We helped them learn the manual to Wim as quickly as possible. “It’s best if you don’t wear that blouse. Wim wouldn’t like it.”
“That sweater is way too tight—it reveals everything.”
“Those men are staring at you. We have to get out of here.” They felt our support and confided in us.
“Please don’t tell Wim,” they would say when they’d accidentally run into a male acquaintance.
“No, of course not!” we’d say.
If there was trouble, they let off steam with us.
“I was on the phone with Wim when I saw all these little bugs creeping down my crotch,” Martine told Sonja at the kitchen table one day, while I sat there listening. “I swear, Sonja! I see them teeming before my eyes.”
“No—really? Bugs?” said Sonja.
“Yeah, bugs!” Martine said, still in shock. “So I called the doctor. You know what they are? Crabs!”
“Crabs?” Sonja asked, not familiar with the word.
“Pubic lice!” Martine replied.
“Pubic lice? What’s that?” The combination of the two words didn’t ring a bell with Sonja.
“They’re little bugs in your pubic hair, down there.” Martine clarified by pointing at her crotch.
Sonja suddenly realized and shouted, “Yuck—bugs? Where did you get those from?”
“Your brother!”
“Oh, really? How did he get them?”
“He is sleeping around!” Martine raged.
Apparently Wim’s girlfriends thought that because Wim didn’t want them to sleep around, he wouldn’t do it, either. And he didn’t, he would say, throwing his hands in the air, with these innocent, wide eyes. Even when the irrefutable evidence was crawling in Martine’s lap, he shouted that they must have come from her. He hoped for her sake that she hadn’t infected him, because then she’d have a problem. He was going to see a doctor for a checkup and didn’t want to see her for a while.
Wim’s girlfriends couldn’t prove that he saw other women. Unsure of their own observations, each could only doubt herself and thereby became an ideal partner. Ready to be controlled by Wim.
In 2003, Wim introduced Sandra den Hartog into our lives. She was the widow of Sam Klepper, who was assassinated in October 2000.
In 1999, Rob Grifhorst was about to rent a luxury apartment on Van Leijenberghlaan when Wim visited him. He had to give up the apartment because Wim’s friends Klepper and Mieremet were about to move in there. Wim already lived in the building: after he had left Beppie, he went to live there with Maike. The apartment was located across from the police station. “Very safe,” Wim joked.
Klepper and Mieremet moved in—their wives lived in Belgium—and Wim brought his new best friends fresh bread for breakfast, with the best meats and cheeses, as he used to do with Cor. After breakfast, he’d go out with Mieremet to show him the real estate he had invested the duo’s millions in, through Willem Endstra.
Wim increasingly got closer to Mieremet, whereas Klepper got more and more involved with the Hells Angels. It was similar to the division that had taken place between Cor and Wim; Mieremet and Wim focused more on the upper world, while Klepper, like Cor, preferred to spend time in the underworld.
On October 10, 2000, Klepper was assassinated on his way out of the apartment building, in broad daylight. Wim and Mieremet were having a sandwich near the new RAI Convention Center when it happened.
Sonja and Cor were in Dubai. My mother was taking care of Francis and Richie in Sonja’s house. When I heard the news about Klepper, I immediately understood that Mieremet’s posse would think that Cor was behind it as revenge for the attempt on his life, especially because he “happened to be” abroad. Making sure you are not there when the deed goes down is the best alibi.
But there was another reason why I thought Cor might have had something to do with it. Sonja lived in fear of being killed along with Cor and leaving their children alone. After the first attempt on Cor’s life, she had wanted to make it official that I’d look after Francis and Richie, to avoid other family members making claims.
Cor had no will, though; he wanted nothing to do with that. He believed that you would attract death if you made one.
But this changed just before they went on vacation to Dubai. Cor had a will drawn up. If he and Sonja were no longer there for the children, they’d be handed over to me. “That’s all right, isn’t it?” asked Sonja.
“Of course. You know that.”
I was surprised that Cor had gotten over his superstition. He was wise to do this, I thought then. But after Klepper was murdered, I immediately wondered if he had had a will drawn up because he knew what was going to happen, was expecting revenge, and, as a result, wanted to have the care of his children arranged. All this together made me think that Cor might have had something to do with it.
I was afraid of revenge. I had a clear memory of Wim’s stories about Mieremet’s gang killing our whole family if they didn’t get their way. I was scared to death that the kids would get hurt, and I knew Sonja would be just as scared when she heard what happened.
I couldn’t reach Sonja to ask her what to do, but I knew she’d count on me if it was about the safety of her kids. I drove over to my mom’s to discuss it.
“Have you heard anything?” I asked.
“No, what?” she replied.
“They killed this Klepper guy.”
Immediately I could tell she was scared. She too realized that because of all that had happened over the last couple of years, this might put the kids in danger.
“Yes, so I’d rather move you away from here. You never know whether they’ll suspect Cor is behind it, and they might come to Sonja’s house. You’d better take the kids to your own place. They won’t come to your house because Wim belongs to them. I’ll come to you, with Miljuschka.”
I picked Miljuschka up because I didn’t want to leave her with the sitter under these circumstances, and drove to my mother’s house, where she was waiting for me with Francis and Richie.
“Are you sure it’s safe here?” my mother asked. “Wim might stop by, and he’ll see the kids here. I’d rather not have them with me here.”
“But I can’t take them home with me, either, because he’ll come there, too. I’ll take them to a hotel until we know how things are,” I told her
I told the kids that we were leaving.
“Where are we going, Assie?” Francis asked.
“We’re going on a holiday,” I joked, and they understood their questions wouldn’t be answered. We were going, period.
I started my search for a safe place at a hotel a little bit out of town in Badhoevedorp, but they had no rooms left. At the next hotel, I got the same message, and again at the next one. I drove the kids from one place to another. I didn’t want to call the hotels ahead of time. I didn’t want the police listening in, hearing we were on the run, because that would only look suspicious. But no matter where I tried, there was no room. I don’t know what was going on that day, but every hotel we stopped at was booked.
It was getting late and the kids were dead tired when I made one final attempt in an ugly, filthy little hotel on Surinameplein where you wouldn’t even let your dog stay: the Belfort Hotel. I took the kids into the hotel with me, because in Amsterdam I wouldn’t leave them in the car alone.
“Do you have a room for four, please, sir?” I asked the man behind the desk, who looked as scruffy as the hotel itself.
“No, miss, just one single room left.”
“Oh, that’s fine!” I said, relieved, because at least we had something.
“No, miss, the number says it all: it’s a room for one person and not four,” he said coldly.
I saw myself leaving and spending the night with the kids in the car. “But, sir,” I begged, “please, I’m here with three kids and there are no rooms left anywhere. Please put us up for one night?”
“How were you planning on sleeping, miss? There is only one bed. The numb
er says it all: a room for one person,” he repeated.
Tears were filling my eyes at this lack of empathy, and I started sobbing uncontrollably. I was tired and frightened, and I lost my grip on myself. “Sir, I don’t know where else to go,” I cried. Richie, also tired and tense, started crying with me.
That did it for this insensitive jerk, and he cried out, “Okay, okay, but you’ll have to pay for four persons.”
“No problem,” I said, and I counted out four hundred guilders on the desk. “First floor, last door,” he said while he shoved the money in his pocket. “Here’s the key.”
I walked up with the little ones, locked the door, and stood in the middle of a doghouse: filthy, no larger than two by three meters, no shower, just a dirty little sink.
Rich threw himself on the single bed and never left it. Miljuschka tried to join him but ended up on the floor with Francis and me. The three of us were spooning, stuck between the bed and the door.
Meanwhile, I tried to reach Sonja to find out if Cor was behind all this, but I couldn’t get through. It was the middle of the night when she finally called me.
“Glad you called. I couldn’t reach you all day,” I said.
“No, we were on a jeep safari,” she replied. I had to suppress the irritation in my voice. I was a nervous wreck and she was on a safari.
“Did you have a good day?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “a great day!”
From the way she said it, I knew that she already knew. To be sure, I asked if Cor, too, had had a nice day. “Him particularly!”
“I’m here having a good time with the kids,” I said, so Sonja knew that I had brought them to safety.
“Yes, Mama told me.”
“Do you need me to do anything?”
“No, nothing special. Will you take them to Mom’s again tomorrow?” She meant that I didn’t have to do anything out of the ordinary.
“Yes,” I answered. “Sure?” I asked her.
“Very sure,” she replied.
“Cor, too?”
“Yes, Cor, too,” she replied.
“Okay, sleep well. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Without referring to Klepper’s liquidation, she had told me that Cor had nothing to do with it and thought that I could safely leave the kids with Mom.
“Was that Mom?” asked Francis, who’d been listening in.
“Yes, all is well, go back to sleep. We have to get up early and get you back to school.”
We were spooning again, with Miljuschka in the middle. Francis bent over her and softly whispered in my ear, so Richie couldn’t hear, “I don’t want to go home, Assie. I want to be with you. I’m so scared they’re coming for us.”
“Me too,” said Miljuschka, who’d overheard Francis.
Cor may have had nothing to do with Klepper’s death, but that didn’t mean Mieremet’s gang wouldn’t hold him responsible. Mieremet had lost his best friend and probably had no use for a thorough investigation into the killer. Just the suspicion of Cor would probably be reason enough for Mieremet to take his revenge on somebody close to Cor.
After all the threats against the children, I was not entirely sure they were safe, and I decided to keep them away from the obvious locations. With Richie that appeared impossible.
He felt the tension in the air and was so hard to handle that I took him to my mother’s. I kept Francis and Miljuschka with me. I searched and found another hotel, on Churchillaan.
I desperately dreaded the moment I had to see Wim again, and that moment would inevitably come. I was with Francis and Miljuschka in our hotel room when he called.
“I have to go out for a bit. You have to stay here. Keep the door locked and open it for no one. I’ll be right back,” I told them, and went out to see Wim.
I assumed that Wim would put the blame on Cor and would hold him responsible for the death of his friend. I expected a lot of aggressive shouting about that “cross-eyed fuckface” with all the related threats, including toward the children.
I immediately showed my respect for the loss of his friend, hoping to alleviate his anger. “So sorry for you, Wim,” I said, as meaningfully as possible.
He didn’t react as I had expected; he was totally indifferent. According to him, Klepper was a fucking asshole, and he had deserved it because he’d had a lot of others “done.” I was totally taken off guard. I had always thought that Wim would betray us for these new friends. And now he talked like this? He didn’t care one bit that Klepper had been assassinated.
“Should I be worried about Sonja’s kids?” I asked him. He seemed surprised, and said I shouldn’t worry at all, because this had come from “our side.”
Our side? Wasn’t he with Klepper and Mieremet? I could only interpret Wim’s remark to mean that Wim and Mieremet were involved in Klepper’s death.
Wim didn’t flip out about Cor and didn’t threaten him; he didn’t even mention him. It was clear that he made no connection between Klepper’s death and possible retribution by Cor.
He didn’t in the months that followed, either. Wim still wanted Cor dead, but the reason had not changed. At no point was there any talk of retribution for the assassination of Klepper. It was still all about “taking everything away” from him.
Not long afterward, I met with Wim at the car wash in Aalsmeer. He only had a minute, he told me cheerfully; he was busy picking up money from Klepper’s wife—he was going to “protect her.”
At some point after Cor’s death in 2003, Wim asked me to have a sandwich with him at Sal Meijer’s on Scheldestraat, where I was confronted with Sandra. She needed a different accountant, and she had hired the same one I had. I had to go there with her so she wouldn’t be alone. In 2004, he introduced me to her kids. They were having problems with the tax department and the Justice Department about their father’s inheritance, which they didn’t see one penny of.
Sandra was a classic victim of Wim’s “negotiating role.” He told Sandra that her husband had been liquidated by Sreten “Jotsa” Jocić, a serious criminal from the former Yugoslavia, and that he would stand up for her. He would protect the lives of her and her children and work on solving the conflict. The conflict could only be solved by paying lots of money, or so he told her. But Sandra wasn’t interested in money; she would pay anything as long as it would save her kids. Vulnerable and totally emotional after the death of her husband, she fell prey to the man who declared that he would unselfishly risk his life for her and her children against this terribly dangerous Yugoslav.
It was Wim’s dream scenario. He’d take care of her and her capital. Her money became his money, and her life became his property.
Sandra’s initial reaction to the death of her husband was that Wim was behind it. The media tended to think the same thing. But before long, Sandra, brainwashed daily by Wim and totally isolated from people who could offer a different perspective, was totally in awe of this knight in shining armor, and he took her husband’s place. She had no idea whatsoever that she was bringing a Trojan horse into her family.
When Wim was doing six years for different kinds of extortion, she got her own six-year sentence: house arrest, as Wim demands of his women when he’s inside. From prison he controlled her daily routine, her contacts, all her doings. She was only to occupy herself with him; she was only to have a small number of contacts designated by him, and that was basically just us. We were ordered to visit her so she would see people sometimes. He knew that we wouldn’t dare open Sandra’s eyes. We were her chaperones.
I didn’t expect to like her, but after a while, I let go of the whole “Klepper-Mieremet stigma” I had imposed on her. Sandra was naïve but actually really nice. Her kids were sweet and well behaved. “She can’t help what Klepper and Mieremet have done,” Sonja had said to me before. And she was right. She couldn’t help it, as we couldn’t help what Wim did, either.
All of this produced the insane situation in which our Richie—who had been shot at by the Klepper,
Mieremet, and Holleeder combination—went to the birthday parties of the Klepper kids; the same Klepper that Wim had killed. I got sick of going to these things, seeing these four innocent children who’d all lost their fathers. Wim was the only survivor and ruled over both families.
In Sandra’s house, there wasn’t one single photo of her deceased husband. Wim wouldn’t tolerate it. The only photo of him had been moved to the storage shed. It was as if he’d never existed. I was curious to see how she’d react when I mentioned this. But she acted as though it was quite normal; she was never out of character. What I didn’t know at that point was that she’d never say anything negative about Wim because she was convinced he had sent me to question her. And she wasn’t entirely wrong.
During Wim’s time in prison, Sandra got into trouble with the tax authorities. She had to pay additional taxes for the millions that Sam Klepper had invested with Endstra. Endstra should have had to give it back to Sandra; in reality, Wim had taken that money. She had nothing, but she was still liable for the taxes. When she visited her knight in shining armor, she got a rude awakening. He made it clear to her that he had no time for her problems. In the meantime, Wim couldn’t afford a woman who’d say “the wrong things” about him. I got the order to stay close to her, keep an eye on her, go with her to all her appointments with the accountant, and make sure his name wasn’t mentioned.
I thought it best that Sandra knew where she stood, so I told her that I was only trying to “help” so as to make sure that Wim stayed out of all this.
“It seems to me that I don’t really have a choice in this,” she replied. “Do you think I dare say anything about him?” I was surprised. It was the first time I heard her say anything remotely negative about Wim.
In January 2012, when Wim was released, he didn’t care about Sandra anymore and had hardly any time for her. She was almost broke, and what she did have had claims against it. He started investing more time in Maike. He still had a future with her. Plus he was busy with his own security, and with his other women, including Mandy from Utrecht, who’d waited six years for him.
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