Judas

by Astrid Holleeder

  With him inside, I finish making my confidential statements. It’s nice not to have to be so alert on my way to the appointed location.

  We’ve become grateful for small favors.

  I’m in my car when Sandra calls me. After forty-four days, he is already being released. Once again, he’s a free man.

  It’s all starting again.

  Part IV

  Diary of a Witness

  2014

  The Order Is Issued

  WIM HAS SANDRA CALL ME AND ASK IF I’LL COME AND SEE HER—WHICH means him. As soon as I get there, he takes me outside. He wants to know how Sonja reacted to the two messages I was supposed to pass on to her.

  The first was about how he has to ride his scooter when it rains and the visibility is poor, so he runs the risk of having an accident. That is her fault because she won’t give him Richie’s car. The message is “If I fall off that scooter and I’m hurt, I’ll kill Francis and her son, what a fucking tramp. So I have to ride like this? You tell her. Tell her that I’m really mad. That I don’t care, that she’ll have to wait and see, but that if I fall off, I’ll kill one of her kids.”

  In the same conversation, he repeatedly threatened to kill Sonja herself. I delivered the message.

  “And?” he asks.

  “She can’t hand over the car. She’s sold it.”

  This really gets him going. She doesn’t do what he tells her to? While he is threatening her children? He’s surprised. He figured Sonja doesn’t take chances where her kids are concerned. That’s the regular pattern and he’s used to it: she does what he tells her to. And that would have happened now, if Sonja and I hadn’t agreed not to give in so we could record his reaction.

  “Who did she sell it to?”

  I tell him she’s not going to tell him. “Because you’ll go and see the person.”

  I see him thinking: More disobedience from Sonja? What is she up to?

  I tell him that I have delivered the message about killing her and her kids and that Sonja replied that she just doesn’t care anymore because she has been terrified her whole life.

  Then I tell him Sonja’s reaction to the second message, which was that if Francis’s earlier remark would lead to his imprisonment for the murder of Cor, he would pull Sonja down with him, and he would tell the Justice Department that she had him kill Cor.

  Sonja’s reaction: “Why do you think Cor lived so long? Because I always warned him.”

  He didn’t expect this. He’s quiet for a while. “Fucking tramp, isn’t she?” he says, sounding surprised.

  “No, but I get it now. She has played a double game all this time,” I reply.

  He can’t believe it and mutters, “No?!”

  I see doubt in his eyes. He never saw through Sonja’s double role in all those years. He’s totally unhinged. He can’t believe that Sonja has had a hidden agenda all this time and didn’t always live by his rules. At the same time, he knows like no other what a double game is.

  “Can you believe this bitch?”

  He suddenly realizes he hasn’t been in charge all this time and may not be now. When she talked to Cor about him without him knowing, who else did she talk to? He has experienced this before. The threats became too much for his victims so they resorted to desperate measures and went to the Justice Department. Is it possible? Sonja, who had remained silent all this time?

  He feels he is losing control and wants to avoid every chance of being played by Sonja in the future. “I want you to tell her one more thing: Go nowhere near my family…and tell her she means as much to me as my little brother Gerard.”

  Wim and Gerard haven’t seen each other in years. Wim has written him off. He says it’s a matter of time and money before it’s his turn (gun gesture).

  So now he has also written off Sonja, and I understand her fate. “Tell her I’m done with it.” Which means, Look over your shoulder and fear for your life.

  It makes him insecure that he has just found out that Sonja has played her own game all these years. It means that she may also try to establish her own position and betray him to the police.

  His face shows a tortured look. He stops, stands still, then bends over and whispers in my ear. “If she talks about Cor, she’ll have a problem.” It’s the only time I have heard him say Cor’s name. I do hope my equipment has recorded this, I think while he keeps talking.

  But I want more than this reaction on tape. He and I know exactly what he means, but somebody else listening to the tape won’t. I have to make it clearer for the listener what we are discussing here, what we are talking about. But I don’t want to clarify it myself, because he could later say that I provoked him and that his statements on tape aren’t worth anything. So when he says about Sonja that she’s a bitch, I just say briefly, “You’ll get into more trouble because of her.”

  He and I know what “trouble” is: being convicted for Cor’s murder after all.

  Those few words of mine were enough to get him back to discussing the way he treats snitches to the police: “I’ll tell you, As, I just have to take care of that immediately.”

  He made his pistol gesture with his hand. It’s a sign that makes him untouchable to the Justice Department. For his whispering I have more or less found a solution by using the bugging equipment, but I can’t record a gesture. And I can’t record the meaning we ascribe to the gesture. So I confirm its meaning in my own words: “No, you shouldn’t do that, Wim. You’d never be able to live with that.”

  His reaction is typical. “Yes, I can. I can’t live with it if I don’t.” I need more, so I point out the risks of another liquidation in the face of the Justice Department.

  “And you know then you’ll end up with another loose end,” I say.

  “I don’t care.”

  He doesn’t say, “What do you mean, ‘loose end’?” or “What are you talking about?” No, a loose end doesn’t interest him and he is willing to take the risk of hiring a contract killer—and having a possible witness. His determination scares me, and I try to lessen the threat to Sonja. If he gets his way over the car, he might not judge her so harshly. He might be more lenient toward her.

  But it appears to be an idle hope.

  “You have to tell her that she cannot, she is not allowed to anymore! It doesn’t matter anymore. And tell her also that I know she hasn’t sold it.”

  I get frightened, because I’ve heard those words “not allowed” before. That’s what he said in January 2004, the year Endstra was liquidated. Endstra “was not allowed to pay anymore.”

  The message is loud and clear, but Wim takes it further and stretches the parallel with Endstra. He thinks Sonja is already talking to the police. “Take it from me: people who act like that talk to the police.”

  “Well, I would be very surprised, Wim. How would she end up there? It’s impossible. I don’t believe it.”

  He stops me by standing in front of me, and bends toward my ear: “I don’t care, you know. [Whispering] I’ve already given the order.”

  My pulse quickens. “Okay.”

  “It’s fine with me. If that’s what she will do. Bye [pistol gesture].”

  I went home immediately to find out if I’d been able to record his voice, and better yet, his whispering. I asked Cor to help me, as I often did. He was always there, in the background, with everything we did to get Wim sentenced for his murder; he always gave us the strength to continue by sending us a sign. Call it superstition, call us crazy, but if we were down or lost, something always happened that made us feel that he was there and doing his utmost to support us. Sometimes it would be a rose inexplicably left on the doorstep of Sonja’s house in times of terrible stress; or it could be a particular song, a gust of wind through the room, the lights going on and off. That convinced us he was still there.

  And now I needed him again, badly.

  “Let it be successful, please let it be a success.” My prayer was answered; I could hear the whispers. I even heard him say Cor
’s name. Finally, he mentioned a name. Would this at last be enough for a conviction for Cor’s death?

  I was happy with the recording, but at the same time very worried about its content. He’d already given the order for Sonja?

  The way he stood there in front of me, the look in his eyes, and the coldness in his voice, the whispering.

  I had to see her immediately.

  But first I needed to find a spot in the house where I could keep this recording, so vital to me, without anyone being able to find it.

  In the end I decided to take the recording to Sonja’s to let her hear what he had said.

  “Sis, you really have to watch out from now on,” I told her when I got there. “He said that he has already given the order for you.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Sonja. “Why?”

  “He’s afraid you might talk to the police.”

  “Does he know?” she asked in shock.

  “No, I don’t think so, but he’s afraid. He sees a connection between talking to the police and the extortion of the film rights. Or he said it to throw sand in my eyes on purpose, and knows full well that we have already talked.”

  “No, because then he wouldn’t say anything to you about it,” said Sonja. “And now? What should I do?” she asked, panicked.

  “He must never get the impression that we talk to the police. But you know how he is—if he thinks it, then he has found confirmation in his own head.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Act as normal as you can. If you start behaving differently all of a sudden, that’s his confirmation that you talked.”

  “As, I can’t handle this any longer,” she cried softly.

  “I know,” I said. “I do have some good news, though.” I tried for a light, joking tone.

  “What’s that?”

  “I have it all on tape, so if something should happen to you, I can let them hear him giving the order.”

  “Well, at least that’s something,” she said flatly.

  The Pit

  AFTER FEELING TERRORIZED FOR MONTHS, SONJA AND I HAVE AGREED to meet with Wim. We’ve come to the agreed-upon meeting place. From here, we will follow his car. He’s driving ahead of us toward a dark park.

  Sonja is scared. Shortly before, Wim had asked Mom for Sonja’s current address—she wasn’t sleeping at home, for safety reasons—but she had refused to give it to him, afraid that he would do something to Sonja. Wim was furious with “the old one,” she was a fucking bitch. Earlier he had visited Sandra. She was sleeping, and when she woke up, a man wearing a helmet was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at her. He scared her and asked for Sonja’s address. She had contacted us immediately.

  After seeing my mom, he came to me. I didn’t know it, either; I never look at house numbers. We were all on alert.

  Wim asked me to call her because he wanted to resolve the conflict about the film rights. Sonja and I meet him at the agreed-upon place in Laren, and he gestures us to follow him. He parks in a neighborhood on the edge of a moor.

  S: “Where’s he taking us? He’s not going in that spooky forest, is he?”

  He shows us where to park. We stop the car, get out, and walk toward him. He’s on the side of the road pissing, as usual. A conversation follows about a buddy who was arrested with eighty thousand euros on him and whether this might affect him. Sonja walks behind us, because she can’t know what Wim and I are talking about.

  W: “Nice out here, isn’t it?”

  I don’t like it at all. I find it a very scary place, unsafe, but I try to keep the mood easygoing.

  A: “Lovely! Good choice! Nice place.”

  As if he doesn’t know that Sonja is following us like a slave, because he specifically insisted she come, he says to her:

  W: “How did you get here?”

  A: “Ha-ha, just popped up out of nowhere.”

  W: “How is that possible? I suddenly see you again.”

  S: “Yep, it’s me again, that pain in the ass.”

  Then the question:

  W: “Hey, what’s your house number where you live?”

  S: “Why, it’s two twenty-six. You should know that by now.”

  W: “I keep forgetting. Two twenty-six.”

  S: “Will you come to my door again?”

  And then, pretending to be funny:

  W: “No…it’s for when I come and get you.”

  S: “If you want to come for me, yeah.”

  A: “Ha-ha.”

  I’m still trying to keep the mood light, but I don’t trust it. What will happen here?

  S: “Yes, that’s it.”

  W: “I have to know that.”

  S: “Yes, I thought as much, I think. Hey, what’s going on here?”

  I keep laughing loudly because I’m so nervous. We’re in a secluded place. I don’t feel comfortable at all in this leafy environment. He’s toying with her fear, playing with his prey. Things could get really serious all of a sudden. I’m always afraid that I won’t see it coming. Then he says to her, smiling:

  W: “Come here. I have this spot here.”

  S: “Yes.”

  A: “Ha-ha.”

  S: “I wouldn’t be surprised with you. I swear, you’re mad…”

  I hear panic in Sonja’s voice, right through her faked lightness.

  A: “Ha-ha.”

  S: “Yes, really, I do, you know…”

  W: “Dig.”

  A: “Please don’t think that I’m playing a game here, Box.”

  I’m afraid Sonja thinks that I set her up. She does think so, briefly.

  S: “No, yes, I will—”

  W: “Both of you, dig.”

  S: “Now I’m really starting to get scared, you two…”

  W: “No need, you won’t feel a thing. Two seconds’ work.”

  A: “Are you kidding, you’re my darling sis.”

  S: “I don’t care anymore…”

  W: “Yeah, it doesn’t matter anymore, but when it gets closer, everything’s different.”

  Another threat. I keep laughing. We keep walking. It’s pitch dark, I’ve never been here. He knows the way. He starts moaning about the film again. I don’t like the location. I try to act silly.

  A: “Ouch, I almost stepped into your hole, Wim.”

  S: “Ha-ha.”

  W: “No, that’s farther along.”

  They’re supposedly jokes, but under these circumstances…What is he going to do?

  A: “Can we please stop about those film rights?”

  W: “Why stop? Why do we always have to stop, when it’s your fault?”

  A: “Hey [and together with Sonja] ‘your fault’—both of us? Ha-ha.”

  I keep laughing, but I can think only one thing: that I am exposed, that he’s onto me. He realizes I am unconditionally faithful to Sonja. He counts me among his adversaries; I’m persona non grata. Desperate to get away, I say,

  A: “Hey, piss off. I’m going to my car. You fight this out between you.”

  S: “No, you’re not leaving me here alone with him, you hear?”

  W (jokingly): “Come on, I have one pit, just one.”

  Relief again. I’m still in his good books. He keeps talking. Peter extorted him, and so he reported him.

  W: “Just have to tie my other shoelace.”

  He kneels. I’m overcome by a weird feeling of panic. I look around me.

  A: “I meant to say, is this some kind of signal?”

  He just laughs…

  W: “I’m looking for this pit…I’m just looking…”

  Pff. I’m relieved.

  A: “You need more light? I have a little flashlight somewhere. My guess is you’re in the wrong forest; this is the gnome forest.”

  W: “Well, I’m not going to start digging again. We’ll come back next week.”

  S: “I’m not coming back here, that’s for sure.”

  W: “Let’s just forget about this, but don’t think you’re smart now, okay?�
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  A: “Is it solved now?”

  W: “We’ll stop. Let’s try and act normal. No more lies, Boxer. And when I say do something, then you do it. Got time tomorrow?”

  Now the cat is out of the bag. She has to do something for him, something he doesn’t want to do himself. This theater of fear was conducted so he could be sure she wouldn’t refuse him. He can use her again for a while.

  While we’re leaving, he drives past our car. I open the window and he calls out—as some kind of finale to this horrible evening—“Boxer, I will leave the pit open. I’m leaving it open, you hear?”

  The Counterattack

  THE THREATS TO SONJA REACHED THEIR PEAK IN MARCH 2014: SHE went into hiding again at Francis’s.

  We couldn’t think of anything to do other than tell Wim that she had taped all the conversations they’d had—as insurance on her life. And that if anything should happen to her or her kids, or to Peter, those tapes would end up with the police.

  She’d land him with a life sentence.

  I passed that on. He was briefly disturbed. He hadn’t seen this coming. He concluded that Sonja is so stupid that she would have had to do this with someone else. She couldn’t have thought of this, couldn’t have the proper equipment.

  Usually when somebody does something he doesn’t like, he explodes. But it’s different when it’s really about something that can get him into trouble. Then he remains cool and collected, analyzes the situation right away, and thinks up a strategy. A counterattack.

  After I told him, he stopped and stood still, right in front of me. His eyes seemed to look right through me.

  My heart beat in my throat. God, he was onto me! I had pushed this game too far; he would frisk me on the spot and find the recording device.