Sacrificed

by Chanette Paul

  Under the shower Caz was suddenly reminded of Ellen’s words when she had spent the night with her after the break-in.

  “Only a few years ago I would have had to pee outside and sleep under the kitchen table,” Ellen commented drily when Caz put down towels for her in the guest room.

  “Not in my home, or Lilah would have peed outside and slept under the kitchen table all her life.” Caz grinned.

  “Hmm. It’s always going to be strange.”

  “What?” Caz asked.

  “The white lily and the black rose from the same flowerbed.”

  Well, hopefully she would find out today how that flowerbed had come about.

  When she was dressed and ready, Caz took a quick look to see whether Lilah had answered. She had, and she was over the moon. Caz just hoped Erdem could put her up until the eighth.

  She glanced at her watch and jumped up. She had to get to the station in time.

  The bus ride to Dampoort was familiar by now. She almost wished there was something new in her surroundings to take her mind off what lay ahead. Today she might hear why her birth mother left her with Hans and Josefien Colijn. Why she didn’t want her own child. Caz wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear it. Or if she would ever be ready.

  The platform where she waited for her train was busy.

  At precisely 08:40 the train, direction Ronse, arrived at Ghent-Dampoort, Track 1. At precisely 08:48 Caz stepped off the train at Track 5, Ghent-Sint-Pieters, and walked to Track 7, where she found even more people waiting for the train. Probably commuters between Ghent and Leuven.

  At 08:53 on the dot she boarded the train, direction Welkenraedt, to Leuven.

  An hour and many thoughts and doubts about the day ahead later, she was in Leuven. Oh, the miracle of punctuality and a system that ran like clockwork!

  But now she had to find the Groot Begijnhof. She had half an hour to get there. According to the bus timetable she could take Bus 1 or 2. Bus 1 stopped first. A number of other passengers climbed aboard, but she managed to get a seat.

  Luc

  Leuven

  Luc was standing some distance away from the Fonske statue. If he could get confirmation that Caz’s South African phone was being monitored and she was being followed by the African man from the Graslei, at least he would know where they stood.

  He felt a little stupid wearing Herman’s cap, but covering his hair and wearing dark glasses had been all he could think of by way of a disguise. Just in case.

  So far no one had drawn his attention. No one looked as though they were keeping watch. There was a black man, but not the one from the Graslei, who had been an older man with a shaven head and very neatly dressed. This one was in his thirties and in casual clothes.

  The clock had struck ten a minute or so ago. He would wait a little longer.

  Luc’s gaze swept over the people near Fonske again, and then went wider. One man caught his eye, only because he also stood still, looking around. Medium height. Sturdily built. Mousy hair. Face in a serious frown. On his belt a kind of radio.

  Police, or just security?

  Luc drew a sharp breath when a tall black man came around the corner. He was wearing a hat but Luc could swear it was the man he had seen at the Graslei. Same height, same age. Neatly dressed.

  Luc took the spare phone from his pocket and pressed the button to send the message he had already composed. He had chosen the words carefully so that Caz wouldn’t be confused when she got it. A little late. See you in a while. TU.

  Sure enough, Mr. Graslei stopped to look at his phone.

  A movement to the right, where the man with the radio was, caught Luc’s eye. The man was also looking down at his phone.

  What now? The man with the mousy hair typed something and moments later the phone in Luc’s hand vibrated. Puzzled, he looked down. CC, it said on the screen. Fine.

  Luc’s eyes went to Mr. Graslei. Over a distance of fifteen meters their eyes met. The man turned on his heel and hurried away.

  Luc’s gaze flew to the man with the mousy hair. Their eyes met as well.

  He had Caz’s South African phone, Luc realized immediately. He had to be the detective. It could wait. Luc set off in pursuit of the man with the hat, who looked over his shoulder and stepped up the pace. Luc walked faster as well but a moment later a firm hand gripped his arm. He looked over his shoulder.

  “De Brabander. Where’s Ms. Colijn?”

  “Commissioner, there’s no time to explain. I must follow that man.” He motioned at Mr. Graslei who was merging with the crowd on the square.

  Luc pointed in his direction. “There, at the Town Hall. The black man. I think he’s monitoring Caz Colijn’s phone.”

  “Where is Ms. Colijn?”

  “Groot Begijnhof. Zwarte Zusters entrance.”

  “Go there and wait for me.” The detective dashed off in pursuit of Mr. Graslei, who had just vanished around a corner.

  Caz

  Leuven

  Most of the passengers got off at the Town Hall stop. Only she and a woman with an almost unnaturally thick mane of blonde hair remained, until an elderly man and his wife got on board. The bus driver apparently decided to wait for a young man in a suit who was running towards the bus, briefcase in hand, cellphone at his ear.

  Caz looked through the window and marveled again at the Gothic architecture of the Town Hall. How had they managed to build it? All those statues. So many of them. The details were so fine, it confounded the eye.

  Cars and bicycles flew past. A motorbike had to swerve when a cyclist cut in before him. The cyclist gave the biker with the dreadlocks a dirty look.

  Caz glanced at her watch when the bus pulled away. Ten past ten. She should be at her destination in less than ten minutes. Another ten minutes and she’d be meeting Tijl Uilenspiegel. Whoever he might be.

  Erevu

  Leuven

  The bloody professor had tricked him. Erevu turned into a side street, stood panting with his back to the wall. He expected the man to come jogging past any minute, but nothing happened.

  His cellphone beeped. Dove. He glanced quickly at the message. CC didn’t get off at town hall. Direction Naamsepoort.

  It had been an enormous relief when Dove had sent word, shortly after receiving Erevu’s message the night before, that he was on his way to Leuven. He had also sent the information about the bank where the safe-deposit box was. They were a team again.

  Erevu peered around the corner. No sign of the professor. But there was another man who stood looking around, his hands on his hips. Erevu ducked back behind the wall, took off his hat and put it on the pavement. A pity, it was an expensive hat.

  He texted hurriedly. Let me know where. He walked to the next corner and chose another side street, going in the general direction of Naamsepoort.

  What was going on? Why didn’t the Caz woman go to Fonske? Had they made an alternative plan? How?

  A good thing Dove had been following her from the Martelaereplein bus stop and had sent word earlier that she had her backpack with her. The key to the strongbox had to be inside. She had to be carrying it on her person, or they would have found it in her luggage. They had to get that key today. Their flights were leaving from Brussels tonight and without the key all would have been in vain.

  Hopefully Dove had got rid of the woman in the blonde wig who was evidently following the Caz woman.

  Zwarte Zusters Street, Begijn. Blondie out of action. The message came moments later, just as Erevu was leaving Pater Damiaanplein. According to the map of the city he had picked up at the tourist office, he could reach Zwarte Zusters Street via Redingen Street.

  On my way. Prof probably too. Stop him, delay as long as possible and keep him in sight. He’ll go down Naamse Street or maybe Schapen Street.

  Hopefully. And hopefully Dove would inte
rcept the professor. It would give him a chance to get the backpack. Today the spirits of his ancestors would have to come to his aid.

  Caz

  Leuven

  Caz came to a halt in front of the entrance to the Groot Begijnhof. The old buildings breathed an atmosphere of timeless peace and tranquillity, but there was also something mystical about them.

  In the courtyard, with its cobblestone pathways, it was cool and green. The surrounding walls looked centuries old. No wonder. The Begijn village dates from the thirteenth century, she read on the information posters.

  A picture of a woman writing, clad in something like a nun’s habit, caught her eye and she read through the rest of the information. She could imagine herself at a time when women resided in this serene semi-village inside the bigger city. There was an unusual silence between the high, unplastered walls of the buildings. For the first time in a long while she actually heard birds. Somewhere was the sound of running water.

  She looked at her watch again. She didn’t know how punctual TU would be, but she probably had another ten minutes before he would arrive. She followed a cobblestone pathway and found herself in a narrow alley between old buildings with niches and arched doorways. Whichever way she looked, it was a postcard in the making. Geraniums and other flowers made splashes of color on the old redbrick walls. A bicycle propped beside a grayish blue door looked almost staged for effect.

  She turned round and went back to the entrance. It was not a day for sightseeing. To pass the time and calm her nerves she focused her attention on the information posters.

  Luc

  Leuven

  Luc was irritated when the youngster with the dreadlocks and John Lennon glasses stopped him. Not only because he was pressed for time. The fellow had actually parked his motorcycle at the Pomp van ’t Groot Verdriet, before asking in faultless English whether Luc was familiar with the layout of the campus. When Luc explained that he was in a hurry, the fellow fell into step beside him, uninvited. He seemed in no hurry at all.

  After a lengthy search on his cellphone to find the right name, it turned out he was looking for Hogenheuvelcollege. It was only a short distance down Naamse Street and on Luc’s way to Zwarte Zusters Street, so he couldn’t very well refuse to show the fellow where to go, but Luc found it hard to reign in his impatience.

  “Here it is.” Luc pointed at the entrance to the complex. The fellow certainly didn’t look like a suitable candidate for the Economics and Business Science departments. On the other hand, appearance meant very little nowadays. Still, something about the student bothered him. Or was he just hypersensitive about any dark-skinned person who crossed his path?

  “Thank you very much. Could you also tell me where the university library is? I would like to go there later.”

  “On the Ladeuzeplein. It’s quite a walk. Maybe you should take your motorcycle. Just make sure you’re considerate and park it in a legal parking bay, not in front of any of the historic sights that tourists might want to photograph.”

  “Sorry, it never crossed my mind. But how do I get to Ladeuzeplein from here?”

  “The easiest route is through Sint-Donatuspark and across Hooverplein. It’s about a ten-minute walk. If you take your motorcycle, mind the one-way streets. The GPS on your cellphone will help you.” Luc wondered why the youngster hadn’t used it in the first place. It was the way young people operated nowadays. Everything was done electronically.

  The man with the dreadlocks nodded, but didn’t leave. “I understand the library was badly damaged in the Second World War?”

  “In the Battle of Leuven, yes. In 1940.” Luc looked at his watch. There was no time for small talk. He could just make it, but he’d have to hurry. When he looked up at the smiling student, something jogged his memory.

  “What are you planning to study?” Luc asked on the spur of the moment.

  There was a slight hesitation. “History. And Political Science.”

  Definitely not at Hogenheuvelcollege. And if this wasn’t the fellow who had carried the banner in front of the Aula in Ghent and later followed Caz, his name wasn’t Luc DeReu. The dreadlocks had initially misled him. Did Caz send him? But why?

  Luc remembered De Brabander’s warning last night. Could Caz be hand in glove with both these African men? Had she set a trap for him? Again: why?

  He would simply have to find out.

  Caz

  Leuven

  Caz turned sharply when she heard footsteps behind her.

  “Caz, I presume. Well, well, we’ve run into each other on a few occasions.” The man held out his hand. “TU.”

  Automatically she took his hand and looked at him, amazed. Surely it was too much of a coincidence. Ghent-Dampoort station, both on their way to Sint-Niklaas. Then again at the Graslei.

  His smile was white against his dark complexion. There were fine drops of sweat on his forehead.

  “You’re TU?” Stupid question. How else would he know about TU and that she was there?

  “The very one. Shall we walk?” He motioned toward the area she had earlier explored.

  A student came from the front, his attention on the cellphone in his hand. Caz waited until he had passed.

  “The path is narrow, you lead the way,” TU suggested before they set off.

  Where the path led into the alley between the buildings he fell into step beside her.

  “How do you know Luc DeReu?” she asked and hoped the suspicion she felt wasn’t showing.

  “We met at a seminar on colonialism. Had an interesting conversation. My ancestors were victims, while some of his forefathers had been enforcers. Life is strange.”

  She expected him to mention Ammie Pauwels, but they walked in silence through the narrow streets.

  Midway onto a bridge he stopped. The canal it spanned had to be the source of the soft murmur of water she had heard. Down below some dry leaves were whirling in the flow. Red brick buildings rose up high on either side of the canal, their walls green with moss. Creepers clung to the walls in places. She felt chilly and rubbed her arms; winter was in the air. She steeled herself against what was coming. Information on how and why she had been given away. Who and what her birth mother was. Hopefully also some information on her biological father.

  The man turned to her. “That backpack looks heavy. Can I carry it for you?”

  Was he playing for time? “Don’t bother, thanks. I’m used to it.” She tried to keep her voice even but an instinct inside her was vibrating more strongly by the second. It wasn’t a good vibration. The Begijnhof is a residential quarter for students and lecturers, she had read. It was the middle of the morning at the start of the academic year. There was no one else around.

  She took a step back. “Maybe we should go?” Her voice was shaky.

  The man sighed and shook his head. “It could have been so much easier.”

  His words had barely registered when he stepped forward and his fist struck the side of her head.

  Twenty-seven

  Luc

  Leuven

  Luc was a few minutes late. There was no sign of Caz.

  He sat down on a bench from where he could watch the entrance. He considered calling De Brabander, but saw that the number the commissioner had used the night before belonged to a landline. It wouldn’t be any good. The detective had Caz’s phone, but he didn’t dare send a message while Mr. Graslei was monitoring it.

  He texted Caz on her new phone to hear where she was, but got no reply.

  By the time he realized she was ten minutes late, worry had begun to gnaw at him. She might have got lost or missed a train, but surely she would have let him know?

  Moments later Luc jumped up when De Brabander came hastening towards him. Despite the cool morning, sweat was pouring down his temples.

  “Did you see him?” the commissioner asked
breathlessly.

  “The African?”

  De Brabander nodded.

  “No. I thought you were following him.”

  “I did, but he got away.”

  “Verdorie.”

  “You can say that again. Besides, Agent Verhoef, who was following Ms. Colijn, has lost her too. Verhoef was almost run over by a student on a motorcycle. When she jumped out of the way, she fell. When she looked up again to see where Ms. Colijn was, she was gone. And of course she didn’t know where your new meeting place was. Unfortunately she didn’t tell me straightaway. She looked everywhere, without success.”

  “The student on the motorcycle. Did he have dreadlocks?” Luc asked.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Luc gave him a brief account of the young man on the motorcycle. Also that he suspected it was the same fellow he had seen in Ghent. First at the Aula and then talking to Caz.

  “Damn! It must be the same bugger who almost ran over Verhoef. She did mention something about dreadlocks. There was also an incident here in Leuven last week when an eyewitness saw Ms. Colijn in conversation with a street musician with dreadlocks. Though apparently he was an older man.”

  Luc frowned. “You still consider Caz Colijn a suspect?”

  De Brabander nodded. “I suspect the man who was at the Fonske is her accomplice. His appearance matches a description a woman in the Colijns’ neighborhood gave of an older African man who moved into Tieneke Colijn’s rental home before Ms. Colijn’s arrival. There’s also a younger black man who’s involved. Maybe the one who stopped you, though the description I have said nothing about dreadlocks.”

  “A wig he and the older man both wear?”

  De Brabander nodded. “Could be.”

  Luc frowned. “I’m just wondering. Say the youngster who stopped me was deliberately trying to delay me? Wanted me to be late for my meeting with Caz?” It would mean ... he looked at De Brabander. The commissioner seemed to have come to the same conclusion.