Reckoning Point

by J. M. Hewitt

  There’s a randomly placed picnic table here by the path and she sits down, back to the fields, facing the stream that runs to join the canals.

  Finally, at last, she lets herself weep, pushing her hands into her cropped, jet black hair and pulling at the roots.

  There’s nobody down this track today, the sun is too hot for joggers or cyclists, and knowing she’s totally alone, she throws her head back and lets her sobs scream out to the sky.

  Best to get it all out of her system before she goes home to Erik.

  32

  THIRD MURDER

  WALDOPSTRAAT

  8.7.15 Near to midnight

  He’s taking a risk; he knows that although he can’t stop himself. A little part of him is aware that it’s getting dangerous now, and he reminds himself to tread carefully. He hasn’t done this with such frequency in ages. He’s at her home, and a voice in his head whispers that he is being extremely foolish. He ignores the warning.

  It’s very dark out here and he’s thankful for the alleyway that conceals the entrance to her home from the road. Not that the street is busy at this time. The party-goers and likely lads have retired for the night to sleep off their drink and drug induced state, not to wake until the following lunchtime. And in this particular area, he’s willing to bet nobody would even respond to a cry for help.

  The lights are all off inside the ground floor apartment and the door is locked, but the kitchen window has been left ajar. He snorts at her stupidity as he pulls the window open wide, reaches through and opens the door from the inside.

  He edges inside, waits; listens. He lets his body adjust to the night-time noises and wait for his vision to become accustomed to the gloom. Only when he’s totally comfortable does he move through the kitchen into the hallway.

  He can hear her before he even reaches her bedroom, a deep, throaty rumble that makes him wonder if a man is in there with her. But no, he watched her come back on her own. To be on the safe side he peers through the open door, revulsion crawling over him as it registers that she is indeed alone. She’s spread out on top of the bed, wearing nothing. She still has her full make-up on and as he inches closer to her he can see that the mascara has smudged across one cheek.

  How long will it take for her to sense that someone is standing over her? Will she wake with a start, or slowly come to consciousness?

  He doesn’t have to wait long to find out, as she clears her throat in her slumber, waking herself. She begins to turn over, starts to reach for the thin sheet that is knotted up at the end of the bed. She sees him and is slow to react. Perhaps she thinks he’s a ghost in the moonlight; an apparition left over from a forgotten dream. She sits up and with a hand to her throat he lays her back down against the pillow.

  In his back pocket he has his knife, but it’s as though she’s already accepted it. He doesn’t reach for the blade; instead he keeps his hand at her neck and tightens his gloved fingers. There’s a moment, very brief, as she rears up, gasping. It doesn’t last long and she leans back. She locks her gaze on him and he sees the tears spill from the corners of her eyes and track their way down her cheeks which blaze red; a strange contrast to her blue tinged lips.

  He feels it when she is gone and he removes his hand, staring for a moment at the livid marks his fingers have made.

  He doesn’t want to sit beside her, so he moves to a chair in the corner of the room. He sweeps her neat pile of laundry aside and lowers himself into the chair. He checks the time, glances into the hallway. Everything is still. There is no rush.

  He has a moment of fear; unusual for him, but he moves over to her, pulls his glove back on his right hand and holds his exposed wrist over her face. Nothing; no breath is left.

  He returns to the chair again but doesn’t sit. His fists clench of their own accord and he tucks his thumbs under his fingers and punches the dirty laundry pile. It is not satisfactory.

  And that’s the source of his despair; nothing about this evening has satisfied him. She didn’t even fight him. And with a glare at her inert body, he aims a kick at the laundry, sending pillow cases and underwear flying and like a ghost; he exits the building and makes his way home.

  33

  ERIK FONS & ALEX HARVEY

  HOOFDBUREAU

  9.7.15 Late morning

  Erik levers himself up from his chair and moves hastily around the office, stopping every now and then to peer at desks and workloads, much to his colleagues disconcertion.

  He ignores the glares; it’s more important to stop this killer than to be in favour with his workmates. Frustration fills him as he asks about the CCTV. The two officers look up at him, their bleary eyes matching his own.

  “There are lots to trawl through, sir,” says the younger of the operators.

  Erik grits his teeth and tells the boy to keep at it. He resumes his wandering, circling the office twice before reaching his own desk and slumping into the chair.

  “Fons!” A voice, down the corridor resounds through the room, accompanied by a flurry of swear words before the door to the open plan office is thrown open.

  “Erik Fons!”

  Erik looks up; stands up, his right hand immediately going to the holster around his hip as the man fills the doorway, blocking the entrance of the staff behind him.

  “Sorry, sir, I couldn’t stop him!”

  From behind the stranger Erik can just about make out the muffled voice of Jan from reception.

  “Are you Fons?” The guy moves away from the doorway, allowing the door to slam closed on the startled face of Jan.

  Erik relaxes but only slightly as he recognises the voice of the man who was on the telephone yesterday, the one who claimed to work for the MET.

  “Harvey,” he says, reaching into the recesses of his memory.

  “Alex Harvey, actually,” he replies, looking for a moment like he’s going to ignore Erik’s reluctantly outstretched hand but thinking better of it and gripping it firmly for a second.

  Realising that all eyes are on the pair, Erik gestures for Alex to follow him and he leads him into the meeting room.

  “Back to it!” he barks as he closes the door and turns to Alex.

  Before Erik can speak Alex has started talking, cutting off Erik’s sentence with an impatient shake of his head.

  “I’m looking for a girl called Elian, I’ve got reason to believe that she’s here and she’s in danger. Did you look for any information on her?”

  Erik blinks in surprise; this man certainly believes in ‘cutting to the chase’. He clears his throat before speaking. “Mr Harvey, I’m currently conducting a murder investigation, I’m very sorry you came all this way but I’ve not got time to open a missing person–”

  “Jesus,” Alex shook his head. “She might be involved in this murder case of yours, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, the person you mentioned, Lev–”

  “I didn’t mention any ‘Lev’!” Erik blusters. “You said that name, not me.”

  “Sir!”

  Erik looks around to see Lou has cracked the door open and is peering into the room. He wonders how long she had knocked before opening it and he rubs his forehead. “What is it, Lou?”

  She hesitates, looks at Alex and then back at Erik.

  He flaps his hand impatiently, gesturing for her to continue.

  “There’s been another one, sir,” she says, breathlessly. “There’s been another murder.”

  Alex has a split second to make a decision as the control room is ignited with activity. Keeping an eye on Erik’s ginger hair, he battles through the throng to keep up with him.

  Alex prefers facts and figures, but he can’t help feeling that Elian is involved in this, somehow, or actually, Lev is. Like before, Elian could simply be caught up in the middle of it, and he can’t have that happening again. He goes with his gut and jogs alongside Fons as the inspectuer hurries down the stairs, moving quickly for such a solidly built guy.

  “What are you doing?” Erik throw
s the words over his shoulder.

  “I’m coming with you,” replies Alex. “I can help you, believe me, I know what you’re getting into.”

  Erik says nothing more and Alex is hopeful he is officially on board, but as Erik opens a car door he pauses. “I can’t let you in the crime scene, I don’t know who you are or what you want. But if you wait inside I’ll speak to you once I return.”

  “I’ll follow you,” Alex says with a tight smile. “Hell, I’ll probably get there before you.”

  “You don’t know where I’m going,” shoots back Erik.

  At that moment the car radio crackles into life and although the operator speaks in Dutch, the combination of the street name and Erik’s crestfallen face is enough for Alex.

  “I know where you’re going now.”

  Erik hesitates only a moment before swearing in English. “Fuck.”

  Alex opens the passenger side door and Erik throws his hands up, heaving himself into the driver’s seat.

  “Keep out of my way once we are there, got that?”

  “Affirmative,” responds Alex. “Let’s go then, buddy.”

  Aware that he is here by the skin of his teeth, Alex withholds vocalising his thoughts of Erik’s driving as the inspectuer obeys all pertinent speed laws and doesn’t even put on his blues and twos. He sees the Carlton Beach, his own temporary accommodation, pass them by, and for a moment he thinks longingly of the shrimp he had been planning to have in the Smuggler’s Grill restaurant. But, he consoles himself, when he has located Ellie, he’ll take her for shrimp. He’ll take her for anything she goddamn wants, anywhere, in this country, back home, or wherever she wants to go.

  But first to business, and he drags his mind away from her and turns to Erik.

  “Tell me what you know about Lev Aliyev.”

  Erik shakes his head, impatiently it seems to Alex. “That’s not a name I know. I thought I’d heard it, but it’s a different name.”

  “What name do you know?”

  Erik hesitates but to Alex’s surprise, he eventually answers. “I interviewed a man called Levart Abramov, I don’t even know if he’s of interest or connected, at the moment he’s just helping us with our enquiries.”

  “Is he Ukranian?”

  Erik gives him a side eye, purses his lips before replying. “Russian.”

  Alex nods, deep in thought. Russia, the Ukraine, he’s pretty sure they were the same thing at one point in history.

  He opens his mouth to resume his questions before falling silent; he can’t push Erik for any information because other than Lev’s name, he has no further details himself.

  “And these murders, how many have there been now?”

  Through clenched teeth Erik replies, “this is the third.”

  “In how many months?” Alex wants to know.

  This time Erik does glance over to Alex and his face is stony. “Not months.”

  “Weeks?” Alex raises his eyebrows in surprise.

  Erik laughs, a sound with absolutely no humour in it. “Not even weeks,” he hisses and Alex sees his knuckles whiten has he clutches the steering wheel.

  “What?” Alex asks.

  Apparently they have reached their destination as Erik swings the car into a side street. Yanking the handbrake on, he turns to Alex. “This is the third murder in five days.”

  And with that, he slams out of the car, leaving Alex speechless in his wake.

  34

  ELIAN

  SCHEVENINGEN

  9.7.15 Lunchtime

  Elian looks around the Zahara Cocktail Bar, desperately scanning the crowd for Brigitta. Eventually she spots her and she makes her way over to her.

  “It’s busy in here,” she remarks as Brigitta pulls her into a tiny gap on the bench beside her. “And it’s hot.” Elian is pleased that she put on her new denim shorts today; it’s definitely the hottest day since she came here.

  “Everyone’s here, all the girls. None of them are working,” Brigitta says loudly, over the music that blasts out of the speakers. “The police need to get their fucking act together.”

  Elian nods in agreement and pulls her knees up as a girl attempts to move past her, carrying an armful of cocktails, in spite of it not even being midday yet.

  “You want a cocktail?” shouts Brigitta.

  Elian shakes her head no.

  “No, me neither. Let’s move outside, yeah?”

  Relieved to be out of the crush and the heat of the bar, Elian breathes a sigh of relief as they find a beachfront table. Brigitta waves to a waiter and without asking Elian what she wants, she orders two coffees.

  “Have you heard anything from the police? Are they questioning everyone? Do they have any leads?”

  “Apparently they’re going to be talking to all of us. Not that it’ll make any difference though,” sniffs Brigitta.

  “Why won’t it make a difference?”

  Brigitta shrugs and picks at a hangnail. “It happened at her window. I mean, that’s pretty open, it’s right on the street for Christ’s sake. Poor Cilla, she was really nice as well.” Brigitta bangs her fist on the table and Elian reaches across the table and lays a hand on her friends arm.

  “I’m so sorry; I know she was your friend.”

  Brigitta looks away, her jaw working and as the waiter returns with their coffees, they sip at them in silence.

  “There’s this man,” begins Elian, tentatively. “I’m here because I’m following a man, a real bad man who got away once.”

  Brigitta looks at Elian over her mug. “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know.” Elian suddenly wishes she hadn’t said anything. Her mind isn’t in the right place to be able to explain her thoughts and her actions to Brigitta, maybe not even to herself. “I’m not sure, but look, just … just be careful, yeah?”

  “Ha!” Brigitta rolls her eyes. “I think we’re all careful now. Look at them.” She gestures inside the bar where the throng of girls are milling around. “They’re not going anywhere alone anymore.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, it’s their work; can they afford not to work?

  Brigitta shrugs. “It’s likely they’ll just stay with the men they already know; the regulars. Thing is, this is still a tourist resort, regular punters are not that common.” Brigitta pulls her phone out of her bag and dials a number, listening for a moment before hanging up. “I can’t get hold of Amber either, she’s probably ignoring me.”

  “Why?”

  “She was doing my head in, skulking around my house. I sent her home but I can’t get hold of her to tell her about Cilla.”

  They sink into a glum silence, and Elian thinks hard. She knows that she needs to step up her game where Lev is concerned. This may not have anything to do with him, but after witnessing Niko’s brutality first hand and with Lev being his buddy, it all points in his direction. It’s too much of a coincidence and the only way she can find out if he is involved in this killing spree is to follow him. She considers asking Brigitta to help her, but the last thing she wants to do is bring any harm to her new - and only - friend.

  Some of the women spill out of the bar, pausing at their table to say goodbye to Brigitta. Elian picks up her coffee and looks out to sea. She wishes, not for the first time, that she had Alex with her now. When she left England to come here, all that was in her mind was to trace Lev and punish him, somehow. Alex would have talked her out of it, or worse, he would have come here in her place, putting himself at risk. But in Chernobyl, despite the outcome, they’d made a good team. They had worked well together, bouncing ideas and clues off each other. And maybe when this was all over, they could spend some time together. She smiles, realising that through all of the difficulties with her memory and the events of the previous month, Alex was the one thing she had no trouble keeping track of. She remembered everything; his voice, his smile, everything they had done together. His touch.

  Her thoughts are interrupted as Brigitta’s phone rings. Brigitta snatches
it up, her face hopeful as she answers. Then its déjà vu all over again as her friend’s face drains of all colour and she lets out an animalistic wail. The phone is dropped, Brigitta’s friends rally around, one of them picking up the mobile and speaking into it. The girl who now has the phone, a pretty, Flemish girl barely out of her teens, talks fluid Dutch into the handset. Her expression, like Brigitta’s, changes rapidly and by the time she has hung up an eerie silence has befallen the table.

  “It’s Amber,” the girl half shouts. “Amber’s dead!”

  There’s a collective noise, shrieks and screams that rise in crescendo to an angry roar. Elian feels her face getting hot and abruptly she turns her attention to Brigitta. The girls close in on Brigitta, surrounding her, protecting her, talking in a dozen different languages over each other and Elian looks over their heads in the direction of Gevers Deynootweg and Lev’s apartment. And with Brigitta distracted by her girlfriends, Elian slips away.

  35

  LEV

  1058 GEVERS DEYNOOTWEG

  9.7.15 Early afternoon

  The last three days have passed in a blur of nothingness for Lev. Since the discovery of Cilla’s body, Lev has only left his apartment to go to the supermarket underneath his home or across the tracks to score from the boys who hang around the beach. When the gates to the pier close they move inside through a tear in the chain link fence, and Lev meets with them after dark. They know him now, the drug selling youths, and the transactions are swift and simple. After he has scored Lev stays with them. He takes comfort from their company, even though they barely talk.