Sacrificed

by Chanette Paul

  Caz

  Ghent

  Caz couldn’t believe she was brushing away tears yet again. All because a stranger had wished her a happy birthday.

  She glared at the Belgian phone when it started to ring.

  “Caz, hello?” she said hesitantly.

  “Ms. Colijn, Commissioner De Brabander. I believe felicitations are in order.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your birthday. Felicitations. There’s a message on your phone from one Annika congratulating you on your birthday. A few others as well, but they sound like business acquaintances.”

  “Oh, thanks. If it wasn’t for you I might not have seen another birthday.”

  “I can’t take the credit for that. Luc DeReu is actually the one who saved you from the Dijle.”

  Caz frowned. “But you were the one who jumped in?”

  “That was only half the job. The professor helped me find a place to get out and phoned the emergency services, providing them with practical information. Without that, the outcome might have been different. Nevertheless. I actually called to tell you I’ll soon be returning your phone. There has been no further activity on it and I don’t think there will be any again. Now I must run if I don’t want to be whacked on the head with a rolling pin. Have a good evening.”

  What had got into the man? He sounded almost cheerful. The news about the phone was good, but now she would have to thank that bloody professor as well.

  She recognized the tap on the door. “Come in, Erdem.”

  “Hi, Caz, I had a look, as you asked. I can put you up until the morning of the twelfth. You don’t have to move to the smaller room in the weekend either. The guests canceled.” Erdem looked out of sorts.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He gave a deep sigh. “The murder. It’s in all the papers and on the news. People don’t want to stay in a street where a murder has taken place.”

  “Is that the real problem, or is it because I’m staying here? Perhaps you don’t want to accept guests while I’m here?”

  “The police are watching you, they follow you when you go to the shop. Detectives are calling you. I don’t know what to think. But I can’t allow people to stay here while this is going on. It can damage the reputation of my business.”

  “Should I look for other lodgings?” But where? In the house where Tieneke was murdered? Not bloody likely.

  He shook his head. “Babette is talking through her hat. I don’t believe for a moment that you’re guilty. It’s unfortunate for business, but it’s only for ten days. Anyway, ten days’ fixed income is better than a day here and a day there.”

  “I could pay you more.” She was so deep in the red already that getting in deeper would hardly matter.

  “You don’t have to. Really. I’m sorry I even mentioned it.”

  Caz hoped he didn’t change his mind about the accommodation or her innocence. So far he had been good to her. But she could wring Babette’s neck. Figuratively speaking, of course.

  Thirty-three

  Friday, October 3

  Caz

  Ghent

  Caz was at once relieved and irritated when she walked away from Tieneke’s church.

  It turned out to be less difficult to arrange a funeral than she had thought. Especially if people didn’t seem to want you involved. The minister assured her that he and his sisters in Christ, along with the undertakers and Tieneke’s notary, would handle everything. The memorial service would take place on Tuesday. Caz could just arrive. If she wished.

  Earlier today, Agent Verhoef had let her know that Tieneke’s body was available for burial. De Brabander had not made contact again. There was probably no need. Grevers now followed her quite openly. Without saying a word, he got onto the bus with her this morning. When she came out of the church, he was waiting outside.

  Caz ignored him, sat down at the first street café she encountered, and ordered coffee.

  For the umpteenth time she had the cellphone in her hand. This time she typed the message she had been mulling over since last night.

  I believe the fact that I came out of the Dijle alive was as much your doing as DB’s. Thank you. I was certainly not ready yet to join the invisible choir. Caz.

  She hesitated a moment. Should she ask about Ammie again? No, this message was only meant to thank him. She pressed the send key.

  Caz had finished her coffee and paid the bill when a message came through.

  DB exaggerates, but I’m glad I could help. Luc.

  The next message arrived just as she had taken a seat in the bus, with Grevers diagonally behind her.

  Ammie is prepared to see you. She won’t allow me to be present but at my insistence Lieve will be. Would Sunday morning at eleven suit you? Luc

  Caz’s heart gave a jolt. The day after tomorrow. In less than forty-eight hours all the mysteries might be cleared up. She would know where she came from. Who her father was. Why Lilah was black. What sin she had committed to have her mother reject her.

  Her thumb trembled so badly that she pressed one wrong key after another, but at last there was a short string of words on the screen that made sense. It suits me. Address, please.

  Will send address Sunday. Text me as soon as you arrive in Leuven, the reply came almost immediately.

  He was probably afraid she would pitch up earlier than agreed. The man definitely had trust issues. She didn’t reply, just sat there, listening to the hammering of her heart, fighting a dizzy spell. Did she really want to know the truth?

  Sunday, October 5

  Caz

  Ghent

  Why did her hair have to look like a bird’s nest, today of all days? It had to be the wet weather.

  The drizzle that had begun to fall last night had not cleared up. The rain was about all Caz remembered about yesterday. She had spent most of the day wandering through Ghent’s old city but if she had to be tested on what she had seen and done, she would fail miserably. Grevers would probably fare better.

  When she had changed her outfit for the third time, she realized she was going to miss her bus and therefore her train if she didn’t leave at once.

  She had woken at five and forced herself to wait until half past five before getting up to make coffee as quietly as she could. Erdem deserved his Sunday rest. He worked hard during the week, she had discovered. Spent hour after hour in his office.

  Now she was suddenly late. And looking like a dog’s breakfast in spite of all the trouble she had gone to.

  Late as she was, she took one last look in the mirror. She shouldn’t have. The woman gazing back at her was pale and looked frightened. The eye was no longer swollen but the colorful bruise was visible under the foundation. The curls, which on dry days looked as if she’d had a spiral perm, were frizzy today. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed a lack of sleep.

  Ammie Pauwels would be proved right. Who would want a child who looked as if graverobbers had stolen her from a sarcophagus?

  To hell with Ammie Pauwels.

  Caz grabbed her handbag. The backpack was staying behind today.

  Hastily she locked Erdem’s front door. When she turned, she was just in time to see the bus leave. The next one would be there in ten minutes but it would be too late for the train. Punctual public transport had its downside too.

  She was going to be dismally late for arguably the most important appointment of her life. How was it possible?

  Her head jerked up when she heard a car door slam. Grevers. He must have been on his way to get on the bus with her when he realized she wasn’t going to make it.

  Caz strode to the car, opened the passenger door and got in.

  Taken aback, he looked at her.

  “How about you save me a lot of time and yourself a lot of trouble? Leuven, please.”

  It took a good mi
nute before he wordlessly switched on the engine. The man had to be related to a sphinx.

  Luc

  Damme

  His home had never been that clean. Nor the greenhouse. There was not a single weed in his small garden and not a speck of dust on the patio.

  Since Lieve had phoned to say Ammie wanted to see Caz, Luc had had no rest for his soul. On Friday he finished every single piece of unfinished business. Yesterday he sallied into the hothouse and garden like a maniac, later also tackling the house, and this morning he dusted each book individually in every single bookcase.

  No, he couldn’t spend the entire day waiting with bated breath to hear how the meeting had gone.

  Ammie might have refused to have him present while Caz was there but nothing prevented him from going to Leuven.

  Should he have prepared Caz? What for? Ammie’s revelation that she had killer genes? What business was it of his anyway what was said between mother and daughter?

  All he could do was be close in case some catastrophe arose.

  Luc had just passed Brussels when Caz’s message arrived. Address, please.

  He waited until shortly before eleven to send the address. He was nearly there.

  Caz

  Leuven

  The woman who opened the door was about twenty years too young to be Ammie and a nervous wreck, judging from her restless eyes and wringing hands.

  Caz held out her hand. “Cassandra Colijn. Please call me Caz.”

  “Lieve. Lieve Luykens.” The hand was cold and limp, the touch brief. “Miss Ammie’s carer.”

  So that was how Lieve Luykens fitted into the picture. If she had known it, she might have found Ammie a lot sooner. Tieneke might still have been alive. No, speculation would get her nowhere.

  “Miss Colijn ... Caz ...” Lieve pronounced her name Kess. “Miss Ammie ... Please, don’t upset her. She’s had two light strokes in the past few weeks. She’s frail.”

  Caz nodded. So DeReu had not exaggerated. Ammie was really unwell.

  Lieve showed Caz inside and led the way. All three doors leading off the hallway were closed. Lieve opened the middle one a chink.

  “Miss Ammie? Your ... guest is here.”

  Caz’s heart was a clenched fist. For a moment she felt like turning and running away.

  “Let her come inside, Lieve, and go and make us something to drink.” The voice belonged to an elderly person, but it was strong. Ammie Pauwels sounded all but frail. Not senile either. Merely hostile.

  Caz went past Lieve, who was still hovering in the hallway. The room was cozy. Fresh flowers on the buffet emitted a soft scent. On the floor, a Persian carpet. A woman, her white hair in a chignon, stood at the window, her ramrod-straight back turned to Caz. She was of medium height. Her elderly figure was clad in a stylish frock. Nylons and low-heeled court shoes completed the picture. One hand was resting on a walking stick.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Pauwels.” Caz’s voice was even huskier than usual. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.” It was probably not a good way to break the ice at your first meeting with your birth mother, but she didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t as if you could google the proper etiquette for the situation. Besides, it was very clear that this meeting was not going to end in a tearful embrace or the killing of the fatted calf.

  Ammie Pauwels turned slowly. Caz recognized her own chin in Ammie’s slightly raised one. The nose was also familiar. Their eyes were the same blue, though Ammie’s were slightly watery and without Caz’s brown flecks. A maze of wrinkles prevented her from recognizing any further similarities.

  Slowly and quite openly Ammie looked her up and down. “You’re tall,” she said when she had completed her inspection.

  “I presume I take after my father.” Ammie barely reached her shoulder.

  Ammie shook her head. “César wasn’t much taller than me. It must have come from another ancestor.”

  César. Her father’s name.

  Ammie looked past her. “Come, come, Lieve. Miss Colijn must be dying of thirst.”

  Caz looked over her shoulder at where Lieve still stood transfixed.

  “Coffee or tea?” Lieve asked. Her lower lip was trembling slightly.

  “Coffee would be nice, thank you.” If she could get it down.

  “For me too, and before you start with all the crazy names again, koffie verkeerd will do,” Ammie decided for them both.

  Two weeks ago Caz wouldn’t have understood what she meant, but she knew by now that koffie verkeerd was milky coffee. It happened to be her preference as well. Hallelujah, she and Ammie Pauwels had something in common.

  “Sit, please. It’s hard to have to look up all the time.” Ammie pointed at a chair facing the one that was clearly her favorite, sat down with an effort and propped her walking stick against the armrest of her chair.

  Caz obeyed, and made a conscious but fruitless effort to relax. The woman confused her. The situation confused her. Besides a few shared features, there was nothing to indicate that this woman had given birth to her. She didn’t know what she had expected, but she had thought there would be some kind of emotion. A feeling of recognition, at least. But except for a familiar chin and nose and a pair of blue eyes, there was nothing. A shared coffee preference hardly counted.

  “Luc tells me you’re a translator.”

  Caz frowned. How the hell did he know? LinkedIn, she remembered. “Yes. I also do editing sometimes. And proofreading.”

  “Editing.” The corners of Ammie’s mouth lifted, but it was hardly a smile. “If only one could edit one’s life.”

  “What would you have done differently?”

  Ammie linked her fingers together on her lap. “Knowing what I know now? Had you aborted.”

  Caz stared at her, dumbstruck.

  “I take it you are the person I read about in the papers. The one being questioned about the murder of Tieneke Colijn.”

  It took Caz a few moments to find words. “I had no part in her murder.”

  “I don’t believe you, Cassandra. Not because of your name, not because of the ancient curse that said no one would ever believe you. I don’t believe you because your father was a murderer. I was right, after all. An evil man like him couldn’t help but sire a child that carries the evil within her as well. Evil just waiting to be aroused. It’s in the genes.”

  Caz swallowed against the lump in her throat. She could say something about nature versus nurture, but it wouldn’t do any good. Not with her history of nurturing. “I suggest you start at the beginning, Mrs. Pauwels, and tell me why you married a murderer. Why you allowed him to sire so-called evil children.” Ammie Pauwels wanted to destroy her with words, she could see it a mile away, and in a duel there was no place for being civil.

  “I didn’t allow anything. After I found out César had had my father killed to get his hands on a consignment of diamonds, he had to take me by force. And he did. Repeatedly—and reveled in it. That’s the kind of man whose blood flows in your veins.”

  The implications left Caz stunned. She was the product of rape, albeit within marriage. It was really not what she had wanted to hear.

  “César not only orchestrated my father’s death in a plane crash, he also killed, in cold blood, the man I loved. He tried to kill me too, leaving me for dead.”

  Caz’s stomach contracted. Why hadn’t she let sleeping dogs lie?

  “Sometimes I wish Tabia had never saved me. That I had died on the savanna outside Elisabethville. With you in my belly.”

  Ammie stopped talking when Lieve entered with a tray.

  Like a robot, Caz took the coffee from her. She shook her head when Lieve offered sugar. She refused the cake, managing an apologetic smile. Whoever Tabia was, Ammie might be right. It might have been better if she hadn’t saved her.

  When Lieve had left, Caz looked
at Ammie again.

  “Heard enough?” Ammie raised her eyebrows.

  “Why didn’t you have me aborted?” Caz instinctively knew that the law wouldn’t have stood in the way of this cold-hearted woman.

  “Because until you were born I couldn’t be sure you were César’s child.”

  It took a second or two to digest this piece of information. “You hoped I was another man’s child. The man you loved. The one César killed.” She wasn’t asking.

  “Elijah.” There was so much tender emotion in the word that Caz could hardly believe it was the same person speaking.

  Thirty-four

  Luc

  Leuven

  Seated at the street café closest to Ammie’s home, Luc had just started on his second kriek when he saw, of all people, Inspector Grevers approach. How on earth did the man track him down? And why?

  Grevers stopped when he saw Luc. His surprised expression revealed that Luc had not been his quarry after all.

  He approached. “Professor DeReu. This is a surprise.”

  “I could say the same, Inspector. Take a seat. What are you doing in Leuven?” The moment he asked, he remembered De Brabander telling him that Caz was being watched. Of course.

  Grevers sat down. “Cassandra Colijn is giving me gray hairs. Imagine! Instructing me to bring her here. What she’s doing here, heaven knows, but orders are orders.” When the waiter approached, he asked for fruit juice.

  “And your orders are?” Luc asked.

  “First I had to follow her to see who she made contact with, who she might meet, make sure she doesn’t decide to flee. Then came the additional assignment. I have to make sure she’s safe.”

  Luc frowned. “Why do you think she’s in danger?”

  “We can’t get confirmation that Tieneke Colijn’s alleged murderer, the Njiwa youngster, has left the country. Commissioner De Brabander thinks he might try to finish what Matari started.”

  Luc turned ice cold. “Then why are you here and not where you can look after Caz?” Ammie and Lieve as well.

  “A man gets tired and thirsty. And nature calls. It’s been almost an hour since I dropped the woman at the apartment she directed me to. And I have no reason to think anyone has followed us or knows where we are. And you? What are you doing here?”