Fragment 1 – Flight from England (January 1609)
We made it. We’re safe.
For now.
Chapter 16
Rijsbergen sat at his desk, looking through the folder that the pathologist Pieter-Nicolaas van Eijk had given him. He had skimmed through the autopsy report, but it had revealed nothing new.
The scraps of paper found in Zoutman’s pockets were trivial notes, things like a shopping list for ‘butter, cheese, eggs’. The receipts were from the supermarket, the dry cleaners and a bookshop. He’d recently purchased a copy of The Sources of Western Esotericism by Jacob Slavenburg from Boekhandel De Kler. ‘The esoteric tradition can be better understood if one has knowledge of the archetypal imagery of the creation myths,’ Rijsbergen had read on the author’s website, which told him precisely nothing.
The only thing in the file that might provide some sort of clue was the envelope with the handwritten Old Testament stories inside. Rijsbergen had contacted the Religious Studies department at Leiden University, and they had put him in touch with Professor Mark Labuschagne. Rijsbergen hoped that the Bible expert might be able to shed some light on Zoutman’s motives for writing these stories out by hand. He would ask about them at the Masonic Hall too. Perhaps the stories were for a lecture he’d wanted to give?
Rijsbergen put everything back in the folder, closed it, and went to the interview suite where two young men were waiting in separate rooms: Sven Koopman and Erik Laman, who had both been at the Freemasons’ open evening.
Officers from the investigation team had brought the two students in shortly after Rijsbergen and Van de Kooij had returned from the morgue. The inspectors had been working their way through the list, visiting people one by one, and what had initially been a routine visit to the first student, Sven, had taken an unexpected turn.
Sven had broken out in a sweat and started to stutter when asked even the most straightforward questions. He had contradicted himself, said he wanted to speak to a solicitor, and then changed his mind. He had immediately implicated his acquaintance Erik without any prompting from the detectives.
This had been sufficient grounds for the detectives to bring Sven in for questioning and to send some colleagues to pick up Erik too.
The detectives had told Rijsbergen that Sven studied History at the university, and that, intriguingly, a certain Peter de Haan was one of his lecturers. It was a coincidence but hardly unusual in a small town like Leiden.
When Rijsbergen and Van de Kooij entered the interview room, they found Sven sitting with his head bowed as though in prayer. The interview room was simple, nothing like a Hollywood interrogation room – there was no large mirror concealing a team of cops and psychologists ready to analyse even the slightest change in the suspect’s tone of voice. The windows were latticed with wired glass, but they were transparent enough that anyone looking in would be able to see that everything was being done by the book.
However, a camera had been installed near the ceiling in one of the corners to record interviews, a measure designed to protect both the suspect and the police. Whatever either party said in this room, there was no possibility of their words being twisted later. How those words should be interpreted was another story, one for the judges and lawyers to tell in the courtroom.
Rijsbergen introduced himself and Van de Kooij and then explained the purpose of the conversation they were about to have. He asked Sven about his degree course and his background, and then, in a gentle tone, he asked his first question. ‘Why were you so nervous with my colleagues, Sven?’
‘No reason in particular,’ Sven said. ‘I’ve never had anything to do with the police in my life.’
‘But then you’ve got nothing to be worried about, have you?’ said Rijsbergen. ‘What could have made you stutter, turn red and contradict yourself?’ he asked, reading out the words from the report that his colleagues had written after visiting Sven.
‘Or ask for a solicitor?’ Van de Kooij added, much less patiently. ‘Is there something you want to tell us? We’ll get it out of you eventually so you might as well tell us now. We can keep you in custody for three days, and then we can get an extension for another three days if we need to. And after that, we have the option of putting you on remand. Do you know how long you can be on remand for, Sven?’
Sven shook his head.
‘More than a hundred and ten days, Sven. That’s more than three months. I reckon that will make you talk. So you’re better off—’
‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ Rijsbergen cut in. ‘Sven looks like a reasonable young man to me, sensible too. Never had anything to do with the police. Of course he wants to co-operate with us. I’m sure he thinks it’s awful that Meneer Zoutman was murdered, too.’
‘I didn’t have anything to do with that,’ Sven said, aggressively at first, but then his emotions got the better of him, and he choked on the last word. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with that,’ he said again, swallowing hard as he gulped back his tears. ‘There are witnesses,’ he said, calmer now. ‘We were outside with some other people after Meneer Zoutman’s talk. We were still out there having a beer when the police came.’
‘I believe you, Sven,’ Rijsbergen said. His voice was warm and paternal. ‘I believe you.’
Sven straightened himself up and smiled, as though this was an oral exam at school, and he had just been told he had passed. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘But then there’s still something you need to tell me about, Sven,’ Rijsbergen went on. ‘Just now, you said: “I didn’t have anything to do with that.” I think that’s quite interesting. Don’t you, Van de Kooij?’
Van de Kooij nodded. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with that,’ he said, imitating Sven’s voice mockingly.
Rijsbergen furrowed his brow and stared at his colleague. ‘You see, Sven, that leaves us with another question,’ he said. ‘You and your friend weren’t involved with the murder. So what were you involved with?’
Sven slumped in his chair.
‘What were you involved with, Sven?’ Rijsbergen asked.
‘Think about those one hundred and ten days in prison, Sven,’ Van de Kooij said, goading him. ‘Some of the big guys in there would just love to get their hands on a lovely boy like you.’
Rijsbergen couldn’t help laughing. He lifted his left hand up from the table a fraction to silence Van de Kooij. ‘I’m afraid my colleague has been watching too many American TV shows, Sven. But he does have a point. It would be better for you if you were honest with us.’
Sven buried his face in his hands, like a child hoping it would make him invisible. ‘We were just trying to get our bearings,’ he said at last.
‘Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, Sven. I’m so glad,’ Rijsbergen said. ‘And where, exactly, were you trying to get your bearings?’
Van de Kooij reached over for the file on the table next to Rijsbergen. He took out the plastic sleeve containing the map that had been found the previous day and showed the sketch to Sven. Sven closed his eyes but then immediately opened them again.
‘Was it something to do with this?’ Van de Kooij asked him.
‘Yes,’ Sven admitted. ‘I drew that. But … How did you get it?’
‘We’re not at liberty to reveal those details,’ Van de Kooij said seriously. ‘But a more interesting question, Sven, is what might it be?’
‘It’s a map.’
‘A map,’ Van de Kooij repeated, like a foreigner practising his Dutch vocabulary. ‘We can see that.’
‘Yeah, a map.’
‘Why did you draw a map of the Masonic Hall, Sven?’ Rijsbergen asked genially.
Sven took the map from Van de Kooij.
‘Why did you draw a map of the Masonic Hall, Sven?’ Rijsbergen asked again. ‘And why did you throw it away afterwards? That’s what I find most puzzling about all of this. You make this fantastic map, really put your heart and soul into it … And then you throw it away!’
Van d
e Kooij laughed and shook his head as though his colleague had just said something astonishing.
‘Me and my, uh … friend, Erik,’ Sven said. ‘He’s not really a friend, more of an acquaintance. I know him from the protest groups in Leiden.’
‘Protest groups?’
‘You know … Anti-globalisation groups, environmental activists, the Vrijplaats Leiden cultural and social centre on the Middelstegracht, the Fabel van de Illegaal organisation that works with refugees and illegal immigrants … That sort of thing.’
Rijsbergen nodded to show that he understood.
‘We had a meeting last week on the Haagweg. You know it? Haagweg 4, the cultural centre. It was to coordinate the Mayflower 400 protests. There are going be to huge events here and in America and England to commemorate the four-hundredth anniversary of the Pilgrims setting sail from Leiden. Now, the thing about it is … Well, what it boils down to is that we think the tone of these events is too positive. The Pilgrims’ arrival in America more or less led to the obliteration of the indigenous culture, the obliteration of the Indians who were living there. We want to see more emphasis on the negative effects of colonisation, on the darker side of its history.’ As Sven spoke, he visibly regained his confidence, sitting up straight, almost on the edge of the chair. ‘I’m telling you all this to put everything in the right context,’ he said, with an obnoxious air of intellectual superiority.
‘So there’s this protest group,’ he continued, ‘that Erik and I are part of. And Erik wanted … He’s really deeply into this stuff. The Pilgrims are generally considered to be the founders of what eventually became the United States of America. But Erik is convinced that the Freemasons played a crucial role in America’s history as well. He says there’s a clear link between the Freemasons and the foundation of the United States. Lots of the Founding Fathers like George Washington and Benjamin Franklin were Freemasons. So if you really want to understand the ideas that the USA is based on, you need to get an understanding of the way the Freemasons think.’
‘And then what, Sven?’ Rijsbergen said, less patiently this time. ‘You were planning to learn all about the Freemasons for the Mayflower anniversary?’
‘Like I said,’ said Sven, sounding like he had lost some of his earlier confidence. ‘Erik said we needed to look at the bigger picture. The Freemasons play a central role in loads of conspiracy theories …’
‘That’s all well and good, Sven,’ said Rijsbergen, ‘But I still don’t see … I was reading about the Masons on Wikipedia yesterday. The first lodge wasn’t set up until the start of the eighteenth century if I remember correctly. The Pilgrims left Leiden in—’
‘1620,’ Sven interjected.
‘Right,’ Rijsbergen said, massaging his forehead with his fingertips. ‘So that’s about a hundred years earlier. And in Leiden—’
‘That’s right,’ Sven said, like a teacher complimenting a pupil for giving a correct answer. ‘The seventh Dutch lodge, Loge La Vertu, was established in Leiden in 1757. The first English lodge opened in 1717. Actually, to be more precise, it was the first grand lodge because it was made up of several smaller lodges that decided to unify.’
‘I’m sorry, Sven, but I’m afraid that we’re straying from the subject at hand,’ Rijsbergen said, cutting him off.
‘Just tell us what you were both doing there,’ said Van de Kooij, obviously running out of patience.
Rijsbergen nodded approvingly. ‘You still haven’t answered our first question, Sven,’ he said. ‘Why did you draw the map?’
‘I drew the map,’ Sven said, ‘because we wanted to go back to the Masonic Hall again. Erik was hoping we could have a look around without anyone bothering us. He thought we might find something we would help us. It all sounds a bit stupid now, but—’
‘And what then? Hasta la victoria siempre? Ever onward to victory? That does indeed all sound a bit stupid, Sven,’ Rijsbergen said testily. Based on his gut feeling, which rarely failed him, he ‘knew’ that Sven was telling the truth about why they had made the map.
What a waste of our time and energy this is, he thought
‘Yes, that’s why,’ Sven said defensively. ‘It was so we’d be well-prepared when we went back. The idea wasn’t just to show all the rooms but to show where the cupboards and cabinets and things are. We might have been able to find something in the temple or see inside the closed rooms.’
‘But then what?’ Rijsbergen said, slamming the palm of his hand down on the desk in frustration.
Sven shrank back like a scolded child.
‘What did you think you’d find if you broke in, Sherlock?’ Rijsbergen asked, raising his voice. ‘A cupboard that said: ALL THE FREEMASONS SECRETS? With a warning on it in big red letters: TOP SECRET! NOT TO BE READ BY THE UNINITIATED?’
Sven smiled sheepishly, as if now, he too could see that the whole idea had been ludicrous from the start. ‘I don’t know what we …’ he protested weakly, ‘or what Erik was trying to find. It was his idea, really. I just made the map. I think he genuinely believed he was going to find an archive or something that was kept hidden from outsiders, only meant for members … But given what happened that night, when you put it like that, I suppose it does sound a bit … strange, yes.’
‘One last question then,’ said Rijsbergen. ‘I just want to know why you drew the map and then threw it in the bin.’
‘I did that when the police arrived,’ Sven said, ‘after the chairman’s body had been found. Erik and I were in the back garden with some of the other guests. Someone came and told us what had happened, and they said we all had to come inside. I panicked. I knew how strange it was going to look if you saw me with the map. I thought we would all be searched before we left. I threw it away for the exact same reason I’m sitting here now. Because having a map of the building where someone had just been murdered would look suspicious. I hung around in the garden until everyone else had gone inside, then I crumpled it up and threw it in a bin. I wasn’t really thinking about it. I was just glad to be rid of it. Until the police arrived this afternoon. Then I suddenly had this horrible vision of my map being found.’
‘Indeed,’ Van de Kooij said triumphantly.
‘And then I thought: I want to explain everything, can explain everything because I had nothing to do with the murder, but I do want a solicitor. I’ve read too many stories in the papers about detectives who have blinkers on when they’re interviewing people, like in the Schiedammer Park murder case. But at the same time, I figured I won’t need a solicitor because I have absolutely nothing to hide.’
Rijsbergen nodded and smiled ruefully.
It sounds plausible, he thought. And if there’d been no murder, they’d probably never have used the map anyway. Wild plans like theirs are almost always too childish to ever actually be put into action.
Rijsbergen and Van de Kooij’s interview with Erik was considerably shorter; it was little more than a verification of the information that Sven had already given them.
Erik’s account corroborated Sven’s entirely. He made a half-hearted attempt to justify his plan to break into the Freemasons’ building, but then, just like Sven, he foundered when he tried to explain what he thought he might have found there.
Out of nowhere, Erik started to talk about the graffiti on the Sionshof. He suggested that the police would find the perpetrators at Haagweg 4. He gave them the names of three activists who were especially passionate about what they saw as Israel’s illegal occupation of the Palestinian territories.
Erik had heard about their plans to vandalise the Sionshof through the grapevine. It had seemed utterly stupid to him from the start. Although these young men were unmistakably left-wing, the language they used to discuss their hatred of Israel was almost identical to that of the anti-Semites on the extreme right. Erik despised them for it and had decided he should give their names to the police.
Rijsbergen had noted down the names so he could pass them on to another department who would pay the
young men a visit.
Eventually, Sven and Erik were sent home.
Neither of them spoke to each other when they left. Rijsbergen watched them through the glass doors of the police station entrance as one turned left onto the Langegracht and the other went right.
They hadn’t even said goodbye to each other.
Rijsbergen returned to his office. He took the copies of Zoutman’s handwritten Bible stories out of the folder to give to Mark Labuschagne later.
‘Exodus,’ the chairman had written on the first page. ‘The story in a nutshell’.
Fragment 6 – From Leiden to America (1620)
We are going to America.
Although, not ‘we’ exactly. Most of us will stay behind in Leiden. Some of our group have already returned to England. Life in Holland was much harder than they were able to bear, and they chose to go back to Scrooby. Life is not easy there either, but it will at least be familiar. Not even the risk of being thrown in jail as soon as they set foot on shore was enough to persuade them to stay here.
We help each other as much as we can here, but there are limits to what you can do for other people. Many of us only barely manage to keep our own heads above water. Of course, some of the people staying here in Leiden stay because they cannot afford to make the great crossing, even though John and William say that something could always be worked out to make it possible for them. They could borrow the money for the voyage and pay it back once they were in America.
Our group is also ageing. While we have welcomed new members and new babies, it is not enough to support the healthy growth of our group. If we remain here, within a few years, our group will fall apart, and its members will disappear into the wider Leiden community. We see it happening now. We are forced to send our children out to work from such a tender age. Their families need the extra income they bring in, but it has led to them becoming more and more involved in a life that we would rather protect them from. Roughhousing in the street, gambling and drinking all have an allure that is almost impossible for our young ones to resist.
The Pilgrim Conspiracy Page 16
