by Pieter Aspe
Five minutes later, Laurent stood by the window of his room and looked out over the rippling green-gray waters of the North Sea.
The tide was out. The beach looked like a vast barren plain longing in vain to be united with the infinite sea. A powerful storm had swept it clean in the space of a couple of minutes. Laurent grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and dragged a chair onto the balcony.
Down below, on the promenade, a sturdy few braved the weather, parading under brightly colored umbrellas. Dogs on their leads sniffed in the rain, pissing and shitting to their heart’s content. Nobody paid any attention. The air on the balcony was muggy and perfumed. The smell of sun cream, pancakes, and wet raincoats was slowly but surely losing ground to the savage saltiness of the sea.
Laurent did his best to inhale the aroma of the sea alone.
“Sator rotas opera tenet,” he mumbled.
Ludovic Degroof and the clan that supported him were finally going to pay for their deeds. This was Laurent’s last chance to play the role of avenging angel. His life was coming to an end and the people he loved had been dealt the cruelest of blows.
With the rolling waves as his witness, he prayed the Our Father and asked forgiveness for the crimes he was now committing … God had abandoned him, but Laurent would remain faithful to the end.
Laurent De Bock sighed, sipped his beer, and gazed out over the waves. He was having trouble containing his emotions. De Bock, who thought he was familiar with the ups and downs of life, hankered like a little child for revenge and justice. He gripped his beer bottle tight and thought of Degroof. They were both more or less the same age.
Was it all really worth it, or was he doing this in the hope that it would ease his imminent death?
Van In spent the first evening of his compulsory vacation in his garden.
The rain had stopped and the sun had sucked up the humidity in the blink of an eye. Around six, the heat became so oppressive that he was forced inside in search of shorts and flip-flops. On the way, he grabbed an ice-cold Duvel and a pack of ripe cheese cubes from the refrigerator. He hadn’t eaten since noon the day before, and now not even the Duvels were enough to suppress his raging hunger.
He installed himself once more in the garden in the shade of a parasol and devoured the cheese first before opening the Duvel and pouring it into its bulbous glass until the froth seeped over the rim.
When the doorbell rang, he jumped from his chair without taking a breath. Leo had managed some time off after all, he thought. Good thing he’d hauled a fresh crate of Duvel from the cellar that morning.
“I’m coming,” he shouted.
Van In raced barefoot to the front door. The dejection that had plagued him the last twenty-four hours fell from his shoulders like a wet bath towel.
“Hello, Mr. Van In,” said Hannelore a little timidly when he opened the door.
Van In was visibly shocked at the sight of her. Of all people, he thought. It was as if someone was squeezing his windpipe. His lips formed words, but they didn’t come out.
“I hope I’m not intruding.”
She looked radiant in her low-cut body-hugging outfit.
“Leo gave me your address. He assured me you wouldn’t mind if I stopped by.”
“Of course not.”
It took all the effort he could muster to force these three little words from his lips. He stepped aside and gestured that she should come in.
“You have a beautiful place here,” she said, meaning every word.
All Van In could think about was the mess in the kitchen. Apart from Leo, he rarely received visitors.
“I was out in the garden,” he stammered. “But please, join me.” Van In nervously led the way. Hannelore followed him through the open sliding door. She smelled of spring flowers and Pears soap.
“Take a seat … make yourself at home.”
He sounded awkward and affected. A hundred thousand thoughts raced aimless and unanswered through his head. What in God’s name was she doing here?
“A drink?” he asked in desperation. There wasn’t much to choose from, and that irritated him. “An ice-cold Duvel, perhaps?”
She sat down at the oval garden table. Van In was too confused to notice the glint in her eyes.
“Only if it’s really ice-cold,” she said with an edge to her voice.
Van In scurried back to the kitchen like a rattled rookie, rinsed a moldy Duvel glass, and popped a couple of Duvels in the freezer compartment. Firecrackers popped in his head, and on his way back to the garden he almost tripped over his own feet.
“I envy you, Pieter Van In,” she said admiringly as she savored the beer. “This is paradise at its immaculate best. What a house! And a walled garden … Unbelievable!”
It was paradise, Van In wanted to say, but that would have been inappropriate.
“So,” he sighed. Van In deliberately took a seat on the opposite side of the table, and because he couldn’t keep his eyes off her he focused instead on his glass.
“Leo told me all about you.”
Hannelore didn’t beat around the bush. Van In noticed for the first time that she kept referring to Leo.
“Leo?” he asked naïvely.
“Yes, Leo Vanmaele, the police expert from the other day. You hardly knew each other, or so it seemed. We had a long telephone conversation this afternoon. He tells me you’ve been the best of buddies for years. You studied criminology together in Brussels. And if the stories he dished up are anything to go by, college life was anything but boring,” she said mischievously.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Van In groaned.
She crossed her legs, and he broke into a sweat.
“Sorry, but the show with Leo was just a joke. I thought you …”
“You thought I was a know-it-all bitch.”
Van In took a gulp of his Duvel and nervously wiped his upper lip. “The chief commissioner was already on our case, and when Versavel told me a Deputy had shown up … well, what can I say. You get my drift,” he said apologetically.
“The Degroof case has been shelved,” she said, suddenly serious. “The public prosecutor made that clear enough, and with convincing arguments. But I heard that you didn’t get off lightly either, so I thought: poor commissioner … maybe he needs a little comforting.”
“That’s what I call generous …”
Her first name stuck in his throat.
“Has this kind of thing happened before?” she asked out of curiosity.
Van In took a deep breath. His heart was still pounding, but not so loudly. I’ll calm down in a minute, he thought to himself. “Yes, but never with a trivial case like this.”
“I thought the same thing, Pieter.”
The way she pronounced his first name produced a warm, tingling sensation on his scalp. A moment or two, and he would be back to normal. At least that’s what he hoped.
“I’m not planning to abandon the investigation,” said Van In unprompted. The words had barely left his lips when he regretted having said them.
But she wasn’t taken aback; on the contrary.
“Exactly what I was hoping for,” she said. “The real reason I came was to ask you to continue your inquiries. And to offer my support, unofficially of course.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, somewhat surprised.
“There’s more to this than meets the eye, anyone can see that, and in certain circles Degroof has a lot less influence than some officials are inclined to think.”
She gulped greedily at her Duvel. Van In automatically followed her example.
“Don’t tell me it’s political,” he groaned.
“A possibility you should allow for,” she observed.
“I’ve been trying to suppress that option for the best part of thirty-six hours. With this … ,” and he pointed to the glass on the table.
She drew her chair closer and reduced her voice to a whisper.
“I want your solemn promise, Pieter Van In, that what I am about t
o say will never go beyond these walls.”
Van In gazed into her eyes, bewildered. If she had asked him to streak naked across Market Square, he wouldn’t have hesitated for a single moment.
“You have my solemn promise, Hannelore.”
His secret was out … he had used her first name. “But before you make me privy to a bunch of state secrets, let me get us some more drinks.”
“Good idea. You can’t get enough to drink in this weather.”
Van In ducked into the kitchen and returned a minute later with two more Duvels, a plate of cocktail sausages, some cheese cubes, and a pot of mustard, all neatly arranged on a tray. Hannelore didn’t wait to be asked.
“Local elections are just around the corner, and everyone knows it’s going to be a hard race,” she said, popping a sausage into her mouth. “The Christian Democrats are ready to sell their soul for a shot at the mayor’s office. The Socialists, on the other hand, will want to consolidate their position. But if you ask me, Dirk Van der Eyck, the new Liberal Party leader, is going to be a wrench in the system,” she said, presuming he knew something about local politics. Van In understood what she meant, but he wasn’t convinced that the people of Bruges shared her view of things.
“Do you think Van der Eyck stands a chance?”
“Don’t underestimate him, Pieter. He has plenty of experience, and perhaps more importantly: he has the support of the Lodge, both here and in Brussels.”
“But the Liberals didn’t exactly shine in the European elections, did they?” Van In teased. Hannelore snorted disdainfully and stuffed two sausages into her mouth at the same time.
“Taste good, don’t they?”
“Of course they taste good. I always get hungry when people get my hackles up. You don’t believe me, do you?” she said threateningly.
Van In emphatically shrugged his shoulders. “I thought the voter decided who gets to run the show, at least in a democracy.”
“Pieter, how could you be so naïve?” She apparently hadn’t realized he was pulling her leg. “Everyone knows that the three major parties are going to share the lead, and two of them are going to have to form a coalition.”
“And every party wants to appoint its own candidate as mayor.”
“Exactly,” she said. “It’s all a question of playing the game without making mistakes and Van der Eyck is an expert. Don’t underestimate the man, Pieter.”
“That’s the second time in five minutes.”
“And with reason. Let me explain why I’m so convinced. Van der Eyck reached an agreement in principle with the Socialist Party yesterday. He’s set to be appointed mayor, and his people are lined up to take charge of Tourism and Public Works. The Socialists get to share out the other responsibilities among themselves. On top of that, Van der Eyck has agreed to endorse every SP appointment for the next five years, and without conditions.”
“You’re kidding,” Van In groaned.
Hannelore poured her second Duvel and dipped a couple of cheese cubes in the mustard pot.
“It’s all true, Pieter.”
“But where did you get this information, and what does it …”
“S-s-sh!”
She pressed her finger to her lips. Mischievous stars twinkled in her naughty-boy eyes.
“Come on, Hannelore. Don’t chicken out.”
It was Van In’s turn to gulp greedily at his second Duvel. She fidgeted with the clasp of her necklace, stalling for time. Of course she had to tell him the whole story, but no one had told her she wasn’t allowed to tease him a little.
“Even if the Degroof case does have something to do with politics, I still don’t understand the connection you’re trying to make with the coming local elections. Degroof senior isn’t a candidate, nor is his son as far as I know.”
Hannelore savored his ignorance.
“Good,” she said suddenly. “Politics is a dirty business. The goal justifies the means, whatever it might be, and they’ll try any trick in the book. Van der Eyck wants to cash in on the thousands of floating votes. He’s determined to persuade the malcontented masses to vote for his party. Now that he’s neutralized the Socialists, a bad turnout for the Christian Democrats would be music to his ears. And even you should know who calls the Christian Democrat shots here in Bruges. Who’s the party figurehead?”
“Degroof, of course,” said Van In grumpily.
“Penny dropped yet?”
Van In didn’t dare say no, so he nodded in the affirmative.
“Imagine something leaked about Degroof senior’s past,” she continued with enthusiasm. “If there’s a scandal attached, then surely an experienced detective like you should be able to get to the bottom of it. The mysterious act of revenge at Ghislain Degroof’s jewelry store is bound to attract press attention. And if further actions follow, all we have to do is give the journalists a couple of pointers and they’ll be off like a pack of bloodhounds.”
“But the case is closed,” Van In objected. “And I’m on non-active for the next two months.”
Hannelore looked up in desperation.
“It was all crystal-clear in the report you sent to me yesterday. Your analysis of the perpetrators was spot on, by the way.”
“Jesus H.,” Van In snorted. “I had a feeling they might strike again, but it was just a hypothesis, nothing more, not a foundation to build on.”
“Oh, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “But if something happens to the Degroofs in the coming weeks and we’re ready for it, God knows what might bubble to the surface. If we can scrape together enough muck by then, it won’t be hard to convince the press that the attacks on the Degroof family are part of something bigger. Am I right?”
“So our Van der Eyck went to school with Machiavelli?”
“Didn’t everyone?” she laughed.
“And she calls herself a magistrate,” he said reproachfully. “I was always led to believe that the judiciary were expected to steer clear of politics, if you can call this sort of intrigue politics.”
She didn’t appear to find his remark insulting in the slightest.
“Let me tell you something, Pieter Van In. I’m a woman. I worked hard for my degree. My parents worked themselves to the bone to pay for my education. They had no money and no connections. If I’d opted for court work I’d be grubbing for clients and I’d be up to my neck in debt. The public prosecutor’s office needs new blood, urgently. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s steady work. If you want to build a career in this man’s world, you need political support. It’s the only way. Without it I’d still be making the coffee when I’m fifty for some lenient public prosecutor.”
Rage and bitterness seethed in her voice. Van In was taken aback by her candor. The younger generation’s relentless will to survive astonished him, as it had so many times before.
“I suppose you’re right,” said Van In. “Fly with the eagles or scratch with the chickens.”
“Thanks for understanding,” she said.
“And I genuinely appreciate your honesty, but aren’t you forgetting one little detail?”
“Shoot,” she said dryly.
“De Kee. If I understand it right, he’s in Degroof’s pocket. If anything should happen that might turn the spotlights on the Degroofs, I don’t think he’s likely to entrust the case to me.”
“A minor detail, indeed,” she concurred. “But De Kee retires in three years and it’s a public secret that his son-in-law … What’s his name again?”
“Deleu,” said Van In spontaneously.
“Deleu, that’s the one,” she said. “Well, commissioner De Kee wants his son-in-law to succeed him. Not right away, of course. That would be too obvious. Van der Eyck put forward a scenario yesterday. De Kee retires in 1997 and is succeeded by Commissioner Carton.”
“But Carton’s fifty-nine,” said Van In, surprised. If she was right, this was primed to be explosive news.
“Exactly. He keeps the
chair warm until 2001, and then Deleu takes over. Get it? Carton is the Socialist candidate, and from 2000 Van der Eyck is no longer bound to his promise to approve every Socialist appointment.”
“And De Kee knows about all this?” asked Van In vacantly.
“Of course he does. He was there yesterday when the deal was clinched chez Van der Eyck.”
“God almighty.” Van In gritted his teeth.
“What? No ‘Jesus H. Christ’?” she jested.
“I said ‘God almighty’ because I’d rather sell my house than have to work a single day under Deleu.”
“Not your favorite person, I gather. Done the dirty on you a couple of times?”
Van In didn’t answer. Hannelore Martens had a little too much information.
“Don’t worry Pieter. If you sort this out for us, the doors will be wide open for you at the judicial police, and that’s a promise,” she said softly. “Approved by Van der Eyck in person.”
Benedicta Degroof was kneeling by her bed, trying to pray. Prayer was ordinarily never a problem, but tonight for one reason or another every sound made her jump. She heard Daniel’s shoes creak as he bent down at her door. The rustle of paper made her cringe.
She knew who he was. The night before, she had had a dreadful dream in which her fate had been revealed. She concentrated on her prayers. God had never let her down. A door clicked shut not far from her cell.
Benedicta resisted the curiosity that tormented her for more than an hour. She then got to her feet, picked up the letter, and tore it open.
Sister,
Didn’t Jesus say: First make peace with your brother or sister and then come to Me in prayer?
Didn’t He say in the Sermon on the Mount: Visit the sick?
Didn’t He accuse the Pharisees of being hypocrites and whitewashing tombs?
Didn’t He say that sins against the Spirit can never be forgiven?
Well, dear sister, what kind of life do you live in this place?
Pride has made you blind. And pride is your inheritance, the inheritance of your accursed family.
