The Fourth Figure

by Aspe, Pieter; Doyle, Brian;

  They say rattlesnakes are deceitful creatures, but at least they made a noise when they were about to attack. De Kee, on the other hand, was like a cobra. He attacked in silence and without mercy.

  “I can imagine Hannelore will be pleasantly surprised. She’s about to give birth if I’m not mistaken. If I were you, I would take advantage of the situation and spoil her. You know how modern women are. When they have a baby, they like to have their husband around.”

  Snakes were incapable of smiling, but the chief commissioner did his best to make up for it. Van In felt the animal gnawing at his chest. The pain was getting more and more intense.

  “So you’re sending me home,” he said flatly.

  De Kee treated him to a slap on the shoulder. Van In stoically inhaled a noseful of cheap deodorant. De Kee had bought gallons of the stuff after his girlfriend walked out on him.

  “Consider it an unexpected vacation, Pieter. Later, when things have calmed down …”

  “And the investigation?”

  The chief commissioner straightened his face, stuck out his chin, and rubbed his clean-shaven neck.

  “I’ve asked Inspector Pattyn to take charge. The man has proved capable of dealing with cases of this stature in the past and …”

  “Pattyn is an asshole,” Van In snapped. “He thinks his wife’s been taking an evening class in French these last three years.

  De Kee raised his eyebrows. “French lessons?”

  “Exactly, Chief Commissioner. She’s been sampling grapes, wink, wink, not learning French …”

  De Kee was finding Van In’s point hard to follow and it irritated him. “We have no other option, Commissioner. If you refuse to go along with my proposal, I’ll be forced to suspend you, and that can have nasty consequences for your career.”

  If Hannelore had been at home, he would probably have considered De Kee’s suggestion to take a couple of weeks to let things cool off. He might even have approved of Pattyn as his replacement, but now that De Kee was using threats, Van In was more of a mind to punch him in the nose.

  “Do you know what a doigt is, Chief Commissioner?”

  De Kee stared at him wide-eyed.

  “It’s French for ‘finger,’” said Van In.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean, Pieter?”

  Van In took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pain in his chest. “It means you can shove it, Chief Commissioner.”

  He bowed like a conductor at the end of a performance and headed for the door.

  “Have you gone mad?” De Kee shouted at his back.

  “Rather mad than sly, Chief Commissioner. Arrivederci!”

  The building shook when Van In slammed the door behind him. He raced downstairs to Room 204 without looking right or left.

  Guido could see that something had gone wrong, big-time. “Fancy a drink somewhere?” he asked.

  Dr. D’Hondt had just finished a twelve-hour shift when Jonathan was brought into emergency. A doctor from the Medical Emergency Team had managed to resuscitate him on the spot, but his condition was still critical. Just as D’Hondt was about to put on his coat and head for home, Jonathan went into cardiac arrest for a second time. The MET doctor didn’t mess about, tried the defibrillator a couple of times, and when that didn’t work, he injected adrenaline directly into the boy’s heart.

  “I think we’ve lost him,” the MET doctor wheezed after a few moments without a reaction.

  Dr. D’Hondt took off his coat and rushed to the stretcher. “We can’t give up,” he said.

  He took the defibrillator paddles from his colleague, turned the machine to maximum, and placed the paddles on Jonathan’s chest. His lifeless body convulsed and then flopped back onto the stretcher like a lead doll. The line on the defibrillator screen peaked and then flattened. D’Hondt repeated the procedure twice. When that didn’t help, he clenched his fist and thumped Jonathan’s chest with all the strength he could muster. A couple of ribs cracked like dry twigs, but the flat line peaked and peaked again, three times … four …

  The MET doctor just stood and watched. It was the first time he’d witnessed a medical miracle. D’Hondt put on his coat and headed outside. He thanked God he wasn’t a psychiatrist.

  “Dr. Coleyn has an appointment right now.”

  The petite secretary pressed her lips together and treated the man at the reception desk to a glare that read: Try to get past me! She had seen the papers, and she recognized the commissioner from the photo.

  Van In was forced to lean over. Without his glasses he was unable to read the badge that was pinned to her chest.

  “My dear,” he said in a frosty tone. “If you don’t free up Dr. Coleyn’s busy schedule for me in two minutes, I’ll be forced to have a word with the hospital director. He’s bound to call the public prosecutor, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re making beds here next week instead of manning the reception desk. Or they might just let you go for incompetence. This is a murder investigation, and if your name also appears in the paper tomorrow because you obstructed the investigation, I’m afraid there won’t be anything I can do about it.”

  The secretary scowled, reached for the phone, and punched in a number. Guido smiled. Van In was on a roll, and that meant fireworks.

  “The doctor will see you right away,” she said a moment later. She put down the phone and emerged from behind the counter. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

  “Of course I remember Miss Andries’s allegations,” said Coleyn. The psychiatrist lit a cigarette, unable to conceal his irritation, and puffed a trio of smoke rings into the air. “But I don’t see why you should keep me from my work for slanderous statements that were written off as lies twenty years ago. In fact, I’m wondering if you even have the right to question me about them, or anything else for that matter.”

  Van In could hear the man think. The article in the paper had clearly left an impression.

  “Miss Andries tried to ruin my reputation back then, but she failed. Psychiatrists are regularly confronted with accusations of that sort. Women fall in love with their caregivers. So what’s new! And when their pipe dreams are unfulfilled, they try to take revenge. It goes with the job. You should know that, Commissioner.”

  “So you’re a happily married man,” said Van In casually. He had checked up on Coleyn and discovered he was already nineteen years divorced.

  The psychiatrist tried to light another cigarette, but his lighter refused to light. He threw it onto his desk and grabbed a box of matches from a drawer. “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “So you’re divorced.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  Van In thought about Hannelore. Who was he to lecture Coleyn?

  “Are you still in touch with your ex-wife?”

  “That’s none of your goddamn business, Commissioner.”

  Van In nodded. He didn’t have a leg to stand on, and even if he could prove that Dr. Coleyn had raped Veerle Andries, the public prosecutor wouldn’t be able to bring charges against the psychiatrist because of the statute of limitations. But Coleyn knew that too, of course.

  “Perhaps Veerle Andries was your lover and—”

  Van In had gone too far. Coleyn got to his feet and placed both hands flat on his desk, something he always did when he wanted to end a conversation. “If you make a public statement about this, I’ll have your ass for slander, Commissioner. Then you’ll have your day in court twice over!”

  Van In said nothing. Now he was almost certain that Veerle Andries was once the good doctor’s lover. “A last question, Doctor.”

  A tried-and-tested tactic. If the person being questioned got irritable, it was time to ask one last question. Most of the time the answer was honest because the word last brought a sense of relief.

  “Do you know Jonathan Leman?”

  Dr. Coleyn shook h
is head, his gray locks swishing convincingly back and forth. “No, Commissioner.”

  “Venex?”

  Guido registered a momentary reaction of surprise on Coleyn’s face. Van In knew exactly what he was doing.

  “Never heard of any Venes.”

  “Venex,” Van In repeated.

  “I’m sorry, Commissioner. I can’t help you.”

  14

  While Guido was busy ordering a couple of servings of that day’s special at the hospital’s cafeteria, Van In called his in-laws on his cell phone. Not the easiest thing in the world. He felt like a German general sitting in front of an unconditional surrender with a pen in his hand.

  “Hello, Andrea?”

  Van In couldn’t think of a more appropriate name for the creature he called his mother-in-law—it literally meant “she-man.”

  “I can’t believe my ears. The nerve!”

  The usual loudmouthed fishwife. Van In held his cell phone a distance from his hear. He couldn’t stand her piercing voice. “I’d like to speak to Hanne.”

  “She’s not here.”

  Van In didn’t dare say his mother-in-law was lying. If she picked up on the slightest hint of rudeness, she would snort, hang up, pour herself a glass of port, and spend the rest of the day gloating.

  “Do you know where I can reach her?”

  “I might.” She paused for a moment and then mercilessly extinguished the tiny flicker of hope she had ignited. “And if I did, you know I wouldn’t tell you.”

  She enjoyed rubbing salt into people’s wounds.

  “Please.”

  Van In heard her cover the mouthpiece with her hand and shout to her husband: “Your son-in-law said ‘please.’”

  “Say hello from me,” Gerard Martens said with a yawn.

  “Gerard says you’re a bum.”

  Van In felt sorry for Gerard. The fact that he’d survived almost forty years with this hag was close to miraculous.

  “Say hello from me too.”

  “Is that everything?” Andrea sneered, taking full enjoyment of his temporary weakness.

  “If you see Hanne, tell her I’m sorry.”

  It wasn’t easy for Van In to confide such words to his mother-in-law, far from it, but his spontaneous apology impressed her, and when she spoke again, her words were more measured.

  “I might, if I see her, but if I were you, I wouldn’t build my hopes up. Forgiveness isn’t in the cards.”

  “I miss her,” said Van In.

  Andrea thought about her grandchild. A child needs a father. “I can’t promise anything,” she said. Her voice had softened.

  “That’s all I have to say, Andrea. Have a good day.”

  Van In hung up and made his way—suitably chastened—to the table where Guido was waiting with lunch.

  “The bitch says Hanne’s not home.”

  Guido cut off a corner of the nameless meat. Hospitals were notorious for their food. They called it sterile, and that was a good fit, in several senses of the word. Van In sat down and sipped at his lukewarm Duvel. He wasn’t planning to eat the microwaved mush on the plate in front of him, but he forked a couple of fries for show and dipped them in a splotch of clotted mayonnaise. The smell was better than the taste. He grabbed his Duvel and washed it all down.

  “What did Gerard say?”

  “That I’m a bum.”

  “So he said hello.” Guido knew how Van In communicated with his in-laws.

  “Not so loud, Guido. The hag has ears everywhere.”

  The hustle and bustle in the cafeteria drowned out the last part of his sentence.

  “What did you say?”

  “Bon appétit, Guido.”

  Statistics showed that the Bruges beguinage received more Japanese visitors than Flemish visitors. Van In and Guido both thought the same thing as they forced their way through a group of chattering Asians who were blocking the entrance to the interior courtyard while a balding tourist guide did his best to explain in broken English that Beguines were nuns without rules. They were now extinct and had been replaced by a group of respectable ladies who were able to rent the historical buildings for a pittance on the condition that they abstained from the company of men, at least after dark.

  “If my information is correct, she lives in number 18.”

  Guido had looked up Mrs. Coleyn’s address in the database. Her maiden name was Meerseman. Sophie Meerseman.

  “I wonder what she’ll have to say,” said Van In. His foot still remembered Richard Coleyn’s door, and he hoped she wouldn’t slam hers in his face.

  Sophie Meerseman was a sophisticated woman. In spite of her age—midforties—her figure was slender enough to make many a teenage girl jealous. Her rectangular face and smooth skin were graced with eyes like burnished gems. Van In wondered why Dr. Coleyn had traded such a classy chassis for a fling with Veerle Andries.

  “I’m Commissioner Van In,” he said. “And this is Sergeant Versavel. Do you mind if we come in?”

  Sophie Meerseman didn’t ask needless questions. She stepped aside and invited the gentlemen to come in. The interior of the refurbished house was a perfect match for the class that Sophie radiated. A selection of contemporary and original paintings on the whitewashed walls, polished Burgundian tiles glowing in the discreet halogen light. The place was bright and crisp. The dark oak furniture smelled of beeswax, and vases of fresh flowers filled the windows.

  “Please, take a seat.”

  Sophie pointed to a three-seater sofa with batik cushions in flamboyant colors. She was wearing a long purple dress that rustled with her every move. Around her neck, she wore a gold chain with a modern stylized ram half concealed between her breasts.

  “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

  “That would be kind of you, ma’am.” Guido smiled.

  “We’re here about your ex-husband, ma’am,” said Van In as she disappeared into the open kitchen.

  “What’s he been up to now?”

  She placed two cups under an espresso machine and pressed a button. Van In told her about the death of Trui Andries, the shooting outside the church, and the alleged rape while Sophie served the espressos together with a tray of cherry liqueur chocolates. She then sat down in an armchair and crossed her legs.

  “My ex has made a lot of mistakes in his life,” she said with a sparing smile. “I know that he’s messed around with his patients now and then, but when it comes to Miss Andries, I can be quite clear-cut. John”—she used his first name—“was only interested in beautiful women, and Miss Andries certainly did not fit the bill.”

  Van In sipped at the excellent cup of coffee. “So you admit your husband cheated on you.”

  “He cheated,” she said flatly.

  Van In detected a sadness in her eyes. “But not with Miss Andries.”

  “Veerle Andries thought John wanted her. When she got pregnant, she appeared at our door and insisted the baby was his.”

  “And you didn’t believe her.”

  “We both roared with laughter. You should know that Miss Andries was seriously psychotic. She was so frustrated that she did everything she could to attract attention, and she was prepared to do anything to achieve her goal. Another chocolate, Sergeant?” Sophie treated Guido to a seductive smile. Guido pretended not to notice and took another chocolate.

  Van In leaned back in the sofa and tried to digest the new information. The case was getting more complex by the day, and the number of possible solutions was increasing exponentially. “May I ask why you and your husband decided to divorce, Ms. Meerseman?” he asked out of the blue.

  The smile on Sophie’s lips froze. “These things happen, Commissioner,” she said evasively.

  Van In changed position, rested his chin in his hands, and looked her in the eye. “Let me put my cards on the table
, Ms. Meerseman. A number of people have been killed in the last week and until now we’ve been fumbling around in the dark. Everyone we’ve questioned has their own story to tell, and the more people we talk to, the deeper we seem to be sinking into a quagmire of lies. You seem to be an intelligent woman, so I’m hoping for once to hear the truth.”

  Van In’s candidness didn’t leave Sophie Meerseman indifferent. She had seen images of the mass shooting on TV. A ninth victim had succumbed to her injuries only the day before, a ten-year-old girl. Three bullets had ripped half her chest away. The close-up of the dying child had moved her to tears. “It’s hard for me to say this …” Her voice faltered.

  “Go on, Mrs. Meerseman.”

  “I was stretching the truth when I claimed that Veerle Andries wasn’t an attractive woman.”

  Van In nodded. He remembered the photo in Trui’s apartment. “So your husband fell in love with her.”

  Sophie had caught them together in her own bed.

  “When she got pregnant, John wanted to move in with her.” Sophie Meerseman lowered her eyes. When he’d told her, she had become hysterical and ran out of the house. She got herself drunk and then decided to look up Veerle’s mother and have a word. A ten-year-old girl had opened the door. Come in, the child had said. My sister will be home shortly.

  “Veerle and Trui’s mother was a devout Catholic. She promised she would talk to her daughter, help her see the error of her ways. She assured me I had no reason to worry.”

  Van In and Guido were all ears.

  “The woman kept her word. Veerle ended her relationship with John.”

  “And the baby?”

  Sophie shrugged. “Veerle’s mother didn’t want her to have an abortion. The child ended up in an orphanage.”

  The strength with which magnets were drawn to each other depended a great deal on the distance between them. Sophie Meerseman had maneuvered the magnets into the right position, and they had clicked together. Van In now knew who Jonathan was. He remembered Sister Marie-Louise and her story. Veerle Andries was the woman who had given birth in a department store restroom.