Sacrificed

by Chanette Paul

“If it turns out she’s not part of the conspiracy ...” De Brabander pulled his radio off his belt. “Start looking, take the left side,” he ordered and broke into a jog as he barked orders into the radio.

  Luc rushed off, but the alleyways winding among the buildings were like a maze. The chances of finding Caz were slim.

  Caz

  Leuven

  The water was icy. On one hand it was her salvation. She must have been unconscious when the man lifted her over the railing, because she didn’t remember how she ended up in the river. The cold must have shocked her back to consciousness. She had been disoriented underwater, and had swallowed a lot of water, but she had managed to kick herself up to the surface.

  The temperature could still be her downfall, however. She was shivering from head to toe and there was nowhere to climb out. On both sides double-storey buildings with high foundations rose from the river bank.

  Some distance from the bridge she finally managed to find a handhold by digging her fingers into a groove between the bricks. Her fingers seemed on the point of breaking, her head felt as if it was about to explode and she had double vision.

  Her cries for help had had no effect. Her throat was raw. If only she knew which direction to swim in, but she was so cold, she had no idea whether her muscles would obey. Her calves cramped from treading water.

  “Help me! Help me, please!” she screamed again, hoarsely.

  When she looked over her shoulder she thought at first that the person she saw on the bridge existed only in her imagination. Her double vision made the image hazy. “Help!” she shouted again.

  “Hold on!” a man shouted. The voice sounded familiar. De Brabander, perhaps? But what on earth was he doing here?

  Whoever the hell he was, she hoped the man could get her out of this freezing nightmare. She tried to move her lifeless fingers. A brick shifted slightly and she lost her grip. Her legs were too cold and stiff to win against the pull of the water.

  She tried to swim back to the wall. The river was only a few meters wide, but her arms were too weak.

  She turned to look at the bridge but she couldn’t make out what the man was doing. And then she couldn’t stay afloat any more.

  Luc

  Leuven

  Luc checked the message that had just come through. It had been sent to his spare phone. From Caz’s phone.

  Bridge across Dijle. C in water. DB.

  He tried to find his bearings. He knew the Dijle River forked, looping round the medieval buildings of the Groot Begijnhof and joining up again further along. As far as he knew, there was only one bridge across each of the streams forming the loop.

  He began to run, not sure exactly where the nearest bridge was. He peered over a waist-high wall between two buildings, trying to find his bearings. Dry leaves drifting on the water showed that the current was reasonably strong. The water had to be freezing cold.

  He looked up and down but couldn’t see a bridge, nor anyone in the water. Only the high vertical walls that guided the river through the medieval town. There were very few places where she would be able to climb out. There was the occasional downpipe that might provide a handhold, but most would be too high to reach. The rest was mossy bricks. He knew that a few houses had stairs down to the water’s edge, but evidently not around there.

  He ran on, around buildings, down the next alley. He reached another space between buildings and peered over the wall again to try to spot someone in the water. No one. No bridge either. The third time he found a wall where he could peek over, and spotted two heads in the water, some distance from each other. One had to be De Brabander. He sprinted for the next viewing point.

  He was just in time to see De Brabander reach Caz, grab her by the hair and lift her head out of the water.

  Luc looked up and down the river. There was a staircase into the water some distance downstream. De Brabander wouldn’t be able to see it from where he was.

  “Commissioner!” he shouted.

  He had to shout three times before De Brabander heard him and looked up.

  “Stairs! Downstream! Right!”

  Caz seemed to be unconscious.

  The detective tried to keep her head above water but kept losing his grip.

  He would either have to jump in and help or think of something else. No, it wouldn’t be any good if all three of them were in the water.

  He called the emergency services and explained as well as he could. By the time Luc ended the call, De Brabander seemed to have a firmer grip on Caz’s head and was closer to the stairs.

  Feeling totally helpless, Luc watched the detective struggle and finally reach the bottom of the stairs. After he had caught his breath, he succeeded in dragging the unconscious woman’s dead weight up the bottom steps.

  He could hear De Brabander wheeze and sneeze, but at least they were out of the water.

  Long moments later he heard the sound of a boat engine. Luc breathed a sigh of relief when the vessel came into view and he recognized the paramedics on board by their jackets.

  His legs felt shaky from the adrenaline rush, but he kept watching until Caz and De Brabander were both inside the boat. He held his breath as a paramedic began to exert rhythmic pressure on Caz’s chest while the boat sped off in the direction they had come from and disappeared around a bend.

  Luc sat down on the first bench he could find and lowered his face into his hands.

  What a great Jean-Claude van Damme Luc DeReu would make. What a milksop he was.

  Mr. Graslei, he suddenly remembered. What had become of him?

  Luc jumped up. Around the next corner he found the bridge the detective had mentioned. De Brabander’s shoes, watch, cellphone and radio lay where he must have thrown them down before jumping into the water.

  As he bent down to gather up the commissioner’s belongings, a female voice spoke behind him.

  “Leave it!”

  Luc straightened up and turned.

  A woman in a lopsided blonde wig was regarding him sternly. Her elbow was bandaged and her trousers were ripped at the knee.

  “Agent Verhoef?” he guessed.

  She frowned and nodded. “And you are?”

  “Luc DeReu. These belong to Commissioner De Brabander. I was going to keep them safe for him.”

  “He said on the radio he was going into the water. Where is he?” She limped closer.

  Luc gave her a brief summary of the events. “I want to try to find out where the man has gone who was presumably following Ms. Colijn.”

  “Help is on its way. We don’t know how dangerous he is or whether he’s armed.” She winced as she put her weight on her injured leg.

  “Stay here and wait for them. I won’t try anything funny. I’ll just see if I can catch a glimpse of him.” Luc hurried across the bridge, not waiting for an answer.

  On the far side of the next bridge that crossed the second loop of the river, he spotted something. A paperback novel. Afrikaans title.

  Luc stopped to get his breath. Every time he had seen Caz she’d had her backpack with her. This must have fallen from it.

  He left the book where it had fallen. The reinforcements Verhoef had summoned would take care of it.

  A few meters further, the fluttering of a few folded tissues caught his eye. Near them lay a comb and lipstick. Just before Volmolen Avenue intersected the path he found a broken perfume bottle. The floral scent rose up to meet him when he bent down to inspect it.

  He continued on his way. At the next intersection he looked left, then right. He chose to go right, where there was less movement than on the Naamsepoort side. After a while he found a handbag that had been tossed aside. Still further on he found a few credit cards. He picked them up.

  Mr. Graslei didn’t seem to know the story of Hansel and Gretel. Or he had been in too great a rush to care whether
he was being followed. Or maybe it didn’t matter to him, because he knew he would not be caught. Which might mean he had transport from a certain point.

  Luc stopped when his cellphone began to ring. The normal one.

  Lieve, he saw. Damn it, it had totally slipped his mind that he still had to get to Ammie. There was still time before his appointment. Maybe Ammie wanted to cancel.

  “Professor ...” He heard at once that Lieve was distraught.

  “Yes, Lieve?” An awful premonition came over him.

  “It’s Miss Ammie. The doctor is with her. Can you come at once?”

  Twenty-eight

  Caz

  Leuven

  Caz came to as she was being loaded into an ambulance. Her head felt as if it was going to explode. Her throat was burning, her ribs ached and she felt terribly nauseous. The double vision had cleared somewhat, but the faces of the people bustling around her were still hazy.

  The paramedic asked a few questions, which she answered with great effort.

  “Concussion,” she heard him tell his colleague. Something about the possibility of secondary drowning. Also something about relatives.

  After a short ride she was wheeled into the hospital on a trolley.

  She tried to protest, but no one listened.

  De Brabander appeared at her side.

  “Who did this to you?” he asked, his long strides matching the trolley’s speed. His clothes were wet, his hair had been towel-dried. A foil blanket was draped over his shoulders. His knuckles were white and hard where he held the blanket together.

  “African man. TU.”

  “TU?” De Brabander shook his head. “TU is definitely not a black man.”

  How would he know? The pounding in her head was driving her crazy. “My backpack. He took my backpack?”

  “Must be. Be grateful. If you had fallen into the water with a backpack, you wouldn’t have been here now.”

  “He wasn’t TU?” Had he said so or had she thought it?

  “No. Do you know the black man?”

  “No, but I’ve seen him before.”

  “Where?”

  “Graslei and ...” The headache blanked out the rest. “Can’t remember now.”

  “Why do you think he attacked you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The trolley came to a halt. “Okay, I’ll take your statement later.” De Brabander disappeared.

  A woman with a stethoscope around her neck bent over Caz and shone a flashlight in her eyes.

  “Hmm. Bed rest for you, ma’am. We’ll keep you overnight,” she declared after she had held the stethoscope to Caz’s chest.

  Caz was suddenly too tired to argue.

  She didn’t have the strength to figure out what had happened to her and why. She only knew it hadn’t been an ordinary attack with robbery as the motive. The man hadn’t cared whether she drowned or not. If he wasn’t TU, how did he know about TU? About Luc DeReu? About far too many things?

  Too tired. Too much pain.

  Luc

  Leuven

  “DeReu,” Luc answered his phone from the back seat. With his own car parked near Martelaereplein, it had been easier to take a taxi to Ammie’s apartment.

  “De Brabander. What happened to you?”

  “Rushing to get to my stepmother. It sounds as if she might have suffered another stroke.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Is Caz okay?”

  “Ms. Colijn has sustained a concussion. She has an ugly swelling on her temple. She will be kept in hospital overnight to make sure all is well.”

  “Do you still see her as a suspect?”

  “More than ever. This looks very much like a case of two conspirators who have fallen out. They must have some connection. But I’m still looking for proof. Verhoef tells me you tried to follow the attacker.”

  Luc told De Brabander about the items Mr. Graslei had tossed out of the backpack.

  “I picked up the credit cards, but left the rest.”

  “Well done. I’ll call again later. We must collect the stuff on the path as soon as possible. Hopefully there’ll be fingerprints. Give me the route again?”

  Luc complied, ending the call just as the taxi came to a halt. He paid and hurried to the front door.

  Lieve’s eyes were red when she opened the door. “Thank goodness you’re here, Professor. The doctor has just left.”

  “Mother Ammie?”

  “She’s asleep. Luckily it was another light stroke, but it’s not a good sign. I arranged for a night nurse. Is that in order?”

  Luc nodded. “Thanks, Lieve. You’re a treasure.”

  “Let me make you a nice cup of coffee. In the meantime you can look in on her if you wish.”

  Luc nodded and went to the bedroom. Ammie looked small and shrunken against the pillows. Her breathing was even, but behind the eyelids, crisscrossed by light blue veins, the eyes were moving rapidly.

  He was about to turn and leave when her eyes fluttered open. She raised one hand slightly.

  Luc approached. “Mother? How do you feel?”

  “As if I’m dying.” She was lisping and the words came with great effort, but she seemed lucid. “And I am. That’s why you must be honest with me. Why do you want to know all these things now? It’s not only about your father. Or the students.”

  “We can talk later. You have to rest.”

  “Later I might be dead. I want to know.”

  Verdorie, what if he caused her to have another stroke? He couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Ammie’s fingers fumbled with the sheet. “It’s got something to do with Cassandra. Did she find out? About me?”

  “Mother ...”

  “Fien swore she wouldn’t tell her. I paid her extra.” Her knuckles were white where she was gripping the sheet. “I thought if Casssandra doesn’t know, the evil in her might never surface.”

  “She doesn’t know about César,” Luc admitted when he realized he was upsetting her even more by keeping the information from her. “She has only just found out about you. Apparently Josefien Colijn told her your name on her deathbed.”

  “She’s dead? Fien? Only now?”

  Luc nodded. “A week or so ago.”

  “Where is she? Cassandra?”

  Luc averted his eyes, considering what to tell her, what not.

  “She’s here? In Belgium?”

  Did old age and infirmity make her clairvoyant?

  “She is,” he admitted.

  Ammie closed her eyes. Her breathing had quickened and her lower lip was trembling.

  “Mother Ammie, please don’t be so upset.” Damn it, he should never have come to her room.

  Ammie opened her eyes. “Does she want to meet me?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t discussed it. I haven’t met her in person. I was going to, today, but something happened.” Hardly “something.” But it was better than saying your daughter nearly drowned, presumably at the hand of her accomplice in a murder.

  “She’s in Leuven? At this moment?”

  Luc nodded.

  Tears welled up in the old eyes, spilling over and trickling down her wrinkled cheeks.

  “Mother, please don’t upset yourself,” he repeated helplessly. “I’ll tell her you’re not well and can’t see her. If she asks.”

  Ammie shook her head. “Not now. Must feel better first.”

  If Ammie got better at all. If by that time Caz wasn’t in prison for murder. But he refrained from voicing his thoughts.

  Erevu

  Brussel

  Everything had gone according to plan. This morning, before he went to Fonske, he returned the car he had rented under an assumed name. He paid the bill with the same stolen credit card he had used at the gue
sthouse and destroyed the card.

  After his run-in with the Caz woman, he met Dove at the prearranged spot near Martelaereplein. Dove had already returned the motorcycle he had “borrowed” this morning. They fetched their luggage from storage and here they were at the airport. In time for Dove’s flight that would be leaving in a little more than two hours. First for Amsterdam and then on a Kenya Airlines flight to Nairobi before going on to Johannesburg.

  He himself was only leaving at eleven tonight. On Etihad Airways. He would stop over in Abu Dhabi and arrive in Johannesburg the day after tomorrow. Dove had thought it better if they weren’t on the same flight.

  At least Dove seemed his old self again. He was taking initiative. After telling Jela to do the same, Dove had erased everything on the two tablets they’d used to communicate with each other and reset them to factory standards. This morning he got rid of them.

  Yesterday Dove got them both new phones and SIM cards. He took the old ones apart and threw them away piece by piece on their way to the airport.

  He even insisted that they didn’t save each other’s new numbers on the new phones, but memorized them. Both phones were set not to display the number when they made calls. The boy had been thorough, he had to give him that. Now Dove just had to learn to mask his anxiety.

  Despite a few obstacles, they had beaten the odds. Except in the most important matter. The bloody key. It had not been in the backpack.

  Anger and frustration pumped through his veins. She must have left it in her room at the guesthouse. It was the only possibility.

  Erevu worked out the times again. “I could be back at nine.”

  Dove shook his head. “It’s too risky. Especially going at it alone. The people in that street know what you look like, Nkoko. Please, listen to me. It’s disappointing that we didn’t find it, but Caz is going back to South Africa with the key. We know where the bank is and we know when she’ll be going there. We can wait for her and get what is ours the moment she leaves the building. If that doesn’t work, we know where she lives. All it requires is a little more patience. Don’t let panic spoil it all.”

  This morning Jela had sent an SMS about the email the Caz woman had sent her daughter, telling her she would be landing in Johannesburg on the evening of the fifteenth and would be flying to Cape Town the next day. That she would be spending the night in Pretoria to finish some business, but would be back home the evening of the sixteenth.