Absinthe

by Guido Eekhaut

  “Oh,” she said. She didn’t show her feelings.

  “And then again I’ll wait.”

  “Yes?”

  “There is always the perfect moment for showing your best cards.”

  “But you’ll have to show them sometime, at least.”

  “Of course. I will. But you must be out of the picture first. You have nothing to do with this.”

  He rose. “I wish you the best,” he said. “I hope to see you again sometime, but not here.”

  She stood up and embraced him.

  He hadn’t expected that.

  62

  DEWAAL AND EEKHAUT HAD to wait for fifteen minutes in a small room on the second floor of the PDN headquarters. A slim and artificially blond young woman had let them in and asked them to be patient.

  Eekhaut thought, This is Van Tillo making sure we understand she’s still calling the shots. He assumed Dewaal thought the same. She looked worse for wear, her face pale and tense and her lips thin and almost bloodless.

  The magazines on the table had one thing in common: they all had some item on Van Tillo and her party. Van Tillo visiting and meeting important people and speaking at conferences. Neither he nor Dewaal bothered reading them.

  The secretary opened the door again. “Ms. Van Tillo will see you now,” she said.

  They both rose and were ushered into Van Tillo’s office. The politician rose from behind her desk, visibly tense. She wore too much gold for Eekhaut’s taste. Vanheul stood by her, dressed in an ill-fitting beige suit.

  “Chief Superintendent, Inspector, please take a seat,” Van Tillo said.

  “My colleague is a chief inspector,” Dewaal said, “if you insist on using our ranks. We want the correct ranks being used, ma’am.”

  Van Tillo smirked at them as if to say, what does it matter? A chief superintendent and a chief inspector, as if either of them would have any impact on the situation. She had ministers and captains of industry behind her. She met with board members of important companies face to face. She was intimate with important politicians.

  “You have come to return the list that was stolen from our offices,” she stated.

  “That’s correct,” said Dewaal. She produced a brown envelope from her purse. “This is it. The original list.”

  “A shame so many people had to die for it,” Eekhaut remarked, like he wasn’t really addressing anyone in the room. “Pieter Van Boer in the first place, who worked here, in this building. He worked for you, Ms. Van Tillo, and he probably did you a lot of favors, professionally, I mean. Giving you his all as a writer of your purple prose.”

  “Van Boer,” she said, hatefully.

  “Hendrika,” Vanheul warned her. “Don’t get carried away.”

  “I’m not getting carried away, Kees. But let’s not talk nonsense. He was here to spy on us, Mister … whatever your name is. Chief Inspector. He was here to damage us. To destroy us, even. But I’m not getting carried away.”

  “I read some of your brochures. Well written. His work? Or yours?”

  “Doesn’t matter. As long as he worked for us, he had to—we would not have kept him if he wasn’t good at what he did. But he spied on us. He lacked the most common decency.”

  “And who was he really spying for, in your opinion?” Dewaal asked.

  “I can only guess, Ms. Dewaal. But we have our list of suspects. We are aware of the reprehensible communist anarchy these sorts of people promote.”

  “You loathe people like Van Boer?” Eekhaut asked.

  Van Tillo turned to him. “I know what you want to achieve, Inspector. You want me to speak my mind about … but we have nothing to do with the murder of Van Boer. That’s not the sort of thing we do. We’re into politics, not into crime.”

  “Someone is,” Dewaal said.

  “Chief Superintendent, if you want to question me formally in connection with this murder, you’ll have to do that through regular channels. I wanted to meet you today because you told me the problem with the list is solved. Now you arrive here, with this … gentleman, and you start to question me. If that’s the case, I want our lawyer present.”

  “This is not an interrogation, Ms. Van Tillo,” Dewaal said, speaking softly now, even surprising Eekhaut. As if she were sharing intimate information with Van Tillo. “If this were an interrogation, we would be in my office now, with your lawyer present, and we would have a really formal conversation.”

  “Which is not the case,” Van Tillo said. “So I don’t have to listen to you anymore. Thank you for coming and for the list. Vanheul will escort you out.”

  “I’m afraid a few details still need to be attended to,” Eekhaut said.

  “There is nothing more to discuss,” said Van Tillo.

  “There is, ma’am. But before I continue, Chief Superintendent Dewaal will leave this office and wait for me in the corridor.”

  Dewaal got up, left, and closed the door behind her.

  Neither Van Tillo nor Vanheul moved.

  “What kind of freak show is this?” Van Tillo asked. “What are you up to?”

  “Any document can be easily copied today,” Eekhaut said.

  Van Tillo flushed. Deeply. Angrily.

  Before she could reply, Eekhaut continued, “And there is no limit to this copying capability. No limit. Copies of copies and so on. Endless numbers of copies.”

  “The deal was—”

  “That was a deal between you and the Dutch police. Dewaal kept her part of that deal. I, on the other end, have made no deal, not with anybody.”

  “You should also—”

  “I do not belong to the AIVD, the Dutch police, whatever. I am a Belgian citizen and a Belgian police officer. Chief Inspector, by the way. Please feel free to complain to my superiors, but they care little about Dutch politics. This makes me something of … a free agent, if you see what I mean.”

  “If you’ve made copies of the list and you pass them on to other parties, we’ll have your head on a platter, and very quickly too.”

  “You will find, ma’am, that in order to have that head on a platter, you’ll need to go through an impossible amount of red tape. During this investigation, I’ve collected evidence against the murderer of Pieter Van Boer, Maarten Calster, and another young man. That’s three murders. It’s very painful to abandon a trail of dead people in exchange for a few sheets of paper. But I propose a deal. A deal you can’t refuse. A very attractive deal.”

  “I don’t make deals with corrupt Belgian cops.”

  “That really hurts, ma’am. Calling me corrupt. But I’ll let it slide for now. Maybe you’d better listen to my proposal.”

  “No way!”

  “Hendrika!” Vanheul warned her. “Listen to what he has to say.”

  “Shut up, Kees. You were supposed to solve this. That’s what I’m paying you for. First the lack of security and then the Russian who could not even—”

  “Hendrika!”

  Eekhaut calmly said, “Ms. Van Tillo. My proposal is simple.”

  She kept her mouth shut.

  “First, I keep a few copies of the list for myself and you make sure Eileen Calster is left alone and is safe.”

  “Calster? Oh, Van Boer’s girlfriend. And?”

  “Maybe she’s no longer in danger, but I want to make sure of that. And second, I want the name of the person who ordered the murders.”

  “You caught the man. It’s in the papers.”

  “We caught the people executing orders. I want the man who ordered these murders. That, and the list. Someone has to pay.”

  “And we …”

  “You stay out of sight. I personally regret that, but I’ll take the other trophy for my wall. And make no mistake, Ms. Van Tillo: where I come from, I have the reputation of always getting my trophies.”

  “This is unacceptable.”

  “I will step out of here in a moment with your promise and a name. Or I will walk right into a newspaper office and hand them the list and my story on b
ackground. The choice is yours.”

  “Hendrika, listen to me,” Vanheul said. “We have to do this. Give him the name. It means nothing. He still has no proof.” He turned to Eekhaut. “You understand that you still will have no proof, right?”

  “The name is enough. The rest of the investigation is our business. You see, I don’t ask for much. Two small favors. And total confidentiality in return.”

  “And what about the Chief Superintendent?” Van Tillo asked.

  “She has no part in this,” Eekhaut said. “That’s why she left the room.”

  “But she knows what we are discussing here?”

  “She has no part in this,” Eekhaut repeated. “I have nothing to add.”

  Van Tillo looked at Vanheul. “Can we think this over, Inspector?”

  “No,” Eekhaut said. “I want your answer right away.”

  Vanheul said, “It means nothing, Hendrika. We have other relations we can depend on. Give him what he wants.”

  Van Tillo inclined her head. “Very well, Inspector,” she said. “I want your formal promise the list will never surface.”

  “That promise you have.”

  “And we assure you we have no intentions regarding Miss Calster. She knows nothing, and so she means nothing to us.”

  “And the name?”

  Van Tillo took a deep breath. “The man who ordered the murders is Monet. Dirk Benedict Monet. I hope you’re satisfied, Mr. Eekhaut.”

  “Excellent. It was a pleasure dealing with you both. I hope the feeling is mutual. Oh, and I assume you’ll call Mr. Monet as soon as I’ve left your office.”

  “Of course.”

  “Please convey my regards. Tell him I will do everything in my power to find proof against him.”

  63

  THEY WERE OUT IN the street again. Eekhaut was studying the capricious clouds. It would rain again soon. That seemed appropriate. Amsterdam in the fall and rain. This wasn’t a city for summer or sun. It needed a cover of dark clouds, people rushing home in anticipation of rain, chaotic traffic, and department stores that were much too large as safe havens against the hostile elements. The young people who made the city their second home during the summer season, looking for cheap drugs and interesting sex, didn’t belong to the real Amsterdam.

  Dewaal lit a cigarette. He didn’t remember she smoked. But it made sense: she ate little and smoked. He would have to lecture her about her health. It was in his personal interest that she remained healthy. Soon, she would be his only ally in Amsterdam.

  She exhaled a cloud of smoke. Her hands shook a bit. “I’m completely mad,” she said. “Giving you that much space to do your thing. I must have lost my mind.”

  “You gave me the space because you wanted to. Because you need a way to solve this problem, however improper.”

  “No, I want a clean case without any legal hassles.”

  He shrugged. “There are always hassles. And by the way, this time the victims win.”

  “Really? Is that what you think? I see no winners in this game.”

  “Yeah,” he said, thinking this over. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I haven’t figured out yet how to address you properly.”

  “Keep it simple, Walter. Who gives a shit? I’m your boss for as long as you’re here in Holland. You address me using my rank. In the presence of others, you call me ‘Chief Superintendent.’ That’s the way things go from now on. Simple.”

  “Right. As you wish. What now? Do we get to question Monet?”

  She wiped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “First, we build a decent case against him. What do we have?”

  “Seems better not to discuss the details here, in the open. I feel the infernal stare of Van Tillo on my back. Don’t you?”

  They walked into a side street and found a pub, where it was quiet. “What will you have?” she asked.

  “Not one of those Dutch beers. I’ll have a Leffe Brown. I’ll stick to my home brew if you don’t mind.”

  A moment later, she returned with two Leffe Browns. “Item one,” she said. “We cannot link Monet with the murders and the assaults.”

  “We can.”

  “Oh? Can we?”

  “Consider our dear friend Mr. Tarkovski. He gave us a written statement to that effect.”

  “Which is useless and will not be permitted in court and certainly cannot be used against Monet. Walter, you have no idea—”

  “But I have.”

  “We would need Monet’s fingerprints on a murder weapon, and even then we’re not sure that he won’t just walk away.” She drank from the beer. “And you promised Tarkovski he could return to Russia. Remember? How would that sound in court?”

  “Yes, you’re right again. Funny you should remind me. But now we have two witness statements. Van Tillo and Tarkovski.”

  “Neither is usable! We won’t get Van Tillo to testify in public to what she told you, and as for Tarkovski … well, you know what he’s worth.”

  “But surely Monet doesn’t know that.”

  “Van Tillo is calling him at this very moment, and they’re having a good laugh. They know we don’t have the shadow of a case. There is no happy ending. Eileen Calster can return home, that’s one thing at least. Maybe we send Tarkovski to Russia. And that’s the end of it. Live with that, will you, Walter?” She drank from the beer again. Then she asked, “Did you find anything useful in the junk we got from Tarkovski’s apartment?”

  He shook his head. “Lacking a Russian translator, I asked the tech boys to go through his stuff. His computer files. I still hope they’ll find something. And I’m hoping for a team of translators—”

  “Don’t count on it. No budget.”

  “Then let’s hope he left some sensitive information in Dutch or English.”

  64

  DEWAAL CALLED PRINSEN ON the phone. “Nick,” she said, unaware that she was using his first name. “You should go to the safe house and pick up Eileen Calster. Do it now. You’ll find the forms you need on my desk in a yellow folder. Take a car and drive her to Groningen. To her parents. No detours, no objections on her part. The only thing she’s allowed to do is pick up some things from her apartment. She has already been informed. And take your gun with you.”

  “I’m on my way,” he said.

  He ended the call. Messenger boy, he thought. This was what having family at the AIVD meant: proving to everybody that you had no privileges. Driving a girl all the way to Groningen and having to come back as well, which meant he would be on the road for the better part of the day. And evening.

  So he drove a Honda to the safe house. The car was midsize, dark gray, and as good as new. He parked it in front of the house and walked in. He passed security after the inevitable checks. The guard phoned to the second floor. “There’s a detective down here for you, miss,” he said. He listened and then indicated to Prinsen that he could walk up.

  In the room, a lean, tall girl was waiting for him, a red nylon duffel ready on the bed. It seemed she had quickly packed her life in that bag, with still enough room for an extra life.

  “Eileen Calster?” he asked, unnecessarily.

  For a moment, she said nothing, as if she were still thinking about trusting him. Then she said, “I’m ready. Have they told you I want to pass by the apartment first?”

  “Yes, I’ve had my …” Instructions, he wanted to say, but that sounded too official and much too unfriendly. As if her life were totally subjected to instructions.

  She had very clear eyes, he noticed. “Shall I carry the bag?”

  She smiled but preferred to carry the bag herself. He took the lead, down the stairs and into the street. He opened the passenger door to the Honda. She kept the bag on her lap.

  He started the car and looked at his watch. After four already. And he had to drive all the way to Groningen. About one hundred and eighty kilometers. That would take two hours.

  He drove a couple of blocks, rememberin
g the address she had given him earlier.

  “Turn right here,” she said. She pointed. He parked the car.

  “I’ll go in with you,” he said. “I guess the apartment will be locked.”

  “They gave me a key,” she said.

  Of course they had given her a key. “I’ll accompany you anyway,” he said. “I’m not supposed to let you wander off on your own.”

  “Whatever,” she said. She got out, leaving the bag in the car. A moment later, they stood in the apartment. It was in total disarray, worse than before because of the searches. The mattress had been removed, thank God. So had the sheets and blankets. No blood in sight anywhere. The disposal team had done a good job. Traditionally, it had been left to family members to clean up after a crime, but these days the city paid for a specialized disposal team.

  She didn’t look at the bed but opened a large wardrobe, found a travel bag, and started to go through her possessions. It took her ten minutes. She collected a few things from the desk and finally looked around.

  “What happens to the apartment?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Did Pieter own it?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He rented it.”

  “Would anybody want his possessions?”

  She shrugged. She didn’t want to think about it. She clearly wanted out of the apartment as soon as possible.

  “The family will see to it,” Prinsen assured her. “It’ll be all right.”

  She glanced at him. What did he see? Gratitude? Because he cared?

  “Take me home,” she said. And that was all that was needed to be said.

  Driving was difficult, with the evening rush. Everyone wanted out of Amsterdam. It took Prinsen almost an hour to get away from the city, and then suddenly they left the traffic behind them and were driving past level fields with large farmhouses and sheep behind fences. She wasn’t in a hurry and seemed to enjoy the view.

  “So you’re a policeman,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

  “I work for the AIVD,” he said. “State security,” he explained.

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “To what do I owe the interest of AIVD?”