Abruptly she pulled the box out of the bag, broke open the lid. The ice cream was so hard the spoon snapped. She hacked away at it with the handle, gobbled down the pieces that she worked loose. The cold spread to her stomach too. She got out her lighter and moved it back and forth under the base. Soon she was able to dig out larger chunks of the vanilla-sweet mass. Hungry even as she was eating. It only took a few minutes to get the whole lot down. She squeezed the sides of the empty carton and squashed it into a rubbish bin on the other side of the gravel path. Ducked into the bushes and emptied herself. The taste of vanilla as it ran out of her was still just as strong. She couldn’t vacate herself completely; the remains of something were still down in her stomach somewhere, something she was unable to get up. She rested a while with her forehead against a tree. Maybe it was an oak; the bark was full of sharp ridges she could press herself against.
Her thoughts no longer whirled around in disarray. They began to gather. Separable, one from the next. Mailin gone. Find Mailin, before it’s too late. Zako got someone to take that photo of her … Liss stood up again. Knew what she had to do. She was still freezing. The cold streaming from her stomach kept her thinking calm. She cycled back along Lijnbaansgracht. It had to be past midnight. Houseboat windows all in darkness. A few swans drifting on the black canal.
Dark in his kitchen window too, the one facing Bloemstraat. She could ring him, or send a text message. Decided to wait. Positioned herself in a doorway on the other side. Even colder now. She needed this cold. The thought of Mailin being missing kept slipping away from her. Only the imprint of it remained. Her mother’s voice breaking up. She, Liss, was the one who should have gone missing. Anything could happen to her. The ground beneath her feet was always on the point of giving way. She lived in places where people disappeared. They ran off, or they gave up. If someone had called Mother and told her that her daughter Liss had disappeared it would have grieved her, but the grief would not have been unexpected. She was already half mourned. If something happened to Mailin, it would tear her apart.
An hour, perhaps more, had passed when she heard a motorcycle turn up from the bridge at Prinsengracht. A few seconds later he pulled up outside the entrance. He was alone. She resisted the impulse to race across the street and grab hold of his jacket. Waited till he’d gone in. Waited till the kitchen light went on. Waited a while longer, and then called him.
– What do you want? he asked, not even offering a greeting.
– Was just in the neighbourhood. On my way home. Thought I’d call in.
Zako grunted and ended the call. Two and a half minutes later, she rang the bell. He let her in. The fourth-floor door was ajar. The hallway smelt as though it had been freshly washed. He always got girls to come and clean up for him and never paid them a cent.
She stopped in the middle of the room. He was sitting on the sofa with a can of Amstel in his hand, looked up from the screen where a bunch of footballers were running round yelling at each other. Without waiting to be asked, she sat down. He didn’t bother asking what she was doing in his place. Had obviously taken it for granted that she would show up again.
– I’ve come here because there’s something I need you to tell me. Two weeks ago you showed me that picture, at the Café Alto. Of my sister.
He leaned back in the sofa, put his feet on the table. Finally he turned his gaze to her. The small lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile.
– Your sister, he repeated up into the air.
She might have run out to the kitchen, grabbed a breadknife, held it to his throat, threatened it out of him. She forced herself back to her calmness, the calmness that came from the cold still occupying her empty stomach. Don’t let him get the upper hand now. If Zako gets the upper hand, he’ll never let you go again.
– Have you … any more pictures of her?
– Sure have, he grinned.
– Who took them?
He whistled between his teeth.
– You don’t want to know that, Liss. You want to know as little as possible.
– You’re bluffing me, Zako. You’ve always been like that. Want people to believe you know everything.
He jerked slightly. – I can hear you haven’t had it for a while. Is that why you’re here?
– Could be. She acted as though she was thinking it over. – But first you’ve got to tell me about those pictures.
He sat up and dug a packet out of his jacket pocket. – A line each. And we’ll make things good again.
She forced a smile. A line and a fuck. How simple the world could be. She took off her jacket and pullover. Let the skirt drop, stood there in black tights and a thin blouse, knew he liked to see her like that.
– You’re as stubborn as a goat, he growled.
– Didn’t know you had anything against goats.
Now he laughed.
– Who took that picture? she tried again.
– Someone I know. He sprinkled the white power on to the glass table. – Someone who owed me a favour.
– Does he live in Oslo?
He made three lines with a Visa card. – Nope.
A word he usually used when he was lying.
– Why do you send people to Oslo to take pictures of my sister?
He glanced up at her. – Is this an interrogation?
– I don’t believe you, Mr Bluff.
He took a note from his cardholder, rolled it into a cylinder. – It’s up to you what you believe.
– Give me some proof that you got someone to take those pictures and I’ll never doubt you again.
He looked at her for a long time. She could have screamed it out now, that Mailin had gone missing, that he had to tell her what he knew, otherwise she’d report him. Instead she closed her eyes, shook her head, acting exasperated.
– You always have these big plans, Zako. Why should I believe you’ll ever amount to anything?
He stood up suddenly, took out his phone. Punched a key and held it up for her.
– The pictures were sent to me from Oslo. Understand? I mean what I say.
Liss turned towards the window, bit her lip. I know him well, she told herself again. He could go to great lengths to make her feel insecure. But abduct Mailin? … What did she actually know about him? Did she in fact understand anything of what went on around her? Had she ever understood anything of this world she was living in? This picture: go out into the forest, it’s night, lie down in the snow, look up at the sky between the tops of the fir trees, glide into the grey-black, give up and sleep for ever.
– Why did you do it? she asked without turning round.
She heard Zako put his beer bottle down on the glass table. – You need me, Liss, he said, almost friendly. – Fuck, think what we could do together, the two of us.
He snorted. Twice.
– The third one is yours.
She sat down beside him. Picked up the note and breathed in, saw how the last grains got sucked in, felt the burning high up in her nostrils. Clear your thoughts, she told herself. Stay calm a little longer.
Zako took hold of her hand and pushed it down towards his flies. She could feel the movement beneath the smooth material of the trousers. Like pastry swelling, she thought.
– I need to go to the toilet.
– Be quick, he growled. – And bring me an Amstel from the fridge.
She dried herself and flushed, let the cold tap run, put both hands there and held them under. – Liss, she murmured to herself. It sounded sad. Same sound as in missing. Occasionally the kids at school would call after her: Liss, Liss, piss, piss.
She opened the cupboard above the basin. In an envelope she found dozens of small light blue pills. She tore off a sheet of toilet paper, wrapped six of them inside, picked up the tumbler with the toothbrush and toothpaste in and pressed the base of it against the pills, ground them into a fine powder against the basin, packed it inside the paper. In the kitchen she took a beer and opened it. Emptied the powder into it
, cleaned off the grains that clung to the neck of the bottle. Shook it carefully.
– What’s keeping you?
She slipped back into the living room, put the bottle down on the table in front of him.
– This game is shit. He scowled at the screen.
– Feel like one too, she said and fetched another Amstel from the kitchen, sat down close to him. He opened his flies and showed her what he had to offer.
– Cheers, she said, and pressed the ice-cold bottle against the strutting penis.
– Think doing that’ll make it collapse, he grinned as he picked up his own bottle and half emptied it in one swig. Within a few minutes his head began to droop. He pulled at the top of her tights, tried to get them down past her thighs.
– Let me help you, she said and slowly peeled them off. Then she unbuttoned her blouse. Stood in front of him wearing nothing but her G-string. He lifted his arm to take it off.
– What’s going on? he mumbled, and had to give up, sank back down into the sofa, eyes closed.
She picked up his phone, unlocked it, navigated to the photos of Mailin. In the first one she was on her way out of a gate. There was someone with her, a guy she presumed was Viljam. He was tall and well built, fair haired and with slightly slanted eyes. Then a series of eleven other pictures, including the one Zako had shown her at the Café Alto. The same fair-haired guy was in a couple of these two. The photos had been sent from a number that began with 0047. Funny that Zako didn’t delete the message, she thought. If he really had put someone on Mailin’s trail, he probably wouldn’t leave their number on his phone. Zako was a shit, but he wasn’t an idiot. She noted the number down on a newspaper lying on the table, ripped off the strip, put it in her jacket pocket, pulled it out again, wrote down the date the message was sent. Quickly searched the drawers in his desk. In the bottom one she found what she was looking for: the photo of Mailin. She stuffed this into her jacket pocket too, didn’t find any more that had been printed out.
She pulled her clothes on as fast as she could. Zako was lying with his head against the arm of the sofa. She grabbed him under the arms and pulled him into a position that looked a bit safer. She took the almost empty bottle out to the kitchen, poured away the remains and rinsed it thoroughly. No need for him to wake up and find out what had happened. She rinsed her own out too and then dried it. Why? she asked herself without bothering to look for an answer.
Zako was still slumped like a sack on the sofa, snoring. Before leaving, she lifted his head backwards, put his tackle back inside his trousers and zipped up his flies.
Back in the flat in Haarlemmerdijk. Still high. It would soon pass. She had some coke in an envelope in her bedside table. Take it now, hang on to this feeling of being invulnerable, make it last. She was alone. It was night. Silent in the street below. Mailin was missing. You must come down, Liss.
She sat down at her computer. Googled the Norwegian telephone directory and ran a search for the number she’d noted down on the strip of newspaper. Judith van Ravens was the name that came up. An address in Ekeberg Way in Oslo. It was now 2.30. She decided not to call until morning. Pulled her clothes off in two movements, dropped them to the floor and curled up in the bed.
She’s at the cabin. Mailin is there too. They walk down to the water. It’s summer; they’ve both got bathing towels with them. Liss runs up on to the rock she usually dives off. The water’s very deep there. As she’s about to dive in, she notices the water is covered in ice.
She woke up cold. A grey, muted light crept in through the window facing the back yard. She picked up her phone. Had slept for twelve hours. Sat upright with a jerk. Thirsty. Staggered out to the bathroom, put her mouth under the tap, took a long drink. Sank down on to the toilet, let it all run out again. Sat there looking at her face in the mirror. – Mailin, she murmured. I’ll look after you, Liss.
Afterwards, she rang Viljam. Certain for a moment that everything was as it should be, that her sister had come back.
She had not come back.
– She’s been missing for almost forty-eight hours.
– What is everyone doing? Liss wailed. – The police?
– They’ve put out a missing persons report. They’ve been here a couple of times. And I’ve been down to talk to the crime response unit. They keep on and on asking if we had a quarrel and all that kind of stuff. If she was depressed and had talked about killing herself.
– Mailin kill herself?
– None of us believe anything like that.
– But somebody has to do something!
– It doesn’t look as if they have any leads to go on. Tage and I went to the cabin at Morr Water. The police have been out there too. That’s all I know.
Liss stood looking down on Haarlemmerdijk. The café owner on the other side was hanging a Christmas decoration above the entrance. – Someone has to do something, she repeated. Said it aloud. Stood there without moving. Remembered just then about the telephone number.
She reached an answering service, a woman’s voice speaking in Dutch and then English: This is Judith van Raven’s telephone, please leave a message …
She showered. Dressed. Put on her make-up. Everything she normally did. Ran down the stairs and let herself out, cut across the street and into the café. From the top of a rickety stepladder the owner beamed at her. He looked to be somewhere in his fifties, with a pink dome framed by a pretzel-shaped rim of grey curls. The steps were up on a table, and a ghostly blonde wearing black was holding them while he hung gold and silver balls from the ceiling. There was music coming from behind the bar. It’s gonna be a cold, cold Christmas.
She ordered a double espresso and sat by the window. By the time it was finished, she had made up her mind. Ring Zako. Meet him one last time. Ask him straight out if he knew that Mailin was missing. She’d be able to tell if he was lying to her.
She called his number. It rang four times, five times. A deep male voice answered.
– Is Zako there?
– Who’s calling? the voice asked.
She hesitated before saying: – A friend.
– A friend? What is your business with him?
– I asked to speak to Zako, she exclaimed. – Is he there?
– Zako is dead.
She almost dropped her phone. – Don’t mess me about. Who the hell are you?
– Detective Inspector Wouters. Will you please answer the question I asked you?
She couldn’t remember what he had asked her. Out in Haarlemmerdijk the lights were being turned on. The six-pointed star with the red heart inside. A cyclist went by. A man with a child on a seat in front of him.
The voice on the phone: – When was the last time you saw Zako?
From very far away she heard her own answer: – A few days ago. Maybe a week.
There were more questions. About her relationship to him. About the drugs he used. If they had taken drugs together. She had to provide her full name and address. Tell him what she did in Amsterdam.
– We may need you to come in for a further talk with us.
– Of course, she muttered. – I’ll come in.
Afterwards she sat and stared at her phone. The skin around her mouth prickled. The sensation spread up into her cheeks.
The proprietor of the café had hung up all his balls and surrounded them with green garlands. He tottered down the rickety stepladder, gave her a smile. – There now. Now Christmas can come.
From the bar came the sound of John Lennon’s voice: War is over, if you want it. She felt her nose running. Fumbled out a handkerchief. When she took it away, it was full of blood. She pressed it to her nose again, hurried to the toilet.
– Everything all right? the proprietor asked as she passed him.
She locked the door. Held the handkerchief under the ice-cold water, used it to press her nostrils together. The diluted blood ran down over her chin and dripped on to the white porcelain.
Back at her table, she called Rikke. Rik
ke answered, but couldn’t get a word out.
– It’s not true, is it? Liss wailed. – Please tell me it isn’t true.
Rikke ended the call.
A few minutes later she called back.
– They found him this morning … two of his cousins … On the sofa … choked on his own vomit.
Then she was gone again. Liss pushed a note under her coffee cup and struggled out into the street.
The picture appeared again as she hurried along through the streets of Jordaan: disappear into the forest, down to the spot by the marsh, between the pines, a place only she, not even Mailin, knew about. For as long as she could remember she had thought of it as the last place, and it always used to calm her down to think of it. Nothing could calm her down now.
At Haarlemmerplein she hailed a taxi. Huddled up in the back seat. The driver was shaven headed and wearing a grey suit, reeked of a type of aftershave Zako sometimes used. She grabbed the door handle to get out again.
– Where does the young lady want taking to?
She slumped back. Thought she’d told him where she was going.
– Schiphol, she murmured, and pulled the thin leather jacket around herself.
The taxi driver turned again, winked at her in the mirror. – Travelling light, he observed as he offered her a cigarette.
AS I WRITE this, I think of all the things I would have said to you, dear Liss, if only you had let me tell you. Everything that happened that spring. And how I got through that summer, how I found myself on Crete in the autumn, under a different sun, but with the same black light shining inside me. Among people gorging themselves, drinking, coupling. They argued and vomited and left the kids to look after themselves. That’s where I got to know Jo. In the evening I sat and read on the terrace outside the restaurant, the same poem over and over again, by the light of a candle. It’s about the end time, I think, or at least it felt to me as though it was about my end time; roaming through a waste land, no water, no meaning, blindness, emptiness, death. What are you reading? Jo asked when he came up to me. He was suspicious, as he no doubt was of everyone he met; what he needed more than anyone else was someone he could trust. I told him about the poem, recited the section called ‘Death by Water’, told him about the image of the dead Phoenician at the bottom of the sea.
Death By Water Page 8