by Elaine Macko
“Surely Donna must be on your list,” Sam said.
“Bien sûr! It is entirely possible she killed her husband’s lover and not her husband. It happens all the time.”
“Well, what about Wanda? She could have killed Martine for the same reason Bill killed Doug. Maybe they were in on it together. One kills one, the other kills the other. That would throw suspicion off, right?” I asked.
“It is of course a possibility. But one I am not too sure of. We are also looking at Madam Tillingsworth.”
“Really?” I asked. “I mean, I think she should be up near the top of the list, but I didn’t think the police put much into that theory.”
“I stopped by Paul’s apartment Tuesday evening. The police had in our possession a number of things belonging to Madam Cassé which we needed to return. Jane Tillingsworth was there when we arrived.”
“Aha! So she did go running to him after the funeral,” I said. “I knew she would.”
“Yes. She was there. She left shortly after we arrived. Monsieur Cassé looked very pleased to be rid of her. It seems she got it into her head Monsieur Cassé may be relocating to America and she wanted to confront him.” Gerard’s eyes danced with amusement.
“Yes, well, I may have mentioned something like that.” I gave Sam a sheepish look.
“I believe Monsieur Cassé when he says he wants nothing to do with the woman. She, on the other hand, wants everything to do with him. It would not be the first time in all of history a woman has killed the person she believes as her rival.”
“I’d like to see Bill,” John said again, changing the subject.
“I believe it can be arranged. Would tomorrow morning be all right?” Gerard asked.
“Yes. That would be fine.”
We walked Gerard to the door and John said he would walk downstairs with him. A few minutes later John buzzed the intercom and told me he was going for a walk. I asked if he would like some company, but he said he wanted to be alone.
Sam and Michael went upstairs to start the arduous task of fitting all my sister’s purchases into their suitcases. I stayed downstairs watching something on the TV in Flemish and was astounded I picked up a few words.
I was dozing when I heard the front door open.
“John?”
“It’s me.” He came into the living room and sat on the edge of the sofa. “I acted like a jerk earlier. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m sure it was a shock for you. It was a shock for me even though I knew it was coming and I don’t know Bill like you do.”
“Obviously I don’t know Bill like I thought I did, either. I can’t believe he would resort to murder. Why didn’t he talk to me? Talk to Wanda about his problems. Maybe if I wasn’t so wrapped up playing detective in a foreign land and spent a bit more time with Bill—”
“I don’t know, John, why he resorted to murder, but I do know you are not responsible. Not in the slightest. He didn’t seem interested in making time for you, either. He couldn’t even take off the first day when Wanda took us around. He could have joined us. At least for dinner,” I said. “Speaking of which, are you hungry? We never had dinner tonight.”
“Now that you mention it, yeah, I am a bit.”
We went into the kitchen and took the remains of several cheeses from the refrigerator and a loaf of bread I knew wouldn’t make it through the night. A saw would have been better than the knife I used to cut it. I poured us each a small glass of white wine, picked up two apples and took everything back to the living room.
“This is good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Where are the others?”
“Upstairs packing. They have a lot of stuff to squeeze into their bags.”
“Anxious to go home, Mrs. Van der Burg?”
“Yes. Despite everything that has happened, I’ve had a great time. But I want to get down to reality. To everyday life. To a new life.” I smiled at John. Bill being arrested made me want to get back to my family.
“Not sorry about the change of houses?”
“I was.”
“But not any more?” John asked as he broke off a hunk of bread, finding it was easier to break than to cut.
“No. Not any more. I’ve come to realize it doesn’t really matter where we live, does it? It sounds corny, but as long as we’re together, that’s what’s important.”
“Yes, it is.” He patted my hand before passing me another piece of bread.
“What do you think is going to happen to Wanda?” I asked.
John shook his head, his face sad. “I don’t know. It seems unlikely she’ll be able to stay here. I suspect she’ll go back to Ohio and live with her family. Get a job.”
“But Bill will be here. Will she ever see him again?”
“I don’t know.” John hunched his shoulders and put down the piece of cheese he had just sliced. “Ever since we arrived, it wasn’t the same but I got wrapped up in Martine and I told myself we’d have time later.” I realized he was talking about Bill not me. “But it never felt right and you know why? Because it never was right. Not now. Not when we were in school.” John paused to sip his wine.
I kept quiet and sliced another piece of Danish Blue.
“I was just this naïve guy and Bill was the life of the party. He was never what I made him out to be in my own mind.”
“Right. Like the cheerleader, the pretty one who’s elected homecoming queen and she’s always out of your reach. And then you see her at your fifteen or twenty-year reunion and she’s overweight with a double chin and sagging breasts and you wonder what happened to her. And she never was what you thought in the first place. It was just you. Shy and insecure and remaking the person in your own mind to be like you wished you could be.”
John nodded. “Something like that. I made Bill out to be this larger than life character. And in some ways I guess he was, but there were signs then, he always had a scam going. Always on the edge of getting kicked out. But always bouncing back right at the end. I just thought at the time it was all so glamorous. As long as I was with him, I was big guy on campus.”
“I don’t think he’s going to be able to get himself out of this one,” I said. “What’s really bothering you about all of this—that Bill is a killer, or you’re friends with a killer? Or,” I added, “That you’re a cop and you didn’t figure it out?”
“Probably all of the above.” John sighed, suddenly looking very tired.
Sam came into the room. “Well, we’ve managed to get most of the big stuff packed. Plus I put together a bunch of stuff to ship. I think I’ll call the number you found and have them pick it up tomorrow. I’m exhausted. And hungry.” She pushed me over and sat next to the cheese platter.
“Would you like to borrow my knife? And help yourself to my wine. I’m done,” I said with amusement.
“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.”
“Hey! I turn my back on you for one second and you escape.” Michael came over and took a seat on the floor grabbing a piece of cheese out of his wife’s hand.
“I needed nourishment. Packing takes a lot out of a person.”
“I think there’s another loaf in the kitchen.” I got up and returned a minute later with more bread and the bottle of wine.
“Well, we’ve had a great time,” Sam said speaking for both her and Michael. “Oh, sorry, John. That was insensitive.”
“No, it wasn’t. I’ve had a wonderful time, too.”
Seeing the look on his face, I wanted to keep the happy chatter up before he collapsed into depression again. “I really liked Antwerp. And no, not just for the diamonds,” I said turning to look at John. “But I do love it.” I held out my left hand and admired my ring. Again.
“I agree. Antwerp was great,” Michael said, “but then so was Amsterdam. I’d love to come back when the canals are frozen and skate for miles.
“Well, we only had a few hours there, but I love London.” At the mention of London, a look crossed over my brother-in-law’s face a
nd, fearing my sister was going to be dragged upstairs again for another session of suitcase stuffing, I added, “Brussels is pretty darned nice, too. The cafés, the restaurants, the chocolate.”
“The croissants,” Sam said while she sucked in her stomach.
“I think we should plan a vacation for next year,” Michael suggested.
“How about Hong Kong? Or maybe Singapore,” Sam replied.
“I’d like to go to Australia and the Great Barrier Reef.”
“You would not, Alex,” Sam huffed. “Besides hating planes, you hate water.”
“I do not. I love the ocean.”
“To look at maybe. But I don’t see you snorkeling in shark territory. No sir.”
I sat back into the sofa and crossed my arms. “You’re right. I guess not. Well, I do want to see the Sydney Opera House. But what I really think we should do is take Meme to Italy.”
“Oh, how fun.” Sam smiled.
“Would she be able to handle all the walking?” Michael asked.
“Hmm. We’d have to get a wheelchair and push her around,” I said.
“With all the cobblestones? I don’t know, Alex,” Sam said.
“Maybe Italy doesn’t have so many. We could look into it.”
After a while of planning our next trip and figuring out how much we would need to save after paying off our credit cards for this trip, we retired for the night with the realization another trip was a long way off.
“I think it’s about time I showed you why we came here in the first place,” John said just before he turned off the light.
Chapter 44
John Van der Burg entered the secluded area and waited for Bill to be brought in. The jail cells back in Indian Cove where depressing. This one made him shudder. They should give out tranquilizers to the visitors just to get them through their visits. The dingy green paint on the walls was peeling and the bare bulb in the overhead socket was covered with dust. The whole place had the smell of mildew and something else John didn’t dare contemplate, though he was sure it was urine.
Bill arrived a short time later wearing a thin cotton jumpsuit. It hardly covered his bulk. His hair was dirty and his beard had been shaven. John almost didn’t recognize him without his trademark mane.
“They told me I had a visitor. At least that’s what I figured they said. I didn’t know it was you.”
“You don’t mind?” John eyed his friend for some clue as to what had caused him to do the unthinkable.
“No, I don’t mind. Just didn’t expect it. Wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to speak to me again.”
“I’m not sure I do. I’m here more for me than you. I need some answers. I need to know why.”
“Would any reason be good enough?” Bill hesitated. “Can I possibly justify it?”
“No.”
Bill laid his hands on the table and turned up his palms. “Well, then?”
“Please don’t make this harder than it is. Just tell me why you did it.”
“Because I was in a mess. And I didn’t know how to get out of it. And I was too much of a coward to kill myself. Greed gone amok is what it boils down to in the end.”
“Couldn’t you have come to me? Maybe I could have helped you. Jesus, Bill! It was only money. You could have paid it back.”
“Really? How? With what? I always knew, somewhere deep inside, it would come to this.”
“I don’t know.” John shook his head. “Even if it took a lifetime, wouldn’t it have been better than this?” John waved his arms around the small room with the filthy floor and no window.
“You get used to a certain lifestyle.” Bill shrugged. “You get used to the good life very quickly, my friend.”
John looked at him with disgust. “Well, you better get used to another one and fast. I suppose you think living a certain way justifies murder? Jesus. What’s happened to you?”
Bill hung his head. “What happened to me is I was never the guy you thought I was. I should have told you so years ago, but when we were in school, I thought of you as my kid brother. I didn’t have the guts to tell you I wasn’t the idolized hero you had me pegged for. No. What I did doesn’t justify murder.” He looked up and John was surprised to see his eyes were moist. “God. I just didn’t see a way out.”
“But why Doug?”
“Because he found out what I had been doing. I had a flash drive. I back up my system every week. And it was missing. He found it. Actually, I think he went looking for it. He told me he was just getting Martine’s things together to give to Paul, but the drive was in my desk. Locked. There was no reason for him to look there for anything belonging to Martine. He wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“So you killed him? Did you have this planned?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It just happened.”
“But you went back on Friday night. You must have had this planned, didn’t you?”
“No! I mean not at first. It just got out of hand. I wanted to talk. I was going to wait until I got back, but I couldn’t. I was so jumpy. I knew Doug had the flash drive. I thought he would go to the police before I could get back and explain.”
“So you bashed him over the head and then wrapped the floss around his neck to make it look like what had happened to Martine.”
Bill lowered his head again. It was a long time before he looked up. “Yes,” he whispered. “I hit him. I didn’t mean to kill him. I was leaving. His back was to me. Why didn’t I just walk out the door? But I picked up the paperweight he had on a shelf and I hit him. And then I panicked and I found some floss in the bathroom I’ve kept there for a long time. I tried to make it look like Martine’s murder.”
John ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus. What were you up to with your business? What did Doug find out about?”
“Everything. The leverage deals, the high-risk investments. Some stocks.”
John shook his head. He didn’t understand much about this.
“I talked a lot of our big clients into investing in leverage deals. Good for everyone. I got a big commission, no sweat. But then the bank sold out and the new owners wanted the rules changed. I also sold some stocks for a small healthcare company. I bought a large amount myself when they were first offered. Got a good deal. Then every time a client wanted a large amount, I sold them some of mine instead. At a nice price, I might add. The company figured out I wasn’t selling their stock, well I was, but just for small sales. They threatened to sue me. Things just got out of hand.”
“I don’t know about the stocks, but the problem with the bank being sold doesn’t sound like something you would have had much control over,” John said.
“No. But Doug warned me about leverage deals. They’re high risk. And then there’s the other stuff.”
“Other stuff?”
“I won’t bore you with all the details but basically I was investing in high risk companies—not what the client had asked for, with the hope of making a better return, pocketing the extra, and giving them their percentage. People should know you never give your financial advisor so much power. Never give them absolute control. It’s not good for them and it’s too tempting for us. But things happen.” He shrugged like he was talking about overcooked chicken at a barbecue. “I didn’t make what I had anticipated, as a matter of fact I lost. And then I had to come up with the money for the clients. I’ve been trying to stall them.”
“By not getting out their statements,” John said.
Bill looked at him with a how-did-you-know expression. “Yes, exactly. You’ve been doing your homework.”
“If I had known it would turn out like this.” John sighed.
“You would have done it the same way. You’re a cop. You can’t help it. Besides, you were always a good guy.”
“Thanks.” John tried to smile but it actually hurt to do so. “So what about your family?”
“I deserve what I get. You’re right. I didn’t need to resort to murder. It was only mone
y, wasn’t it? Wanda and I were happy when we first got married, living in a tiny place. We could have started over. What have I done? What’s going to happen to them? The house is in Wanda’s name only, so she’ll be able to sell it and there’s some savings in her name as well.”
John didn’t want to hear about the savings. It was probably money Bill had skimmed off his clients’ investments and put away somewhere in Wanda’s name. Well, maybe it would make it easier on the kids.
“Maybe Wanda can just move back home,” Bill continued, “and tell everyone I died. Might be the best thing for the kids so they don’t have to live with the stigma of having a murderer for a father.”
John looked at his friend. Tears started down Bill’s face. John almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“I have one more question before I leave. And I want the truth. Did you kill Martine?”
“I guess I deserve that, but I swear to you, John. I did not kill Martine.”
Chapter 45
On our last full day in Belgium, we were rewarded with glorious weather. We decided to take advantage of it by going for a long walk to the fashionable Avenue Louise and having lunch in an Italian restaurant which had available seating on the sidewalk.
We sat in contented silence letting the warmth of the sun hit our faces. After a few hours we made our way back up the avenue, foregoing the tram that would drop us off near our apartment.
At the end of the avenue, we walked into the Bois de la Cambre rather than turn and head up Avenue Franklin Roosevelt because, as I pointed out, we would be sitting all the next day on our flight home and we needed the exercise. Our flight. I didn’t want to think about the long plane ride. Sam and I had even decided to forego the croissants for breakfast this morning, both realizing the time had come to wean ourselves of this new habit knowing full well nothing back in Indian Cove would come close to the croissants of Belgium.
