by J. M. Hewitt
Smiling to himself, Alex carefully backed out of the door and slipped the coverings on over his shoes, confident that he was now a part of the team.
Erik isn’t sure how Alex came to be an integral part of his murder investigation. The man didn’t take no for an answer, though if Erik is honest with himself, he likes Alex’s way of thinking, and, if he’s very honest, he needs all the help he could get. And Erik is so conscious of this case and the affect it could have on his career that he is proceeding slower than he ever has before, in order not to miss anything vital.
Now the two of them stand over the dead body of a woman who has been identified as Amber Bente. She’s on her back, naked, the only marks on her a dark smudge on her face and bruising around her neck.
Erik leans closer, peers at her face, identifies the mark as mascara. He looks at her face, her eyes are open and cloudy. Amber’s body is covered in Livor Mortis, and with the tip of his gloved finger he presses the point between her ribs and her spine. The blue tinged skin doesn’t change colour, which tells him she’s been dead for at least ten hours.
“She’s been strangled, right?”
Erik straightens up and looks at Alex. He’d almost forgotten he was there. Now, his new acquaintance joins him at the bedside and together they stare down at the girl.
“It looks like it,” agrees Erik as they study the yellowing marks at her neck.
“And did the other ones die of asphyxiation?”
“Yes, but–” Erik breaks off and walks around the bed, leaning in to the dead girl as close as he can without touching her.
“But what?”
“There was another wound on the other two girls, on both of them, like a patch of skin had been removed. Unless it’s underneath her I can’t see it here.”
“Do you mean it was removed as in taken as a keepsake, like a trophy?” Alex asks.
Erik shrugs. “Maybe.”
“So what now?”
Erik walks to the bedroom door and calls to the heavy on the door. He barks some orders at him before turning his attention back to Alex. “Now we bag her up, get the autopsy done and then we need to nail this fucker.”
Alex nods his agreement, unsure if he’s delighted or not to be included in Erik’s ‘we’. He’s happy to be hands on, but the point of his journey here is to find Elian. If this spate of killings turns out to nothing to do with her, then he’s wasting valuable time.
As half a dozen white suited men group around Erik, Alex takes the opportunity to look around the bedroom. It’s not clean, but it’s tidy. It’s an interesting contrast to Alex’s trained eye. The sideboard top and shelves are covered in a thick film of dust and condensation rings where mugs have been, but all of the girl’s possessions; books, letters and magazines, are all stacked neatly in piles. He extends his gaze to take in the rest of the room and the hallway. The telephone, a few ornaments, a lamp and a radio are all perfectly positioned. Something is off, and before Erik has finished instructing his men on how to proceed, Alex has it; the clothes on the floor. They are out of keeping with the rest of the unclean, but neat and tidy little home. He moves closer and gets on his hands and knees to inspect the pile. It’s dirty laundry, waiting to go to the launderette, he can tell that by the odd food stain and lipstick marks. But against the laminated, light oak floor, at the base of the pile, there’s a collection of minuscule, grey dust and on top of the pile, a few whole pieces of greyish silver stone. He pushes himself to his feet and gestures for Erik’s attention.
“What?” Erik snaps, impatiently.
“Make sure your men don’t miss this,” he points down at the grey matter as Erik steps over to him. “Bag it up, get it tested.”
With that, Alex moves out of the room, smiling a little to himself at the astonished look on Erik Fons’ face.
39
ELIAN & LEV
APARTMENT 1058 GEVERS DEYNOOTWEG
9.7.15 Dusk
After leaving Brigitta and the other girls, Elian spent a long time on the beach. From her vantage point near the pier, she watched the apartment that she knew Lev lived in and she felt her anger build.
Now, as the sun fades into grey, she shivers and covers her slight arms with her hands. Her legs are cold too but it’s a bit of relief after the scorching day.
After hours of thinking about him and the three poor girls that have been killed, something clicked in her head. Even if he wasn’t anything to do with the mysterious deaths here in Scheveningen, he should be held responsible; maybe not for them, if he didn’t do it, but for what he done to her, Elian. Or more precisely, for not stopping what Niko was intent on doing to her. He’s the only one left to be held accountable. Fat Arnja is dead, Niko is dead. Lev is the only punching bag she has. And if he is responsible for murdering Gabi, Cilla and Amber, then he can be doubly punished.
Feeling the flames of retribution, she pushes herself away from the wooden struts of the pier wall, and marches across the road.
After it had happened Lev had fled the apartment. He had jogged around the area, down to the sea to puke into the foam, then as he walked back onto the promenade he’d seen a car, unlocked with the keys in the ignition. Without even thinking that it might make things worse, he slipped into the driver’s seat, roared off down to the main road and drove around and around the same circle of streets for about an hour until he could think straight. When he abandoned the car on Ankerstraat and walked back, he’d been aghast to find that Roland had vanished. Lev had sank into the chair and had not moved for hours. Neither had Joy moved, but of course, she won’t be moving, not anytime soon. Not ever again.
He had known that he needed to dispose of the inert form of Joy as soon as it became clear that she was dead. Instead, he had reached for the stash that Joy had clocked, lit up a joint and sucked on it frantically.
At some point Roland sidled in the door and tried to talk to him, but Lev batted him away. He didn’t know why he was still there, it was all his fault anyway, the boy should be running for the hills. Where had the boy been? Why the hell had he come back?
Later, with the joint gone and Roland crying quietly in the kitchen area, Lev realises that he is on the verge of sleep. He shuffles forward in his chair and sweeps the carpet next to his feet with his hand. The sun has gone down now and the apartment is shrouded in shade.
“Roland, put the light on,” he croaks.
Roland, still sniffling, looks surprised to hear Lev speak, but he does as he is asked and moves over to the switch by the door.
The light isn’t very bright when it comes on, but it’s enough for Lev to locate what he is looking for, and with a sigh of relief he picks up the clear plastic bag which contains six pills. He picks one out, studies the dark red end and gives it a little shake. The tiny crystals in the Dexedrine capsules are varying shades of orange and he throws it in his mouth, swigging it down with a slug of flat, warm beer. Then he stands up, steadying himself on the wall when the accompanying head rush hits him.
“Roland, you’re going to have to help me,” he says as he looks down at Joy, studying her with a critical eye.
“W-what do you want me to do?” Roland creeps forward, wringing his hands.
Lev thinks to himself before answering. They need to get rid of Joy’s body. They can’t take her out of here the way she is right now. The apartment is on the main road, trams, cars and pedestrians pass by here all through the night. There’s no exit to the rear of the building either. Lev scratches at his head, wishing the uppers would work quicker and give him an adrenalin rush of inspiration.
“What did Braith do to the bodies in here?” he asks Roland suddenly.
Roland screws up his face and for a moment Lev thinks that he’s simply going to flee. But, to his surprise, the young man answers him, albeit in a voice loaded with unshed tears.
“He put them in there, he tried to make them smaller but he stopped doing that. He poured some stuff on them and put matches on them.” Roland points towards the bathr
oom door, standing slightly ajar.
“What do you mean, ‘he tried to make them smaller’?” Roland snaps.
Roland’s throat works, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He doesn’t answer, instead he raises his right hand and makes a sawing motion with his arm.
Lev shakes his head disbelief. How did Mark Braith expect to cut up three bodies and then set fire to them in a shared building without being found out?
“Can’t we just put her back in her own house?” Roland’s tone is sullen and scared.
Lev looks over at him, about to berate the boy, but he pauses and looks around. If he cleans up in here, nobody will ever know Joy was here. If she was found in her own apartment, if Lev can stage it to make it look like an accident …
He springs to life at the same time as the Dexedrine takes effect. “Yes, good man, Roland, good fucking idea!”
Lev darts into the kitchen and opens all of the cupboards. There are no gloves, nothing to cover his hands, expect … he snatches up a box of Clingfilm and waves it at Roland. He pulls out a length, tears it off with his teeth and binds it tightly around his right hand, repeating the procedure on his left hand and throws the box at Roland.
“Cover your hands, make sure you wrap them around your fingertips, then come and help me.”
While Roland struggles with the Clingfilm, Lev moves to the front door and opens it a crack. He peers out, looks left and right and edges forward to look over the balcony. The street is as quiet as it’s ever going to be, and turning back he sees Joy’s door is closed. He steps over to it, tries the handle, somewhat awkwardly with his Clingfilm bound hands, and relief floods through him as it opens easily. He pauses on the threshold, not knowing if Joy lives alone. She could have an entire family in there, for all he knows. But the flat is in darkness, and he moves inside. The interior is the same layout as his, so he treads around the lounge, into the bathroom and the small bedroom. He can see no evidence of any other person sharing this home with Joy, so satisfied, he returns to his own apartment to execute the next stage of the plan.
Elian jogs up the metal steps, her sneakered feet making no noise. As she reaches the floor which Lev’s apartment is on, she hears the gentle creak of a door opening. Nimbly, she ducks behind the large, iron banister that acts as part of one of the supports for the floor above. It’s him, she can see as she looks through one of the rusted holes in which a missing bolt should be. He’s shoeless, his own feet making even less sound than hers. She holds her breath as he looks over the railing to the pavement below and then he goes over to the apartment next to his, tries the door handle, and slips inside.
Elian breathes out and leans against the iron post. What’s he doing in there? It’s not his apartment, because she saw him come out of number 1058. But she has no time to ponder it further, as the door emits a tiny creak again and Lev is coming back out, darting along to his apartment.
Elian waits, is about to stand up and approach again when his door opens once more. Only this time when he emerges, he’s walking backwards, carrying one end of something that looks quite heavy. She covers her chest with one hand as her heart begins to bang alarmingly and stays very still as another person emerges from Lev’s apartment. As the two men work together, shuffling and grunting, Elian strains to see what it is they are carrying between them.
And as the light from the streetlamp encapsulates them in a glow for a mere moment, she realises exactly what the bulky, sheet-covered item is.
She moves her hand from her chest to her mouth, biting down on her fingers, trying to swallow down the scream that threatens to escape.
40
NAOMI
STRANDWEG to OUD SCHEVENINGEN
9.7.15 Late night
Naomi Wilson walks down Strandweg towards the home she shares with Erik in Oud Scheveningen. She has already passed the small, terraced house that they live in on Zeeruststraat, but, for reasons she couldn’t entirely fathom, instead of going inside she kept on walking. The house was in darkness, so Erik probably wasn’t home, but it was a nice, if slightly chilly evening and she moved on down the street, passing the trams on the left, cutting through to the Strandweg, and walking down towards to the pier.
The beachfront bars are still heaving with holiday-goers and every other one seems to be hosting a stag or hen party. Inebriated youths on scooters swerve around her, and when she reaches Scheveningeslag she cuts through and turns right, heading again towards home.
She pauses, as she always does, at the Badhotel to admire the artistry of the lighthouse that adorns the side of the building. And when the road and the tram tracks bend around to the left, she goes down Wassenaarsestraat.
It’s a lot quieter here than it is on the beachfront and she shivers and pulls her coat tighter around her and quickens her pace.
As she walks, she thinks back to her meeting with Doctor Bastiaan. Despite feeling incredibly uncomfortable, it went better than she could have hoped. He hadn’t gloated and he was unlikely to act upon what were, after all, just his suspicions. And why would he? She hadn’t done anything illegal.
Just immoral, she thinks, sickened.
And of course, she knows deep down, it’s not really the Doctor that she is upset with. It’s herself. It was her own stupid mistake because there was no incident with a dirty needle. There had been another man, a man who meant nothing to her, but in a moment of drunken loneliness, a man who she had left the bar with in Rotterdam. The bar had been a big mistake in the first place, it was Toffler, an underground house and techno music venue and Naomi didn’t know why she’d ended up there. She had only left Scheveningen and Erik the evening before, so it wasn’t like she’d spent continuous evenings alone. The man, whose name she never even asked, looked out of place too, and after making eye contact several times they had gravitated towards each other and left the club. There had been no conversation, and they had only reached the seedy, industrial end of Delftseplein before he took her hand and pulled her halfway down the alleyway entrance of an old abandoned unit. She hadn’t protested, she hadn’t thought of Erik, not then. She had thought of nothing as she hitched up her prim, knee-length skirt and wrapped her legs around the stranger.
It was purging, at the time. It was a release of anger at the amount of time she spent away from home, of only having a shot in hell at being able to do something like that with Erik because of their conflicting schedules, of the amount of strict talks she gave to her clients and then seeing them with the same infections the very next month. And as she encouraged the nameless, faceless stranger to fuck her harder, she realised – too late – the only person she was punishing was herself.
And afterwards, when he had asked to see her again and she had laughed at him and walked away, she went fully into nurse mode, unable to believe what she had done. Not even during her single girl college years had she behaved like that. For a few evenings, as she sat in her hotel room, she tried to tell herself that her drink may have been spiked. She toyed with the idea that it was technically rape, but was unable to dismiss the memory of hiking up her own skirt and guiding him in. And now there was the heinous thought of infection. He could have been anyone and he could have also been with anyone. But it was done now, the tests were done, and she would just have to avoid being intimate with Erik until the results were back. And that shouldn’t be a problem, if Erik is as busy as he usually is with his work, it won’t be an issue at all to put off having sex with him.
She is walking beneath the imposing walls of the old Episcopalean church when she is aware of the dimming headlights of a slow moving car reflecting on the brickwork in front of her, and then, footsteps approaching from behind. She pauses, she’s not sure why, it’s not like pedestrians are unusual here, but something makes her hesitate. She turns to her right, ready with a smile, anticipating … something, a question, somebody in need of directions, perhaps? But the man – for now she can see it is a man – is still walking directly at her. She tries to shuffle back and feels her heels
sinking into the grass that surrounds the church and then her back is against the wall, and as she feels the rough brick at her spine she has a flash of a terrible memory when she was pushed up against another wall, but that time was at her own wishes. And despite her later regret, at that time it was welcome.
As this man comes at her she turns her face, feels hands gripping her neck. Dropping her bag, she claws at his wrists, tries to turn her head back to look at him because she has a sudden realisation that she knows this man and she can’t believe that he would be doing this to her, but before she can speak his name, he pulls her forward and then, with a strength that belies his build, he rams her back into the wall. Her head connects with the brick and she bites down painfully on her tongue. She can taste blood in her mouth, but has no time to think about that, as the man brings his other hand to her throat, and begins to squeeze.
41
ERIK FONS & ALEX HARVEY
THE CARLTON BEACH HOTEL
9.7.15 Midnight
Alex sits by the window in the hotel’s restaurant and gazes out into the black night. The Smuggler’s Grille technically closed at 11pm, but Alex had slipped some Euros across to the pretty Dutch barmaid and smiled winningly at her. She had flirted back with him, leaning on the counter and asking him questions coquettishly. He had replied in his usual charming manner as Inspectuer Fons was coming over, as he didn’t want the barmaid to change her mind about letting them use the restaurant, but her actions irritated him. Elian would never behave flirtatiously; she wouldn’t play games or act coy.
Now, as he sips at the coffee he ordered, she’s filling his mind. She’s so young that she could well be forgiven for any childish notions she may possess, but she’s had to take care of herself since she was practically still a kid. Elian is quiet and demure, but she’s also tough and ballsy. He rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand and groans. He still can’t quite put his finger on what she done to make him fall so hard for her, but he knows he has fallen for her, there’s no other explanation for the way he feels when he thinks about her.
