Angel in the Shadows

by Walter Lucius

  But perhaps worst of all was the exceedingly violent death suffered by the suspect Sasha Kovalev when he was being interrogated in custody. Especially as the crime committed by Kovalev – who was known in daily life for his extravagant interior designs for AtlasNet’s offices worldwide – had been nothing more than the hijacking of an ambulance. The Russian government had lodged an official complaint related to this incident. But, despite an internal investigation into the circumstances surrounding Kovalev’s death, up until now it seemed like the team of detectives hadn’t learned a thing from the whole sorry business.

  This was the state of affairs when Radjen took a seat opposite Commissioner Kemper to bring him up to speed on the results of their ongoing investigation.

  ‘So, you think this whole Lombard matter,’ Kemper concluded after Radjen had explained the background of Kovalev’s involvement in the Sekandar case and the murder of Danielle Bernson, ‘is a lot bigger than we first assumed.’

  ‘It’s huge,’ Radjen replied. ‘Vakurov instantly makes it an international matter. And the person ultimately responsible for all this anguish is probably not Ewald Lombard but Valentin Lavrov.’

  ‘Do I understand correctly,’ Kemper asked sarcastically after an awkward silence, ‘that you’ve based your sweeping conclusion on a small photo in a locket?’

  ‘Perhaps small, but awfully valuable as evidence. Lavrov’s right-hand man, who recently died during that staged hostage crisis in Moscow, had close ties with the hitman who came here to kill the injured boy and his doctor, perhaps because they knew too much. That needs to be investigated.’

  ‘I get it,’ said Kemper, ‘but before you go labelling an oligarch like Lavrov a criminal, you’d better come up with some watertight evidence, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’ve passed information on to Interpol for their support,’ Radjen said, ‘but it remains my case, so my responsibility. Besides, you gave me five days.’

  ‘And you’ve used up four. The main suspect is dead, so what more is there to investigate?’

  ‘Lombard’s involvement in the hit-and-run,’ Radjen replied. ‘We may have a new witness who can destroy the alibi Melanie Lombard gave for her husband.’

  He told Kemper about the time-regression method, which, using hypnosis, would return Angela Faber to the night of the accident in the Amsterdamse Bos.

  ‘Therefore, we still have a chance she can place Lombard at the scene of the crime,’ Radjen continued. ‘And we’ve still not finished with our investigation into Meijer’s murder.’

  Kemper straightened his back, puffed out his chest and leaned in a bit. ‘First of all, apart from the doubts the pathologist expressed in her preliminary report, I still haven’t seen any conclusive evidence to suggest Meijer was murdered. And, as far as Lombard’s involvement in the hit-and-run is concerned, the man is dead. We can’t prosecute a corpse. And even if Angela Faber could remember anything that could be damaging to Lombard, her statement would be inadmissible in court because the Dutch judicial system still considers an account given under hypnosis unreliable.’

  ‘I don’t agree,’ Radjen said. ‘But there’s more.’

  ‘There’s always more with you,’ Kemper sighed.

  ‘Lombard’s official cause of death.’

  ‘A perforated bowel and a ruptured aorta.’ Kemper said.

  ‘Lombard was checked by his doctor a month ago. He was in good health.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So perhaps it was something else. Shouldn’t we err on the side of caution?’

  ‘And what would that entail?’

  ‘A second autopsy needs to be carried out.’

  During their entire conversation, an extremely stressed Kemper looked like he was about to throw a tantrum unbefitting a man in his position. And what Radjen had been dreading now happened. The Police Commissioner grabbed a handful of international newspapers from his desk and waved them in Radjen’s face as if he were trying to swat a fly.

  ‘Have you seen the papers recently!’ he shouted. ‘The only thing our department hasn’t been accused of is necrophilia. What’s wrong with you? I’ve been patient, Tomasoa. I’ve done everything in my power to control the damage done by your team. And this is what I have to show for it. You have to stop abusing the goodwill you’ve built up here.’

  Kemper’s face was as red as a beet. He slumped back in his chair. The newspapers were now strewn across his desk.

  Radjen didn’t challenge Kemper’s torrent of criticism. He’d never really liked his boss and now he knew why.

  ‘You’re finished, Tomasoa. And that’s that,’ Kemper said after a few minutes. ‘With Lombard’s death, your position in the force has become untenable. From this moment on, you’re not to take any further action. So no hocus-pocus hypnosis, no additional cutting into corpses, nothing that might damage the image of the police even further. As of tomorrow, you’re officially suspended. And, if I were you, I’d choose the honourable way. The Board of Police Commissioners has promised a substantial payout in exchange for your resignation.’

  Radjen didn’t respond. He just stared at Kemper.

  ‘Damn it, Tomasoa, you knew the situation,’ Kemper said, in a half-hearted attempt to gloss over his outburst. But it was too late for that. Much too late.

  ‘I wasn’t entirely aware of your situation,’ Radjen said, as he slowly got up from his chair. ‘And, by the looks of it, you’re not in a good place.’

  With a calm gait, Radjen left the room, quietly closing the door behind him, and returned to Esther, who was just down the hall waiting for him.

  ‘What a jerk,’ she said. ‘His tirade was bouncing off the walls.’

  ‘C’mon,’ Radjen said, ‘we’ve got a bunch of things to take care of and we don’t have much time left.’ They headed for the Forensics Department. On the way Radjen said, ‘I heard you had a chat with Kemper too. What did he want from you?’

  ‘What do you think? He advised me to say yes to all the interview requests I got. “It’ll be good for you,” he said. And I said, “You mean, good for you?” ’

  Radjen smiled. He knew what she was talking about. In the news items on CNN, Al Jazeera, Fox News and all the other international media that covered Lombard’s death, the spotlight was on the female detective, completely clad in black, who’d appeared out of nowhere and gave Lombard mouth-to-mouth in an attempt to save his life.

  As a result of this, Esther had become something of a sought-after celebrity.

  ‘Kemper even said there might be a trip to America in it for me, to do an interview with CNN,’ she said mockingly. ‘But I don’t need to go to America. I told him he could go to America by himself. And could stay there for all I cared.’

  ‘You didn’t really say that last bit?’ Radjen replied with a chuckle.

  ‘I would have if I’d known he was going to flip out on you.’

  At the Forensics Department, Radjen and Esther inquired about the examination of the evidence found in Meijer’s garden. The first news wasn’t promising. The two policemen who thought they’d caught a burglar in the act at Meijer’s place that night had basically contaminated any evidence there might have been, which was exactly what Radjen had feared. But, fortunately, there was one clue that hadn’t been compromised. They were busy making a cast of a footprint, which would then be examined further.

  ‘If necessary,’ Radjen said, ‘I’ll pay your overtime myself, so long as that cast we’re talking about provides us with some kind of clarity by the end of the evening. Otherwise, it’ll be too late. As far as the big boss is concerned, this investigation ends tomorrow.’

  Afterwards they headed to the police storage depot where, at Radjen’s request, everything from Meijer’s shed had been catalogued and stored. A still life consisting of empty fish tanks, dented containers of fish food, do-it-yourself kits for creating underwater ruins, cleaning materials, pumps, strainers and an array of hobby items. Radjen was handed a printed form listing everything in alphabetical orde
r. He skimmed the page. Pointless waste of time and money, he thought to himself. Until his eye fell on the words ‘mobile phone’. The device was found in one of the aquariums and had already been passed on to Laurens Kramer.

  ‘It’s in bad shape,’ the depot worker warned. ‘And that’s putting it mildly. I don’t know if Kramer will manage to pull anything off of it.’

  Esther was already on the phone with Kramer to implore him to find out by tonight the origin of that phone, and to determine the contacts on the two prepaid phones found in Lombard’s villa.

  Meanwhile, Radjen dialled the number of pathologist Ellen Mulder.

  Barely five minutes later they were back in the car.

  ‘Lately, for some reason, we’re always off to some place that is a surprise to one of us,’ Esther needled him as she sped out of the car park.

  ‘We’re going to see Ellen Mulder,’ Radjen said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s a quote by Che Guevara, “Be realistic, demand the impossible.” I’m going to ask for the impossible.’

  They walked down the long corridor, where they were met by the sounds of a symphony orchestra and the lingering lament of a woman singing.

  Mulder was engrossed in her work. She was writing a report using a fountain pen. She didn’t care much for computers and put stock in handwritten texts. Ellen Mulder belonged to a dying race that still wrote letters. Radjen had once received a letter from her, which he had actually never opened but filed away for safekeeping.

  He noticed she was wearing makeup. Very subtle. Eyeliner, a touch of rouge on her cheeks and more colour on her lips than usual. Her shoulder-length, ash-blonde hair was pinned up. The low-cut blue dress she was wearing was a bold statement for her.

  She was a bit startled when she looked up. Recognition followed, and then she gave them a tender, ironic smile. ‘Well, that was quick for a change.’

  When she kissed him on both cheeks, Radjen detected a delicate hint of perfume.

  ‘You sounded worried,’ she said. ‘And that’s how you look, even worse than the last time we saw each other.’

  ‘He won’t allow me to take better care of him,’ Esther said, extending her hand. ‘But I manage to keep track of him.’

  ‘That’s reassuring to hear,’ Ellen said.

  ‘What’s the name of this piece you’re playing?’ Esther asked.

  ‘Radjen should recognize it,’ Ellen said. ‘This is “Song to the Moon” from Antonín Dvořák’s opera Rusalka. We saw it performed in the Concertgebouw together.’

  The two women exchanged a glance that made it seem like they’d been friends for years, Radjen thought to himself. He looked at Ellen seriously.

  ‘The last time, you said to me that no matter what happens, or how little time I have, I must solve this case. I have less than twenty-four hours and I feel like I’m close to a breakthrough. But I really need your help.’

  ‘Only if you take some time off to rest when you’re done, as I suggested last time,’ Ellen said.

  ‘I promise,’ Radjen responded.

  Ellen closed the door. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I suspect,’ Radjen began, ‘that Lombard’s perforated bowel and ruptured aorta were not natural causes of death. He’d recently had a full medical check-up. There was nothing to indicate any kind of condition that would kill him so quickly.’

  ‘A check-up is a single moment in time, ‘Ellen said. ‘People then often think, “I’m healthy.” They are, but only then. The next day it might be different. Our body is a sound, but not always infallible, system.’

  ‘At times you feel that something is true, even if it barely seems logical. But it actually is and it’s up to you to prove it, to convince the sceptics.’

  ‘I understand completely,’ Ellen replied. ‘You want to force a court-ordered autopsy to confirm your suspicions of foul play.’

  Radjen nodded silently.

  ‘Over the years, when you’ve had this feeling about unnatural causes, you’ve usually been right on the money,’ Ellen said. ‘But now you’re really asking me to go out on a limb. We’re talking about a minister who, at least according to public opinion, has been hounded by a ruthless investigation team. And then a day before his funeral we lay claim to his body. How far are you willing to go? What about the ethical considerations?’

  ‘I know,’ Radjen said. ‘And I’ll respect your decision if you don’t want to get involved. You have your reputation to protect.’

  ‘Getting to the truth is more important than my reputation,’ Ellen said. ‘I’m thinking more about your reputation, Radjen.’

  ‘My part in this ends tomorrow,’ Radjen said. ‘I don’t have much to lose, so there’s no need for melodrama.’

  ‘All right,’ Ellen said. ‘I’ll call the Examining Magistrate and say that, in close consultation with the Chief Inspector of Amsterdam’s MIT, doubts have arisen about the primary autopsy performed on Lombard, and we object to the determination that the cause of death was natural. Another autopsy must be carried out this evening because the burial is planned for tomorrow.’

  She stared at him with her bright eyes. That unopened letter came to mind.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ he stammered.

  Ellen glanced at Esther. ‘By letting her take care of you. You’re not Atlas. You can’t shoulder the weight of the world all alone. We’re glad to be of help.’

  A half-hour later he was standing outside the Forensic Hypnosis practice, smoking a long-cherished cigarette with Esther, awaiting the arrival of Angela Faber.

  ‘She was going on a date,’ Esther said. ‘Ellen Mulder. That’s why she looked so nice.’

  ‘I’m happy for her,’ said Radjen, who with each inhalation felt how nervous he was.

  Esther looked at him with something of an ironic expression. ‘How come the two of you never became an item?’ she asked.

  ‘Where’d you come up with that one?’

  ‘Oh, please …’

  She smiled at him with an air of superiority. It was a look that conveyed she saw things in him that he reckoned he’d managed to hide. He thought about the story of the aria playing when they’d arrived at Ellen’s office. She’d explained it to him when they’d heard the piece at the concert. It was the tale of the beautiful water nymph Rusalka, who fell in love with a man, a prince for that matter. To be by his side for the rest of her life, she was prepared to sacrifice her voice in exchange for a human body.

  Rusalka sang that song on the shores of the lake at night, right before she lost her voice forever. Radjen thought of the sacrifice he’d made after the love of his life had disappeared without a trace by Lake Trasimeno. He’d felt her take his hand that evening in the Concertgebouw, as if she’d never vanished from his life. With this, she’d made it clear that as long as he lived he’d never lose her again. A relationship with Ellen, no matter how much he might have wanted this, was out of the question.

  ‘I get it,’ Esther said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘I mean, apart from the fact that you’re married and all.’

  ‘What do you get?’

  ‘Why there’s a click between you and Ellen, and yet you never acted on it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She’s too cultured for you.’

  Pleased with this realization, she exhaled the smoke from her cigarette.

  At that moment, a car pulled up outside the building with Angela Faber inside.

  Angela Faber was wearing sunglasses with lenses big enough to be used as side-view mirrors on a lorry. It was the same pair she’d worn when she came down the steps of police headquarters with her husband Dennis – after giving her first statement as a suspect in the hit-and-run – and was bathed in the flashing camera lights of the media gathered en masse for her release.

  Though this time she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  The hit-and-run scandal was immediately followed by the extramarital affair of her TV-host husband. It was the hottest celebrity news when Angela
had all her precious belongings removed from the family home: wardrobes full of clothing and suitcases filled with makeup.

  Esther shook her hand and said, ‘Thank you so much for coming, Angela.’

  Angela Faber’s answer was as short as it was memorable, ‘Thank you. What do you think of my hair?’

  ‘Very Audrey Hepburn,’ Esther said.

  Inside, the certified hypnotherapist explained what to expect. The image of what happened the night she drove through the Amsterdamse Bos and saw the injured Sekandar lying on the road was stored somewhere deep in her unconscious. That was the fragment they’d find and single out, so each detail was visible. This would allow Angela Faber to call up what she thought she’d forgotten.

  Angela said, ‘I’ve learned a lot recently. Also, that it isn’t possible to build a new life by just forgetting your old life: you have to work through it. That’s the reason I agreed to do this.’

  Radjen and Esther were then escorted to a separate room with a sound system and a tape recorder hooked up to it. Via headphones, Radjen and Esther could follow the session.

  Angela Faber was first reassured by the therapist and then given some breathing exercises to put her into the early stages of a trance. The therapist spoke in a low, slow, soothing voice. ‘Everything here is safe, quiet and peaceful. Relax and breathe deeply, in and out. Listen to my voice and just give yourself over …’

  Together they walked the imaginary ten steps of the ‘hypnotic staircase’ to reach a deeper trance state.

  ‘Take the first step down and feel yourself relaxing more and more. Every step is a step further into your unconscious. Now step off the second step and feel that you’re becoming calmer and calmer. When you get to the third step, your body will be so relaxed, you’ll feel like you’re floating.’

  Slowly Angela descended the staircase.

  ‘You’re now at the bottom of the stairs,’ the therapist said. ‘You open the door in front of you. You’re outside. It’s dark. You get into your car and drive away. Don’t be afraid. I’m right here with you.’

  Angela Faber described what she was seeing: trees, curves in the road, sometimes the distant lights of airplanes coming in to land. There were no other cars on the road. It was deserted, dimly lit and surrounded by trees.