by Pieter Aspe
His words were met with a steely silence, and for a moment Van In thought that the sergeant had hung up on him. Hannelore was in tears and held a handkerchief to her mouth to conceal her laughter.
“Hello, D’Hondt.”
The captain’s heart was pounding loud enough to hear and he was clearly out of breath from running.
“I need you to delay the spectacle for one more hour,” Van In snorted.
D’Hondt registered the words but was unable to grasp their significance.
“What did you say?” he croaked.
“I want you to postpone the bonfire for one more hour. Make up a story for the press, whatever you want … but give me one more hour.”
“You must be kidding. Make up a story? What story?”
“Put the minister on,” Hannelore whispered, still giggling.
“A second, D’Hondt.”
Van In racked his brain for a solution. The kidnappers were sure to be watching the whole thing on TV, and Long-legs was almost certainly somewhere on Zand Square. He doubted they would kill the boy for a minor delay, but he wasn’t certain by any means.
“Ask Delahaye to pretend to pass out just as he about to put a match to the first painting. Have him carried away on a stretcher and make sure the cameras pick it all up.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Van In,” said D’Hondt, who had managed to get his breath back and get ahold of himself.
“Don’t worry about me, friend. And one more thing … tell Delahaye to make it as realistic as possible.”
From nine onwards, the police station in Schaarbeek was in contact with the Federal Records Office, where the computer was working as it should.
Fifteen minutes later, it spewed out a name: Laurent De Bock, Les Heids, Vezin.
As the name was being passed round, Van In was chain-smoking next to a neo-gothic monument in the cemetery of Fleurus. Every thirty seconds he looked at his watch.
Hannelore was close by, chatting with Commandant Evrard. The commandant, a respectable husband and father, found it hard to stay focused on the task at hand. Like so many others, he was convinced that the attractive Deputy didn’t belong in their world. He was also taken by her exceptionally melodious French. She could easily make a career for herself in Paris. He was convinced of it.
Bertrand Delahaye was awakened from his feverish anesthesia by the sound of slamming car doors and wheels spinning on gravel.
He had dreamed that he was standing on top of a steep hill. He was on a mountain hike with the scouts and had lost his companions. He had decided to climb higher until he reached the top, but when he didn’t find his companions there he figured it best to head back down to the valley on his own. But the hill he had just climbed suddenly appeared incredibly steep. He was standing at the edge of an almost vertical ravine and he was terrified. No one was likely to find him where he was, so he made up his mind not to wait and started his descent step by careful step.
He felt loose stones slip away under his feet and tried to keep his balance. When he started to fall into the empty void below, he suddenly realized that the sound of crunching gravel didn’t square with the sensation of free fall.
The sound was coming from outside.
People were surrounding the house.
A force of fifty armed policemen had surrounded the chalet of Aquilin Verheye, alias Laurent De Bock. Van In read the name that had been written on a wooden board and nailed to the chalet wall: de Molay.
Every residual doubt evaporated.
Jacques de Molay, he remembered from Billen’s lengthy exposé, was the last grand master of the Templars. He had cursed Philip the Fair, Pope Clement V, and Guillaume de Nogaret before being burned at the stake.
Here was the man they were after.
Evrard waited until his men had taken their positions and then winked at Van In and Hannelore. The summer tranquility of the pinewood forest was restored. Everyone held their breath.
“Help, help,” they heard someone shout. The voice was weak, but it was clearly coming from inside the chalet.
Van In and Evrard glanced at each other and sprinted toward the front door like a pair of aging joggers. Van In knocked the door from its hinges with a well-aimed kick. Evrard stormed inside, pistol at the ready, somersaulted forward, landed on his belly, and sought cover behind a copper umbrella stand.
It was a comical sight.
The boy continued to shout for help, but the rest of the chalet was quiet and calm.
Van In burst in to the chalet, hot on Evrard’s heels, but unlike Evrard he remained standing. He pushed open an interior door and checked out the corridor ahead. Another door leading to the kitchen was half open. Van In went inside and found the old man on the floor. His arm was stretched out in front of him and he had a key clenched in his fist.
Evrard scrambled to his feet when Van In signaled that the coast was clear.
Van In stood over the dead body of Aquilin Verheye. He was forced to break a couple of fingers to free the key.
“You’re safe, take it easy,” said Van In seconds later as he pacified a sobbing Bertrand and held him to his chest. “The nightmare is over, young friend. I’m taking you home.”
Daniel Verhaeghe listened in astonishment to the journalist as he announced with emotion that the kidnapping was over.
The police had freed the boy and one of the kidnappers had been found dead at the scene, of apparently natural causes.
De Kee stood beside him grinning from ear to ear. His hair had been combed back and gelled to perfection.
“Our people have had the case under control for more than twenty-four hours,” he declared with pride. “I’ve been coordinating the entire operation from the outset. We had essential information at our disposal that finally scuppered the kidnappers’ plans.”
Versavel taped the entire broadcast and handed it over to Van In. D’Hondt searched in vain for the BBC outside broadcast unit, while his men dispersed the crowd with megaphones.
When Patrick Delahaye heard the news, he passed out, this time for real.
Back in Bishop Avenue, a sobbing Charlotte poured herself a triple cognac. The hands that had carried out the most delicate eye operations for years on end trembled like the wings of an emerging butterfly.
The Park Hotel receptionist saw Daniel Verhaeghe storm through the lobby. He had hung around the evening before after his shift to chat with the colleague who was taking over from him and had seen the young man wheel himself to the elevator in a wheelchair. He grabbed the phone and informed the police.
Daniel was just about to start the blue Ford Transit when it was surrounded by twenty police officers.
“Congratulations, Holmes,” said Hannelore as an ambulance rushed Bertrand Delahaye to the nearest hospital. “I still don’t know how you figured it out, but you’ve convinced me once and for all that the Bruges police are not only good for writing parking tickets.”
Van In crumpled his empty cigarette pack and took her by the arm. He felt lightheaded.
“Can I bum a cigarette?” he asked softly. “My last … it’s time to stop. Those things are really bad for your health.”
She rummaged in her handbag but also appeared to be out.
“I’ll buy some for you later. In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with the consolation prize.”
She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the lips.
Heroes always get the cutest girl, Van In thought to himself. He tried to make the most of the moment.
Commandant Evrard watched from a distance. Lucky Flemish bastard, he thought.
On Tuesday morning, the telephone rang uninterrupted until Van In was no longer able to bear the piercing sound.
“It’s eleven o’clock,” said Hannelore, still half asleep. “We can’t lie here forever.”
“Go answer it, then,” Van In grumbled.
“Next time it rings, Pieter.” She turned on her side and dozed off again.
Van In made his
way downstairs in his bare feet and answered the phone in a rage.
“The old bastard Degroof shot himself in the head.”
It was Versavel, and he was in a bit of a state. At that moment in time, Van In couldn’t have cared less.
“Haven’t you seen the papers?” Versavel rattled on. “Someone went public with the whole thing.”
Van In sat down and looked around for a cigarette. Luckily, he found none. It wasn’t going to be easy to stop, he thought. In the meantime he half-listened to Versavel’s tale of woe.
Two papers had Daniel Verhaeghe’s complete confession; the others were a little more modest, with just the main points of the story. The entire incest affair and the suspect incarceration of Aurelie had been reported down to the last detail.
“Did you know that Aurelie was actually Aquilin Verheye’s daughter?” Versavel roared when he sensed that Van In wasn’t really paying any attention. “Elisa de Puyenbroucke and Verheye continued to be lovers after the marriage. Degroof found out about it and sexually abused Aurelie for years on end to get his revenge.”
“Not incest in the technical sense,” Van In dryly observed. “He knew she wasn’t his daughter.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Versavel whined. “It’s easy to relativize. But Degroof senior found the revelation serious enough to put a bullet in his head. Honor and respect meant everything to him,” Versavel sighed. “I thought the news would interest you, Commissioner,” he added confused.
“But of course it does, my friend. Thanks for taking the trouble. I’ll tell Hannelore right away.”
“Ah, so,” Versavel coughed knowingly.
“Don’t be an asshole, Guido. If you’re jealous, go look for Captain D’Hondt. Maybe he can console you.”
“Bastard.”
“Chin up, Guido. See you tomorrow at the office. Ciao!” Van In hung up and walked toward the kitchen counter, deep in thought. He put the kettle on the range and opened a fresh pack of coffee. The smell made him want a cigarette.
You haven’t had one since yesterday, he said to himself, why not today too?
So it was the baroness who had handed over the alarm code to Verheye and given him the list of paintings. He had originally suspected Anne-Marie, but with Aquilin and the baroness’s relationship now confirmed, it was she who had had the ultimate grudge to settle.
As he poured boiling water through the filter, he lined up the events of the preceding eight days.
The motive was now understandable.
Aquilin Verheye, lover of the Baroness Elisa de Puyenbroucke, wanted revenge against Degroof for raping and ruining their love child. Daniel Verhaeghe, the child born of the allegedly incestuous relationship between Degroof and Aurelie, wanted revenge for the injustice Degroof had done to his mother. And while they both wanted to get at Degroof, they used the rest of the family to reach their goal.
Their roundabout modus operandi wasn’t the most transparent, but it also wasn’t so out of the ordinary. The Americans could tell a story or two on that count. But the case was closed, so why was he worrying? He couldn’t help himself.
Why had they waited so long, and what inspired Daniel Verhaeghe to …
Van In poured too much water onto the coffee. The filter overflowed and the black sludge ran down the sides of the porcelain coffee pot he had dug up for the occasion.
Without bothering about the mess, he headed back to the lounge and punched in Delahaye’s number. Fortunately, it was Charlotte herself who picked up the phone.
She was surprised when she heard what he wanted to know, but promised she would call him back as soon as she had the information.
Van In could have asked her anything, given her grateful state.
Hannelore beamed when he appeared in the room with a tray of toast and coffee. He almost tripped on the last stair.
“I’m not used to serving breakfast in bed,” he said apologetically.
“I would hope so too, Pieter Van In,” she said threateningly.
The telephone rang moments after noon, and Van In rushed downstairs.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to have a phone installed up here?” she shouted after him.
The conversation lasted a couple of minutes, and when Van In came back to the bedroom he was shaking his head.
“Problems?”
“No, not really,” he sighed.
“Well, say something then and stop being so bloody secretive.”
“Finish your coffee first. We need to pay a visit to the baroness. I think it’s time she told us the whole story. But promise me one thing: whatever she tells us stays between me and you.”
It took a while before anyone answered the door at the house on Spinola Street.
Hannelore whined the entire trip about why he wasn’t telling her what his intentions were, but Van In refused to budge and said nothing. She was straining at the leash when he rang the bell for a third time.
Elisa, baroness de Puyenbroucke, had lost her youth, but her beauty and grace were still in ample evidence. She looked just like the photo on the mantel. She was wearing gray slacks and a large-knit woolen sweater, which made her look twenty years younger. There was pain in her eyes, and her slightly stooped shoulders appeared to be carrying a heavy burden. Van In wasn’t surprised that there was no wheelchair and that she didn’t look sickly and weak as Degroof had implied.
“I’ve been expecting you, Commissioner. Please come in.”
She spoke elegant Dutch with a slight North Holland accent, a remnant from her boarding school days.
“We’re not disturbing you?”
She shook her head.
“He didn’t have the courage to do it here,” she said with a melancholic smile. “He kept his hunting gear at our country house in Vlissegem.”
That explained the absence of hustle and bustle around the house. Van In had already asked himself why there were no vehicles from the public prosecutor’s office. They were off in the countryside, then, dealing with the proverbial mess.
She led them to the same lounge in which Degroof had earlier received Van In. An enormous vase of white lilies graced the coffee table. The musty smell had more or less disappeared.
“Ms. Martens is Deputy to the public prosecutor. She has been at my side throughout the investigation. But neither of us is here on official business. This is an informal visit.”
She nodded and took a seat by the window, far from her husband’s chesterfield.
“Did he ever tell you about the circumstances of our marriage?” she asked, unexpectedly to the point.
Van In nodded in the affirmative but let her continue. He and Hannelore sat down uninvited on a couch with flower motif upholstery.
“I was in love with Aquilin and he with me,” she said hesitatingly, as if she only now realized that she was talking to complete strangers. “Our love for each other never died, but my family refused to accept him back then. He was poor and so were we. All my father had to sell was his name. He arranged the marriage with Degroof. He was rich, and on top of that I knew him quite well. He was Aquilin’s best friend. Now they’re both dead: the prince and the beast.”
Hannelore was taken aback by the elderly woman’s choice of words.
“We planned to elope at first, to go abroad, but I couldn’t do that to my family. The only thing I could promise Aquilin was my eternal love. We agreed to see each other on a regular basis, easy enough since my husband was rarely home.”
She paused for a moment and Hannelore had the impression that she was reliving those days with Aquilin in her thoughts. She felt sorry for her.
“Aquilin visited once a month, and one day we decided we wanted a child together. He was reluctant at first, but I persuaded him. I wanted his child. It was the only way I could have him with me at all times. We calculated the most suitable date and I resolved to spend the next couple of weeks at my parents’ place. I did that all the time, and I knew no one would be suspicious.”
The baroness
was clearly in difficulty. Her voice faltered, and her eyes were bathed in an ocean of bitter tears.
“We spent a heavenly afternoon together and I was happy.”
She pulled out her handkerchief and blew her nose.
“But that evening, minutes after I’d unpacked my bags upon my return, he stormed into the room. I’ve no idea what overcame him, but I could see in his eyes that he knew. He raped me like an animal for three days in a row.”
Van In sensed the beginnings of a lump in his throat.
“But when Aurelie was born, I knew she was our child. She had Aquilin’s eyes and that amply made up for the humiliation. Aquilin came to see her every month. To avoid further risks, we arranged to meet at a different place each time. I was so happy with Aurelie that I let the beast sire his own children.”
“When did you find out that he was abusing Aurelie?” asked Van In with the utmost caution.
The baroness lost control and burst into tears.
“Her youth was a nightmare,” she sobbed. “Aquilin did everything to free her from his claws. He wanted to kill him, but I talked him out of it. If they had locked him up I would have been left with nothing. We were powerless in official terms. I once tried to file charges. When he got home that evening, he beat me black and blue. The public prosecutor had called him and the case, of course, was dismissed. He had them all under his thumb. He would leave her alone from time to time, but he would work out his rage on me instead. He locked me up and told everyone I was sick.”
“Did the other children know what was going on?”
She nodded.
“He brainwashed them and kept telling them that Aurelie was making it all up.”
“And did he abuse Benedicta?”
“I think so. He was insatiable by this point.”
“And Nathalie?”
“Nathalie was our second child,” she said with pride.
“What?” Van In exclaimed.
“Before Aurelie fell pregnant to the beast, Aquilin wanted to console me. I was depressed, and if it hadn’t been for Aquilin I would have taken my own life years earlier. A child would bring me hope, he figured.”