The Tulip Virus

by Danielle Hermans

  “Oh, good, I was afraid for a moment— open it up.”

  Wouter painstakingly loosened the tight knot in the leather cord. Willem patted the mattress, and Wouter emptied the pouch onto the bed. Willem fumbled through the coins until he found what he sought. Taking it in his hand, he said, “This is the key to our safe. You’ll find something there that once belonged to your grandfather, something he left to us. Your uncles and aunts entrusted it to me. Now it’s yours. I hope in time you will give it to your eldest son. Let it be handed down to all future generations, from eldest son to eldest son. And each time it is passed on, let the story of my father, your grandfather, Wouter Winckel, be told.”

  He began to cough. Wouter took the cup, tipped his father’s head again, and gave him a sip of water.

  “Easy now, Father. I know what Grandfather did, what he accomplished.”

  “Hush, Wouter,” said Willem, short of breath. “Hush. Hear me out. Everyone in the family must learn that he was killed because he believed that freedom of thought— the freedom we all possess, which no one can take away— must lead to freedom of action and expression. Our descendants must never forget that freedom is mankind’s greatest treasure.” He pressed the key into his son’s hand.

  “But, Father, what . . . ?”

  “You’ll see.” He shut his eyes.

  Wouter stood up. “Father?”

  Willem struggled to open his eyes again. “One more thing. Be careful, and use it only for good. You will be sorely tempted, and that could destroy you. If there comes a time when you fear you cannot resist, think of me, and of your grandfather.”

  He let out a long breath and closed his eyes.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Where do you want to go?” Damian turned to Tara, his eyes meeting Alec’s in the rearview mirror.

  “Let’s start by getting out of here,” Tara said anxiously. “And make sure no one tails us.”

  “Tails us?”

  “Just keep your eyes open.”

  “Okay, fine.” Damian accelerated and drove away. Suddenly he was dazzled by a pair of light-blue xenon headlights coming up behind him. Tara turned around. The glaring light blinded her. She squinted and ducked down.

  “Just drive to . . .” she said, panicked. “I don’t know, drive anywhere. I don’t care, as long as we get out of here.”

  “Amsterdam?” Damian suggested.

  “Yeah, Amsterdam, but first try to lose the car behind us. Here!” she shouted. “Turn left here!”

  Just in the nick of time, Damian veered to the left, steering the Aston Martin into a narrow side street. A moment later, the metallic lights were blazing behind them again.

  Tara looked in the side mirror. “Try to shake him off, we have to lose him.”

  “Who the hell is it?” Damian asked. “What’s going on?”

  “Just do it!”

  He hit the gas and the car surged forward. The lights behind him dwindled and finally disappeared. Then he slammed on the brakes so hard that Tara nearly flew headfirst into the windshield.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted, as Damian put the car into reverse. In one smooth motion, he pulled into a parking bay and dimmed his lights.

  “Don’t do that! Come on, don’t be crazy. We’ve got to keep going!”

  Damian reached over and pushed her down. “Duck!”

  The car slid past. After a few seconds they looked up. The red tail-lights took a long time to vanish. Once they’d disappeared, Damian started the car and sped out of the parking space. At the end of the street, he made a sharp turn to the right and then an immediate left into a side street. Suddenly the headlights were glaring into his rear-view mirror, their light casting a reflection over his eyes like a clear blue mask.

  “Hold on tight.”

  He floored the gas and turned right, hurtling through a red light and into a busy intersection. Cars swerved left and right, honking their horns. Wrenching the wheel to the right, he drove full speed into a one-way street. Then he jammed his foot hard on the brakes and turned left, up a small driveway.

  He switched off the engine. The small space was filled with the sound of their labored breath. When they heard a car approaching, they slowly turned their heads. The headlights cast two white stripes on the asphalt. The car rolled past. A minute later, Damian lowered his window and listened closely.

  “I think we’ve lost him,” he said softly. “Let’s wait here a while longer to make sure. Alec, what happened to Simon?”

  Alec described how they had found Simon. Then he said, “Tara, he’d asked me to come by. Do you know why he needed to talk to me so urgently? And what is all this, anyway? Who’s following us?”

  She looked at him, her lower lip quivering.

  Alec put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel her muscles contract, like a wild animal unused to being touched.

  “Well?”

  To his alarm, she buried her head in her neck, balled her fists, and howled.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Detective Felix Nieveld maneuvered his car past the crowd that had gathered by the gate and pulled into the driveway. He got out and greeted the driver of the coroner’s van, who was leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed.

  “Where is it?” Nieveld asked the officer in the doorway.

  “Upstairs.”

  “Is Verkerk there?”

  The officer nodded.

  Nieveld put on his white coverall and pulled up the hood. As he climbed the stairs, he heard Verkerk’s voice booming from one of the upstairs rooms. He stopped in the doorway and surveyed the room. Two crime-scene investigators were at work, and Verkerk was standing by the bed. Nieveld’s eyes widened in surprise as he joined his partner.

  “Boy, he’s in bad shape. Do we know who it is yet?”

  “The name’s Simon Versteegen.”

  “Who found him?”

  “His house keeper. She leaves around lunchtime and comes back in the evening to cook for him. She’s downstairs. We didn’t learn a thing from her. She was hysterical when we got here.”

  “I can imagine. What was the murder weapon?”

  “We haven’t found anything. Here, see these prints? The killer stood over him and struck him at least twice. Look at this.”

  Nieveld followed Verkerk’s finger up to the ceiling. The spattered blood formed a long streak, like the tail of a comet.

  “And how about that?” Nieveld pointed to the wall. “What is it?”

  “Search me,” Verkerk said. “The letter U on a stick?”

  Nieveld leaned forward to take a closer look. He rubbed his chin, pondering. “Look at these two diagonal lines here, rising from the top of this vertical one. You know what this reminds me of? A tulip.”

  “A tulip? Oh yeah, I see what you mean. You think it’s some kind of signature?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that, unless we find the same thing at another crime scene,” Nieveld said.

  “A serial killer? In Holland?”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t seem too likely, does it?”

  FORTY

  Tara stood looking out the window. The illuminated arches of the bridge over the canal met their reflections in the water, forming two large circles of light, the upper half sharp and clear, the lower half blurred. Two cyclists passed the house, weaving skillfully between the bollards to let a car pass. A shiver ran through Tara, and she pulled the shawl that Emma had lent her tighter around her shoulders.

  “Here,” Emma said, setting down a tray of appetizers. Damian followed her, holding a bottle of wine, and poured everyone a glass.

  Tara turned to Emma. “Can we close the curtains?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks. I’ll feel a little safer.”

  Alec sat down on the couch and turned to Tara. She looked tense, clutching her glass with both hands.

  “I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”

  She nodded. “This all seems so unreal.”

  “Do you have any
idea who might have done it?”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, it might have been someone who lent him money. Every time I went to visit, a few more things were gone.” She looked at them. “You can’t imagine how much he had collected. He used to be absolutely loaded, but for the past couple of years he’s been in a downward spiral. All his money, furniture, paintings, jewelry, even family heirlooms— it’s all gone, everything he owned.”

  With a bitter laugh, she said, “Isn’t it absurd, the way things turn out? He was always determined to make more money. That was what got him rich, and it was also what drove him so deep into debt.”

  She sat down and folded her arms. “When the trouble first started, he couldn’t believe it. He said he knew the risks, but this was a sure thing. It couldn’t go wrong.”

  “What couldn’t go wrong, exactly?” Alec asked.

  “I don’t know the details. I guess he put all his money in some investment and lost it. He was probably playing the stock market. He’d been trading stock for years, so he must have thought he knew what he was doing.” She shook her head.

  “Was it a fund that invested in tulips, by any chance?” Alec asked. He frowned anxiously. “Was Frank involved too? Was he another one of the investors?”

  “How should I know?” she said tartly. “Are you telling me Frank was investing in tulips?”

  “I’m asking because of that mark on Simon’s wall.”

  Emma stared at Alec, mystified, and he told her about the drawing above Simon’s bed.

  “I don’t have a clue what that’s about,” Tara said. “Listen, I think Simon had borrowed money and couldn’t pay it back. Simple as that. He was always getting involved in risky schemes.”

  “So you think he was killed by the people he borrowed from? But what would be the point of killing him?” Emma asked. “They’d never see their money again.”

  “I think it was too late for that. This was Simon’s punishment. I’m afraid he’s after me now.”

  “The person who lent him the money, you mean? Is that who was following us?” Damian asked.

  “Who else would it be? Simon never did anything wrong, except for trying to make a quick profit. The trouble is, I’ve got nothing to give him, nothing at all.”

  “Do you think that’s why Simon wanted to talk to me?” Alec asked. “Did he need money? Did Frank know what a mess Simon was in?”

  Tara turned to him. “I didn’t know Simon wanted to talk to you, so I don’t know what he had in mind. I saw you coming up the path and remembered who you were. Otherwise I would never have opened the door.”

  Alec cursed under his breath. They were still groping in the dark. All their efforts had left them none the wiser. Frank and Simon must have invested in that fund, it was the only explanation. Or had Simon tried to borrow money from Frank? And then what? Both murders seemed to have something to do with to tulips. That couldn’t be a coincidence. He had to find out whether Frank had been involved in the fund.

  “Listen, Tara. As I was saying, there was a fund that invested in tulips. Something went wrong, and now hundreds of people have lost a lot of money. Could Simon have had anything to do with that?”

  She gave him a guilty look. “I really don’t know.”

  “Still, it’s clear they were doing something that involved tulips. Here, look at these.” Alec went to the chest of drawers and took out the postcards. He spread them out on the coffee table. “Simon sent all of these to Frank, two a year, starting in two thousand two.”

  “All the pictures have something to do with the seventeenth century,” Damian added. “You see? A sextant, a portrait of Huygens, and a chronometer.”

  “And this is the most important one of all.” Alec pointed to the card with the Rembrandt painting.

  Tara looked up. “What makes you think that one’s the most important?”

  “It seems pretty obvious, when you think of the title. The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp. Tulp— tulip. Get it?”

  “I know what the painting is called, Alec. I just don’t think these cards have anything to do with tulips. Simon was probably referring to that fund of theirs.”

  Alkmaar

  1665

  The bed had been made. The room no longer smelled of death. There was nothing to suggest that this had ever been Willem Winckel’s bedroom, let alone that Wouter’s father had languished here on his sickbed for weeks.

  Wouter put down the candlestick, went to the foot of the bed, gripped it firmly, and began to push. Screeching and groaning, the bed scraped across the floor. Wouter paused to stretch, then drew a deep breath and resumed pushing, until he finally uncovered a small trapdoor. He placed the candlestick on the floor next to it, sank to his knees, and pushed the key into the lock.

  He was surprised how easily he could turn the rusty key. The lock sprang open with a click. He wrapped his hands around the metal ring and pulled the trapdoor open.

  For a moment, he thought the shallow space below was empty. He lowered the candle into the opening. Its light revealed something in the far corner, wrapped in brown cloth. Wouter leaned down and pulled it out.

  When he opened the cloth, the candlelight glinted on the silver casket. The lid was decorated with dozens of tulips, their stems elegantly intertwined to form an oval frame around one central flower, which was engraved with such precision and detail that the flickering flame seemed to bring it to life.

  He slowly lifted the lid. Inside was a red velvet bag tied with a black cord. He undid the cord and reached into the bag. The first thing he pulled out was a small leather pouch. Putting it down beside him, he reached into the velvet bag again. Something brushed against his finger-tips. He caught hold of it and pulled it out. A slip of paper. He sat down on the floor, placed the candlestick between his legs, and unfolded the note.

  He had to read it three times before it sank in and he began to believe it. Then he laid it aside and stared at the pouch. Now he understood what his dying father had meant when he spoke of the temptation that Wouter would have to resist. But Wouter was not worried about himself. His concern was to hide his father’s treasure somewhere safe as soon as possible. Not in a box under the floorboards. He had to think of a place where no one would find it. It had a purpose, and he knew what that purpose was.

  FORTY-ONE

  “Fund? What fund?” Alec asked.

  Tara went to the window and pulled aside the curtains. A boat filled with tourists floated down the canal. As it passed, all the passengers looked up at her.

  She turned around. “The one Frank and Simon set up a couple of years ago. They called it the Science Capital Fund, or just the Fund for short. Didn’t Frank ever mention it to you?”

  Alec shook his head.

  “Well, Simon told me about it,” she said. “They were raising money to support scientific research.”

  “That accounts for all that information Frank had collected,” Damian said to Alec. “And it helps to explain why he left all that money to science.”

  “But if it wasn’t a secret, why didn’t he ever say anything about it to me? And why were they sending each other cryptic messages?”

  “Maybe Frank was trying to protect you,” Tara replied. “They were involved in some risky business.”

  “Raising money for scientific research doesn’t sound all that dangerous to me,” Alec said.

  “What made it risky was the Fund’s mission. Frank and Simon believed that the more money they put into science, the more evidence scientists could gather that humans are the product of evolution, and that our world wasn’t created by God but by natural processes. To find that evidence, scientists would have to do research. And research costs money.”

  “I don’t understand. Frank never gave any indication that he cared so much about evolution, or that he had a problem with religion.”

  “It wasn’t religion they had a problem with. It was the rise of fundamentalism in all the world’s religions, along with growing intolerance for nonconf
ormists and nonbelievers, that they were determined to fight. As you might imagine, some people were opposed to their activities.”

  Tara sat down and leaned in close to them.

  “With all their connections, they raised huge sums, tens of millions a year. And every year they managed to bring in more.”

  “What did they think all that money would buy them?” Emma asked.

  “Something everyone says money can’t buy. Freedom.”

  A silence fell. Then Alec said, “Freedom isn’t for sale.”

  “Frank and Simon believed that freedom of thought and freedom of action, two of our country’s most cherished values, were under threat.” Tara stared intently at the others. “Don’t you see? Every day, all over the world, our fundamental freedoms are crumbling away. It’s happening little by little, step by step, but it is happening.”

  “So they wanted to win back our freedom by wiping out religion? That sounds pretty shortsighted,” Damian said.

  “Their aim wasn’t to wipe out religion. They believed in the universal right to worship what ever god you choose. But they felt it was time to stand up for the atheists. They were worried that someday they would be persecuted, that it was their turn now.”

  Alec ran his hand over his face. So the thirty-two million euros that had disappeared in the bulb fraud would have been very useful to the Fund. What if Frank had thrown integrity to the winds for the sake of his dream and embezzled that money? The tulip book, the money they needed to carry out their plans— it was all falling into place.

  “Tara, let me explain.” He glanced furtively at Damian, who gave him a withering look. “When I found Frank, he was holding a book.”

  FORTY-TWO

  Tara looked around the room. She felt like a guest at a five-star hotel. Facing the bed was a small table with a television and a compact sound system. By the window, which looked out over the beautiful garden behind the house, there was a desk with a computer. She sank down onto the bed and laid one arm over her eyes. So it was true after all, she thought.