tweets about conferences; photos of them all together, pushing ahead with this deal, making a difference, proud of themselves. And I knew. He changed colour occasionally when I mentioned her name. Our conversations, already so stilted, almost stopped…’ She catches her breath, closes her eyes again. Her hands clench and unclench.
‘We had something so special. But on honeymoon, it changed. He was always on his phone. His business was busy; busy business. All the time. I pulled away, made him try to work for it. Tried everything.’
She shrugs, glances down. Maarten looks to Adrika. The tape is running but she has made a few notes. She raises her eyebrows a touch, and then, as Sophie’s head comes back up, she slips back to neutral. The heat of the room makes Maarten’s head spin. So little sleep.
‘Pulling away didn’t help. He just got nervous around me. Tongue-tied. But, fuck, I loved him. Occasionally, we got it just right. And I knew if I managed to convince him we were worth it…’
There’s a laugh from outside, and it dies quickly. Sophie glances at the door to the dining room.
‘You know I slept with someone? I slept with my agent. Just once. It was when it was really bad with Filip. When I first saw him out for a drink with Marieke. He was laughing like he never laughs with me. Her hand was on his. He told me now he never slept with her, but what does that matter when he trusted her but didn’t trust me?’ She shrugs. ‘I did a “fuck you” fuck. Fuck him.’ She turns her palms face up, then down again. ‘But it was crap. Kak, it was worse than that. So that’s when I decided to try a different tack.
‘I knew sending the letters was stupid. But I was angry. It was primal, like something I couldn’t control. I could taste it. So, I sent a couple of notes. Just telling her to back off, to step away. I couldn’t be specific. I copied much of the language on Twitter, on Facebook. I thought… She was a public figure. I guessed she’d get a lot of bad press, trolling.’ She looks at Maarten. Her eyes are clear, her face so pale her skin almost melts away, transparent. ‘I love him. And I knew he loved me. I just needed her to back off.’
Maarten nods at her, reassures her with his tone that telling him is the right thing to do. ‘Sophie, did you try to kill her? Did you try to poison Marieke? And did Aksel drink it by mistake?’
A tiny shake of her head. It’s not strong enough to be believed as a denial, but it’s too weak to seem like a false protestation of innocence. Too weak to be a lie.
There’s the sound of a dog barking. It’s loud. And Maarten wonders if that means they’ve found something. A few shouts follow. His ears listen. If he were a dog, they’d be standing on end now.
‘Did Filip know, Sophie?’ This time Adrika asks, and her voice is soft. She speaks gently, and Maarten likes that she gets her tone just right. Every time.
She looks up again. ‘He loves me, you know. He loves me. He just doesn’t love himself enough to have me. But after the crash yesterday, I could see it. The belief was back. And for a moment…’ She looks at Maarten. Her eyes plead with him.
The dogs are barking again. Maarten watches her.
Is she lying about something? He feels suddenly nervous. What if her anger extended all the way to her husband? There’s a flash of fear, for Filip. If she’s lying now, does that mean Filip is in danger?
‘Just out of interest, if Filip died now, what would you be worth?’
‘I’m not…’ – her gaze is stony – ‘going to kill my husband.’
Maarten considers it for a second. Then pushes on. ‘But what would you be worth? Hundreds of millions? A billion?’
She says nothing.
‘By bringing down the helicopter, did you hope to get rid of your husband cleanly, and his mistress? You wouldn’t have to fight a messy divorce.’
He pushes hard.
‘Did you put poison in Marieke’s glass?’
Still, she says nothing.
‘Sophie Atwood. I’m arresting you for the murder of Aksel Larsen, for the crime of Malicious Communications, for sending letters to Marieke Visser. You do not have to say anything…’
59
FILIP
Filip sees a cluster of officers outside and heads are bent in discussion, some pointing at the house. He can sense it. There’s a regrouping. He knows they’ve pretty much finished – he heard someone outside say it. But they’ve got hold of something and they’re going back in. With new information. A new direction.
He hears crying from the interview room. Sophie’s in there.
Fuck. The letters. The letters in the fire.
The room swims. The hold on his stomach is strong now, and there are stabbing pains running upwards, zipping over his head. This must be an anxiety attack. His heart beats quickly.
He leans his head against the pane of glass. The cold is sharp on his brow, and he closes his eyes, opens them again, hoping his vision has settled, that he’s just fuzzy with confusion, lack of sleep.
He can hear words floating through the air. They’re muffled, like word bubbles popping before they get to him. Some make it all the way: ‘fire’, ‘the victim’s room’, ‘fingerprints’, ‘Sophie Atwood’.
What does it mean? Lois stands nearby. He can feel her watching him. She must know what’s going on because she doesn’t come straight over. Like when you’ve heard someone’s had bad news, but you don’t know what to say.
This weekend. From jealous and suicidal, to hero, to husband again. Now about to lose his wife. After a year of pushing her away.
‘Lois?’ he whispers, trying not to attract the attention of the room, but he doesn’t know why he bothers. They are all silent. Sophie’s tears from behind the door are clear, and it’s like no one can even breathe.
‘Filip?’ She crosses to him swiftly. Standing by him, with her hand on his arm. ‘Tell me what I can do.’
‘What’s going on? Do you know?’
Her face is tight with confusion. ‘I think…’
‘Lois, please. You need to tell me. I’m going mad here.’
The whisper in his head is a roar now. Sophie could not have killed Aksel. She could not have done it.
‘Filip, they’ve asked for the master key to the guest safe installed in your room. I don’t really know, and I don’t want to guess and get it wrong…’
‘You know something, please, just tell me.’ There’s a roaring so loud in Filip’s head it’s like his skull is being crushed. It’s sound alone, but a force. Like the ricochet of the sound barrier breaking, sound so loud it makes houses vibrate, bones shudder.
‘I…’ She looks at the floor, rather than at him. ‘I heard them say “the suspect”, and then I heard them talking, while I was getting the key. They said “the suspect has prints in Visser’s room”, they said they must have been left when we were all in hospital. And poison. They found a plastic bag with suspected poison. I heard them say the dogs found it.’
She could not have killed him. She is not capable.
Lois is still looking at the ground.
The roaring in his head threatens to topple him. He can barely open his eyes.
‘Where did they find it? Where did they find it, Lois?’
‘I think… I think it was in her make-up bag. I’m so sorry, Filip. I’m so very sorry.’
60
LOIS
Sophie comes out, led by Maarten, and Lois stands next to Filip, wanting to hold on to him. He looks like he needs tethering; he sways.
But Lois can’t touch him. The room swirls and she herself feels unpinned. She looks f
or Ebba, but she’s by the fire, not looking at anything, just staring forward, and her blue eyes are empty. She watches as Sophie is led by DI Verma, her brown bob holding still, like the very air in the room.
Filip crosses quickly to her. He takes her in his arms, holds her. The officers move to separate them, but she hears him: ‘I am yours. Entirely. I love you, Sophie. I am sorry. It’s all my fault.’
Lois can’t breathe. She swallows hard.
As Sophie passes Marieke, she looks at her, and says, ‘I’m so very sorry. You must have heard. It was me who sent the letters.’ And DI Verma takes her arm, gently leading her out, not allowing her to remain.
Marieke, the colour of dust, lifts her arm, and as it hovers in the air, she raises her fingers to her lips, and kisses them, then holds the kiss aloft, turned towards Sophie.
As Sophie is led towards the door, just before she disappears, she halts.
With one last cry, Sophie turns and shouts, ‘Filip!’
He takes a step towards her, but the officer holds up his hand.
Marieke staggers backwards, against the back of the overstuffed chair, and it is Iqbal who reaches out to her.
So, is that it? But why was Sophie trying to kill Marieke? Lois’s brain crashes with questions, looking for answers, sorting data, flipping through the binary possibilities.
Lois looks to Marieke, then Filip.
Human affection. The power to destroy.
‘Christ, is it all over, then?’ Marieke begins in a laugh, but as she finishes, she doubles over, her head on her knees. The sobs arrive first in vibrations, soundless, but in pulls of air so deep, and expelled in ragged spurts, that even without sound they are piercing.
Lois looks to Filip, but he is watching out of the window. He speaks as though to himself, and he raises his palm high and flat on the windowpane.
Sophie looks back once from the gravel outside.
61
FILIP
I need to go to her, he thinks. I need to go to her.
His brain isn’t seeming to function, and he waits for it to catch up. He can usually rely on his brain.
Slowly, the shock begins to feel like shock, instead of simply paralysis, and he pulls out his phone and calls Ruben, the person he relies on most in the world. Even as he is dialling, he has faith this can be sorted.
‘I need a lawyer,’ he begins with. ‘We usually use Bakker, don’t we, but I need a criminal lawyer. It’s a murder charge.’
Ruben is silent down the phone for a second. And it’s not like him. Filip is irritated. ‘Ruben, can you hear me? I need your help.’
‘Filip? Is everything OK? You’re not making sense.’
‘I know it’s confusing, but we need a lawyer.’ His head feels as though it’s splitting in two.
‘Filip, is there someone else there? Can you put them on? You’re not making any sense.’
Rage, nausea, pain sweeps Filip, and he shouts down the phone. ‘Ruben, will you listen to me!’
Gentle now, Ruben says, ‘Filip, you’re slurring, I can’t make out what you’re saying. Is there someone else there? I need you to ask them for help.’
Filip watches cars and vans pull away from the house. He’s exhausted. He will need to go to the station later, but he won’t have any access to Sophie just yet. And they will need to wait for the lawyer to arrive. Ruben will take care of all that. If he will only listen.
The phone is very heavy. His hand fights to hold it. Fights to keep it in his grasp, but it’s too much. His fingers relax. Defeat comes quickly.
The phone falls, and it lands hard, shattering; and turning, like Ruben asked him to, he faces the rest of the room. They’re all looking back at him. Marieke takes a step forward, and he can see from her face, like from Ruben’s voice, that something is wrong. And he is so very tired. Standing is so very tiring.
The coffee had been bitter that morning. He’d drunk it, not wanting to make a fuss. He tries to think of who gave him the cup, and he remembers Sophie next to him, pouring in his milk, smiling at him.
No, not her. Who else?
He smiles. Vomit spews from his mouth, and he tips, feeling lost in his sway.
He needs to trust his wife. If it wasn’t Sophie, then it was someone here.
What had Aksel said to him? Those last words. It’s his nugget.
Clearing his brain, he forces himself to think of it all at once, like he might think of a crossword clue.
Those words float upwards, swim. It was never meant…
Then they fall.
Can it be?
One last glance round the room.
They had all been so very wrong. About it all.
Maarten. He needs to speak to Maarten. Before anything else.
And he can feel himself falling, free at last.
62
LOIS
‘Filip!’ Lois screams.
Iqbal bends down and places a hand on Filip’s face, leaning his head close. Maarten kneels too. But it’s clear Filip is still breathing; it’s loud. Like a heave.
Pushing them aside, Lois gets to him, and his eyes are fast dimming. The heave, like a mechanical pump failing, is coming from him. This must be what they call the death rattle, and she screams again.
Through the window, she sees Sophie turn. Climbing into the car, the screams must have pulled her out. Sophie yanks hard against the officer holding her arm.
Breaking free, Sophie runs back into the house. Dogs are barking, and Lois hears one of the police officers swear loudly as he runs in and sees Filip, the vomit, hears his last few breaths. Sophie howls.
Running feet crunch the gravel. Someone shouts for an ambulance.
Lois can’t make out much, movement is fast and blurred around her. She bends like she’d seen Filip bend over Aksel, and she bangs his chest with her fist, like she’d seen him do. And she thumps again, hard.
But she’s not the first person, and Maarten is already leaning over Filip’s face, his cheek close.
A gasp from behind is loud, as Iqbal shouts, ‘Has he stopped breathing?’
‘Yes,’ Maarten says. He bends and breathes full into Filip’s mouth, and the blond DS kneels, beginning CPR.
Like déjà vu, Lois watches as police take over the pounding on Filip’s chest.
But she knows. She knows like she knew when Filip worked on Aksel.
Filip is dead.
63
MAARTEN
Dust flies, refusing to settle. Maarten’s hands shake as he struggles to compose himself. He’d liked Filip, trusted Filip.
More than that, his flash of fear that Filip’s life could be in danger had proven correct, and he’d been unable to stop it. If only he’d worked faster.
It’s not the first time he should have moved faster. It’s not the first time he tastes regret like sour milk.
He’s stepped outside for a second. The ambulance is still busy.
‘Sir?’ Adrika says quietly. ‘They’re still in the hall. I don’t know…’
‘Take them outside.’ He looks through the window. The sun is making a courageous return. ‘The dining room is a crime scene. Get them all out. We’ll need drinks, food… They need looking after. We can take them to the station and do interviews in a few hours. We need to feed them first. They’ll all be in shock of some kind. That was…’ There aren’t words. He closes his eyes.
‘Good plan. Niamh isn’t finished with the house. I’ll order food.’
Nodding, Maarten picks up the phone. He will have to let the super know. This isn’t going to be easy.
Her anger rattles down the line: ‘…and get her lawyer in and get going. We need a statement for the press, this is…’
Maarten looks out at the lawn where the guests are moving. Many are crying.
‘…At least we’ve got her. We can focus on that in the statement…’ She sounds as though she’s calming down. ‘When you write it, make a big deal of the fact the suspect is in custody.’
‘Ma’am,
’ Maarten offers in agreement.
‘Keep me updated. What a shitshow.’
Ringing off, he looks at the dining room door. The ambulance had taken Filip but Maarten knows there’s no coming back from that. He’s already alerted the pathologist.
He will need to look at Filip’s body again at some point. He feels sick at the thought. He calls to Adrika, tapping at a food delivery app. ‘Let’s head down to the garden table. See how they’re doing. Could you feel the relief in the room once Sophie Atwood was taken out?’ He couldn’t work out where it came from, but the relief had been like ice in the air. ‘Someone is pleased she’s being taken away. Why? That house holds its secrets in the walls like cement. Let’s find out what else we don’t know.’
*
Walking down into the pale November sun, arriving after the rain shower, Maarten sees Lois and Iqbal talking, standing underneath a tree.
‘Meet you there,’ he says to Adrika, and he makes his way over to them.
They don’t see him coming and he hears Lois talking, catching the word ‘Dhaka’.
It keeps coming up, and he pauses. They are intent in their exchange and they don’t see him for a second.
‘Aksel is dead now. We don’t need to report it, Lois.’ Iqbal sounds stressed. ‘What good will it do? Let’s just pay him properly for what we took. Otherwise we’ll lose the whole franchise deal if this comes out…’
‘Not us – not what we took!’ Lois is almost crying. ‘Aksel!’
‘But they won’t make that distinction! The moment you’re worth what Archipelago is worth now, no one makes that distinction…’
‘We have to confess! We’d be as bad as him…’ Lois is sobbing now.
‘Aksel is dead. He’s gone. Let his mistakes die with him. We’re all better off…’
‘Maarten!’ Lois jumps, seeing him.
They both turn, stare at him. Red-faced and startled.