A Death in Rembrandt Square

by Anja de Jager

  ‘Dennis.’ Angela spoke calmly, as if this display of anger wasn’t unusual. Her voice belied her body language, though, because she hadn’t moved from her seat in the corner. Her feet were off the floor and she held her knees to her body. Was she worried he’d kick out?

  ‘It was my eleventh birthday? Not my twelfth?’ His voice was confused and childlike, as if he had been transported back to that age.

  ‘I will make it up to you,’ she said.

  ‘What? You’re going to make up for all those years I campaigned for him?’

  ‘I didn’t know.’ She unwrapped her arms from around her knees. ‘I didn’t know either. That’s why I got so angry at him. He lied to me all this time as well.’

  We knew, I wanted to say, but I stayed quiet and let the scene play itself out.

  ‘Remco knew, didn’t he? Why didn’t we listen to him?’ Dennis visibly deflated.

  Angela’s head came up sharply. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He once tried to tell me, when I saw him in Dubai a few years ago.’ He lowered his arms until they were dangling by his sides. ‘I wouldn’t listen. I thought he just hated Dad.’

  I thought Remco would be happy to hear that his brother had remembered that discussion. That thought reminded me of the time Remco had recorded our conversation. I took my phone out. With Charlie here, I had a witness to whatever Dennis and Angela were going to say, but I wanted recorded evidence to back it up.

  ‘He’s a coward,’ Angela said. ‘If he was going to tell me, he should have done it years ago. Not days ago.’

  ‘What happened? Did you tell him that? Did that upset him? He said we should do some stuff together, and then he tried to kill himself.’

  Angela shook her head. ‘I only scared him a bit. Then the police turned up and ruined the garage door.’

  ‘You’re quite something,’ he said. ‘No wonder he left the country. I wondered about that. It never seemed right. I can’t believe you did that.’

  ‘He was going to talk to that police detective. I tried to reason with him.’

  ‘Your own son.’ Dennis sat down heavily on the seat opposite his mother. ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘I was at home the whole time. I would never have let anything happen to him.’

  She’d been in the house when Sandra and I turned up and rescued Remco? I hadn’t spoken to the doctors about exactly how long it would take someone to die from carbon monoxide poisoning, but I didn’t think he’d have had much longer. Angela could tell herself that she’d never wanted to harm Remco, but I wasn’t certain she wouldn’t have.

  ‘I wanted to protect you,’ she said. ‘I wanted to make sure you never found out.’

  ‘Never found out about what?’ Dennis’s voice was suddenly sharper. ‘About Dad? Or about you killing him.’

  ‘He lied to us all these years. He ruined our lives. When he first went to prison, he told me that confession was worthless. That he’d done it to get a reduced sentence. He swore to me that he’d lied under oath. That the girl, Nancy Kluft, had been making it up all along.’ She laughed. It was a bitter sound.

  I wrapped my arms around my waist. Of course, Ruud had been right about one thing: Nancy had lied. She had lied under oath about the motive for murder.

  ‘And then Sandra Ngo found that proof and all he could say was that I’d misunderstood him.’ Angela’s voice grew louder, as if she had to force the sound through suppressed tears. ‘That he’d never claimed he was innocent but that he’d wanted me to know that he hadn’t tried to chat that girl up. That he hadn’t killed Carlo Sondervelt over a girl. As if that was what mattered. As if it was important why he’d shot the guy.’

  Dennis shook his head. ‘So why go on Right to Justice?’

  ‘He said he didn’t want to let us down. That it was too late to change his story. He made it sound as if it was all our fault. It made me so angry. So when I saw him . . .’ She shook her head. ‘There was hardly even a dent. Only the front light had shattered. It was just as if it had never happened.’

  ‘Turns out that both my parents were murderers,’ Dennis said. ‘That’s enough, isn’t it?’ he added softly.

  I knew he was speaking to me. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s enough.’

  He got up from his seat without saying a word. I put my hand on his arm as he went past me to go down the stairs. ‘Think about it,’ I said. ‘What I mentioned earlier. Call me.’

  He nodded and I watched him leave.

  I allowed Charlie to arrest Angela Klaver for the murder of her husband. I told myself that it was because my hands hurt too much to put the cuffs on her, and that it wasn’t about giving Charlie this moment of glory and closure. I paid close attention as he read her her rights, but he followed the procedure correctly. It wasn’t as if he’d never arrested anybody before.

  I hoped Dennis wouldn’t live to regret what he’d done here. Maybe this was another time that I should have stopped him. But I’d let him do it, and I hadn’t interfered, because it felt important to let him take responsibility for this moment. As if it would allow him to take responsibility for the rest of his life. I hated that his mother had said she’d done it all for him. She’d done it for herself and I hoped he understood that. I also hoped that he would be able to lead a normal life and make up for all the years he’d lost misguidedly campaigning for his father’s release from prison.

  Chapter 39

  A few weeks later, I went back to the Turkish café. The waitress gave me a menu that I didn’t need, because I knew what I was going to have: some of that garlicky yoghurt dip with lots of bread. Still, I pretended to study it, because that would give me something to look at while I was waiting.

  Barry arrived a few minutes later. He opened the door with the button to the side and wheeled himself in. As he’d said, this place was wheelchair-friendly. He was wearing a shirt and tie. It was very different to what he’d worn last time, and it showed either that he was taking this meeting very seriously, or that he was nervous and had dressed up especially, using his clothes as armour. I could understand both of those reasons.

  Before I could get up and take the chair opposite me away, the waitress came and did it for him. He was clearly a regular here.

  I hadn’t been sure how I’d feel when I saw him next, but in the end, I was just really glad. ‘Good to see you, Barry,’ I said, and I meant it. I gave him my menu. ‘Here, have this. I’m going to order that thing you had last time.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like garlic?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like it; I just try to be considerate towards my colleagues. Today it doesn’t matter because it’s my day off. Did I tell you that I had to go into a meeting with the Commissaris right after eating that last time? I’m sure my breath stank.’

  ‘Was it a good meeting?’

  ‘Nope, I got told off for passing on information to Right to Justice.’ I scrutinised his face. ‘But it was you, wasn’t it?’

  Barry studied the menu. ‘Did she tell you?’

  ‘I had it figured out already anyway.’ I grinned. ‘Did you forget what I do for a living? I’m good at finding things out.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to harm you. That’s not why I did it.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She came to me early on, maybe a few days after Dennis had been in touch with her, and asked me if I thought there was a possibility.’

  ‘That there had been something wrong?’

  ‘That Ruud Klaver had been innocent.’ He put the menu down. ‘I thought there was. I knew you’d done your best – I didn’t doubt you as such – but I never liked that case. I never liked that confession.’

  ‘And you were right, of course. There was a reason why Klaver confessed: it was to stop us investigating further.’ I looked at my watch. ‘He’s late,’ I said. Ten minutes late, to be precise. ‘Do you want to order?’

  ‘Let’s wait a bit longer. He’ll come.’

  ‘How much information did you give her?’


  ‘I helped her run some queries. I still have a couple of friends in the force, and they gave me access to the database.’

  ‘I should have done that, shouldn’t I? I don’t mean give her access; I should have found that second murder.’

  ‘Yeah, we should have found it.’

  I appreciated that ‘we’. ‘I think I’ve got better at the job over the years.’

  ‘You’ve done some crazy things.’

  Maybe so. Ruud Klaver’s case had taught me how I didn’t want to behave, and perhaps I’d gone too far over to the other side. I knew how awful it was when you felt guilty for not stopping something. What Barry thought were crazy things, I’d done because I now found it hard not to interfere in a potentially violent situation. I was actually proud of myself that I hadn’t stepped in when Dennis talked to his mother.

  ‘Getting crashed into while I was cycling wasn’t too bad, all things considered.’

  ‘Is that what you’re going to do Angela Klaver for? Causing a cycling accident?’

  ‘The prosecutor is looking at it right now. Remco is still in Dubai, refusing to testify to anything. Sandra did that podcast to apologise and set the record straight about Ruud’s guilt.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that. At least you’ve now closed Maarten Hageman’s murder case too.’

  ‘That’s true. But in the end, Angela will probably get done for two hit-and-run incidents.’

  ‘Not attempted murder?’

  ‘It’s all about what we can prove. We have to be realistic. Of course the prosecutor will make it clear that she hit her husband with her car in a fit of anger. She will get a jail sentence.’

  At that moment, the door opened again. Even though I’d been expecting him, it took me a few seconds before I recognised the man entering the restaurant. It made me smile that he was dressed so similarly to Barry. He’d also made an effort and wore a shirt and tie. Now that he’d shaved off his beard, I could finally see his face. I could finally see how young he really was.

  He sat down between Barry and me. I passed him a menu.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Dennis,’ Barry said. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  Acknowledgements

  It’s hard to believe that this is already my fourth Lotte Meerman novel. I feel incredibly fortunate to have readers who like reading my books as much as I love writing them.

  I know that I’m even more fortunate to have a supportive group of people around me who make my books shine. In Allan Guthrie from The North Literary Agency, I have a fantastic writer as my agent. My editor Krystyna Green, Amanda Keats and all at Constable and Little, Brown have helped me make this book the best it could possibly be. Working with you is an absolute pleasure.

  Finally, special thanks go to Anne Patterson, Chris Williams, Jean Hyland, Joel Kosminsky and Kathy Searle in my writing group who continue to give me constructive feedback, no matter how many different versions of the same chapter they have to read.