It felt like the screws were being tightened by the way he posed the question, as if the matter had already been settled. I thought of Tim and didn’t know if I could and wanted to be as heroic as Dan seemed to be.
“If you do decide to go along with this plan, it should be on your own accord,” Dan added, as if he’d read my mind.
“I’m not sure how I feel about it yet,” I answered evasively. “I have a day off tomorrow, I might be able to make an attempt then.” I remembered what Lindsey had suggested last Saturday. “But wouldn’t it be better to contact the police instead? If we present them with the information we’ve accumulated in the last few days, they might see an opportunity to reopen the case.”
“I very much doubt it. Given that Detective Armstrong was reluctant to take any action on the pieces you handed to him recently, I think we’ll need a damn good story before they restart the investigation. We’re just going to have to piece together a bit more evidence ourselves first.”
Dan had a good point, but there was something that made me feel uneasy about this next bold step, as if I were crossing a treacherous line. “What about those threatening letters, I haven’t told them about those yet.”
“You said you threw away the first one, right? And the police agent that inspected the practice concluded the smashed window was likely an act of an angry patient. All in all, it seems to me that what we have right now is just too flimsy.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I muttered, but I was increasingly feeling that I may have bitten off more than I could chew.
Dan was forging ahead with the next steps of the plan. “Last weekend I had some ideas about the role of the phone company in these four cases. Over the next few hours, I will try to work these out and see if I can persuade any work contacts to help me elbow my way into this place.” He suddenly seemed to be in a hurry. “But listen, we shouldn’t talk for too long, they may be tracing my calls.”
I wondered what was making Dan think his phone might be tapped, but before I could ask, he spoke again. “I’m going to switch off this mobile after we hang up and will try to purchase a burner – I’ll contact you afterwards as soon as possible. Are you going to try to get more info from the DFI in the meantime?”
Coming this far already, there was no other option but perseverance in order to get justice for Oliver and so I agreed to continue our quest. “Alright, I will,” I said in a quivering voice.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back,” Dan said, although I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that.
“Promise me you’ll watch out for yourself, okay?”
“Sure,” Dan responded, trying to sound light-hearted, but it felt like an empty promise – we both knew the stakes were incredibly high right now and not in our favour.
After we’d hung up, I stumbled to my desk and plopped down onto the chair, my heart still racing. My life seemed to have become a succession of volatile emotions, rattling exchanges and perilous encounters it was becoming a bit too much to bear. The thoughts in my head were racing at a million miles an hour and I no longer knew who I could trust.
My eyes fell on the forgotten lunch – I reached over and started absent-mindedly unwrapping the aluminium foil and removed the plastic cutlery from the bag. The meal had turned cold with little puddles of grease floating on the orange sauce, and while I usually relished Indian food I barely managed to get anything down. After pecking at the rice for some time, I wrapped the remainder of the meal in the plastic bag, tied it up in a knot and I tossed it into the bin. I opened the window of my consulting room to dispel the thick smell of spicy food in the air and noticed I had a few minutes left on my break.
I grabbed my phone and sent a message to my mother asking if Tim could stay with them for two nights on the grounds of unexpectedly taking over the evening shifts from a colleague. Although I didn’t like the feeling of being at someone else’s mercy, and I refused to abandon my home, I did feel adamant to safeguard my son against any harm.
Then I logged onto my PC, opened the internet browser and found out that the DFI was located in The Hague, directly alongside the A4 highway. I grabbed the key card used for my shifts at the out-of-hours clinic from my handbag and slid the paper from out the plastic cover. I made a search for the Mason & McGant logo on the internet, copied the picture and combined it with a picture of myself. After giving myself a fake name, I printed the homemade identity card on a piece of thick paper and carefully slipped it back into the plastic holder.
I held the card up in the air with a content smile. “Et voila,” I said to myself. It actually looked much more professional than I’d imagined. I now had one foot in the door.
33
After hours of tossing and turning, I finally fell asleep at two in the morning and woke up again at half past six. I didn’t manage to doze after that and so I dragged myself out of bed, threw a splash of water on my face and staggered downstairs to consume a double dose of caffeine before feeling slightly human again. After breakfast, I pieced together an outfit from my closet that could pass for that of a lawyer. I tried hard not to think of what I was about to embark on, for fear of getting cold feet and backing out.
I slid my arms into my smartest coat, hung my key card stating I was a lawyer around my neck, strode out to my car and entered the address of the DFI into the navigation system. While driving, I kept checking my rear view mirror to make sure I wasn’t being followed. Traffic was light at this time of the day so I arrived at the destination in just under an hour. The building turned out to be located in a suburb of The Hague and was situated on a spacious site. I slowly brought the car to a halt in the visitor parking area.
My feet felt as heavy as lead. I was fully aware I was in a make-or-break situation as I walked towards the entrance of the imposing, rectangular building that had four floors and was surrounded by greenery. After I entered the lobby through the revolving door, I saw the reception on my right. I walked towards it with a straight back, hoping I looked convincing.
A lady in a green and white uniform addressed me. “Good morning, how may I help you?”
“Good morning,” I said, flashing a friendly, self-assured smile. “I’m looking for Joe de Smet.”
“Which department?”
I pretended to rack my brain for a few moments. “Sorry, it just slipped my mind. He’s a senior scientist and involved in DNA analysis,” I said and fervently hoped this would do.
She typed a few words into her computer, her long nails clicking on the keyboard. “Found him,” she said, then picked up the phone. “Do you have an appointment with him?” she inquired, keeping the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder while her fingers darted over the keyboard.
I apologised and flashed my homemade ID card at her. “I’m Jennifer van Doorn from the Mason & McGant law firm in Amsterdam. My colleagues have regular meetings with Joe,” I bluffed. “I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to free up some time for me,” I added with an air of self-confidence, but inside I was shaking like a leaf.
The woman inspected my company card for a moment, her eyes squinting, and then entered the details into her system without further questions. “Mr de Smet. I have someone from the Mason & McGant law firm who would like to see you, Jennifer van Doorn,” she said into the phone.
She hung up and looked at me. “He’ll be with you soon. Have a seat, please,” she requested and pointed towards the waiting area.
I walked towards the table and lowered myself into one of the comfortable armchairs. There was a stack of magazines in front of me. I took one entitled ‘Science’, leafed thoughtlessly through the published medical studies and then laid it back again. I stifled the urge to bite my nails and sat upright, a forced calm but friendly smile on my lips as I practised my lines.
A man who looked about forty years old approached me with the easy gait of an athlete, his brown hair showing streaks of grey at the temples. A feeling of dread overwhelmed me, urging me to scuttle off, but I knew I had to bite the bullet and face thi
s head on.
The man, wearing a green, checked shirt and corduroy trousers, held out his hand to me. I jumped up and returned his handshake in a business-like manner, his skin warm and dry brushing against mine. “Jennifer van Doorn, lawyer at Mason & McGant,” I stated, trying to curb the vibration in my voice.
“Joe de Smet, senior scientist. I’m curious to learn to what I owe this visit,” he said graciously, then gave a short nod. “But let’s head upstairs, where we can sit quietly.”
I followed him up the steel spiral staircase, all the while telling myself I have a duty to do this to find Oliver’s killer, however uncomfortable I felt. To my relief, the man didn’t make an effort to engage in small talk.
Upon reaching the second floor, he announced, “We’re turning left here.”
We walked down a long, white-walled corridor, my heels clicking on the pristine epoxy floor, all the way to the far end of the building, passing by a string of laboratories that were well visible through the large windows. Joe noticed my gaze. “This is the lab where we perform DNA analyses.”
I nodded. “Interesting,” I said, feeling my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.
We arrived at a conference room, where Joe halted and stooped to take a peek through the window. “This one’s available,” he concluded, opening the door to a windowless room, where posters illustrating what I presumed were scientific advances made by the DFI, decorated the otherwise blank walls. “Have a seat,” he said with a gesture.
I sank down onto one of the wooden chairs, the waistband of the sheer, glossy tights I wasn’t used to wearing underneath my skirt was cutting into my belly.
“Can I get you anything to drink?
“Water please,” I replied, hoping it would fix my dry mouth.
While Joe left the room to fetch us drinks I kept rehearsing the lines I’d carefully plotted out in my mind until I suddenly had an idea. I fished my phone out of my handbag and scrolled through the various functions, realising I wouldn’t have a sufficient amount of space left on my phone. I quickly opened data storage and, with a stab in my heart, removed a number of long films I’d taken of Tim. It’s for the greater good, I told myself. Knowing Joe could return at any moment, I pressed the red button and the counter started running. I placed my phone on the table and strategically covered it with a stack of papers, hoping with all my heart that the conversation would be audible.
I wiped the drops of sweat that beaded along my forehead, and right at that moment Joe reappeared, holding two plastic cups of water in his hands. He closed the door behind him and took a seat on my right side with a notepad and pen ready to use. “So, Jennifer. What can I do for you?”
I gave a nervous cough, straightened my back and forced myself to look confident. “Thank you for allowing me some time,” I began. “I’m sure you must be busy,” I offered in an attempt to flatter him, although I really had no notion of what people in his position were doing all day long.
“No problem at all. We always make time for our colleagues at Mason & McGant, history has proven it’s worth it,” he said with a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite read.
“I see our reputation precedes me,” I responded, smiling warmly.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll need to pop into the lab later on. One of the new lab technicians in my team is working on a complex analysis, for which she’ll need my help.”
“Of course. No problem.”
“You’re welcome to join me in the lab it might be interesting to get an impression of how things work here.”
“I’d love to,” I replied, taking a swig of my water, and decided to get to the point. “So Joe,” I began, laying my arms on either side of the paper stack covering the phone on the table. “I recently took over a defence case from one of my colleagues, who has been ill for quite some time. It’s been a rather complex lawsuit, involving a suspect who has received legal assistance from our office on several occasions prior to this. We have a …” I made a pompous gesture. “How shall I describe it – a fairly close relationship with this man. We want to do everything in our power to avert a new prison sentence for him.”
Joe folded his arms with an expression on his face that I found difficult to interpret. “Isn’t that your job as a lawyer?” he queried.
I smiled tactfully. “Of course. We have all taken the oath admitted to the bar,” I countered, pretending to be slightly affronted by his discourtesy. “But let me say that with some clients we have a somewhat stronger connection.” I couldn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered a great actress, but so far Joe seemed to be going along with my performance.
There was a knock on the door – a young woman of about twenty-five in a white coat poked her head in. “Joe, I have reached step eleven of the analysis. Do you have time to come help me with this?”
Joe frowned at her. “Kelly, whenever you leave the lab, always make sure to take off your lab coat, remember?” he said admonishingly. “Even if you’re only out for a few minutes.”
Indignity flooded her, turning her face as red as a beetroot. “Oh right, I forgot. I’m sorry.”
Joe smiled weakly at me, whereupon I shrugged, relieved that the attention had been diverted from me for a moment.
“Well, there’s no point crying over spilt milk. Just make sure to remember it in future. Will you come along with us?” Joe asked me as he pushed back his chair, his tall, sprightly figure leaping up.
“Yes, of course,” I tried to say with enthusiasm, but needless to say I was displeased by this interruption. While Joe was discussing something with the girl, I ever so cautiously slid my hand under the pile of papers and pressed the red button on my phone to save the much-needed memory.
I followed Joe and Kelly into the corridor and tried to take this moment to relax, while catching fragments of their conversation which was filled with jargon, making it hard to follow. After passing a few doors we arrived at the laboratory, which I’d already laid eyes on earlier. Joe held his card against the reader and a click of the door sounded. He held it open for me, allowing me to enter the room, where we were met with a long line of white coats hanging on a coat rack. Joe took what seemed to be his personal one off the hook and slipped into it, before his gaze went stealthily up and down my body, making me feel uncomfortable. “This will probably fit you,” he concluded, grabbing another protective coat and holding it up for me.
Feeling a tad awkward I slid my arms into the coat, a whiff of an unfamiliar rose-scented perfume flooding my nostrils, and buttoned up.
Joe’s voice rose over the hubbub in this vast, white-painted space filled with complex devices, pumping hoses and humming machines on the various work tops lined up in rows across the room. A dozen people or so all dressed in protective clothing and some wearing safety glasses were scurrying about, completely focused on their work. At the far end of the room, the large windows offered a view of a series of skyscrapers in the distance – presumably the city centre of The Hague.
I conscientiously stepped into the room in Joe’s wake – laboratories were never really my cup of tea – making sure my greasy, mucky paws didn’t touch anything. Kelly removed a pair of plastic, white gloves from a cardboard box and slid her hands into them, while continuously babbling to her boss.
Joe suddenly swivelled, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm while he addressed me. “Kelly is conducting a DNA investigation on a forensic trace found at a crime scene. A so-called STR analysis is performed during this study, involving the determination of how often a certain DNA structure is repeated, as this is unique per individual.”
“Interesting,” I mumbled, shifting from one leg to the other.
“The DNA fragments are multiplied by an enzyme in a test tube in order to visualise them,” he continued, but I had a hard time keeping up with him as I felt nervous and jittery. “The profile of the DNA material found can then be run through the database, in the hope of finding a match,” he finalised.
“Righty-ho,” I re
sponded, hoping he would hurry up with helping the young lab technician. I couldn’t wait for us to carry on our conversation in private again and leave the DFI behind me as quickly as possible.
After some moments Joe had shown the girl what to do next, and we headed back to the exit of the lab. Relieved, I took off the highly-perfumed lab coat and hung it on the rack.
We walked back into the conference room where I surreptitiously slid my hand into the stack of papers, unlocked my phone and pressed the red button.
Joe didn’t seem to have noticed anything and tapped his ballpoint against his teeth. “Right, where were we?”
“I was telling you about the lawsuit I took over from my colleague,” I began, trying to control the nerves surging through my body. “Over the last few days I’ve studied all the collected evidence and unfortunately things aren’t looking particularly promising for my client.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Joe said, entangling his fingers in front of his chest. “But I’m not sure what I can add at this point.”
I tilted my head. “I was quite impressed just now in the lab by you and your skilful team of technicians,” I ingratiated, flashing him my most enchanting smile.
But Joe wasn’t impressed and responded to my charm offensive by pulling his lips into a thin line.
“I wouldn’t be able to pull it off,” I said truthfully. “Running a complicated analysis like that – phew – I’m sure lots of things could go wrong. Are there ever any mistakes made?” I tentatively queried, lowering my eyes so that I was looking from underneath my brows.
He shrugged, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “On rare occasions, but there is usually ample DNA left to run the analysis again,” Joe replied without a trace of emotion in his voice.
I felt in the thick of this pivotal moment – if I gave up too much and Dan and I had been completely wrong about Joe’s role, it would surely raise suspicions and lead to collateral damage.
I smiled. “We all have our bad days, don’t we? I can imagine those new lab techs, eager to learn as they may be, can make a few technical glitches here and there,” I suggested, choosing my words carefully.
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