by Pieter Aspe
Van In shook his head. “Carine’s got other business to attend to.”
He briefed Versavel about the undercover operation. “Social services agreed to help. If someone from Care House asks for information on Carine Neels, they’ll get a social worker on the line with a fake story. According to their files, Carine Neels is on benefits. Her husband left her with a pile of debt, and if she doesn’t pay up in a couple of months, she’ll be evicted from her apartment.”
Versavel looked at Van In with surprise. “Does De Kee know about this?”
The group of handicapped youngsters was getting ready to move on. At least they could rely on the safe shelter of a properly functioning institution, something most ordinary people had to do without. Van In waved when the ice-cream-guzzling young man treated him to another lopsided smile.
“Jesus H. Christ. Didn’t I say De Kee was expecting me at eleven?”
“You did,” said Versavel. “And you’ve got ten minutes. Shall I call a taxi?”
Van In emptied his glass in haste.
“I’ll walk, Guido.”
He jumped to his feet.
“And I’ll settle the bill.” Versavel grinned.
Van In turned.
“Relax, Pieter. I’ll make the university hospital calls when I get back to the office.”
“Thanks, Guido.”
The jingle of keys arrested his movement.
“The car’s parked around the corner,” Versavel said.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Van In groaned. “Couldn’t you have said that earlier?”
Versavel took two hundred-franc notes from his wallet, left them on the table, and followed his boss.
“Hello, Amand.” Jeroen Plets’s voice sounded tense. Jane was standing at his back. “Jeroen here. There’s something I have to tell you.”
Amand looked at the busload of hungry Germans noisily storming his restaurant. “I don’t have a lot of time, Jeroen. It’s busy as hell here.”
“Two minutes,” Plets begged.
Chief Commissioner De Kee was deep in the shit. Dr. De Jaegher was a good friend who overstepped the mark once in a while. No big deal. Most men grabbed a bit on the side when they could. The problem was that the doctor’s name had appeared on a list Van In had acquired by improper means. De Kee was faced with a dilemma. If he rapped Van In’s knuckles for his unorthodox methods, the insubordinate commissioner would accuse him of bias. If he said nothing, then De Jaegher planned to go public with an old secret, and De Kee was determined not to let him. No one had to know that he had gotten a young officer pregnant ten years before and that De Jaegher had skillfully disposed of the result of his fleeting moment of passion.
Van In waited at the door until the clock in the corridor struck eleven. He straightened his tie and knocked.
De Kee jumped to his feet and instead of pressing the enter button on his desk he opened the door himself. “What a pleasure to see you, Pieter,” said the chief commissioner a little too emphatically.
They shook hands. De Kee sat down at his desk and invited Van In to take the seat opposite him. The office had a familiar feel to it, as if De Kee had never been away. Van In looked around. Everything was back in its place—the framed university diploma, the photo of De Kee with the king, the artwork he had been given as a gift by the Belgian football association, an etching of city hall, and a baseball hat with the logo of the American Police Federation.
“And how is the Provoost case progressing?” De Kee folded his arms, rolled back his chair, and stretched out his legs, just like the legendary J. Edgar Hoover had been in the habit of doing.
“I think there’s light at the end of the tunnel,” said Van In.
“Explain, Pieter.”
“We’re focusing on the first murder for the moment,” said Van In. “And we’re expecting a breakthrough anytime now.”
De Kee maneuvered his chair closer and leaned over his desk.
“I’m not interested in the mysterious John Doe, Pieter Van In,” he whispered. “Take my advice and leave that line of investigation be for a while. It’s a nasty bag of worms, and it could drag you in before you know it. There are names on the list you gave me—important people, people with influence. There’s a strong possibility—”
“Dr. De Jaegher doesn’t need to worry.”
Van In stared the chief commissioner in the eye.
De Kee got to his feet. It was clear from his tightening jaw muscles that he was doing his best to contain himself. “And why might Dr. De Jaegher have reason to worry?” he asked.
“I can’t say. We all make mistakes, Chief Commissioner, and if we were to drag everyone who ever crossed the line before the courts, the prisons would be full of decent citizens.” Van In allowed himself an arrogant smile.
De Kee sat, joined his hands behind his head, and stretched. The message was loud and clear. Van In would keep his hands off De Jaegher if the Linda Aerts incident was allowed to fizzle out. “A reasonable way of looking at things, Pieter.”
His voice was much milder than it was minutes earlier. It wasn’t the first time he had underestimated Commissioner Van In’s shrewdness. “Don’t think I’m trying to influence your investigation, Pieter. My main concern is the welfare of my team. That’s why I felt it my duty to discuss a number of delicate issues with you. But now that our strategies would appear to be aligned, let’s hope both murders can be resolved to our mutual satisfaction. In fact, I’m looking forward to it with bated breath. Let justice be done.”
Even seasoned politicians would think twice before uttering such crap, but De Kee thought he’d fended for himself pretty well given the circumstances.
“Will that be all, Chief Commissioner?”
“One last thing, Pieter. As far as I’m concerned, the Linda Aerts affair is closed but only on the condition that you leave her alone. As long as she’s not being indicted on charges, keep your hands off her. Is that clear?”
Van In didn’t blame the old bugger for wanting the last word. “You can count on it,” he said, relieved.
De Kee got to his feet and accompanied his subordinate to the door. The conversation had lasted no more than ten minutes, and both parties were satisfied with its outcome.
As soon as Van In was out of his office, De Kee called Dr. De Jaegher.
“Psst.”
Van In was about to walk into Room 204 when Carine Neels drew his attention with another psst. It may not have been particularly original, but it worked. Van In turned, and Carine gestured that she wanted to have a word. The young policewoman looked far from sexy in her uniform.
Van In played the game. They walked together to the first floor where there was a room that was tailor-made for clandestine encounters.
“Big news,” she whispered excitedly.
Van In locked the door behind him. The poor creature was quivering like a hummingbird.
“You were right, Commissioner. Care House is a front for a prostitution network. I tried to reach you yesterday but—”
“Calm down, Carine,” said Van In. He wondered if he had done the right thing when he gave her the job. Carine sat down.
“Ilse contacted me this morning. She said that they were looking into a solution for my problems and asked if I would stop by.”
Carine was in such a hurry to tell her story she sounded more and more flustered by the second. “The charity is prepared to settle my debts and pay my rent in arrears in return for a small favor.”
Her cheeks blushed.
“You didn’t agree to anything, did you?” said Van In.
“Ilse took a couple of photos,” she said provocatively.
“Nude photos?”
She nodded.
“Ilse then explained what was expected of me. I have to make myself available for six months. During that time I can be called for a maximum of
twenty sessions.”
“Sessions? You don’t mean …”
Carine giggled nervously. Van In had the impression that the whole operation was turning her on.
“No sessions,” he said. “Absolutely out of the question.”
Carine shook her head, unconvincingly.
“Those guys have got a lot of nerve.”
Hannelore emerged from the shower, knotted a white towel around her head like a turban, and wrapped herself up in a thick bathrobe.
Van In was in the adjoining bedroom. “The ball’s in your court,” he said.
Hannelore sat beside him on the bed. Her bathrobe bulged a little. “I get your frustration, Pieter. But how many times have I told you that we have to stick to the rules? There isn’t an examining magistrate in the country who would issue a search warrant on the basis of unlawfully obtained evidence.”
“Because a couple of their colleagues appear on the list,” Van In observed. “Double standards across the board! The letter of the law and the spirit. It all depends who you know and how much you can pay.”
Hannelore shrugged her shoulders, loosened the towel around her head, and started to dry her lustrous hair.
“According to the law, I’m first obliged to ask that poor girl to prostitute herself before I can submit a complaint.” Van In sighed.
“Out of the question. Even a mediocre lawyer would win the case for the charity. Carine is a police officer, and as such, she’s not allowed to incite a crime. It wouldn’t even surprise me if they turned the tables and charged her with incitement. Anyway, where would it get you? Maybe Ilse is a lesbian who takes advantage of her position to hook a girlfriend now and then.”
Van In lit a cigarette, tetchy. It was the last of his daily ration.
“It’s time to revisit that criminal law course you took.” Hannelore smiled. “I’m guessing you’ve forgotten a bunch of stuff.”
Van In got to his feet and started pacing up and down. The investigation had ground to a standstill and had nowhere to go. He had been relying on the identification of Herbert, but there was still no new information. A couple of hospitals had promised to report back the next day, but what if their responses were negative? All they would have left would be hospitals abroad, and that would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
At dinner, Van In made a tentative attempt to return to the subject of Linda Aerts. “If the public prosecutor’s office is afraid of the powers that be, maybe we should go to work on the outcasts,” he said sarcastically.
“Communism is dead, Pieter. And even when it was still alive it followed the same principles. No one is truly equal before the law. People are egocentric creatures, and there’s no system I know that can change it. Magistrates are human too. We’re all walking a shaky tightrope, Pieter, and we’re all doing our best to stay balanced.”
Hannelore tucked in to a slice of fried calf’s liver.
“I didn’t want to get into ideologies, Hanne.”
“I guess you didn’t,” she said between bites. “What you want is for me to have Linda Aerts arrested.”
Hannelore popped the last morsel of liver into her mouth. Van In offered her a napkin.
“Linda Aerts is a suspect in the Provoost case. I have evidence …”
“Evidence, Pieter? I need proof.”
Van In stared longingly at the empty pack of cigarettes. He had a good mind to go to the convenience store and then get drunk somewhere. “You can’t prove anything these days,” he said sullenly. “Everybody lies to save their own skin, and it takes two witnesses to refute a lie.”
“Good thing too,” said Hannelore. “And I don’t have to tell you what the alternative would be. If it was up to FLASYC, we’d be arresting suspects on the spot, handing out long prison sentences, and not worrying too much about their right to defense.”
Hannelore was clearly agitated. She found it hard to believe that her husband would flirt with right-wing ideas.
“That’s not what I meant, sweetheart.”
Van In tried to stay calm, although he was fighting with a demon that threatened to tear him to pieces.
“Isn’t it?” she asked.
With these two words of condescension, the devil in his soul broke free of its chains. “You shouldn’t have said that.” Van In felt like a champagne bottle about to pop. Why was she doing this? She knew he would explode if she kept it up. “I thought we were both on the same side,” he whispered.
“Of course, but …”
Hannelore grabbed her belly. The twinge of pain was so intense it forced her to arch her back. Van In’s guardian angel pushed the champagne cork back into the bottle. The demon prudently withdrew.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Don’t worry, Pieter. I guess it’s not my day today.”
Hannelore massaged the sides of her thighs. Van In could see the pain in her eyes and pulled up a chair beside her.
“It’s all my fault,” he said apologetically. “I know it’s no excuse, but I’ve had a tough day too. The investigation’s going nowhere, and you know how much I want to take you to Portugal.”
Hannelore nestled her head on his shoulder. “That’s sweet of you.” She ran her fingers through his hair. Van In always got goose bumps when she did that. “I’m sorry I compared you with those FLASYC sickos,” she said.
Van In was happy that his rage had receded. He had almost forgotten that she had been to the gynecologist that day. Having an amniocentesis wasn’t exactly a day at the circus. He considered asking her if everything had gone OK but decided not to. If she wanted to talk about it she would, and he had to respect that.
“Maybe I should have a word with Mrs. Aerts myself,” said Hannelore after a moment.
Van In drew hearts on her back with his finger. “If I can carry the bucket of water,” he said grinning.
Carine Neels looked a picture in her floral nightgown. Her old-fashioned fountain pen scratched elegant letters in the fluffy pages of her diary. “I ignored Commissioner Van In’s orders. I checked in with Ilse at ten o’clock. She was really excited and asked if I wouldn’t mind doing a camera test before we got down to the real thing. She said I had a beautiful body and that I didn’t need to pose naked if I didn’t want to. She took me to a studio, fully equipped, and asked if I minded that a man was present. She knew nothing about cameras. I quite liked being in the spotlight. It was exciting. The cameraman didn’t come near me. He just stood there in the dark and didn’t say a word for the entire shoot. But one thing struck me about him: the man smelled of toilet cleaner, a mix of lemon and lavender.”
12
William Aerts had hidden himself in Amand’s bedroom, where he could keep a close eye on the cars parking in front of the restaurant. Waiting was for demented pensioners. If they made it an Olympic discipline, Aerts would be first in line to hand out the medals. For him, waiting without knowing what was going to happen was torture. He counted the seconds, added them up into minutes, and cursed the hour hand of his wristwatch.
Aerts had lived in a state of euphoria for two days—two days that had seemed to last no longer than a nanosecond.
Brooks and Brouwers arrived at Amand’s restaurant shortly before noon. The Englishman was in the best of humor, having spent the night with his girlfriend, Penelope. Brouwers had met her the day before in the lounge of the King George Hotel. From that moment he understood exactly why Brooks insisted on spending the night on Gozo. Penelope was a sophisticated woman in her early forties with smooth, soft breasts and wide, sad eyes. She reminded him of the closing scene of Homer’s The Odyssey. As in the blind Greek poet’s epic, this Maltese Penelope had an irresistible charm that attracted middle-aged men. Brouwers had masturbated twice that night in his hotel room, a very rare occurrence.
Aerts recognized the former federal policeman immediately. What he
didn’t understand was how Vandaele’s bloodhound had managed to trace him so quickly.
Amand was collected, in control. He welcomed Brooks and Brouwers with a professional smile. “A Belgian,” he said when Brouwers introduced himself. “Few and far between around here. Welcome to my restaurant, gentlemen.”
Brooks and Brouwers opted for a table on the terrace under a linen parasol. A refreshing breeze blew in from the sea. On Gozo, the sea was never far away.
“I’m told you’re from West Flanders,” said Brouwers affably.
“That’s right,” said Amand. “I was born in Knokke.”
He handed them each a menu. Brouwers didn’t recognize any of the dishes. “I can recommend the smoked swordfish as a starter,” Amand suggested.
Brooks licked his lips. Amand had the best swordfish on Malta. He nodded enthusiastically. Brouwers went along with Amand’s suggestion, and both men ordered fenek as his main course.
“Rabbit,” said Brooks when Brouwers asked for an explanation. “The Maltese are keen hunters. They shoot whatever moves, just about. If you spend any length of time here, you’ll realize that Malta has very few birds.”
The swordfish rivaled the best of Scottish salmon. The structure was a little less refined, but the mild flavor of the meaty slices gave it a definite edge.
Aerts poured himself a nip of whiskey. Amand had promised to keep him posted. What was he up to for Christ’s sake? He emptied his glass in a single gulp. Why had Vandaele sent a hired killer after him, he asked himself in desperation.
Provoost had probably spilled when they dug up the body. Aerts grabbed the bottle and poured himself a second glass. He was having trouble thinking straight. If Vandaele had pronounced the death sentence, then it made no sense to keep running. Brouwers would catch up with him sooner or later. They didn’t call the ex-cop the pit bull for nothing.
The terrace in the meantime was beginning to get busy. A battery of waiters scuttled nervously back and forth. Amand served the steaming chunks of fenek personally from a casserole dish. The smell was mouthwatering.
“Will there be anything else, gentlemen?” Amand asked.
