Murder Scene

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Murder Scene Page 32

by Richard Montanari


  ‘Not on this side,’ he said. ‘Not that I’ve heard.’

  ‘There’s a girl. A fifteen-year-old girl.’

  ‘Sorry, Chief. Nothing yet.’

  As the crowd from the festival amassed behind her, Ivy ran to the north end of Veldhoeve.

  All she could do was watch.

  Before anyone could put a hand on him Will tore off the oxygen mask and was across the yard. He was on the firefighter before the man could remove his helmet.

  ‘Is she in there?’ Will shouted.

  The man shot a glance over Will’s shoulder, back into Will’s eyes.

  What Will saw there ate him alive.

  ‘Sir, I don’t—’

  Will grabbed the man by the front of his jacket.

  ‘Just fucking tell me the truth! Is she in there?’

  The man was Will’s size, a few years younger. He did not fight.

  ‘Look me in the eyes like a man and tell me if she’s dead!’

  Will felt hands on him, strong arms pulling him back. He fought as long and as hard as he could. The words coming out his mouth took on a guttural sound, an animal sound. He was taken to the ground.

  Out of the sea of faces he saw Ivy Holgrave emerge.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Ivy said. ‘I have this. Let him go.’

  After a few moments, the firefighters eased their grip.

  ‘My daughter,’ Will managed.

  ‘Will,’ Ivy said. ‘She’s not inside.’

  With the fire contained and extinguished on the north side of the house, the fire officer cleared two deputies to search the other sections of the building, areas the fire had not reached. Five minutes later the Reese brothers emerged. Dale Reese caught Ivy’s eye, shook his head. The house was clear. There was no one inside.

  Ivy turned to the crowd. Just about everyone in attendance at the Appleville Festival had formed a semicircle near the front entrance to Veldhoeve.

  ‘Did anyone see Jakob van Laar?’ Ivy yelled.

  Ivy scanned the faces in the crowd. No one responded.

  ‘Anyone. Jakob van Laar!’

  ‘I saw him.’

  Ivy turned to the voice. It was Colleen Clausen.

  ‘Where did you see him?’

  ‘He was on that carriage. The old one that takes people around the Fairgrounds.’

  ‘Was there anyone with him?’ Ivy asked.

  ‘Not that I saw, Ivy. There may have been someone inside. The door was closed.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe twenty minutes? Half an hour?’

  ‘Which way did he go?’

  Marge pointed south. Toward Route 44. Toward the forest.

  Ivy got on her phone. She relayed the information to the Holland County Sheriff’s office, who would in turn alert every police department in the tri-county area. She also put in a request for air assist. If there was a police helicopter available, she wanted it in the sky.

  As she turned to head across the grounds she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Will Hardy.

  ‘You have to stay with EMS, Will.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You took smoke. They have to clear you.’

  ‘It’s not up to them. He’s got my daughter.’

  Ivy searched the man’s eyes, looking for the right words to say. There were none. He would not be consoled or persuaded. She took him away from the crowd, lowered her voice.

  ‘I need you to go to Godwin Hall,’ Ivy said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Get the book. The big art book on your daughter’s bed.’

  ‘I don’t understand. We have to—’

  ‘The answer is in there,’ she said. ‘Meet me at my house.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Go!’

  Will ran across the Fairgrounds. When he reached Godwin Hall it was as if he was entering the place for the first time. It was suddenly foreign to him.

  He ran up the stairs, down the hall. When he went into Detta’s room he felt the emotions surge. He had to calm himself. What would he counsel a patient to do?

  Breathe.

  He found the coffee table book on Pieter Bruegel.

  He was down the stairs in an instant. He took his Cervélo from the foyer, jumped on. He left for Ivy Holgrave’s house.

  When Will burst through the door Ivy called him to the basement. She had a number of crime scene photographs laid out on the huge table.

  ‘Look,’ she said. She pointed to the crime scene photos from Lonnie Combs’s apartment. The hanging body. The dice on the floor.

  ‘The dice at three and one,’ Ivy said.

  It was all depicted in the drawing.

  ‘Acedia,’ Will said. ‘Sloth.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She pulled more photographs onto the table. These were from Chevy Deacon’s trailer. The horrible close-up of the drill bit emerging from his temple.

  ‘My God,’ Will said. He flipped a page in the book, found it. ‘Gluttony.’

  ‘Turn to the section on the Seven Virtues.’

  Ivy tapped the first plate. In it were three urns. A ceramic rooster. A lantern.

  ‘This one is Josefina Mollo,’ she said.

  More photographs. A dozen crime scene pictures of the Elizabeth Hollis scene. The spiral candles on holders, the peacock feathers.

  Elizabeth Hollis was Fortitude.

  In one motion Ivy cleared the large table of everything. She took one photograph from each crime scene and placed it on the table. She took the book from Will’s hand and tore out the fourteen prints. Before long she had them all matched up.

  ‘There is only one left,’ Will said. ‘One virtue and one vice.’

  He tapped the final print. In it, a woman stood in raging waters. Around her were boats in distress.

  ‘This is the one,’ he said.

  The last print was Hope. At the bottom of the drawing was the Latin phrase Will had found carved into the headboard. He now knew who had put the auction flyer on his door.

  Ivy took a rifle from a mount on the wall.

  ‘I know where he took her.’

  85

  She could hear the river. The sound was soothing.

  It reminded her of the day she’d met Billy.

  The man had told her that they would take a ride in this beautiful carriage and that she would meet up with her father.

  When the door opened, and she took in the setting, the delta formed by the smaller river meeting the larger, she recognized it. It was the place she’d met Billy.

  The man now wore a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat. His tie had in it a stick pin in the shape of an onyx raven. He held out his hand. Detta took it, stepped from the carriage.

  ‘My dad is here?’ Detta asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  The man walked behind the horse, gave it a slight tap with a tree branch. The horse drew the carriage down the path, and soon disappeared into the woods.

  As a gentle rain began to fall, Detta looked around. It was different from the day she’d met Billy. There were things scattered around the clearing. No, not scattered. The items looked placed.

  Near the river bank was a shovel, along with a large anchor and something that looked like a sickle. Leaning against a wooden chair was an antique hand mirror.

  It suddenly occurred to her. ‘I don’t know your name.’

  For a long moment the man hesitated.

  ‘Rinus,’ he said. ‘I am Dr Rinus van Laar.’

  Detta knew the name. But from where? Then she remembered. It was from Eva Larssen’s diary.

  Fear gripped her heart. She looked down.

  In the man’s hand was a large, razor-sharp thorn.

  86

  In the moonlight Eva looked even younger than her years.

  Rinus van Laar had dressed and redressed many times this night, fussing over his appearance. He felt shame in his age. He felt shame in the lines on his face, the scars and spots on his hands. He felt shame in his betray
al of his dead wife.

  It was with these blackened feelings of disgrace and dishonor that he stepped from the shadows.

  ‘Willem?’ Eva called out.

  In this word, this singular name, he knew his greatest folly and humiliation. Eva would never say his name thus. He knew that now. He knew it, and yet he could not stop himself.

  ‘Where is the child?’ he asked.

  Her hand shaking, Eva pointed across the Fairgrounds, toward Godwin Hall.

  ‘It is all right. I will raise the child as if it were my own. Our own. You and little May will never want for anything.’

  He could see that Eva knew what was happening. In her eyes he saw the fear. She withdrew from him.

  ‘Willem,’ she said.

  ‘Willem is dead.’ Rinus held up the silver flacon. ‘This is his blood.’

  Eva’s eyes fluttered once, then she collapsed to the ground.

  Rinus carried her to the first grove. In the moonlight he saw the white bird circling, circling.

  With the last of his strength he buried the girl.

  It was there that her blood became forever one with the soil.

  It was there that Rinus van Laar perished.

  87

  On the way into the forest, the rain had begun to fall in a steady downpour.

  When they rounded the bend, Will saw the horse and carriage, standing on the side of the road. He was out of the SUV before Ivy could stop him. He threw open the door on the carriage. It was empty. Seconds later he found the path leading deep into the woods.

  As he ran into the clearing the rain began to fall in earnest. Through the torrent he took in the horrifying scene.

  Detta was seated on a wooden chair, just at the river’s edge.

  Her eyes were closed.

  Jakob van Laar stood next to her.

  In the man’s left hand was something that looked like a silver flask. In his right hand was a sickle. Even from fifty feet away Will could see the keened edge of the blade.

  When Jakob saw Will approaching, he stepped behind Detta. He held the sickle to her throat.

  ‘Stop, Willem Schuyler,’ he shouted.

  ‘Jakob,’ Will yelled. ‘Don’t do this.’

  Will could now see a thin wash of pink on his daughter’s wrists. She was bleeding.

  ‘The word derives from the Old English prud,’ Jakob said. ‘Did you know this? It meant excellent and fine.’ The edge of the blade was now an inch from Detta’s throat. ‘It also meant arrogant and haughty.’

  My God, Will thought. He’s talking about Pride.

  Jakob van Laar is the last vice.

  Will sensed movement in his periphery, but he dared not look away. He had to find the words.

  ‘Pride is not a sin, Jakob. There is no shame in it.’

  ‘Oh but there is. I am guilty of it.’

  If you want to counter it, you feel hope. Hope, man. Her name was Eva.

  These were Anthony Torres’s words.

  Will had to keep the man talking. He slowly continued across the clearing. Everywhere were placed items, items he’d seen in Bruegel’s drawing.

  ‘Why, Jakob?’ he asked. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I’ve taken credit for all that is Zeven Farms. I live in the grace of its bounty.’

  Will could see movement through the trees to his left. The river began to churn. He did not take his eyes from Jakob.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ Will said.

  ‘Is there not?’

  Will took two more steps forward. Detta did not move.

  ‘Because there is something to be found in this,’ Will said. ‘All of this.’

  ‘Not for me. Not anymore.’

  Will took one final step forward. ‘What about self-worth, Jakob?’

  Jakob looked north, toward the looming hulk of Veldhoeve. He lifted the silver flask. ‘Each of my fathers knew when to sip from this. They knew when it was time. For the briefest moment I felt I could not join them. Now I know that I was wrong.’ He tilted back his head for a moment, grimaced at the taste of whatever was in the flask. He dropped the flask to his feet.

  Will gestured to the rolling hills in the distance, the vast and flourishing orchards.

  ‘Look at all this, Jakob. This is something. You should feel something for all of this. For all that your family has accomplished. Don’t throw it all away.’

  Jakob looked out over the rain-swept orchards, back at Will. The blade trembled in his hand.

  ‘What?’ he asked. ‘What is my legacy, Willem Schuyler?’

  Will was now less than ten feet away.

  ‘Dignity,’ Will said.

  Everything seemed to stop. Will saw the blade drop a few inches from Detta’s neck.

  Will had reached him.

  A few moments later, whatever had given Jakob van Laar pause, whatever humanity flickered within him, was gone. He looked up, into Will’s eyes, and mouthed the word:

  ‘Hope.’

  He lifted the blade.

  In this instant Will saw the baby in Amanda’s arms, pink and loud and healthy. He saw the toddler on Rockaway Beach, scooping sand into a plastic pail. He saw the teenage Detta Hardy dabbing her eyes during the closing credits of Casablanca.

  In the next moment he saw the back of Jakob van Laar’s head explode in a violent gush of blood and bone and tissue. His body shuddered once, then tumbled backward, into the raging river.

  Will heard the delayed report of the rifle as he ran to the river’s edge and took his daughter into his arms.

  ‘I have you, baby. I have you.’

  A few moments later the EMS paramedics reached them. Will turned his gaze to the rim of the forest, where Ivy Holgrave stood, the long gun in her hands.

  They saw each other and, in that moment, knew it was over.

  88

  Ivy had rehearsed an elaborate speech for the girl, intending to shield her from some of the more terrible truths. On the way to the hospital she chucked it all. The girl had been through a hellish ordeal. She was probably tougher than some small-town police chief.

  The good news for Bernadette Hardy, and her father, was that her wounds – her external wounds – were minor. The toxicology report would take a few days, so they did not know what she had ingested. When Jakob van Laar had attempted to pierce a vein with the large thorn, he had missed, and only lacerated the skin.

  Ivy took note of this, and planned to revisit all the autopsy photos of the other girls. She knew that she would find this to be consistent with the other victims. The reason they had not found the murder weapons for all these years had been because the murder weapon had been organic.

  Jakob van Laar’s body was pulled from the Hoop River about one hundred yards south of the clearing. He was pronounced dead at the scene.

  Ivy took no joy or satisfaction in this. In her more than two decades in law enforcement, it was the first time she had ever taken a life.

  ‘Tell me how it began,’ Ivy said.

  Detta took a few moments, arranging her thoughts. She told Ivy about the events leading up to the previous night. She began with her taking 20 mg of Ambien, and going to bed.

  ‘Is that your prescribed dose?’

  Detta flicked a glance toward the doorway, where her father stood. She looked back at Ivy.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s twice.’

  ‘Tell me what happened next.’

  ‘I heard something outside. At first I thought it was a tree branch scraping the glass. But it wasn’t. It was tiny stones being thrown at the window.’

  ‘Who was throwing the stones?’

  ‘It was Billy.’

  ‘What is Billy’s last name?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where does he live? Here in Abbeville?’

  ‘I don’t know that either.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ivy said. ‘Where did you meet him?’

  ‘I saw him one day in the library. But I didn’t talk to him that day.’

&nb
sp; ‘Our library?’

  ‘Yes. Then a few days later I went down to the river by myself. I rode my bike down there, and Billy was just . . . there. It was kind of like he was waiting for me.’

  ‘Where by the river?’

  ‘Right where that man took me.’

  ‘Did you feel threatened by that?’

  ‘Oh God, no. Nothing like that. In fact, whenever I was with Billy I felt safe. Really safe.’

  Detta went on to tell Ivy about her further encounters with the boy.

  ‘And in all this time he never told you his last name, or where he lived, or where he went to school.’

  ‘We never talked about school.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me about him?’ Ivy asked.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Anything about a sister or brother? Anything about his parents?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about a distinguishing characteristic? Maybe a scar or a birthmark. Something like that.’

  ‘There was something. On his right forearm.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘It was a tattoo,’ Detta said. ‘A tattoo of a white bird.’

  89

  Will found that he could not leave the hospital room. Even when Ivy was in there with Detta, he found that he could not step away. He hovered in the doorway. More than once, when orderlies and nurses tried to get in the room, he had to step to the side.

  When Ivy was finished, she stepped out of the room. Together they walked to the end of the hall.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Ivy finally asked.

  Will took his time. ‘Not sure how to answer that.’

  ‘I understand.’

  They fell silent, listening to the sounds of a hospital in its midday hum.

  ‘Was my daughter able to shed any light?’

  ‘Some,’ Ivy said. ‘But this investigation is just beginning. There is no telling what we’re going to find in Veldhoeve.’

  The main house and all the outbuildings near Veldhoeve were currently sealed off, as were all areas of the Fairgrounds leading up to the property. There were no fewer than a dozen forensic and investigative personnel on the grounds.

  Ivy lowered her voice.

  ‘I hope you’re not blaming yourself for any of this,’ she said.

 

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