“I’ll hope for the best,” I said. “If it turns out I need Alex, we’ll go back again later.”
We agreed that Sam would do background research on the nephew while I was gone, and Alex would have a go at coaxing Henk into telling her more about the building and its occupants. With his years of service at the house, it seemed that he had to know something useful that might help us work out what happened to Eline. We weren’t confident he would give us any information, but it was worth a try.
12
Ten minutes later, after a fast walk towards Rembrandtplein, I stood in front of a modern redbrick townhouse with a green front door. Each of four doorbells had a name next to it. I located Karen’s, the third one up, and rang the bell. After a long silence, the speaker crackled, and a female voice said something in Dutch. Leaning closer to the speaker, I introduced myself. “I’m Kate Benedict, one of the team working on Eline Janssen’s house. I’d like to talk to you about her,” I said.
There was a long pause. Had she not understood? I was about to reword my request when the buzzer sounded, and the door clicked open.
I stepped into a narrow lobby with a black and white tiled floor. Three bikes leaned against one wall and on the other side was a wooden staircase with a wrought iron banister. Karen’s flat was on the second floor, according to the bell push, so I started up. On the first landing, I was met by a tall, thin woman with flaming red hair that fanned out around a pale face with high cheekbones. She was wearing dark jeans and a skinny green top and had to be about the same age as Eline.
“I’m Karen,” she said.
Without another word, she turned and climbed the next flight of stairs. I followed her through an open entry door into a cozy living room lined with bookcases.
“Please sit,” she said, pointing to a white sofa in front of an unlit fireplace. “Oh sorry. Hang on.” She hurried over to remove a pile of books, which she put on the floor. “Tea? Coffee?”
“Tea, thank you. Can I help?”
She didn’t answer, and I soon heard the clink of cups in the adjacent kitchen. I looked around the living room, which was well lit by two tall windows on one wall. My attention was caught by an oil painting propped against one of the bookcases. In it, two women in long silk dresses sat together on a chaise, their bodies turned towards each other as though in conversation, their hands busy with needlework of some kind.
“Eline gave me that painting,” Karen said as she came in and handed me a delicate teacup and saucer. She sat down beside me. “She said it looked like the two of us together. Happy and always talking. We never stopped talking, although I probably did most of it.”
“You’ve been friends for a long time?” I asked.
“Since forever. We met at university in Rotterdam and then both moved here to Amsterdam. I teach here at the university now.” She waved her hand towards the bookshelves. “Political science. Eline worked as a hospital administrator. Before she met Tomas, that is. Then things changed for her. With all his money, there was no need for her to work, of course, and Tomas didn’t want her to.”
From her tone of voice, it seemed that perhaps Karen didn’t like Tomas, or his lifestyle, much. I wanted to ask her more about him, but her eyes had filled with tears. Her hand shook as she put her cup down on the coffee table. “I’m going to miss her terribly.”
“I’m very sorry,” I offered. “I only met Eline once, and she seemed very nice.” It was a weak word, I knew, but Karen seemed to accept it.
“Eline liked you too,” she said, blinking away her tears.
“She did?” I was surprised. We’d hardly spoken enough for her to form an opinion about me, I thought.
“Eline had a sense about people. That’s what made her so good at her job at the hospital. She told me about you.” Karen tilted her head, her red curls bobbing. “She thought you had, what did she call it? Insight. A way of knowing things that other people don’t. Was she right?”
I hesitated, wondering how much to say. If I confided in Karen, would it help me identify the threat to Sam?
“That’s why I agreed to see you,” Karen went on. “Because Eline liked you. And because you might know what happened to her last night.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know anything. I was hoping you would have some answers.”
“Why does it matter to you?” she asked. “As you say, you only met her once.”
This was it, my opening to explain about the auras and about the danger my friend was in. I took a swallow of tea and then plunged in. Karen listened without interrupting as I told her about my strange gift and about the threat to Sam. “We met Tessa on Monday morning,” I added. “I saw an aura over her then and she died that afternoon.”
Karen took my hand in hers. “Eline was right about you.”
I exhaled a sigh of relief. At least Karen didn’t think I was crazy.
“But I wish I’d been able to warn her,” I said. “I wanted to let her know she was in danger.”
“She already knew,” Karen said. “Not about the aura of course, but that there was a threat. She didn’t know what it was, though. There was a man she was convinced was following her. Wait a moment.” She let go of my hand and leaned forward over the coffee table to sort through a pile of papers. After discarding a few magazines and newspapers, she handed me a sheet of white paper with a pencil drawing of a man on it.
I recognized him at once.
“That’s the man with the grey hoodie,” I said. “I’m sure he’s been watching us.”
“Eline sketched it. She was planning to go to the police with it. She told me he’d been following her for a couple of weeks.”
“Wait. You think this man had something to do with her death? They told us it was an accident.”
Karen gazed at the sketch in my hand for a long time before speaking. “Yes, it was an accident. Still, she was very nervous about this man for some reason. And, after the break-in at the house, she was so distressed that she asked to move in with me. Which made me very happy. I felt I could look after her better if she stayed here.” She took the drawing from me and put it back on the table. “And in that, I failed.”
“You said there was a break-in?”
“It happened the week after Tomas’s funeral.” Still talking, Karen got up and went to the kitchen, raising her voice over the tinkle of glasses. “Eline and I had been out for dinner. I made her do that a lot just to get her out, you know? Someone broke in through the back door and turned over the apartment as though they were looking for something specific.”
She came back with two sherries and handed me one. “I know it’s early, but I need something to help me calm down,” she said. “I’m a wreck. Anyway, nothing was taken, but there was a lot of damage— vandalism really. Knifed cushions, drawers pulled out and emptied, broken glass. It really upset Eline, especially coming so soon after Tomas’s death.”
“I can imagine.”
But my mind was whirling. Eline hadn’t mentioned the break-in when we talked. I wondered if she had reported it to the police.
“There’s no sign of the damage now,” I said.
“There wouldn’t be. Eline hired a man to clean and fix everything. It had to be picture-perfect to show to potential buyers.”
“Last night, Eline was supposed to meet us— my friends and me— for a drink,” I said. “But she didn’t come. Do you know why?”
Karen’s already pale face blanched, highlighting the dark shadows under her eyes.
“We ate dinner here together before I went out,” she said. “She told me then that she was planning to meet you, so she must have changed her mind, although I don’t know why. That’s been bothering me. Why would she agree to see you and then cancel?”
“So, she didn’t mention any other plans? Did she say she was going to meet Pieter? Or go to a meeting with the lawyer?”
Karen’s eyebrows shot up. “No. I didn’t even know Pieter was in town.”
I couldn’t be sure the ma
n we’d met was indeed Pieter. “Would you recognize him if you saw him?”
“Of course. He came to Tomas’s funeral.”
“Tall, slim, dark hair going grey? Mid-forties maybe?”
Karen nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Why?”
I told her about the man who’d come to the house and looked around. “He could have been Pieter or an imposter. Either way, it seemed that he lied about seeing Eline later in the day.”
“How strange. She certainly didn’t mention him. She just seemed happy she was going to see you, excited that you and your colleagues were working at the house. She said it was a big step towards making the sale happen. That was good. It made me less concerned about…”
She put her hand to her chest and took a deep breath.
“Less concerned about what?” I prompted.
“About suicide. There, I said it. I didn’t want to acknowledge it while Eline was alive. But I was afraid she might take her own life. She seemed so depressed and lost. She’d given up her career for Tomas and then he was gone. Of course, she had all the money in the world, but that’s not what makes people happy.”
After a long silence, I continued. “Eline rang me at about nine, an hour after we were supposed to meet.”
“Could you tell if she was outside when she called? Was it noisy?”
I thought back but couldn’t recall any sounds that might indicate where Eline had been.
“She could have dozed off on the sofa,” Karen went on. “She hasn’t slept properly for weeks, not since losing Tomas. Or maybe she just decided she was too nervous to go out by herself after all. I know she was scared of that man with the beard.”
“She must have gone out after she called me, so something made her change her mind. But what and when?”
“I wasn’t home, so I don’t know what time she left. I was moderating an evening symposium at the university. I thought it would be okay to leave her, particularly as she would be out for part of the evening with you. Not that I had any choice, not without seriously ticking off my department head and the guest speakers I’d invited. I left at seven, and Eline said she’d watch television until it was time to see you. When I got back, at about eleven forty-five, she wasn’t here. I rang her mobile a dozen times but there was no answer. Then I called the police.” Karen snorted. “Fat lot of use they were. Said she’d probably gone for a walk.” She knocked back the contents of her glass. “I called them several times after that, but they were no help.”
“So you have no idea where she went, if she met someone, nothing?”
“Nothing.”
She nodded at my glass. “Drink up. I’ll get us another one.”
I never drank sherry. And I didn’t drink at this time of day usually, but I swallowed it down anyway and handed over my glass.
While Karen was in the kitchen, I thought about Eline’s evening. Had she gone to meet Pieter?
“When do you think Eline would have gone out?” I asked when Karen came back.
A silver mobile lay on the coffee table. Karen picked it up and showed me a screen full of texts.
“I sent her a message when I got to the university,” she said, pointing. “Just to check in with her. She replied straightaway.” Karen’s eyes misted as she read the text. It was in Dutch, which she translated. “Good luck,” Eline had typed. “Give no quarter.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“It was a private joke.” Karen sighed. “Two of the guests on the panel are old adversaries of mine. One tore my last book to shreds. Eline had told me to take control and make them answer the hard questions. To show no mercy.” She smiled. “I actually did a pretty good job. I was excited to get back and tell her about it.”
She carried on scrolling. “I texted her again at nine during a short break. She said she was watching Casablanca, her favorite film. She’s an incorrigible romantic.”
“That’s when she called me,” I said. “Anything after that?”
“Nothing.” Karen gripped the phone in both hands, her last link to her friend. “At eleven, I let her know I was on my way back but she didn’t respond. I assumed she was already asleep.”
We didn’t speak for a while. Karen cried quietly, her falling tears forming dark spots on her green shirt. After a minute or two, she grabbed a tissue from a box on the table and blotted her face. Then she took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I may never know what made her go out alone or how she ended up in a canal. I hope you can look after your friend better than I did mine.” Her voice was still raspy from crying.
“This isn’t your fault,” I said, taking her hand in mine.
“Maybe not. I’m glad we met.” She looked up, gazing at me with tear-swollen eyes. “Are you in danger too? Would you know if an aura appeared over you?”
I shook my head. “No. I can’t see them in mirrors or photos, so there’s no way of telling.”
Just wondering if I had an aura made my stomach tighten into a painful knot.
Karen bit her lip. Her eyes brimmed again. “You look after yourself.”
13
I walked slowly back to the house, pondering what Karen had told me about the man who’d been following Eline, and the break-in Eline hadn’t mentioned. That wasn’t so surprising. It probably wasn’t good practice to advertise a burglary in the property she was intent on selling.
What was surprising was that, according to Karen, nothing of value had been taken. Had the burglars been looking for something in particular and, if so, had they found it? Was the man in the grey hoodie involved? I glanced around but saw no sign of him. He hadn’t gone out of his way to remain hidden over the past few days. In fact, his presence seemed almost blatant, and Eline had seen him as well, sufficiently close up to make the sketch of him.
When I reached the Janssen house, I rang the doorbell. The door opened immediately, and Henk stood there with his coat on, apparently ready to leave for the day. His eyes, faded brown and cloudy with cataracts, rested on my face for a few seconds, making the heat rise in my cheeks. I took a step back to give him room to pass, annoyed with myself for letting him bother me. He couldn’t know I’d been in Eline’s room and, even if he did, why would it concern him?
As he shuffled past me on the front doorstep, his coat gave off a musty odor. My heart softened. After all, he was just an elderly man with a job to do. He probably lived alone in a poorly heated flat that didn’t let his clothes air out. And his aura still circled.
“Henk,” I called, and he turned around. “Fijne middag!”
I’d practiced a few phrases I’d found on a language app. ‘Have a good afternoon’ was the only one I remembered.
He nodded in acknowledgement and carried on walking.
“What are you up to?” I asked Alex when I reached the living room. She sprawled on a sofa with her laptop resting on her knees. I heard Sam talking in the kitchen, on his phone again.
Alex blushed. “Taking some time out.” She turned her laptop towards me. “Looking at Eddie Redmayne pictures. I’ve seen all of his films. Look at this one. Doesn’t he look just like Sam?”
“He does actually.”
Alex lowered the lid on the computer. “Don’t tell Sam. He thinks I’m working.”
“I very much doubt that he cares whether you’re working or watching cat videos. Or ogling Eddie Redmayne.”
“No need to watch cat videos.” Alex pointed to a gilt side table on the opposite wall. Between two bronze statuettes of naked Greek youths, Vincent sat, one leg up in the air, cleaning himself.
“I was sure he’d knock something over, but he didn’t. Henk glared at him when he walked through, but Vincent just out-glared him. He’s got attitude, that cat.” She stood up and stretched.
“Did you have any luck talking with Henk?” I asked.
“Some. I can’t tell if he really doesn’t know much or if he’s hiding something. He confirmed that he’s been working here for eons, well before the Janssens moved in. He said the previous owner
never actually lived here and just paid him to keep the place clean. He got a check every month.”
“The previous owner was Martin Eyghels, right? That was the name on the sales deed when the Janssens bought the house.”
Alex swung her legs off the sofa and sat up straight. “Yes. Henk said Eyghels’ name was on the checks he received. He never met him though. Seems like no one did. The neighbors were increasingly irritated at having this chunk of real estate sitting empty. A huge house that’s always dark can really weigh on a neighborhood. Henk said some of them started sending written complaints to the city council and the building department and posting copies of the letters through the front door here.”
I nodded. “Sounds like London.”
“Yeah, one of my friends is an estate agent in Knightsbridge. She says some areas are like cemeteries. Deathly quiet, which might be a benefit for some, but people don’t usually choose to live in London for its peace and tranquility.”
“So did the complaints do the trick? Eyghels decided to sell up?”
“It seems like it. Apparently, the house was sold privately to the Janssens, so they must have known Eyghels. And they asked Henk to stay. Henk said they were happy to have someone who knew the house as well as he did. He acted as a sort of security guard during the initial construction phase, and then stayed on when they moved in.”
“Did Henk mention a burglary? Here, just after Tomas Janssen died?”
Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “No, he didn’t say anything about that. What happened?”
I related what Karen had told me. “Oh, and Eline drew a sketch of a man who’d been following her. It’s the same one, the lovely chappie who’s been watching us.”
A flush of pink crept up Alex’s neck. “Oh heck, Kate. I’m sorry. I thought you were imagining things. Well, I didn’t really, but I didn’t want to believe some creep was following us around in nice, friendly Amsterdam. I think we should confront him next time we see him and tell him to shove off.”
Assignment in Amsterdam Page 11
