The Square of Revenge

by Pieter Aspe

  “A couple of hours ago. The boy goes skating every Thursday and Saturday in Boudewijn Park.”

  “Is that where they grabbed him?”

  “Probably. We still don’t have a lot of details.”

  She parked the Twingo a good sixty yards from the bungalow. There were dozens of cars in front of the house, including police cars and a white truck with a satellite dish on its roof towering above the rest.

  “They don’t waste any time,” said Hannelore when she caught sight of the commercial TV van with the satellite dish.

  “What do you expect? Flanders is the size of a bedspread. They use local correspondents to listen in to the police frequencies 24/7.”

  De Kee’s son-in-law, Deleu, had an olive green Saab Turbo. Van In frowned when he saw it parked close to the house immediately behind a Mercedes 500 SEL, a stately old-timer with the matte bodywork. A young man with a chauffeur’s hat was smoking a cigarette in his shirtsleeves. A truly remarkable scene. When they got closer, they saw a group of policemen, about six in total, trying to keep a growing group of curious onlookers at a distance. Half the population appeared to be listening in to the police frequencies. Disaster tourists often arrived on the scene before the emergency services.

  A couple of local cops had been posted by the door. They recognized Van In, but still insisted that he and Hannelore show their ID. They were allowed to go inside.

  The front door of the bungalow was open. When Van In crossed the threshold, he felt an unpleasant chill glide over his shoulders, as if the house sensed that its occupants had been confronted with a dreadful tragedy.

  The bungalow was bright and spacious, but the atmosphere was oppressive. The house had been built in a “U”-form around an open rear garden in Japanese style. The horizontal segment of the “U” was enormous and included the dining room, lounge, and kitchen. None of the connecting walls impeded the outside view.

  Hannelore’s attention was immediately drawn to the magnificent paintings gracing the walls. She recognized Magritte and Permeke, although she had always thought that the work of such artists could only be seen in museums.

  Van In concentrated on the people. He counted ten in total. Versavel was standing next to Deleu in front of the enormous glass wall that ran the entire length of the house and subtly divided the interior from the garden. When Versavel caught sight of Van In and Hannelore, he abandoned Deleu and headed toward them. Van In shook his massive hand. Deleu cast a surreptitious glance in their direction but stayed where he was. To give the impression that he was doing something important, he joined a young police captain who had just been on the radio to technical services for assistance.

  Versavel looked like a Chippendale in uniform and smelled of Sunlight soap.

  “A pleasure to meet you again,” he said to Hannelore when she held out her hand.

  “The pleasure’s mine, Sergeant Watson.”

  Versavel accepted the compliment with a macho grin.

  “I thought you were on vacation,” he said, turning to Van In.

  “Was,” Van In concurred.

  “Vacation or not, I’m glad you’re here. Deleu is a nonstarter. If I’m not mistaken, Degroof gave him the brush-off.”

  “Senior?”

  “Yup,” Versavel sighed. “Senior arrived half an hour ago with his chauffeur and seems to be lining himself up to take charge.”

  “Someone will have to make him think otherwise, eh, Pieter?” Hannelore jested.

  “You’re telling me,” said Van In, raring to go. “But let’s first introduce ourselves to the infamous Mr. Degroof.”

  Ludovic Degroof was in the garden on the other side of the patio doors. From a distance he had the allure of a bronze statue. He was at least six feet tall and he conversed with broad gestures.

  Patrick Delahaye was a short nervous man who listened to what his father-in-law was saying without appearing to take much in.

  Degroof spoke French, but switched seamlessly to a sort of civilized West Flemish when Van In and Hannelore introduced themselves.

  “Aha, so you are Commissaire Van In,” he said jovially. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Van In understood the penetrating gaze and the coercive voice. This was a man who was used to being obeyed without question.

  I’ve heard a lot about you too, he wanted to say, but he considered it inappropriate in the circumstances.

  Delahaye remained in the background. His eyes were vacant and there was a hint of a smile on his face, a sad smile. Van In noticed the glint in Degroof senior’s eyes when he shook Hannelore’s hand.

  “Have the kidnappers contacted you?” Van In asked, not beating about the bush.

  Van In had addressed the question to Delahaye, but Degroof cut in.

  “My son received this fax at ten past four.” He fumbled in his inside pocket and handed a copy to Van In.

  “I had it copied in the car,” he added when he saw the surprise in Van In’s eyes. “Patrick thought it was some kind of misplaced joke at first. But fortunately I managed to convince him otherwise. A kidnapping should always be taken seriously. Am I right, Commissaire?”

  Van In nodded absent-mindedly. He read the fax together with Hannelore.

  Your son was kidnapped one hour ago.

  You will be informed of the nature of the ransom later today together with the conditions to which you will be expected to adhere.

  R O T A S

  O P E R A

  T E N E T

  A R E P O

  S A T O R

  “Is that it?”

  Van In didn’t say a word about the Templars’ Square, nor did Degroof.

  “The local police are doing their level best to put a tap on the phone and the fax. According to Captain D’Hondt, they’ll be done in thirty minutes,” said Degroof. “All we can do is wait until the bastards contact us again. Whatever they ask, we’ve decided to pay. My grandson’s wellbeing is to be given absolute priority. My daughter and my son-in-law are in full agreement, n’est-ce pas, Patrick?”

  Delahaye nodded vacantly. Van In had the impression that the man was on the verge of collapse.

  “I should be with Charlotte. Please excuse me.”

  If someone’s back could express sadness and dismay, then Delahaye’s back was irrefutable in its eloquence. His shoulders stooped, he dragged himself toward the west wing of the house where the bedrooms were located.

  “I’m expecting the public prosecutor at any minute. And someone will also have to speak to the press.”

  Hannelore found it difficult to believe how Degroof could be so impersonal in such circumstances.

  “Perhaps you should do that yourself, Mr. Degroof,” Van In suggested. “An appeal by a family member can sometimes make an impression on the kidnappers. I’ll have a word with Commissioner Deleu, and then we can put together a tentative plan of action.”

  “Excellent,” said Degroof.

  “I imagine Captain D’Hondt is the man to talk to if you want to organize a press conference.”

  Degroof didn’t argue. On the contrary, he even seemed grateful. He lurched across the room to the local police captain, who was watching a couple of technicians install a tape recorder.

  “That’s him out of the way,” whispered Van In with satisfaction.

  “The man makes my skin crawl. Did you see the way he looked at me?”

  Van In growled something that could have meant both yes and no. If Degroof’s lustful eyes were a hindrance, he only hoped she had no idea what was going on in his head. Then again, he didn’t know what Hannelore knew.

  “Where’s Deleu when you need him?”

  “He’s gone out for a pack of cigarettes,” a familiar voice smirked.

  “Jesus, Versavel. I’d almost forgotten you were here. You disappeared a moment ago and I figured …”

  “You know the score,” he laughed. “Big boys move in, Versavel moves out.”

  “Did you come with Deleu?”

  “No
. I was here first, with Pol Verscheure. He’s still outside.”

  “A stroke of luck, Sergeant. Are you on duty day and night?” said Hannelore.

  “You only get to rest on your laurels after they promote you to inspector, ma’am,” was Versavel’s caustic response.

  “Give it a break, guys,” said Van In. “This is a kidnapping. Let’s get down to business.”

  Versavel fished his notebook from the breast pocket of his neatly laundered shirt and gave his report telegram-style.

  “Call from Mrs. Delahaye at 4:51 P.M.”

  “So late,” Hannelore observed. “The fax came in at 4:10 P.M.”

  “We can ask her later. Continue, Guido.”

  “Sergeant Versavel and Officer Verscheure on scene 5:01 P.M. Request assistance after basic questioning. Assistance arrives at 5:34 P.M. led by Commissioner Deleu. Commissioner Deleu informs the local police. Captain D’Hondt arrives at 5:48 P.M., Ludovic Degroof at almost the same time. Assistant Commissioner Van In and Deputy Martens arrive at 6:13 P.M.”

  “Is that it?” Van In cursed.

  Versavel snapped his notebook shut.

  “In cases like this, no one’s interested in the opinion of a mere sergeant,” he snorted.

  “Okay, then it’s time we started to coordinate things. Guido, try to keep the press and the public at bay outside. Ask the technical guys to set up crowd barriers and seal the place off. If anyone questions your authority, send him to me. By the way, was anyone dispatched to Boudewijn Park?”

  “Captain D’Hondt sent half his force,” said Versavel enviously. “Watch out. There goes all the glory.”

  “Now I understand why De Kee was so adamant that we come here,” said Hannelore: “to balance forces.”

  “And I thought Degroof wanted me on the case.”

  “That’s what De Kee said, but do we have to believe him?” she said with a roguish smile.

  “Tease.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Why didn’t he come himself? The cameras will be rolling here before long and everybody knows how much he loves the cameras.”

  “Come,” said Van In to Hannelore. “Let’s pay a visit to mummy.”

  As they were heading to the bedroom wing—Versavel had slipped him a hastily drawn plan of the house—he heard someone call his name. Captain D’Hondt hurried toward him.

  “Mr. Degroof tells me you’re taking over,” he said with a clear hint of suspicion in his voice.

  Van In confirmed the captain’s statement with an unassuming nod. Cooperation between the local police and special investigations was a delicate matter. In the last analysis, it was the public prosecutor who decided who was to lead an investigation, but the way D’Hondt had spoken to him was proof that the captain was aware of links between public prosecutor Lootens and Ludovic Degroof.

  “For the time being,” he added diplomatically. “I’ve just been told that your men are combing Boudewijn Park and its surroundings. That’s fine by me. It saves me some manpower.” D’Hondt seemed happy with the response. He was “new school” and hated inefficiency. Deleu was a windbag and he preferred to steer clear of him. Van In was another story, if the rumors circulating about him were anything to go by.

  “The men from the telephone company have fitted a tap to the phone and fax line. If the kidnappers contact us again, we’ll have their location in thirty seconds. And by the way, they found the boy’s bicycle five minutes ago.”

  “Nearby?” asked Van In.

  D’Hondt moistened his lips.

  “Not exactly. A couple of colleagues from the Oostkamp division came across it by accident on Kuipen Street, a country road between Oostkamp and Loppem. I had already issued a police alert, so they called in their find immediately.”

  One-nil, thought Hannelore, who had been following the conversation with degree of malicious delight. Versavel had underestimated the young captain.

  “We presume the kidnappers dumped the bike. Mr. Degroof is certain it belongs to his grandson. The model matches, as does the Greenpeace sticker on the mudguard. But we’ll be able to confirm things in fifteen minutes. The bicycle is on its way here.”

  “Thanks for the information, Captain. We’ll catch up later.”

  D’Hondt turned and made his way back to Degroof, who was waiting by the fax machine. The captain’s face had been saved. He could now get on with his work undisturbed.

  “Friendly guy, our captain,” she teased. Van In didn’t fall for it. “You’re learning fast, Pieter Van In,” she said with a laugh when he didn’t react. “I still owe you a report, by the way, from yesterday. And if your behavior on the way over here is anything to go by, my little outing yesterday is still bothering you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m over it. From now on, I believe everything you say.”

  “Aha,” she crowed. “So you thought I’d pulled a fast one on you and was off padding my own wallet.”

  Van In bowed his head. “It’ll never happen again, Hannelore.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll fill you in later at home, as long as you have enough Duvels in the refrigerator.”

  “We have a deal, if we escape at a reasonable hour. But first Charlotte Degroof.”

  The house was built in such a way that all the rooms on both wings gave out onto the garden, just like Roman villas in antiquity. The architect had clearly been inspired by Pompeii itself. All the rooms were accessible via a corridor on the inside of the exterior wall.

  When Van In knocked on the first door, he heard Delahaye shout “enter” from the neighboring room. They moved on to the second door and thus arrived at the master bedroom.

  Charlotte Degroof was lying on the bed and her husband was staring out of the window. He spent most of his free time in the garden, but now it seemed completely unimportant.

  “Excuse us,” said Van In. “But I fear we’re going to need your help.”

  Charlotte was about to get up, but Van In stopped her.

  “There’s no need, ma’am.”

  Charlotte Degroof was a very beautiful woman. Her short haircut gave her a particularly youthful look. Van In found it hard to believe she was forty-six.

  “You called the police,” he said by way of introduction.

  “We thought it was a joke at first,” Delahaye answered in her stead. “Bertrand has given us a couple of scares in the past.”

  “So you questioned the authenticity of the fax.”

  Van In now knew why they had waited so long before they called the police.

  “Last year he gave his friends a card saying it was time he saw something of the world,” said Charlotte in a gentle voice. “His friends mailed it from Rome, while we thought he was camping with the scouts.”

  The anecdote made her smile.

  “His father panicked and drove to Lanaken. And there he was, with the scouts.”

  “What made you finally decide this one wasn’t a joke?”

  “When I called Daddy and read him the text. He made us swear we would inform the police. He also insisted that you be put in charge of the investigation. Do you know Daddy, perhaps?”

  “Yes, we know each other,” Van In lied.

  “Then there was that Latin text. Have you any idea what it meant?” asked Delahaye.

  “We found the same text at your brother-in-law’s store, Mr. Delahaye,” said Van In in a neutral tone.

  “So there’s a connection between that ridiculous robbery and Bertrand’s abduction?”

  Van In nodded.

  “We haven’t been able to decipher the precise meaning of the text, unfortunately. But one thing is clear: the presence of the Latin puzzle proves that we’re not dealing with one of your son’s practical jokes.”

  Van In thus dismissed any remaining doubts and Delahaye felt strangely reassured. He sat on the bed next to Charlotte and took her hand.

  At that moment someone knocked on the door. It was Deleu, and he didn’t look happy.

  “The public prosecutor wants to
speak with you urgently, Van In,” he said in an authoritarian tone.

  “Surely not?” Van In replied feigning disbelief.

  Deleu gasped for air.

  “Why don’t you finish taking Mr. and Mrs. Delahaye’s statement? I’ll be back as soon as I’m free.”

  Van In and Hannelore headed back to the lounge, leaving Deleu juddering like a blocked volcano. Just you wait, he thought to himself, seething with pent-up rage.

  Public Prosecutor Lootens was roughly the same height as Ludovic Degroof. Both men were standing with Captain D’Hondt on the covered patio.

  “The public prosecutor wants to speak with Van In, what an honor,” Hannelore jeered.

  Van In shrugged his shoulders, but behind his indifferent façade his heart was racing.

  After the obligatory exchange of politenesses, everyone turned to the public prosecutor. Hannelore had told Van In that Lootens was part of the Degroof clique: rich, right-wing, and Roman Catholic, in that order.

  “Captain D’Hondt has just informed me of the measures that have already been taken,” said Lootens in a penetrating nasal voice. “I have decided to extend the police alert to the national level.”

  It was almost seven, and the kidnapping was four hours old. The kidnappers had had plenty of time to seek the safety of their hideaway. At this stage, a national police alert was about as useful as a bucket of water at a nuclear meltdown.

  “Witness statements will be available later, no doubt,” said Lootens with the self-assurance typical of senior civil servants. “In cooperation with the special investigations, the local police are questioning everyone, as we speak, who may have witnessed the abduction in one way or another.”

  His sentence structure would have made even Cicero’s hair stand on end.

  “But I fear there’s little we can do until the kidnappers seek further contact.”

  It all sounded grave and consequential.

  Degroof stared vacantly into space. The swollen artery on his forehead throbbed visibly and his jaws were clenched tight. No one could really estimate just how much suffering the abduction of his grandson was causing him.