But I didn’t come to play games. I was in this elevator for a reason, I reminded myself. Don’t choke now. I needed to break the silence, for Cor.
The elevator stopped on the second floor and the doors opened. I walked with her, and Michelle knocked on a hotel room door. Again, I was afraid I might see a familiar face. What if I were to meet the rat Wim got his information from? What if this person was tempted to mention at the dinner table or in a bar that he or she had met with “his sister”?
All these thoughts raced through my head just before the door opened.
A tall, redheaded young woman asked me to come in. Thank God she didn’t look familiar, and her accent betrayed she was from out of town. She wasn’t someone who’d be in contact with Wim. She was too ordinary.
She extended her hand. “I’m Manon. Good of you to come,” she said, but she didn’t reassure me. My God, what was I doing here? I totally froze, and the thought that I was breaking Wim’s rule to never speak with the police grabbed me by the throat. I felt I would suffocate.
“Would you like a drink?” the woman asked.
“Some water, please,” I replied.
I could feel that my mouth was dry from the tension, and I was breathing irregularly and superficially. I wanted to let go of my thoughts, but I was flooded by negative experiences with the Justice Department that had fed my suspicions against them. My family’s potential reactions to my decision to even talk with them ran through my mind.
“You think the department will believe what our family relations are really like? They have a whole different outlook. They see us as a secluded mobster family. They might think that Wim sent you, to play a game. And if they do want to believe you, you will only be used by them. Look at how they set up Thomas van der Bijl. He testified against Wim, they offered him no protection whatsoever, and he was killed not long afterward. Or say you succeed, and he goes to prison for good? Then what? You know he will have you assassinated if you talk, no matter what. And will they protect you? The Justice Department is just as bad as Wim. Why would you do it? We are scum to them. They’ll do nothing for you. They’ll think of you in the same way they think of Thomas’s wife, Caroline van der Bijl. Her husband risked his life and died for testifying against Wim, but when they speak of her, the DA calls her ‘that whore from Gelderse Kade.’ Do you think they see you differently because you are a lawyer? You are a Holleeder!”
They were right. Since the Heineken kidnapping, the surname Holleeder automatically reminded everybody of Wim, and, worse, people thought I was just like him.
The Justice Department had included me, along with the rest of my family, in his posse and in the criminal world. I was included in every investigation into Wim or Cor. They bugged my phone, raided my house, and confiscated my stuff.
“Good of you to come,” Manon said once more, interrupting my train of thought. “We heard there is a threat, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is—there is a threat.” I pulled myself together. “But that’s not why I’m here. The problem is not the threat; it’s the cause.”
I was laughing internally. These people really had no idea what our lives were like. We had been living with threat for so long, we didn’t know any better. We were not about to whine about that.
“The cause?” asked Michelle.
“Yes, the cause. My brother.”
“Your brother? Which one? You have two, right?”
“I mean Wim,” I said. “You know who I’m talking about, right?” Yes, they sure did, and so we arrived at the subject we were all there for. I was about to put right the distorted image of our family. “If my brother didn’t always cause so much misery, we wouldn’t have a problem. But he keeps on going. And it’s only natural that there will be retribution.”
“It must be really hard on you,” said Michelle, but I could read on her face what she really thought: You have always backed your brother and now that he’s bothering you, you come here complaining?
But she was wrong about that. Wim had been a problem ever since I could remember, but we could handle it. We always solved our problems our own way, and didn’t need the Justice Department to do it for us. In fact, interference by them would only make things worse. I didn’t want anything from them; on the contrary, I came to give the Justice Department something. All they had to do was their job as an investigation service.
“We are used to it, but it’s about time it stopped. This man is a permanent menace to the public order.”
Before I continued, I brought up their responsibility to me. “I’m taking a huge risk by talking to you. You should know that if my brother finds out, it could only have come from you. If this conversation is leaked in some way, I won’t survive that. My brother knows what I know of him and about him, and he will not hesitate to have me assassinated.”
I noticed they didn’t take my words very seriously. I was his sister, right? The only image they had of life in the underworld was apparently based on what they saw in mobster films like The Godfather. Films where the paterfamilias could never muster any love or compassion for anybody except his own family.
But our life was no Godfather movie, no romantic portrait of a criminal family; it was a harsh reality in which one person made life miserable for the rest. If they couldn’t see that, I would not continue talking. The conversation would end.
“No,” they hurriedly said, “we fully understand. You really don’t have to worry. Apart from the district attorney Betty Wind, nobody knows about this meeting, and no one will ever know.”
“I certainly hope so,” I said, “because my life would be at risk. Everything is different from what you think. To us, but also to everybody else, not being in his good graces means that you are against him. And if you are against him, you know what will happen. Wim makes no exceptions because we happen to be family. On the contrary, because we are, he expects more than unconditional loyalty. But our supposed loyalty is not based on love; it is forced by pure fear. That loyalty is always focused on him, it’s never mutual—he betrays us whenever he sees fit.”
I explained that people always thought of us as one big happy family with Wim at its center and assumed that we shared the same values and principles, but that the reality was totally different and that all the other family members thought the same thing: namely, that Wim was a monster.
The women were surprised. They hadn’t pictured our “close family” this way. But they wanted to move on. They had understood that I was also able to testify about the crimes he had committed, and they asked if I could tell them about those. I could, but I wouldn’t—not at this point. I first wanted to see what kind of people I was dealing with.
I had planned, in this first meeting, to give them insight into my family relations but not give them anything substantial about any criminal activities. Should there be a leak, they could only leak that I thought he was a psychopath and an asshole to the family. I could always say they were lies meant to pit us against each other. But if I gave information about one of the liquidations, he’d know that came straight from me.
But maybe I could give them some idea about what subjects I could discuss, they suggested.
“I can say that we’re talking about very serious matters,” I answered.
Maybe I could talk about those matters next time?
“Maybe,” I said. “First I have to talk with my sister. If she won’t testify, I won’t either.”
They said they would like to meet me again, and that in the meantime they would talk to their superior.
As the meeting came to an end, I felt relieved. I had finally shared the truth about my family, that we weren’t Wim’s extensions and that we could think and judge for ourselves, albeit not openly. But that sense of relief disappeared almost immediately once I set one foot outside that room and reality closed in on me again. My reality, ruled by him. Ruled by fear about what I had just done—I had broken his iron law. My stomach turned. I ran down the stairs and threw up in the lad
ies’ room.
I was never going to do this again. I was never going to snitch again.
I got in my car and drove directly to Sonja’s to tell her about my conversation. She was waiting for me at the door.
“Jeez, look at you! You’re as white as a sheet! What happened? Was it that bad? Any rats there?”
“No, nothing bad, it’s all right. I’m just so nauseous. I threw up. I don’t feel well. It’ll pass,” I said.
“It’s because you talked.”
“Yes,” I said, “that was hard.”
“You think they were rats?”
“I don’t think so. You never know, of course. But I didn’t tell them anything important, anything that would indicate to Wim that I’d talked about him.”
“Good,” Sonja said. “What did you tell them?”
“That we no longer want to pay for the suffering he causes. And a bit about what he’s made of and that we are not one big happy family.”
“What was their reaction?”
“I got the impression that they were surprised.”
“What now?”
“Now I’m scared to death that he’s going to find out,” I answered.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“They want another meeting. Obviously they want to hear what I have to say in order to see if they can use it. But I’m only up for it if you are. If not, it’s no use.”
“I understand. I really want to, As. But the kids…”
“But they are already in danger. I don’t know, I have to let it sink in a bit.”
“Why don’t you go lie down,” Sonja suggested.
“No, I have to get back in case he comes over. If I’m not there, he’ll start looking for me. It’s best if I’m available.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too, sis.”
I got in my car, drove home, and got into bed.
That night, the bell rang. It was Wim. And if he was down there, it meant that I had to go down, because we didn’t talk inside. Oh, no, I thought. Was he here because he already knew? He must be!
“Hurry up!” he said. Once again, things weren’t going fast enough for him. Things never do.
“I’ll be right down,” I cried out.
I felt caught, insecure, convinced he had found out. And if he hadn’t yet, I was still afraid I would betray what I had done. I felt weak. But I knew I had to pretend nothing was going on so as not to arouse his suspicion. There was no room for weakness.
Before I went down, I quickly checked the mirror to see if he could read from my face what I had done. I had to control my nerves, because otherwise he would see that something was going on and would make sure to find out what had led to my strange behavior. He knew me inside out. Okay, the last step: straight face, and go!
“Hey, sweet brother of mine,” I said as naturally as possible.
We walked the steps toward Deurlostraat until he judged it safe to talk.
“Any news?” he asked.
Any news? It was the line practically all of our conversations started with; he was always looking for information about him or others that he could use. Possessing information about his associates, the Justice Department, and his victims is his strength. He makes it his business to know all there is to know, preferably about one of his enemies.
I was used to the question.
But this time it sounded different to my ears. It was as if he had asked, Shouldn’t you tell me that you spoke to the cops?
In the second that followed, I felt as if all my blood was draining from my body. I got dizzy and thought I was falling over. I had to keep thinking, this is anxiety, anxiety because of the realization of what I have done. But, I told myself, he knows nothing. He can’t know. Come on, As, get a grip.
“No, no news,” I answered. “All quiet on your end?”
“Yeah, but always sharp, you know?”
He told me he had spent the whole evening with a former enemy, which meant that that enemy had started to confide in him again, so he had nothing to fear.
He still trusted me with his position. Thank God—that meant he wasn’t onto me. As long as he shared his life with me, I knew I was on his good side. We discussed his night a bit longer, he had to go somewhere else, and we said goodbye.
When I got home, a huge feeling of guilt overwhelmed me. I was betraying my own brother. My brother who confided in me and who had no idea he was walking with me toward his downfall.
In the mirror, I saw tears running down my cheeks. “I hate you!” I screamed at my own image. “You’re just as bad as him!”
I didn’t know what was worse: hating him for what he had done, or hating myself for handing him over to the Justice Department.
I felt the veins in my brain compress and a huge migraine kick in, which put an end to my thoughts.
Until the next morning. When it started again.
The bell rang. Wim again.
“Assie, are you coming out to play?” he shouted up. Oh, no—now he was trying to be funny. What was happening here? He’s never funny. He was onto me. He had to be.
“Shhh,” I hissed. “Think of the neighbors. It’s seven a.m.!”
I didn’t have time to dress properly, so I grabbed yesterday’s clothes and went down. I didn’t want to keep him waiting, and I wanted to know why he was so jolly.
It was a terrible idea of mine, that meeting. I felt a deep regret. From now on, I would have to live with the fear that someday he would find out.
Why in God’s name did I want them to know what he was really like? What did I gain from it? As if these people could help us. I had given them a show, and they had briefly enjoyed our misery.
I felt awful.
“You should see Sonja,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
“Tell her to come to Gelderlandplein, at eleven a.m. I need her there for a moment.”
“All right, I’ll see to it,” I said. And I thought, Thank God, he still needs me; he knows nothing.
“I have to get out of town now. Take care of it. She has to be there. And don’t call.”
“Okay, no problem,” I said.
I got in my car and drove to Sonja’s. I let myself in and called her by the nickname Cor had given her, because of her kickboxing. “Boxer, where are you?”
“I’m still in bed,” she called.
I went to her. “You have to do something for him.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not doing anything for him anymore. Nothing good comes of it.”
“Are you going to tell him that yourself, Boxer? Because I won’t. Here, call him.”
I threw my cell phone on her bed. It was seven thirty in the morning, I had just had a giant migraine attack, and Boxer knew as well as I did that if she wasn’t at Gelderlandplein by eleven, all hell would break loose. She would break a pattern and he’d get suspicious. Because I told him I’d take care of it, his anger would be directed at me, too, and I didn’t need that right now.
“Boxer, I just spoke to the cops. Now is not the time to act all smart against him. Let’s not deviate from the regular pattern. We’ve done enough of that—I can’t take any more. So do what you normally would.”
She saw I was very tense. “Okay, I’ll go. Tell me about yesterday. How was it?”
“Well,” I said, “very scary. He’s been at my door twice since. I’m afraid he knows.”
“Knows, silly, how?”
“You never know with him, do you? The cops were two young and pretty women—for all I know they could have been rats, some women he met in a bar. I don’t know, I’m just rambling. I’m scared. I immediately got a migraine yesterday. I feel like I’m seeing ghosts.”
Sonja tried to calm me down. “He can’t know, at least not yet. Do you honestly believe he could have slept with one of them already?”
“Well, it’s possible, right?” I said. “He fucks everybody he can use, doesn’t he?”
“No,” she said, “he really
can’t know yet.”
“That’s what you say. But the appointment was made one day in advance, and what if these girls put it in their agendas for everyone to see? Box, I swear to you, I have regrets, you don’t want to know. What have I done? He’s going to kill me!”
“Take it easy, As. There’s nothing going on. He still has you do things, so don’t worry.”
“If he finds out, I’ll be dead. I’m never doing this again. I won’t talk to them anymore.”
Lawyer
1995
MY RELATIONSHIP WITH THE JUSTICE DEPARTMENT WENT BACK DECADES and was extremely troubled. I had good reason to distrust these people and to fear putting my life in their hands.
In 1988, I went back to university. I studied philosophy at first, but that didn’t work. I didn’t understand the university system, and I didn’t know anyone who had experience with it. I couldn’t even find the lecture hall, and when I finally did, I didn’t understand my classes. What were these people talking about? I felt I lacked the kind of intellect necessary for keeping up with this level of thought. I quit and started studying law.
I was convinced this had nothing to do with my family and the events surrounding the Heineken kidnapping but rather with the subjects I had studied in high school. I convinced myself that I would have gotten my degree in a language or in history if that could have paid the bills. Since Jaap hadn’t proved to be a steady breadwinner, being able to make money myself was essential to me.
I graduated in 1995; by then, my background was proving to be somewhat problematic. It occurred to me that the positions I’d aspired to originally—public prosecutor or judge—were beyond my reach because of my family background, so I decided to become a lawyer.
Through Wim’s intercession, Bram Moszkowicz wanted to give me a chance by acting as my patron, and the wonderful Bob Meijer fortunately was unprejudiced and offered me office space. With this I’d met the final conditions that enabled me to be sworn in as a lawyer.
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