Chapter 26
The last time I’d been in the Commissaris’s office, two months ago, it had been to receive a special commendation. To be congratulated on closing a particularly difficult case, rescuing a child from a canal and helping to bring a murderer to justice. Then it had been all smiles. There had even been a photographer to make sure that pictures of all this happiness and success were broadcast and shared with the national papers. There was nothing the powers that be enjoyed more than basking in reflected glory.
Today I knew better than to expect a smile, a medal or a photographer. Being called in for an immediate meeting with your boss’s boss was never a good sign. I had fully expected this telling-off for going on the Right to Justice podcast and admitting that maybe I had made a mistake. It seemed increasingly likely that we’d sent an innocent man to prison. The Commissaris was probably peeved because he hadn’t been the chief of police in Amsterdam when Ruud Klaver was sentenced. So he hadn’t had the glory but now he had to tidy up the mess. Like having to deal with a hangover even though you hadn’t been the one drinking.
Like the last time I’d seen him, he was in full uniform. There were no laughs today and no smiles on the Commissaris’s face. The one on my face started to feel forced as I did my best to appear unconcerned. I was sure I wasn’t fooling anybody. I was worried that my breath smelled of garlic. I should have got some chewing gum on the way here, but I’d rushed.
He didn’t offer me a seat. I held my hands behind my back and stood with my feet slightly apart, as if I was a soldier about to get a kicking from her commanding officer.
‘I’m sure you know why I called you here,’ the Commissaris said.
I was going to say: yup, I shouldn’t have gone on the podcast; yes, you’re right, I was wrong, I’m sorry about that. Instead I thought I was better off being silent for a bit and hearing the Commissaris out, so I just gave a single nod of acknowledgement.
Behind him, a row of framed photos lined the wall. It was a cabinet of high-profile criminals that our police force had apprehended. In many of the photos they were posing in front of their house, their car or with a powerful person. I knew why the Commissaris had chosen those particular photos. They said that no matter how wealthy or well connected you were, you could not get away with breaking the law.
‘I’m left with no option other than to give you an official reprimand,’ he said.
I had to swallow the saliva that suddenly seemed to have pooled in my mouth before I could say ‘I understand.’
That he was right didn’t make me feel any better. I knew I should have checked the national database to see if the gun had been used before. I could have found that there was another bullet with the same striation pattern. That our forensics department had made the same mistake was in no way an excuse. It was an oversight of such a simple thing.
I didn’t say any of those things, of course. I had learned that sometimes it was just better to say nothing.
‘What you did has interfered with an ongoing investigation,’ he said.
That caught me up. I had been trying to help with the investigation. I didn’t think I had hindered it in any way. I knew that I could have sat back and waited for the next Right to Justice podcast to air, but I had felt it was important to get the information that Sandra Ngo had as soon as possible. And didn’t the result bear that out? Now that another murder was linked to Ruud Klaver’s death, didn’t that prove that I had been right to work with Sandra?
‘I know that you feel you were doing the right thing, and that is commendable, but the outcome is so severe this time that maybe you need to reconsider your position.’
‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean.’
‘Are you denying that you worked with Right to Justice?’
‘Well, obviously I did the interview.’
‘That’s not what I mean. We’ve known for a while that someone is feeding them information. I’ve got to admit that I’m surprised it’s you. You don’t seem the type.’
‘Me? I haven’t been feeding anyone information.’
‘You went to see Sandra Ngo. Someone saw you.’
‘When?’
‘Today.’
‘Oh yes, that’s right. I went to see her to discuss the burglary.’
‘But you were by yourself. I know you talked about the direction the inquiry is taking.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ I couldn’t help but sound indignant.
‘You must have said something.’
‘I only talked about the burglary. I have no interest in helping Right to Justice.’
‘Maybe something slipped out accidentally.’
‘It didn’t. No way.’
I wondered who, apart from Remco, had seen me. I somehow couldn’t imagine him calling the Commissaris. It had to have been another police officer. Someone from my team? I should have taken Charlie with me. Had I told him I was going to see her? Had he . . . I shook my head. I was getting paranoid.
‘Well, just make sure it doesn’t. I’m keeping an eye on you.’
Before I could respond, there was a knock on the door. ‘Your visitor is here,’ a woman said.
‘Thank you. Perfect timing.’ The Commissaris smiled at me, but the smile never reached his eyes. ‘Take a seat. You should stay for this.’
The door opened wide and the visitor came in. It was Dennis Klaver.
He looked at me. Behind the round glasses, his eyes looked small and swollen, as if he hadn’t had much sleep. ‘She’s here. That’s perfect.’
She. There was no politeness here.
I rubbed the skin between my eyebrows. I wasn’t sure I was up for the second confrontation in fifteen minutes. If there was going to be another fight, surely I should be allowed to have a five-minute break? Before I could even suggest that I needed to use the bathroom, or whatever other excuse I was going to use to get a few minutes to gather my thoughts, the Commissaris gestured towards a chair. Now he wanted me to sit down? Dennis and I had seats side by side as if we were a couple in marriage counselling. I could feel anger radiating from him.
‘I listened to the podcast last night,’ he said.
I was surprised that Sandra hadn’t given him a preview of it, but maybe she’d put it out as soon as it was ready.
‘And I want this woman,’ he pointed to me with his thumb, ‘removed from my father’s case.’
‘Why?’
‘I feel it’s hugely insulting towards our family to have her investigate my father’s death. She’s the one who put him in jail. An innocent man.’ He swallowed after the last words. ‘Can’t you see how thoughtless that is? Especially after she admitted to her mistakes on the podcast. I don’t think we can work with her.’
I drew a circle on my notepad and crossed it through with lightning bolts. It wasn’t as if they had been working with me before. If they had cooperated, I wouldn’t have done the interview. Still, I thought about what Remco had told me. It was good that I’d talked to him earlier today. It had made me see Dennis in a different light. To me, he now was no longer just the kid with the knife. If I felt guilty about Barry, because I’d had a chance to stop Dennis and missed it, then I should feel guilty about this young man too. He’d only been twelve years old at the time. If I’d stopped him, his life would have been different. Hadn’t he been damaged by the incident just as much as Barry had?
‘Detective Meerman, do you have anything to say?’
I looked at the Commissaris. I knew he was going to throw me under the bus. I folded my hands in my lap. My arms felt as if they weighed a ton. ‘If I made a mistake, I want to atone for it.’ I turned sideways to look at Dennis. ‘The only way I can do that is to make sure that I get whoever killed your father. Can’t you see that? I’ll do whatever it takes to find his murderer.’
‘You see, I can’t trust that.’ His voice was a sneer. ‘I don’t trust you. You want to make sure that your mistakes never come to light.’
I wanted to laugh at that. If I�
�d wanted to keep my mistakes hidden, I would never have done the interview with Sandra. I threw a quick look at the Commissaris’s face. ‘No,’ I said. ‘It isn’t like that. It honestly isn’t. Plus, we’ve divided up the investigation in such a way that I won’t be dealing with you or your family.’
‘I’ll lodge an official complaint against the police if she isn’t removed.’ His hands gripped a piece of paper. ‘I read about the police reorganisation. You’re supposed to put victims and their families at the heart of what you do. I’m the victim’s son. I don’t want to see this woman on our doorstep ever again. I won’t talk to her, I won’t meet with her.’
Could I blame him? My own father had been locked up overnight once, on a false accusation. I’d done whatever I could to make sure he’d been released. If he had been killed, would I have been happy if the detective who had locked him up investigated his murder? No, I wouldn’t have. The answer came quickly.
‘Does your entire family feel the same way?’ I turned my head to look at him again. ‘I spoke to your brother Remco earlier today and—’
‘Don’t speak to any of us,’ Dennis shouted. He turned towards the Commissaris. ‘I’m serious. I’ll file a complaint. I’ll go to the press. Surely there must be other crimes in Amsterdam that she can investigate?’ His voice was deeply sarcastic. ‘I’ll start an online petition on the Right to Justice website. You should see the comments on there already. If Amsterdam’s police force wants to keep any shred of credibility, if you don’t want people to just laugh out loud when you talk about your victim-centric policing, then you need to remove her from this case.’
He waved the piece of paper that he’d been clutching. ‘This is the official statement about the response of the police to complaints. It says that “the main purpose of this is to restore the faith of the public in the police force”.’ He put the paper back on his lap. ‘Do you think the public will have any faith if you keep her on this case? Everybody knows what’s gone wrong in my father’s case. Everybody can download Sandra’s podcast and hear her admit to it. And now she’s investigating my father’s murder? This is clearly insane.’ He looked at me again. ‘You said you spoke to my brother. It’s why I’m here. I don’t want my brother talking to you. I don’t want you talking to him.’ He almost screamed the words. ‘Don’t you know how much it hurts to see you? For all of us? To have the police’s mistakes rubbed into our faces?’
That I understood his feelings only made matters worse. If he was going to file an official complaint, I would be invited to an open discussion with the police mediator. There was no point. I knew that there was nothing I could say or do that would make Dennis dislike me less. There was no way of explaining my actions that would make this right.
I pushed my chair back. I knew what the Commissaris was going to say. ‘I’ll leave the two of you to discuss this further,’ I said. ‘I’ll accept whatever you decide.’
The Commissaris nodded. ‘I’ll inform your boss. He’ll talk to you later.’
I went back to the office and decided to watch the footage I’d wanted to see ever since Barry had told me over lunch that he didn’t like the confession. I knew I had very limited time left before I’d officially be taken off this case, and I had to brief Charlie quickly.
Luckily he was sitting at his temporary desk.
‘Let’s look at that confession again,’ I said to him before I’d even hung up my coat. ‘We need to check if anything looks odd. Especially if there is any eye contact between Ruud and his lawyer.’
‘Okay,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s right here.’
I knew the time of the confession to the minute. The footage was lined up to exactly the right point. He must have been looking at it when I was out. I didn’t blame him; it was probably the part that I would have watched first too. He pressed start.
‘We’ve got his blood on your trousers,’ I said on the screen. ‘We’ve got a witness.’
Ruud sighed. He looked exhausted at this point, the bags under his eyes deep. ‘I did it,’ he said. ‘I shot him.’
He didn’t look at his lawyer. She didn’t look at him. She wasn’t surprised at what he was saying. She must have known from the start of this session that he was going to confess. She didn’t try to stop him. She let him talk.
‘Why?’ I said. ‘Why did you kill him?’ A smile broke out on my face. My hand went to my belly. Even now, watching it on the screen made me feel infinitely sad. That happiness that I’d been feeling, I could still remember it.
‘I was angry,’ Ruud said. ‘I was drunk. We’d had a fight. I had a gun.’ He never looked at the woman beside him. ‘I was unlucky that I hit him.’ His voice was resigned. He sat back on his chair. The die was cast, the deed was done.
‘Let’s look at it again,’ I said to Charlie, and he rewound the footage.
‘He looked certain, didn’t he?’ he said after we’d watched it twice more.
‘He really did. He never looked away, he retained eye contact throughout.’ That had been a very convincing lie. Very different from the stuttering we’d seen the day before.
Even now, with the years of experience that I’d gained since, I would have gone with that confession. I wouldn’t have doubted it. Sure, Barry didn’t like it, but that was mainly because it had been unnecessary. Contrary to what Ruud had said on the Right to Justice podcast, it was not a forced confession. I hadn’t said anything like: just confess, Ruud, then this will all be over. He would have known only too well that it was only the beginning. If anything, I would probably have put more pressure on him if I questioned him today.
On the screen, I sat back in my chair, looking content. I must have felt as if the balance had been restored. I watched it again. If I had to find anything suspicious about it, it was the calm with which he confessed. No anger, just acceptance. I leaned forward to watch his face more closely. He looked tired but together, as though he’d thought it all through and this was his best option.
‘What are you looking for?’ Charlie asked.
‘Anything odd.’
‘It looks really normal,’ he said. ‘Is that strange?’
‘This confession is only strange,’ I said, ‘for an innocent man.’
Chapter 27
The chief inspector was still away from his office an hour later, probably in an extremely important internal meeting. As I waited to see what my punishment would be, I got a call to say that there were two people waiting to see me. Maybe I was being punished right now, because Carlo Sondervelt’s mother Anke was here with Nancy.
I was in two minds as to where to speak with them. I could take them to the canteen to create a less formal setting for our conversation, but if they were angry and upset, this might be uncomfortable. I should provide them with some privacy. In the end, I asked the desk sergeant to show them to one of the interview rooms.
As soon as I entered the room, I realised that that had been a mistake. The cold setting made their grief even more obvious. Even though I’d known that Nancy was upset when I’d spoken to her earlier today, I hadn’t appreciated how bad it was. Her face was pale, as if her tears had washed any colour away. Anke’s hair was uncombed, and the stoop of her shoulders made it seem like she’d aged at least a decade overnight.
They huddled at one end of the room as if that would keep them safe from questions and accusations, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists for warmth or comfort.
‘Please take a seat,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry we can’t talk somewhere more comfortable.’ I’d thought that I’d had to pay a high personal price for Sandra Ngo’s information, but I hadn’t taken Carlo’s family’s upset into consideration. I hadn’t realised that the podcast would make their agony raw again. I could feel the pain coming from them, as if someone had taken a sharp knife to the stitches of a not-quite-healed wound.
‘Why did you say those things?’ Anke said before she had even pulled out her chair. ‘Those horrible things. You said that maybe Ruud Klaver was innocent
.’
‘The evidence that Sandra Ngo has—’
‘It’s all a pack of lies,’ Anke said. ‘Klaver did it.’
‘There’s a second man who was shot by the same gun. Klaver has an alibi for that day.’ To avoid her eyes, I looked at these walls that over the years had listened to hundreds of suspects’ confessions and angry denials.
‘What do you mean?’ Nancy said.
‘Unless two different people used the same gun, Klaver didn’t kill Carlo. I’m sorry.’
‘Who was the other victim? Another student?’ Tears were streaming from Anke’s eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was because of her son, or because another man had been killed.
‘No.’ I said. ‘He was a man in his forties who was known to the police.’
‘That doesn’t make sense. Carlo was a good kid. He never had any dealings with the police,’ Anke said.
‘I know. There’s nothing to suggest that he knew the other victim.’
‘The other man was killed before Carlo?’
‘Yes. Three weeks before.’
‘But I saw him,’ Nancy said. ‘I know what you said, that I could have misremembered things, but I didn’t. I saw him.’
I took the piece of paper with her drawing from the file that I had brought down with me. I didn’t want to show it to her, but I knew it might be the only way she would accept that what had happened wasn’t as she recalled it. ‘You drew this for me a couple of days ago, remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you said that this was where you were,’ I pointed with the point of my pen to the leftmost cross, ‘this was Carlo, this the other witness and this,’ I indicated the circle, ‘Ruud Klaver.’
She nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, exactly. Because I was behind Carlo, I could see Ruud’s face.’
A Death in Rembrandt Square Page 18
