Judas

by Astrid Holleeder

  Wim had found himself a new family. We saw him only when he could use us.

  Life After the Attack

  1996/1997

  COR CAME BACK TO THE NETHERLANDS FROM BELGIUM AND MOVED into a villa in Vijfhuizen with a tennis court, outdoor Jacuzzi, and a shed that had been converted into a clubhouse, which Cor called the Speakeasy. There was a pool table, a huge screen displaying the horse races and every other sport he could bet on, and several fridges filled with booze.

  Family, friends, and business partners would come over to hang out with Cor every day. The party was on again. Cor was playing tennis in the morning, playing pool in the afternoon, doing some business in between. He spent the rest of the day gambling and boozing. No need to go out; he had his own private club.

  Ever since the attack, he’d avoided going to Amsterdam or any other location he had been known to visit regularly. He tried to pick up his life from where it had come to a grinding halt that horrible day on Deurloostraat.

  Life wasn’t the same, though.

  The previous attack had failed, but at any moment someone could be coming to finish the job.

  He constantly calculated where, when, and how a shooter might appear, and he took some extraordinary measures: using an armored car with a chauffeur to drop him off at a certain place and pick him back up so he wouldn’t be on the street any longer than necessary, avoiding fixed patterns, never remaining in one place for too long, not making any appointments up front, traveling separately from the children as much as possible, having the bottom of the car checked for bombs. All of it became a part of life after the attack.

  Being with Sonja and the children could no longer be taken for granted. Cor’s presence had become risky for them. Sonja thought it was too dangerous to be living in a house with him. So she lived in Amstelveen and Cor spent most of his time in Vijfhuizen with his entourage—a group of trusted friends. One was his chauffeur, another got groceries and cooked, yet another took care of the garden while Cor stayed in the Speakeasy, drinking, gambling, and doing business.

  Sonja and the children would often spend the day with him, and he’d spend the night with them regularly, but they were careful never to follow a pattern.

  On the night of October 6, 1997, Sonja and Cor were asleep at the Amstelveen house, four-year-old Richie in between them as always. At five a.m., they were awoken by a huge bang: the front door was being kicked in.

  “Police! Police!” Within moments, a SWAT team pulled Cor out of bed and put a sack over his head.

  Sonja had recently taught little Richie never to put a sack over his own head, even in play. “No, no, no, he’ll choke! Mommy, Daddy is choking!” he screamed.

  “You—go downstairs, sit on the couch, and stay there,” Sonja was ordered.

  She took Francis and Richie downstairs and sat down on the couch. She couldn’t touch anything or make any calls.

  “Do you have any money or weapons in the house?” one of the investigators asked.

  “No,” Sonja said.

  “Yes, we do!” Richie exclaimed. He jumped off the couch, went to the closet, and pulled a stack of money out from underneath the clothing. “That’s Daddy’s!” he said when the investigator took the money away.

  Around the same time Sonja had her front door kicked in, my telephone rang.

  “This is supervisory judge J. M. speaking. We are with your brother Willem at the moment, and we can’t get ahold of his lawyer, Bram Moszkowicz, to represent him. He requested we call you for assistance.”

  “What? Now?” I asked in surprise.

  “Yes, as soon as you can, please. We can’t wait very long,” he replied.

  “All right, I’m on my way,” I said, angry. Great. I was trying to avoid being linked to him. Now everyone at the courthouse would see me as his consigliere.

  Such disgrace.

  To make matters worse, I happened to know supervisory judge J. M.; I’d been in his court for an arraignment shortly before. My reputation as a lawyer would be ruined, but I couldn’t refuse Wim, either. Couldn’t he show a little respect for my life, my world, just this once?

  I drove to Wim’s apartment on Van Leijenberghlaan. When I got there, I identified myself and was let in. The supervisory judge was at work in the living room and looked up when I came in. There I was, Holleeder’s little sister, who came running the moment her big brother called.

  Wim was standing in the middle of the room. Maike was there with him. It was an awkward situation. I’d always wanted to keep my professional life separate from my private life, and here I was practicing my profession in a private setting. Nevertheless, the supervisory judge played dumb and behaved like a professional. “Your brother is under suspicion of money laundering and participating in a criminal organization dealing in hash—”

  “He’s talking about Cor!” Wim interrupted, and I thought, How can he say that with the Justice Department right there in front of him? Splitting up doesn’t mean being more loyal to the Justice Department than to Cor, does it?

  “You may observe, but you may not interfere in any way,” the supervisory judge said to me, as though he hadn’t registered Wim’s remark.

  “Of course,” I said. I thought, Cor is a suspect, too, so they’ll be at Sonja’s house. How would she be holding up? The children? Cor?

  The supervisory judge asked Wim, “Do you own a car?”

  “Yes, it’s downstairs,” Wim replied.

  “May we have the keys? We want to search the car.”

  Wim handed over the keys and told me, “Go downstairs with them. Keep an eye on them.”

  I walked to the car that was parked on the street. The officers opened the trunk and took out a bound pile of documents. It was a city council report on plans for the red-light district.

  I was startled. Having this found with him was extremely inconvenient, considering the rumors that already surrounded his activities in the red-light district. This might be the confirmation. Back upstairs, the search was finishing up. When everyone left, I stayed behind with Wim and Maike.

  “It’s all because of that big fat dog—he had to get into hash,” Wim said, irritated. “All I got from that guy is misery. I thought I got rid of him, but he still gets me in trouble.”

  I was really annoyed with the way he put Cor down in Maike’s presence—he was no saint, either. His association with real estate brokers hadn’t turned him into a law-abiding citizen. He still hung out with the major Dutch drug lords—what difference did it make if they were called Cor van Hout or Mieremet and Klepper?

  I left him and drove straight to Sonja’s. There was no need to ring the doorbell. The front door was gone.

  Inside was havoc, and she was busy cleaning up the mess. Richie came running to me.

  “Assie, Assie, the cops took Daddy away!”

  “Did they now, son?” I asked.

  I told Sonja, “I’ve just come from Wim’s. They were there as well.”

  “Where is Wim now?” Sonja asked.

  “At home. He didn’t have to go with them.”

  Francis came into the room and we hugged. “How are you, honey?” I asked. She looked pale. Her cheeks were tearstained.

  “Oh, Assie, I was so scared. I heard a bang and noise downstairs. At the same time, I heard people on the roof. I thought they were attacking us from everywhere and were coming to kill us. I tried to hide in my closet, but there were already two masked men pointing their guns at me. I only found out they were cops then. I was ordered to stay on my bed, but all I could do was cry. I yelled that I wanted to go to Mom and Dad. That’s when I ran to their bedroom. They’d put a sack over Dad’s head, and Mom was screaming. Richie stood next to the bed, crying—he was shaking all over.”

  I held her tight to calm her down. She’s the second generation to be traumatized by a police raid. From then on, she’d always remain on alert at night.

  “Are you mad at your dad because this happened?”

  “No,” Francis said. “I fe
lt bad for him having the sack over his head. He could only wear a T-shirt, and they took him away in his underwear. They jerked him around, yelled at him. He just said, ‘Take it easy, I’m cooperating!’ It was horrible.”

  “I was really lucky, though,” she went on optimistically. “My girlfriend was supposed to stay over, but she canceled at the last minute. Imagine the fright she’d have gotten if she’d been here?”

  “That is lucky for sure,” I replied. “She’d have been traumatized for life.”

  “I might have gotten expelled,” Francis said.

  Poor Francis. As a fourteen-year-old she didn’t want to stand out at school and was trying to lead as normal a life as possible while her father brought all kinds of madness home, and she couldn’t really blame him for it.

  “Did you call Bram Moszkowicz yet?” I asked Sonja.

  “Yeah, he’ll go to the police station as soon as he can.”

  Cor was taken into custody during an investigation named City Peak, which had started out as a search for the vanished Heineken ransom but was changed into possession of drugs and firearms. Sonja and the children entered another era of prison visits.

  Again, Cor made the best of a bad situation. Before every visit, Sonja would buy two tiny bottles of baby shampoo, rinse them out, fill them with Bacardi, stick these into her armpits, and smuggle the booze inside. She’d done the same thing during his previous jailtime; only then she’d used milk cartons, which she’d hand over to the guards.

  Cor got through his sentence just fine.

  During the investigation, it became public that the first attack on his life had been recorded on video. The Justice Department had filmed it themselves but had held the video back.

  “It’s fucking unbelievable. They keep getting me back in for a composite drawing, and the whole time they’ve had images of the culprit,” Sonja said.

  According to the Justice Department, release of the video would have compromised the investigation into Cor van Hout. The investigation into his involvement with hash trafficking turned out to be more important than solving the murder attempt on Cor and his family. Cor and Sonja filed a preliminary injunction for the release of the tape, and Cor publicly offered a reward for any tips on the culprit.

  The court wouldn’t go there, though: showing the images would compromise the privacy of those who’d agreed to have police cameras put up in their homes.

  “I don’t care where the camera was. I just want to see his face. Even a tiny picture would do, just so I can see who it was,” Cor protested.

  No, he and Sonja couldn’t see who had shot at them. “That’s how it is, Assie. They’d rather have us gunning each other down,” Cor said when he called me to thank me for being at the preliminary injunction to show moral support.

  In the end, Cor was sentenced to four and a half years in jail, but he was to be released at the end of 1999. He’d cut a deal with the prosecutor, Fred Teeven.

  “Cor wants you to come visit,” Sonja said.

  “Sure, I’ll come with you next time,” I said.

  “No,” she said, “he wants you to come as his lawyer. There’s something he wants to discuss with you.”

  I’d never visited Cor as a lawyer before. When Wim made me turn up for the search and seizure, I failed at my attempt to keep my work and private life separate. I’d let go of the illusion I’d ever be regarded as separate from my family. I strictly kept to advocacy regulations, and otherwise, people could think what they pleased. Cor had never asked me for anything, so it had to be important. That’s why I went.

  At the time, he was imprisoned in the town of Zwaag. I met Cor in the lawyers’ room. We sat facing each other, whispering.

  “I’ve made a deal,” he said. “I was set up, Assie, in multiple ways, and I know how it went down. I want you to know about it. But you can’t tell anyone—as a lawyer, you’re bound by a duty of confidentiality.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve never told anybody anything.”

  “I know, but that’s not what it’s about,” Cor said. “It’s about you being able to invoke your duty of confidentiality toward the Justice Department at all times.”

  “Got it,” I answered, and Cor started talking. After our conversation, I kissed him goodbye. “I’ll be home soon, Assie. See you soon.”

  “Well?” Sonja asked. “What did he want to see you about?”

  “I can’t tell you, Son. I’m bound by a duty of confidentiality,” I said.

  “Whatever—you can still tell me, right?”

  “No,” I answered.

  “Oh, come on, As. We’re talking about my husband here.”

  “I know, but I have to honor my duty of confidentiality no matter what.”

  After Cor went to prison, Wim, who’d stayed out, started showing up at Sonja’s door again.

  After the failed attack, it was to be expected that Cor wanted revenge. He’d been buying guns and had stocked up a considerable armory, and he’d had a soundproof basement constructed in which he’d been practicing shooting with a select club.

  When Wim found out, this danger had to be averted at all costs, and he and his cronies ensured that the cops knew about the guns. Through someone in Cor’s entourage, they’d also discovered he was dealing drugs, and this information was leaked as well.

  Wim had killed two birds with one stone: he’d drawn attention away from his investments with the Heineken ransom, and disarmed his opponent.

  It was typical of Wim—if he couldn’t get rid of you with bullets, he’d do it through the Justice Department.

  Sonja didn’t want to see Wim anymore. For a long time, she’d hoped Cor was wrong in claiming Wim had switched sides. There was no denying it now. She’d often hear from others how he was partying with Klepper and Mieremet. Wim kept denying he was close to the enemy, but at the same time he was friendly enough with them to keep asking Sonja for videotapes for Mieremet’s son Barry. Cor told her to let Wim come over and to hear him out.

  Cor had been inside for some time when Sonja went to visit him. Afterward, she came to me.

  “Guess what?” she said the second she saw me.

  “What?”

  “Cor was planning to sell the Achterdam, but the buyer was warned off. He got a visit from Mieremet, Klepper, and…who else do you think?”

  “I have no idea,” I replied.

  “Wim!” she exclaimed. “He made Klepper tell the buyer that the Achterdam was theirs and he should keep his hands off. While showing Klepper out, this guy saw Wim quickly moving to hide behind a tree. Too late, he’d been spotted. Well, what do you say about that?”

  “That’s bizarre,” I said. “Now what?”

  “Now the buyer has backed out. But Cor says that’s not the point. It’s about Wim, showing what he’s all about. He wants to take whatever Cor has.”

  “Cor would never allow that to happen, right?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. For now, I’m glad he’s still inside. This can’t end well.”

  That wasn’t the only reason to await Cor’s release in suspense, though…

  The Second Attempt

  2000

  THE fiRST ATTEMPT ON COR’S LIFE HAD FAILED. AND BECAUSE IT HAD failed, it was certain there would be a second try. Cor knew Mieremet had tried to liquidate—or assassinate—him, and Mieremet must have expected revenge from Cor’s side, especially because his wife and child had been with him. It was only logical that Mieremet would now try to beat Cor to it.

  The question was who’d be the first to go.

  Still, time went by and nothing happened. Cor was released at the end of 1999.

  By then, Wim had joined forces with Endstra, Mieremet, and Klepper full on. I hardly ever saw him.

  Until he suddenly reappeared at my door.

  In the middle of the night, I was startled awake by the doorbell. I was afraid to open up until I recognized our family ring: two short, one long. I opened the door and saw Wim standing there.

  “Put on you
r shoes. We’re going outside.”

  “What? It’s the middle of the night. I have a fever. I shouldn’t even be outside. I’m ill.”

  “Come outside, it’s urgent. Or do you want me to wake the neighbors?”

  “I’m coming already, for God’s sake.”

  “Listen up. Do you know where Cor is living?” he asked in a friendly tone.

  I was on my guard right away. “I wouldn’t know,” I said.

  “Listen,” he whispered, “I need to know where he’s staying. It’s extremely important, because Mieremet won’t back off. I can only protect Sonja if you tell me. Otherwise they’ll just launch a rocket into her house and they’ll all be dead. The children, too.”

  “But I told you I don’t know.”

  “You’re with Sonja all the time, right,” he insisted. “Now do as I say. I’m not kidding. The Mieremet crew is deadly as fuck. They’ve iced dozens. They’ll do it just for kicks. And he’s really pissed them off.”

  “Listen up: I don’t want anything to do with that stuff.”

  “Listen up?” he hissed into my ear. “You don’t tell me to ‘listen up.’ Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you can tell me what to do? You’ll do as I say, or every fucking person dies. A rocket is going in there and you can put the pieces of your sister back together. Take your choice. If you don’t, then you’ve killed them! You hear me? You’ve killed them. It’s on you!”

  He had me cornered.

  I knew full well Mieremet was mad, and I also knew Mieremet wouldn’t leave it at this. I’d heard about the violent methods Mieremet and Klepper used and how easily they applied them.

  When we were in Cannes, Mieremet’s sister-in-law was there as well, and Cor told me Mieremet had done her husband, too, just for hitting her.