by Pieter Aspe
“Okay,” Hannelore sighed. “I’m a Deputy. I just wanted to help you.”
“There’s only one way you can help me,” Nathalie snapped. “Give me the cash you promised and leave me alone.”
Hannelore nodded.
“A promise is a promise. But tell me one last thing. How did Aurelie end up back at home after her marriage and why did your father have her locked up in an institution?”
“You’ll have to ask my sisters. I was only seven when it happened.”
“Did they ever talk about it?”
Nathalie shook her head.
“No, not a single word.”
Hannelore had the impression she was telling the truth. It was clear enough that she had had nothing to do with the strange incident in her brother’s shop, but that wasn’t the problem. Her revelations about Degroof were much more important than some melted jewelry and precisely what Van der Eyck was after.
“And don’t think for one minute that I’ll ever repeat any of this in a court of law,” said Nathalie, abruptly interrupting Hannelore’s train of thought. “My mother wouldn’t survive a court case. Anyway, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. There isn’t a judge in the country who would even think of convicting my father, and I doubt whether any of my sisters would testify against him.”
Hannelore wasn’t of a mind to explain that a professionally spread rumor usually did more damage than a court case.
Nathalie crossed her legs provocatively.
“If you’ve no more questions, Deputy Martens ma’am, then pay me for my services; otherwise I’ll bug off out of here.”
“Can I contact you again if I have new information?” Hannelore asked.
“If there’s money in it, you can contact me as often as you like,” Nathalie snorted.
Hannelore fished the envelope from her handbag and slipped it across the table. Nathalie Degroof swiped the bills from the envelope without counting, got to her feet, and made a beeline for the door and the dunes outside.
Hannelore called the waiter and ordered another Campari soda. She could feel the sun on her thighs and decided to extend her visit to the coast by a couple of hours. Van In wasn’t expecting her until evening.
Leo Vanmaele called at one-thirty and woke Van In from his slumbers. It took an age for him get to the phone. He staggered through the open patio doors into the living room, cursing under his breath. His mouth was dry as cork and his head was full of fuzz from snoring.
“Pieter, Leo here. I’ve got something on Degroof. He had his daughter locked up in an institution in 1968. Nothing illegal, of course, but it might come in handy.”
“Leo, my friend. Kind of you to think of me. But I found out about it yesterday, by coincidence,” said Van In, stifling a yawn, his voice weary.
“On the bottle again?” said Vanmaele sarcastically. “We were busy well into the night digging up information. You could have let me know.”
“Sorry, Leo. But I’m calling it quits.”
“What?!”
“I don’t trust her anymore. She thinks too much of herself,” Van In mumbled.
“Blah blah blah.”
“De Kee’s right. I’m booking a vacation on Monday. Tenerife, here I come. I’ve had it up to here.”
Leo and Van In had been friends for the best part of twenty years. It wasn’t rare to find him in the pits for some futility or other, but he usually got over it quick enough. Van In was irrepressible in that regard. After every short depression, he rose from the ashes like a phoenix.
“Shall I stop by later?”
“Do that,” said Van In without much enthusiasm.
Shortly after five, Hannelore stepped into her Twingo and drove back to Bruges, avoiding the freeway.
Her plan was to report to Van der Eyck first and then bring Van In up to speed. She thought it was a shame that they hadn’t been able to interview Nathalie together, but Nathalie had insisted on her being alone and Van In would understand, she figured.
Leo hurried over to the Vette Vispoort after finishing work. He was a bachelor and didn’t have to keep anyone informed of his comings and goings. Since the split between Sonja and Pieter, the two men had sought each other’s company on a regular basis.
He parked his yellow monster on Moer Street, close to the rectory, and left again five minutes later with Van In.
Celine, who ran Café Vlissinghe, welcomed Van In and Vanmaele by their first names. As the two headed for a quiet table in the corner, she took a couple of Duvel glasses from the rack above the bar and started to shine them.
“You sounded far from happy this afternoon,” Leo grinned. “Don’t tell me you’ve really fallen for that stuck-up hussy.”
Van In pulled an ugly face.
“What gave you that idea? Once is enough, friend. I’m no jackass,” he said, trying to sound macho.
“So what’s wrong then?”
Celine waltzed over with the Duvels humming a tune. She had bought a new car the day before and it had made her week.
“Throw in a couple of cheese sandwiches, Slien,” said Leo. I haven’t eaten a thing since early this morning.”
“Idem ditto,” said Van In.
“So are you going to tell me what’s bugging you, or are we going to sit here guzzling Duvels the whole night like a pair of dummies?” Leo repeated after Celine had gone.
“Okay, okay,” Van In growled. “If it’ll stop you whining.”
He told him about the smear campaign the opposition was planning and the strange discovery he had made the day before together with Hannelore.
“And Tallulah calls this morning to say she’s got an important tip and has to check it out on her own.”
“And you don’t believe her?”
“Would you?”
Leo caressed the curves of his Duvel glass.
“Does Tallulah–as you call her–have anything to do with Van der Eyck?” he asked. Leo noticed Van In pale slightly.
“You’re in a bad way, buddy,” he teased.
“Jesus H. Christ. Give it a rest.”
Leo nodded his head. “I was just trying to cheer you up. Surely you can take a joke,” he grinned. “Ah, there’s our Slien with the reinforcements. Let’s eat first. Food makes everybody happy.”
Celine had done her best. She had buttered half a brown loaf and thickly sliced at least a pound of cheese.
“Did you win the lottery?” Leo beamed as he inspected the generous rations with hungry eyes.
Celine leaned over.
“I bought a new car yesterday,” she whispered.
“The New Car!” Leo yelped.
“The New Car,” she concurred with a glow.
“Ooh-la-la, did you hear that, Pieter? Slien finally bought the Espace. And we paid for at least half of the bastard. True, Slien, eh?”
“Why do you think I’m treating my best customers to cheese sandwiches?” she asked with a smile.
A young couple had come in while they were talking, and Celine hurried to the bar to serve them. She hummed all evening.
Leo got stuck on the sandwiches. Van In confined himself to his Duvel for the time being.
“You suggested just then that Hannelore might have something to do with Van der Eyck,” said Van In glumly.
Leo had prepared a second sandwich with an ample portion of cheese and was about to sink his teeth into it.
“But that was a joke! Although anything’s possible,” Leo grinned. “Martens told you herself that she was ambitious. Do you still believe in the integrity of the judiciary and clean-hands politics?”
Van In lit the cigarette he had been fiddling with for the best part of ten minutes.
“Of course I don’t,” he said cheerlessly. “But there are still a couple of things I can’t figure.”
“Out with it. Open the vent,” Leo urged.
“Well, on Sunday I blabbed that the thing with Ghislain’s gold might be the first of a series of actions against Degroof senior. I mentioned the same
hypothesis in my report.”
Leo listened attentively as he devoured his second sandwich.
“An inexperienced Deputy passes on my intuitive conclusion to a politician who’s probably offering her protection and promotion. Two days later, a secret meeting is organized during which the political landscape is redrawn, apparently on the basis of a trivial incident and a couple of empty presuppositions. It’s too much for me to swallow,” said Van In decisively. “If you ask me, Van der Eyck knows more about the affair than he’s letting on, and he’s certain that the actions against Degroof are set to escalate. It’s usually worth capitalizing on such situations just before an election, drag your opponents through the dirt, you know the score.”
Leo took a deep breath. He washed down his third double sandwich with a mouthful of beer. “You don’t mean that …”
“I imagine one of the perpetrators had already put Van der Eyck in the picture before the event because they shared the same goal: eliminating Degroof via an orchestrated witch-hunt in the press. Don’t forget that Degroof only started to boil over after I got Radio Contact involved.”
“But wouldn’t it have been easier just to hand over the file on Degroof to the press or one of his political opponents? Why in God’s name would you set up such a complicated operation? To attract attention? You have to admit, it’s a pretty roundabout way of getting something done,” Leo observed.
“That’s what I thought at first,” Van In continued hot on Leo’s heels. “But if the file on Degroof is so explosive that no newspaper would be willing to open it without serious evidence, then the complicated approach might have its advantages. And even if the press were willing to publish its contents, there’s every chance Degroof would be able to muzzle them. They say he can handle the local press. And don’t forget, the general public isn’t stupid. If a scandal erupts around a highly placed individual just before an election, their suspicions are doubled. It wouldn’t be the first time the voter took sides with the victim, the underdog. Think about Clinton. His mistress’s public confessions immediately before the election didn’t stop him from getting re-elected. But if you make sure someone gets into the news indirectly, the chances of getting what you want are much greater.”
“But then you have to keep him in the news,” said Leo. It was slowly beginning to dawn on him where Van In wanted to go.
“Exactly,” Van In winked. “You have to build up the tension, work up a crescendo. You have to make sure the newsworthiness of your diversion is big enough to attract national and even international attention. And if something else leaks out between the lines, its effects will be irreversible.”
“But if you put it that way, you might just as well argue that Degroof knows who’s got him in a corner,” said Leo. “Maybe there’s something about the Templars’ Square and he’s the only one who’s figured it out. Maybe the perpetrators have his back against the wall and he’s desperately trying to scupper the investigation and the potential publicity surrounding it.”
“Possible,” said Van In. “Then again, we might both just be paranoid.”
“Do you think Martens knows more than we do?”
Van In shrugged his shoulders. “Nah. Maybe I was too quick to judge her this morning. She explicitly asked me to trust her.”
“You won’t hear a bad word said about her, will you?” Leo teased.
“Spare me the drivel,” Van In snorted, “and eat another sandwich. You’ll be hallucinating from the hunger next.”
Leo took him literally and set about the plate. His appetite was legendary.
“You can always demand an explanation,” he said between bites.
Van In fidgeted with the corner of a beer-soaked coaster. He had the impression that the people at the next table had been nervously listening in. The café had filled up in the course of their conversation.
“I think waiting is the safer option,” he said in a hushed tone. “But one thing is sure: for the rest of today and tomorrow, the Degroof case can go to hell.”
“A moment ago you wanted to stop altogether,” Leo smirked.
“Did I say that?”
Leo raised his left eyebrow, amused.
“I meant stop for today,” said Van In, reluctantly backing down.
“Pleased to hear it,” muttered Leo.
Yet another depression had been suppressed. Leo raised his hand.
“Slien, sweetheart, another couple of Duvels, and throw in a couple of sandwiches for Van In. The loser’s almost starved to death.”
12
“O FORTUNA, VELUT LUNA, STATU VARIABILIS.”
Carl Orff’s magisterial Carmina Burana shook the old house to its foundations. The volume control on the dated Sansui amplifier was at its max and Van In was stretched out on the couch, completely overwhelmed by his favorite music.
As far as he was concerned, Orff’s music had to be played loud to be heard at its best. His eyes were closed and his head swayed to the irresistible rhythm. He wallowed in the heavenly warmth the music generated in his chest and the tingling between his shoulders.
As a result, it took a while before he was able to distinguish the sound of someone banging at the front door from Orff’s overpowering percussion. He made a face and hoisted himself from the couch. He hated turning the volume down; but when he finally did, the sledgehammer blows to his front door took him aback.
“What the f … Jesus … where’s the fire?” he roared.
The door wrecker suddenly stopped thumping.
“Pieter! Pieter!”
He recognized the voice immediately. Hannelore gasped from the exertion.
“Did you forget your cigarettes?” he quipped as he opened the door. Even in jeans and a white blouse, she was capable of making Miss Belgium look like a spruced-up scarecrow.
“They kidnapped Degroof’s grandson,” she screamed in an effort to be heard above the blistering music. The volume was still at fifty percent. “Your hypothesis was right, Pieter. You were right.”
“Is that so?” he said, smelling a rat.
“And Degroof has a dirty secret as you suspected. But you weren’t at home yesterday. I waited for the best part of an hour,” she panted. “I promised to give you a report, didn’t I?”
“Bad news for Degroof,” said Van In indifferently. There was no longer any need for enthusiasm. “A real pity, but I’m on vacation. Come inside, let me make some coffee. You look as if you could use a cup.”
“Your vacation has been cancelled,” she retorted belligerently. “De Kee called the public prosecutor. He wants you to take over the kidnapping case from Deleu.”
Van In was having a hard time controlling his impatience.
“Deleu, hmm. That’s a surprise. Is De Kee worried his son-in-law will screw up, or is he looking for another scapegoat to blame if the case goes crooked on him?”
“Good God, man, get your act together. I’ll tell you the rest in the car.”
Van In continued to feign reluctance, but his heart was pounding.
He was right and they needed him, he thought victoriously. To hell with the doubts and the brooding! This time he would see it through to the bitter end.
“So Van der Eyck got what he wanted after all,” he sneered as the climbed into the Twingo.
“You’ve got two more guesses,” she snapped.
“The Minister of the Interior, then.”
Van In tried in vain to fasten his seatbelt and in the process he accidentally touched her thigh. The sensation was exceptionally pleasant.
“No, not the Minister of the Interior.”
She tore through the residential part of Moer Street at fifty per hour.
“Tell me. I give up.”
“You had two guesses, Pieter.”
On the corner of Wulfhage Street and Noordzand Street she forced a departing bus to slam on the brakes. The driver was furious, and the teenagers snogging on the back seat were left with blood on their lips.
“Not the king, surely,” sa
id Van In, pretending indignation.
Hannelore didn’t find it funny. She didn’t understand why he was being so infantile.
“Degroof senior is insisting that you take the case,” she said.
“Fuck me.”
“What happened to Jesus H. Christ?” she responded quick-wittedly. She turned her head and grinned from ear to ear.
“Look out,” Van In shouted as she narrowly missed a delivery van.
Filip De Leeuw had just entered the tunnel under Zand Square on his motorcycle when he saw the Twingo cut in front of the delivery van. The driver of the delivery van shook his fist in a rage. De Leeuw calmly adjusted the speed of his BMW, accelerating from fifty to seventy with a minor movement of the wrist. The distance between the Twingo and his bike barely decreased. He then switched on his blue rotating light and siren. He managed to stop the maniac close to the Ezelpoort.
The Twingo was stuck at the lights, trembling like a wound-up spring. De Leeuw thumped the windscreen with his leather-clad fist.
“See what you get,” Van In smiled when he caught sight of De Leeuw’s purple face. Hannelore stared at the police officer in disbelief.
“Well, do something, then,” she yelled in horror.
Van In leaned forward with a sigh to allow De Leeuw to recognize him. Hannelore obligingly rolled down the window.
“Excellent chase, Filip,” he said affably. “But the Deputy here is in a serious hurry. She’s in the middle of a kidnapping.”
De Leeuw gasped for air, managing to swallow a couple of extremely unfriendly words just in time. The cacophony of car horns behind them indicated that the lights had changed to green.
“Far to go?” asked De Leeuw.
“Bishop Avenue,” said Van In.
De Leeuw turned and put an end to the hooting with a gesture of authority.
“Follow me,” he shouted.
Hannelore rubbed her hands together and hit the floor with the gas pedal.
“You’ve got talent,” said Van In in amazement. “I don’t know many who can keep up with De Leeuw.”
Mr. and Mrs. Delahaye-Degroof’s white bungalow was halfway along Bishop Avenue.
“When did they discover the kidnapping?” Van In asked as they turned into the broad tree-lined street. She was happy he had finally come to the point. His fooling around was beginning to get on her nerves.