The Pilgrim Conspiracy

by Jeroen Windmeijer

  The murders that went unsolved were usually gangland executions in which organised criminals took out their rivals. They either carried out the hit themselves or flew in contract killers who were unconnected to the victim and disappeared again immediately after the murder.

  Van de Kooij parked the car in front of Jenny van der Lede’s neat front garden with its wooden bench that, judging from the moss growing on it, was more for decoration than actually sitting on.

  They could see Jenny sitting in her living room. She greeted them with a friendly wave and came straight to the front door to let them in.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ she said, as though she was meeting up with old friends after much too long.

  Jenny van der Lede was a large woman who had the sort of healthy glow that comes from spending a lot of time outdoors. Her bright eyes suggested a very keen interest in examining everything she saw and heard in the world around her.

  ‘So, my colleagues have already been to see you,’ Rijsbergen began as they sat down. He had politely refused her offer of coffee – he preferred to keep the tone of these conversations formal and businesslike.

  Jenny nodded agreeably. She leaned back in her armchair and calmly waited to hear what Rijsbergen had to say.

  ‘They spoke to you about the evening itself, of course, but also about the election that took place recently.’

  ‘Oh, the election, yes …’ she said. She crossed her legs, like someone settling in to tell a good story.

  But then she said nothing.

  ‘This is where you tell us about how the election went,’ Van de Kooij said helpfully.

  ‘Yes, right,’ Jenny said. ‘The election. Well, you know … There’s not much to tell. We had three candidates: Coen and then two other candidates standing against him. Well, that’s how it felt to me, anyway. We knew from the start that we’d have no chance of winning, and it turned out we were right. He won by a landslide.’

  ‘So why did you stand in the election at all?’ Rijsbergen asked.

  ‘For the other candidate, it was purely a matter of principle,’ Jenny said. ‘He was worried that the election would just be a charade otherwise.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘I …’ Jenny said uncertainly. ‘That was part of my motivation too. I wanted to provide some sort of opposition, a counterweight, as it were. But it was more than that. I had two reasons for standing. And mine were principled reasons too. The first was very simple. The Freemasons have always been dominated by men, right from the very beginning. When Loge Ishtar was set up, we finally had a mixed lodge, one that women could join. And it really upset me that our first chairman was going to be another man. I thought: they’ve finally let us in, and we’ve still got a man at the helm.’

  Rijsbergen nodded sympathetically.

  ‘And the second reason?’ Van de Kooij asked.

  ‘The second reason,’ Jenny said, folding her hands as though she was about to lead them in prayer. ‘I think – or I thought, as I sadly must say now – that Coen was too permissive, if I can put it like that. I can’t think of another word for it. It’s hard to explain, but even we Freemasons … I mean, we’re known for being free thinkers, for our tolerance towards others. We don’t force our lifestyle on other people, we don’t go from door to door trying to save souls, we don’t damn people to eternal hell if they don’t share our views.’

  ‘But …’ Van de Kooij said, keen to get to the point.

  ‘But I found Coen’s approach a bit too … a bit too permissive, as I said. If you give everyone absolute freedom in everything, then … Well then, everyone might as well just stay at home on their own and do as they please. You’d have nothing holding people together any more, would you? Yes, you’d have individual freedom, but if every individual person has total freedom, then there’s no community. Then we’re all just separate individuals. If you want to belong to a community, you have to surrender a part of yourself, give something up, sometimes you have to submit to something greater than yourself. So if you allow this extreme autonomy, this obsessive drive for independence where everyone has the right to come up with their own completely personal and individual meanings, how can we have any unity? And this is also – Coen and I often locked horns on exactly this point – this is why I had to stand against him. In my opinion, one explanation of a symbol or a ritual can be more valid than another. You should be able to say: “It’s like this.” Or: “Your interpretation isn’t correct.” This is a … I know this is a minority viewpoint. It’s why I lost the election. But some people do agree with me.’

  Jenny took a handkerchief out of the pocket of her cardigan and mopped her reddened face with it. ‘My point is, gentlemen …’ she went on.

  She spoke as though she was looking for the right words while she talked, but Rijsbergen’s intuition told him that she had told this story many times before.

  ‘In practice, something that’s presented as tolerance can very easily become indifference. The line between the two is thinner than most people think. “I have my truth, and you have yours” looks like “Live and let live.” But what you’re actually saying is, “I’m not really interested. I don’t care. I’m never going to be changed by anything you think because I’m not prepared to change my standpoint.” Do you see? How can you have a connection with each other then? How can you have a community?’

  ‘Then it looks to me like you don’t really fit in there,’ Rijsbergen said.

  ‘Oh I do, I do,’ Jenny said hastily. ‘The fundamental ideas appeal to me. As does searching for the meaning of life without constantly being watched by a judgemental God. Those things have always spoken to me, but … the unrestrained freedom that Coen advocated, freedom for everyone to understand things in their own way, not to take any of it too literally …’

  ‘Someone else I was speaking to,’ Rijsbergen cut in, ‘said that people like you – this person didn’t name names, by the way – have “less-enlightened minds”. They said that they’re people who need a little more guidance. They aren’t able to cope with so much latitude and need to have their hands held …’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure,’ Jenny said, and she laughed disdainfully. ‘Those people can be so patronising … But, in the end, what is it that we want?’

  Jenny stood up. Her face was even ruddier now. She took out her handkerchief again and wiped her neck as well as her face.

  ‘What is it that we actually want?’ she said again. ‘Do we want to live in a place where we all have individual freedom, but we have no connection to each other, nothing that we can share with each other? Where we’re all separate atoms in a lonely universe, just occasionally bumping into each other? A place where someone can lie dead in their home for ten years before they’re found? Or do we want to live in a place where people are engaged with each other, form a community? Where people look out for each other? Where someone will talk to you if they see that you’re heading down the wrong path? Of course, this means giving up something of your freedom, as I said earlier, something of your individuality, and of course, it means compromising now and then, conforming, keeping your opinions to yourself, sometimes, for the greater good. Because when you disconnect from each other and allow everyone to just do whatever they want, you lose that safety and security. And you can’t get it back. That’s the indifference I’m talking about, that feeling that nobody is really bothered about anyone else.’

  Jenny sat down again. ‘Sometimes, one person just is more right than another. Not all opinions are equally valid,’ she went on. ‘And it’s nothing to do with lacking maturity or being less enlightened or needing guidance. It’s about how you want to live with each other – or not.’

  This avalanche of words had left Rijsbergen and Van de Kooij speechless.

  The sound of footsteps coming downstairs rumbled through the hall, and seconds later, a man appeared in the living room doorway. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Am I interrupting something?’

  ‘This is my husband, Herman
,’ Jenny said before Rijsbergen and Van de Kooij had a chance to ask.

  Herman walked over and shook their hands.

  ‘Herman is a member of Loge Ishtar too,’ Jenny said. ‘He’s one of the people who agrees with me about the things I was just telling you about.’ She gave Herman a short summary of the conversation that had just taken place.

  ‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ Rijsbergen said. Herman took a chair from under the dining table and put it beside Jenny’s armchair.

  Herman was a large man, perhaps a head taller than Jenny, but, sat next to her, he seemed much smaller.

  It’s like he’s in her shadow, Rijsbergen thought. He’s even sitting hunched over so that he doesn’t look bigger than her.

  ‘That’s all well and good, Mevrouw van de Lede,’ Rijsbergen said after a pause. ‘But—’

  ‘And of course I wouldn’t kill someone over a difference of opinion,’ Jenny said. ‘Or condone someone else doing that either.’

  It had been almost invisible, but Rijsbergen had seen it. It had lasted less than a fraction of a second, so tiny that it could have been a facial tic. Jenny had given Herman a fleeting, sideways glance.

  Hmm, that was odd, Rijsbergen thought.

  ‘I’ve already told your colleagues,’ Jenny continued, ‘that I have no idea who could be behind this. If they’re from the lodge, then I must have been completely – and I mean completely – wrong about everyone I know there. And if that’s true, then I can throw out everything I thought I’d learned about people over the last sixty years.’

  Van de Kooij was about to say something, but Rijsbergen moved his hand subtly to warn him to keep quiet.

  Why did she just look at her husband like that, Rijsbergen wondered. He recalled what Van Eijk, the pathologist had said: It’s obvious that whoever did this was very strong. It would have taken a huge amount of physical strength. Or rage. He – or she, we can’t rule that out – was at least as large as the victim, possibly slightly larger. Probably someone right-handed.

  ‘Besides, everyone saw me that night,’ Jenny said. ‘After the presentation, I served behind the bar all evening, right up to the moment the police came. Even if I did have a motive …’ There was that disdainful laugh again. ‘… I definitely didn’t have the opportunity.’

  Rijsbergen nodded.

  He turned to Herman. ‘And where were you?’

  ‘Me?’ Herman asked, sitting up straight. ‘I came home shortly after the presentation ended. I had a glass of wine at the reception, but I was tired, so I didn’t stay long.’

  Rijsbergen looked Herman in the eye, and Herman met this with a steely glare as if the two men were daring each other to blink first.

  ‘You wouldn’t wish this on anybody,’ Herman said at last. ‘We disagreed with him, but this … This is just terrible.’

  Rijsbergen took the photo of Yona Falaina out of the file and showed it to Jenny and Herman. ‘As you’ve probably already heard,’ he said, ‘a body was found in the Galgewater yesterday. It was very quickly apparent that he had been murdered.’

  Jenny and Herman looked at the photograph carefully, but they gave away nothing that indicated that they recognised the face on it.

  ‘He was a young man, twenty-eight, probably from Greece originally. He lived in the town centre, just around the corner from the Masonic Hall.’

  Herman hunched himself over again.

  ‘No,’ Jenny said firmly. ‘I’m sure I’ve never seen him before. He has an unusual face, a bit like a monk or a priest. If you put him in one of those black cassocks that the Greek Orthodox priests wear, you’d believe he really was one. But why are you asking about him? Is his death connected to Coen Zoutman’s murder somehow?’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ Rijsbergen said reticently. ‘But I’m sure you understand that we’re inclined to think that two murders committed in Leiden in quick succession could be connected.’

  This answer didn’t seem to satisfy Jenny, but she didn’t question him further.

  ‘Are either of you familiar with this symbol?’ he asked, holding up the picture of Coen’s tattoo. It was the sketch he’d made himself, which was larger and clearer than the autopsy photographs. No one needed to know where the image had actually come from.

  Jenny and Herman obligingly looked at the triangle within a triangle with a small circle on top. They both shook their heads.

  ‘No,’ Jenny said. ‘If it’s related to Freemasonry, then the All-Seeing Eye would be the closest thing to it, but I’ve never seen it represented in that way.’

  ‘I don’t recognise it either,’ said Herman. ‘Where was it found?’

  Van de Kooij flashed a look at Rijsbergen, and Rijsbergen blinked slowly, which Van de Kooij correctly understood as a sign that he should say nothing.

  ‘We came across it during our investigation,’ he said carefully.

  ‘Well,’ Jenny said in a tone that was clearly intended to let them know that, as far as she was concerned, the conversation was over. ‘I get the impression that you’re only telling me half the story, which I understand, of course. Police confidentiality and so on.’

  They all stood up.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,’ Jenny said. ‘It’s a dreadful business. I’ve been wracking my brains over who could have done this. I’m sure it couldn’t have been one of us. It’s just not possible. I was the one who had the most difficulty with Coen. That was an open secret, I think. But otherwise … Obviously, there were a few people who took my side, but nobody who would go this far. No, I just can’t believe that could be true.’

  They walked into the front hall.

  ‘No, absolutely, I completely agree with Jenny,’ Herman said. ‘The level of violence in the murder, and that business with the square and compa—’

  Rijsbergen turned around, and before Herman had finished his sentence, said, very calmly, ‘How do you know that?’

  Herman gaped, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

  Like a fish caught in a net.

  Chapter 23

  Peter arrived at the café in the Pieterskerk long before he was supposed to meet Judith. Classical music played softly in the background, and late-afternoon light shone through the stained-glass windows high above.

  In two days, on Sunday, Judith would be flying out to Boston, and he’d be joining her three weeks later. There was a farewell dinner planned for Saturday, but Mark and Fay would be there, and today, Peter would have a chance to spend some time with her alone.

  Peter often came to the church café to read the papers over a cup of coffee. Sometimes, if Fay’s house felt too crowded at the weekend, he’d come here with his laptop and spend a few hours working rather than going back to his own home on the Boerhaavelaan.

  The hushed atmosphere was disturbed only by the occasional hiss of the espresso machine or by tourists buying entrance tickets at the counter.

  Frieke, the Pieterkserk’s manageress whom Peter knew quite well now, often breezed through the café and stopped to talk to Peter. She told him about her new plans and new ideas in an endless stream of words that tumbled over each other. Peter always found her lively enthusiasm and positive can-do attitude inspiring.

  Today, Peter was reading a printout of the speech Burgomaster Henri Freylink had given at the recent anniversary of the Old Leiden Historical Society.

  I’m honoured to have this opportunity to talk to you about the identity of this fine city. Identity is a wonderfully vague concept, which means that you can make it whatever you want it to be. But today, let us talk about exactly what it is that makes Leiden, or in other words, what the character of the city actually is.

  Freylink spoke at length about the anniversary of the Relief of Leiden on the 2nd and 3rd of October, ‘When our love for the city is expressed in a rich variety of ways, including the modern tradition of wearing red and white.’

  The city’s identity has always been strongly connected to stories about its history – its heroic his
tory, that is. Even the youngest nations use stories from a distant past to illustrate their greatness. This often goes hand in hand with ‘invented traditions’ which might not truly be very old at all. But they give the impression of being so. And that goes for Leiden too. Our 3 October Festival is full of them.

  Peter was considering including the speech in his course on the history of Leiden with his second-year students. It gave a concise and clear overview of Leiden’s history in fewer than twenty pages.

  We talked just last week about stories and how they play a role in nation-building whether they’re true or not.

  Freylink, himself a historian, also emphasised the importance of the many immigrants who had made Leiden their home throughout its history. ‘Leiden, City of Refugees’ had long been the city’s motto.

  The population had clearly become less homogeneous after the siege, and the question is, how did this population feel about Leiden? Did they think of themselves as Leideners? Were they proud of their city, proud of its past? It’s impossible for us to know. In the hundred years after Leiden was relieved, so many immigrants came into the city that they were by far the largest demographic in its population. They certainly would not have identified very much with Leiden when they first arrived, and, to a large extent, how well they integrated into Leiden’s society was determined by where they originally came from. There were many Flemish people, but also Walloons, Germans, English and later, Huguenots from France. For many years, the Flemings married exclusively within their own circle, and there was relatively little interaction with other groups … Of course, most newcomers were simple labourers. After a while, they would have started to form a bond with their new home. The lovely carved stone plaque that can be seen on the Nieuwe Beestenmarkt reflects this beautifully, depicting Leiden as the ‘The Land of Promises’.