“Not for everything.”
“You can for this, Son. For exactly this sort of thing.” She stood up and walked over, crouched down next to him, and regarded him inquiringly.
For the first time in a very long while, he could see genuine concern on his mother’s face in place of the usual horrible suspicion and disappointment. Her expression told him that she was ready to listen to him, to stand by his side. That was how she used to look at him in the past, before it all went wrong. The stupid tears kept coming, flowing down his cheeks one after another. He wiped them away angrily.
“Ralf? Let me help you. Please.” She went to lay her hand on his arm, but changed course halfway and leaned against the table instead.
“That guy wants money from me,” he said softly.
“Why? Did you borrow from him?”
“I didn’t. Brian did.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I tell you that—”
“Brian was my friend, OK?” It came out more sharply than he had intended.
She stopped talking. Stared at the floor in silence, breathing heavily. Finally, she looked back at him. “But why does that boy want money from you?”
“Because Brian has disappeared.” He sniffed again.
Suddenly, he felt himself growing flushed. He had spoken about Brian in the past tense—Brian was my friend. His mother didn’t seem to have noticed.
“Gone?”
“Yeah. A week ago now.”
“And you don’t have any idea where he might be?”
Ralf scoffed. A scornful voice ran through his mind: Since he was shot dead by Werner Möhring? For all we know, he might be buried in their backyard. Those people have enough room for an entire cemetery.
She looked at him tenderly and laid her hand on his arm. It felt good. He instinctively placed his own hand on top of hers. His mother’s hands were small and slender, with thin skin. He kept looking at them. Back when he was still in elementary school, he had found it fun to hold his hand against his mother’s, palms together. Each time, he had fervently hoped that his fingers would be as long as hers. Now, her hand almost disappeared underneath his.
“How much does this boy want?” she asked.
“Three grand.”
Her eyes widened. “And why do you have to pay it?”
“Because that’s the sort of guy he is.”
“And he wants it on Sunday,” she concluded.
He nodded.
“Is he dangerous, Ralf?”
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I think so.”
“Then we need to get the police involved.”
2
At the bottom of Helen’s locker lay two folded-up shopping bags. She had distributed their contents over three containers, carefully pressing the lids closed. Nobody had seen her do it.
“Could you give Lex a hand?” she heard Anouk ask.
“I’ll be right there.” She updated her patient’s data and checked his drip. The man was currently asleep, but he’d already woken up and gone to the restroom. He could be sent back to the ward.
“Whoop, whoop.” A colleague hurried past her to grab an IV bag from the cabinet. “And another one. Where are they all coming from?”
Helen smiled faintly. It was normal for one or two unscheduled operations to be fitted in between the planned ones, but this morning was remarkably busy. All the ORs were in use. Helen had already seen a C-section and an acute hernia go by, and just now, two traffic accident victims had been brought in. She hoped that would be all, but experience taught her that days like this tended to ramp up further and further.
Why now? She felt the tension grow in her neck and massaged the sides of her vertebrae with her fingertips. If it stayed this busy, she could forget about taking a lunch break.
3
“Then we’ll wait,” said Ralf’s mother. Her voice rang through the high-ceilinged, almost empty hall. She remained standing in front of the counter.
Behind it sat two officers in uniform. Neither of them looked particularly fit. The man had huge bags under his eyes, and the woman had spider veins on her cheeks. Both were preoccupied with their computers.
Ralf rocked from one foot to the other. It felt wrong to be here voluntarily; if a friend of his were to walk through the door right now, he would die of shame. Then again, Mikey wanted his money the day after tomorrow, and Ralf couldn’t offer him more than a 10 percent down payment. What if Mikey saw that as an insult? He wouldn’t let it go unpunished. Ralf pulled his cap down over his eyes and looked at the tiles on the floor. As shitty as it felt, his mother was right. This was too big. He couldn’t do it on his own.
Of course, he wasn’t about to tell them that the last time he’d seen Brian was at Werner Möhring’s house. He had his story ready, and he planned to stick to it: They’d spent Friday afternoon hanging out in the shed. Brian had been using a little—maybe slightly too much—and then he’d left without saying where he was going. He hadn’t been in his room when Ralf had gone to visit him the following day, and that was when he’d been waylaid by Mikey.
His mother cleared her throat and placed her hand on the counter. “Excuse me, sir?”
The man with the puffy eyes spoke without looking up from his screen. “Please take a seat, ma’am. Someone will be with you directly.”
“But I have to go to work soon.”
He made very brief eye contact. “We’re doing our best.”
Ralf shot him a dark look before following his mother across to a row of plastic chairs. She took off her denim jacket. “I Will Survive” was printed on the white fabric of her T-shirt. An appropriate outfit for a police station, Ralf thought.
After a few minutes, he broke the silence. “You should just go if you need to, Mom. I can manage things here.”
She shook her head resolutely. “I’ll just be a little late for work. This takes priority.”
He picked at the fabric of his gray hoodie. “They don’t give a shit about us.”
“They’re busy,” she said quietly.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor behind the counter. A uniformed officer appeared from the back. Ralf recognized him: Remko van Amersfoort, the neighborhood policeman who had fined him for jaywalking. A bully, plain and simple. Ralf bit the inside of his cheek and looked away.
His mother touched his knee. “Sit still, Son. You’re making my chair wobble.”
The female officer stood up, and Van Amersfoort took her place. They exchanged a few words, and the man briefly looked in their direction before nodding to the woman.
Ralf studied their movements carefully from the corner of his eye. What exactly was so fucking important that they could leave them sitting here like this? He bit his nails in irritation.
Two officers walked in through the main entrance—an olive-skinned man with a shaven head, and a shorter colleague who spoke loudly with a Rotterdam accent. Their keys jingled.
Ralf looked away and cursed under his breath. More familiar faces: Ahmed Loukili—a.k.a. “the Snitch”—and Rudi Zwart. Those two had spent so long harassing his old group of friends that you could easily call it stalking. Ralf had been fourteen or fifteen back then. At that time, he used to meet his friends in the parking lot of the shopping mall or on the square in front of the church. Sometimes there would be girls there too, but generally it would just be a group of boys standing around, smoking and telling each other tall tales. During one particular period, the police used to drive past three or four times a day—slowing to a crawl—and would question them and check their documents almost daily. As if they were living in occupied territory. Anyone who didn’t have their ID on them would be issued an on-the-spot fine, and they’d also give you a ticket if they found even the tiniest thing wrong with your bike or scooter. Those guys never listened to any explanations: that you’d lost your ID card the day before, that the battery for your taillight had gone flat on the way here. Whatever you said, they refused to believe it. They just looked at you
with contempt. Smug expressions that said, Do you really think you’re so clever and we’re so stupid?
Back then, Ralf had never stolen anything, had done virtually nothing wrong. All that came later. If people always blame you, then you might as well deserve it.
Ralf’s mother suddenly stood up and walked over to the two officers.
“Mom, wait.”
She didn’t hear him.
4
I’m here.
The message arrived with an angry buzz. Helen read it and replied:
Five minutes.
She grabbed a white coat from the pile, pulled it on over her uniform, and stuffed her cell phone into her pocket. She tried to head toward the hall, but two colleagues throwing their work clothes into the hamper blocked her path—their shifts were over. Just then, Lex walked into the changing room, followed by Anouk and a new anesthesiologist.
“Are you going to the cafeteria?” Lex took a white coat from the shelf.
“Um, yeah,” she muttered.
He winked as he pulled on his coat. “News travels fast, huh?”
“News?”
“Pea soup,” he said, looking as though he’d arranged it personally. “No time to lose.”
“Oh, right.” The soup of the day in the cafeteria was of varying quality. Helen suspected that a lot of it came straight out of a can, but the pea soup was always delicious. Plus, they served it with rye bread.
She walked out of the changing room and tried not to look like she was in too much of a rush. “I just need to do something first. I’ll be right there.”
Lex walked alongside her. “Can I help?”
“No.”
Don’t ask any more questions.
Please.
She didn’t know exactly how much time had passed since Werner’s message arrived, but she knew she had to hurry.
When they reached an intersection between two corridors, she briefly laid her hand on Lex’s arm. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. Grab a bowl for me, would you?”
She walked briskly down the hallway. Only at the end did she venture to look back, just in time to see Lex chatting with a group of colleagues as they headed toward the cafeteria.
5
“My son and I have been waiting awhile now for somebody to help us. We’d like to file a report.”
“The best way to do that is online, ma’am,” said Loukili, whose shaven skull and zealous demeanor made him look more like a commando than a police officer. “That way, you won’t have to wait.”
Ralf stood by his mother’s side. “This isn’t something we can report online.”
“Oh, is that so?” His lips curled into a condescending smile.
“It would be nice if you could take this seriously,” Ralf heard his mother say. Her voice trembled slightly.
“I take everything seriously, ma’am. You wouldn’t believe the things we have to deal with every day.” He looked at Ralf.
The same provocative stare, the same attitude as back then. Ralf felt himself shrinking. The years crumbled away, and from under the dust appeared a little boy trying to hold his own among his older friends. Clammy hands with bitten-off fingernails gripping the handlebars of his bike, its taillight broken.
“You’re Ralf Venema, aren’t you?” asked the shorter policeman. His eyes narrowed.
Ralf rolled his chewing gum around his mouth. He looked from one to the other, but he couldn’t utter a word—he was breathing too hard for that.
“That’s right. And I’m his mother. Katja Venema. Nice to meet you.”
The officers exchanged a few lukewarm courtesies. Just the right amount of attention so that nobody could accuse them of being out-and-out douchebags, but nowhere enough to make her feel respected and welcome here. They were experts at that, thought Ralf. Belittling people. Subtly, like now—or more obviously, when there weren’t any other adults around. Even in front of his mother they had to prove what tough guys they were. Fucking machos. A conversation took place, but he didn’t take any of it in—it was drowned out by the pounding of his heart and his rapid breathing.
Maybe, he thought suddenly, it would do more harm than good to report Mikey. A guy like that could talk his way out of a police cell within a day or two, or he might not even be arrested in the first place—and then Ralf would be in truly deep shit, as Mikey would know he’d gone to the police.
“Listen, my shift is over.” Zwart looked at Loukili. “Do you have time to deal with this?”
“Sure, I can fit it in.”
As his colleague walked away, Loukili turned to face Ralf. His dark eyes glittered, and an amused smile played over his lips. “I haven’t seen you at the supermarket in a while, Venema.”
Ralf felt his jaw tighten.
The prick was enjoying this. He relished seeing Ralf here in the station with his mother. Two innocent rabbits who had strayed into his filthy wolf’s lair. Not a shred of sympathy to be seen on his face. Not a trace of humanity. There never had been.
“Did you move or something?” That humiliating smirk again.
Ralf’s hands clenched into fists. Was this actually happening? Did he really have to file a report with Loukili, a neighborhood officer who issued fines on the street to nervous fourteen-year-old boys with broken taillights?
No way.
He’d rather eat his own sneakers.
“Screw this,” he said sharply. He spun around and marched away.
His mother called after him, but he didn’t hear her. He pushed open the glass doors, oblivious to his surroundings. Paced toward his car without breaking his stride. People stepped out of his way and turned to watch him. He wiped the tears from his face angrily.
6
This part of the building was remarkably quiet; almost everybody was on their way to get some pea soup. Helen walked through a hall lined with planters before turning left into a dimly lit corridor.
Werner was already there. She saw him in the distance through the glass doors. His arms were folded, and he was feigning interest in some artwork hanging on the wall. There were two yellow shopping bags on the floor next to him.
About fifty paces.
Forty.
Werner looked up and spotted her approaching. His skin was pale, his eyes hollow. The whole situation was affecting him more than he wanted to admit. He bent down to pick up the bags and moved toward the doors.
Helen took her staff pass out of her pocket.
Another twenty paces.
She heard somebody talking—a woman. The voice came from an office on the right-hand side of the hall. The door was ajar.
Straight ahead, she saw Werner look around anxiously, a bag in each hand. There was no going back now—there would be no second chances today.
As she walked past the office, she saw Marjan standing at a desk, talking on the phone. Her platinum-blonde hair was pinned up.
Helen’s mouth instantly went dry. She felt a strange sensation—as if she were growing taller, lighter, floating above her own feet.
Fifteen paces.
Marjan must have heard her footsteps—it was unavoidable—but she didn’t look up or turn around.
Behind the glass, Werner’s face took on a worried expression. He didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but he knew things weren’t running according to plan.
Ten.
Helen looked back swiftly—Marjan was still on the phone. She sought Werner’s eyes and held her index finger to her lips. He nodded to show he understood. Then she held her pass up to the electronic box. The doors swung open almost noiselessly. Helen dropped the pass into the pocket of her white coat and silently took the bags from Werner. They exchanged a brief look of understanding, and then she turned around and hurried into the waste room.
Pulling two containers from a stack, she dropped a full bag into each of them. Pushed down the lids until she heard a click, and placed them on the trolley alongside three others.
She straightened her back and stood still for a moment, her h
ands folded over her nose and mouth. Her heart felt like it was leaping back and forth behind her ribs.
They’d done it. Early tomorrow morning, she would dispose of the last remaining packages, and then it would be over. Her breathing gradually returned to normal. She gripped the handle and opened the door.
Two pairs of eyes stared back at her in alarm.
7
“I’m not going back there, Mom.” Ralf flipped on his turn signal and joined the main road. “They won’t help me.”
“Of course they will. That’s their job.”
He stared straight ahead gloomily. His mother meant well, but she had no idea. Loukili was a snake, and the rest of them weren’t much better. The neighborhood officers could be just as bitter and prejudiced as certain teachers. They had probably started out brimming with idealism, but something had gone very wrong along the way. And they wouldn’t pass up any opportunity to take it out on you. “Those guys only look out for themselves. They couldn’t give a shit about kids like me.”
“But I was there with you, wasn’t I?”
“You’re nothing but a gullible little mother, as far as they’re concerned. They’re probably making fun of you behind your back.”
She said nothing for a few seconds. Then exclaimed, “How can I go to work now while you’re in so much trouble?”
“That’s exactly why I never tell you anything. You get too stressed out.” He glanced across at her. “I’ll take care of it, Mom.”
“What on earth have you been doing, anyway?” she asked quietly. “You’ve been hanging around with all the wrong people.”
Until a few days ago, a remark like that from his mother would have made his back go up. Always the same comments. But now he saw that she was right. Even his friends had warned him about Brian; they had started avoiding him as his friendship with Brian had developed.
“That boy is dangerous, you said?”
He nodded, looking straight ahead at the road.
“How dangerous?”
Mother Dear Page 15