Sacrificed

by Chanette Paul

  It was not hard to guess the nature of the business she’d be doing.

  But Dove didn’t know that since then the Caz woman had literally and figuratively been through deep waters and would hopefully never catch any flight again.

  He didn’t want to tell Dove the Caz woman’s body was probably at the bottom of the Dijle. He would have liked to make certain she was well and truly dead, but there had been no time. DeReu or a student or tourist could have turned up at any time. She had been out like a light, that he knew. He had seen her sink.

  So near and yet so far. No, he simply had to get that key. A long road lay ahead, even after they were in possession of the nkísi. And the sacred mission was waiting.

  Luc

  Leuven

  “Good day. De Brabander. I believe you’re actually Professor DeReu?” His voice sounded wary on the phone.

  “Please call me Luc, Commissioner. It’s easier.” Luc had just reached his car. He ran his hand over his tired eyes. Early tomorrow morning he had to be in Ghent. He had no other option, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty. As if he was leaving Ammie to her fate. Despite the night nurse and Lieve’s assurance that the doctor was an acquaintance who lived nearby and that she herself would be on standby.

  To make matters worse, Caz was in hospital. Where she might not have been if he hadn’t allowed himself to be sidetracked by that kid with the dreadlocks. Fool that he was.

  “Professor, I need your help.”

  Luc gave an inward sigh. He was not going to be called by his name. Sometimes the decorum in this country exhausted him. “I’m on my way back to Damme, Commissioner. It’s where I live.”

  “Would you mind making a small detour?”

  “Where to?”

  “Brussels airport. You’ll be taking the Brussels ring-road anyway.”

  It was indeed not far out of his way, but how much time would it take? It was four o’clock now and the traffic would be a nightmare. “What do you want me to do there?”

  “Help me spot someone you’ll recognize more easily than I will.”

  Mr. Graslei. “It sounds like a shot in the dark.”

  “It is. My reasoning is that the man who stole Ms. Colijn’s backpack has found what he was after and now wants to get away as quickly as possible. Back to Africa.”

  “What do you think was in that backpack that he wanted so badly?”

  “Probably money or some kind of payment for services rendered.”

  “What makes you think he isn’t a Belgian citizen or legal resident? Or that he won’t be flying from Amsterdam or any other international airport in the EU?”

  “Sometimes one has to hazard a guess and follow it up. The chances are slim, but they exist. We found a number of items from the backpack. We found the backpack as well. Ms. Colijn has already identified it as hers. Even if there are fingerprints, which I doubt, it will take a while to get results, and his prints won’t necessarily be in the system. We’re still waiting for feedback on the prints in the rental home and Ms. Colijn’s house.

  “Another thing. There are several flights to Johannesburg, and others connecting with flights going there, but those that might be possibilities are leaving just after six and around eleven tonight. If he’s on the early flight, he should already be at the airport. Two hours ahead of departure. With Ms. Colijn in hospital, you’re the only one who can identify him.”

  “And if he’s not there, or if he’s on the later flight?”

  “Then we’ll see.”

  “Why flights to Johannesburg, exactly?” Luc frowned.

  Something wasn’t right. De Brabander was clearly not acting on a mere hunch. Did someone tip him off? Who?

  “I have my reasons. You must still give me Ms. Colijn’s credit cards anyway.”

  True. With all the fuss about Ammie, Luc had forgotten. “Okay, but I can’t stay long. Where shall we meet?”

  Caz

  Leuven

  The headache was more bearable, but her thoughts were still fuzzy. Just as well she had taken the extra medical cover her travel agent had suggested.

  Luckily there hadn’t been much cash in her wallet: thirty euros at most. The money was missing, but at least she still had her laptop. Or she would have it, as soon as the fingerprint experts had finished with it. A few other things had also been found. She didn’t know yet what they were, but if Luc DeReu had her credit cards, as De Brabander had said, it would make her life considerably easier.

  If only she could sleep and get a good rest, she might be able to figure out what had happened. But she hadn’t been able to. If it wasn’t De Brabander appearing at her bedside, it was a nurse who kept waking her up. Apparently standard procedure with concussion patients.

  De Brabander had said something about a young man. Black. Someone had mentioned something to him about a meeting she had with the young man. At the Graslei.

  She tried to focus, to break through the pain and fuzziness. Young man. Black. Graslei. Njiwa? But they had met by chance. Surely Njiwa couldn’t have anything to do with the man who attacked her?

  Damn it, her thoughts were too jumbled to even try to make sense. Her head was aching too much. Caz tried to relax. Tomorrow she might be able to think again.

  Erevu

  Brussels

  “I’m going through, Nkoko. Please don’t take any unnecessary risks. Stay here. We’ll get that key. We have a plan.”

  Erevu nodded. “Yes, we have a plan. Go well, Dove.”

  “We’ll see each other on October the fourteenth, in Pretoria, Nkoko. Remember. No contact until then. If there’s a problem, we contact Jela. Only if we have to.”

  Erevu nodded again. “No contact.”

  He wished Dove would go through security now. Luckily the line was short. His time was running out. He was definitely not leaving that key behind. He put his arms around his grandson and embraced him.

  Dove smiled and headed off.

  Erevu followed him with his eyes. There went his future. The future of the Congo after his grandfather had taken the first steps to save the country from ruin. There was still a long way to go but already they were closer to their goal. The nkísi, the vessels containing his forefathers’ spirits that his uncle had made so many years ago, were within reach for the first time in decades. It was an important step forward.

  Mama Tabia had complicated things for them. She had never thought any further than getting even with the man she detested. But at least she had kept some of the diamonds. The stones had enabled her to send him and his half-sister to school in Belgium.

  She thought she was doing them a favor by giving them a European education, all the while trying her best to follow the traditional ways herself. In a way it was a good thing. He could hold his own in any company. He spoke five languages: Flemish, Congo-French, English, Lingala and Swahili. He didn’t have to take a back seat to any white person. Yet the heartbeat of Africa pulsed through his veins. Tradition was of the utmost importance. That was why he had returned to the Congo after completing his high-school career and obtaining an education diploma.

  His half-sister, on the other hand, had become a true European and stayed on in Belgium. Even married a Belgian.

  He couldn’t depend on her, never mind confide in her. No, he could trust no one. Even Dove and Jela didn’t know everything, especially not what the full magnitude of the nkísi heritage was or what it could mean to the Alice Auma Lakwena Holy Army. AALHA. His dream.

  Dove waved from beyond the security gates. He was through. Erevu raised his hand in a salute and turned.

  A taxi would be fastest.

  Luc

  Brussel

  The final call for a flight to Amsterdam was being made when Luc saw the detective standing in the appointed place. De Brabander noticed him too and came walking towards him.

  �
�I think I saw him, but I can’t do anything if I’m not sure it’s him.” The detective didn’t waste time with preliminaries. “He’s not the only black man around, but he’s the only one who answers to the description I have. He went outside. I asked Grevers to keep an eye on him so that I could wait here for you. Come.” Luc fell into step beside him while De Brabander spoke to Grevers on the radio.

  “Taxi rank? Stop him. Delay him.” De Brabander cursed. “No, I can’t bloody well be sure before DeReu has identified him. Just stop him!” He broke into a run.

  Luc followed suit.

  Erevu

  Brussels

  It was the radio in the man’s hand that made him realize he had unwanted company.

  Erevu knew he shouldn’t run. The man looked unsure, and running would attract too much attention. He lengthened his strides. He had just reached the taxi when he saw the man hurrying towards him.

  He jumped in. “Ghent!” he said.

  The taxi driver turned to look at him. “Ghent? That’s a long trip. Where in Ghent?”

  “Just go!”

  The man with the radio knocked on the passenger window.

  “Go!” Erevu ordered firmly.

  The driver hesitated and looked from the man at the window to Erevu. He put the car in gear and began to pull away.

  The next moment someone hammered on the trunk. The driver stepped on the brake.

  “No! Go!” Erevu shouted.

  Police identification was slammed against the driver’s window. “Out!” came the order. “Get out at once. Slowly. Put your hands on your head.”

  The driver switched off the engine and obeyed.

  Erevu gave a deep sigh and remained where he was for a moment. There were three people around the car now. He ducked his head to see who was standing at the driver’s side. The man with the mousy hair looked familiar.

  When he recognized DeReu he knew the game was up. DeReu—the only person except the Caz woman who could identify both him and Dove.

  With the instinct of someone who knew how to betray and had been betrayed before, Erevu knew in an instant the true reason for Dove’s nervousness, his sudden efficiency at wiping out tracks, his insistence that Erevu stay where he was.

  He had been prepared to make Dove a sacrificial lamb for the sake of the cause. He had been grateful when it proved not to be necessary, but he had been foolish not to realize that Dove, in turn, was ready to sacrifice his grandfather.

  Dove, Dove, Dove. Now everything was truly lost. Dove would wait for the Caz woman and she would never show up. She couldn’t have survived that well-aimed blow and the cold water, with nowhere to get out. She was a woman. A white woman. They knew nothing of survival.

  It was the mousy-haired man, whom he now recognized from the morning’s confusion, who opened his door.

  Erevu raised his hands in a defensive gesture and got out. He would have to keep his wits about him like never before.

  The second time he was ordered to place his hands on his head, he complied. His eyes met DeReu’s.

  “Is he the one?” asked the mousy-haired man.

  DeReu nodded. “He’s the one.”

  Twenty-nine

  Luc

  Ghent

  If he reached Damme before midnight he’d be lucky. Luc had made his statement, providing details of the two occasions he had seen the black man.

  He had not laid eyes on De Brabander again after the commissioner had asked him in Brussels to go to the police station in Ghent. Apparently the commissioner had sent a message asking Luc to wait for him.

  At least the night nurse had called to say Ammie was sleeping peacefully.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when at last the door opened.

  “I apologize for making you wait, Professor.” De Brabander sat down at the table and linked his fingers. Short, stubby fingers, Luc noticed. “I must ask you to be present at an identity parade tomorrow. You’ll have to officially identify the accused from a line-up of five men with more-or-less similar features. Believe me, it won’t be easy finding four others.”

  “I won’t be free before the afternoon.”

  De Brabander nodded. “I’ll arrange it to suit you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Does the name Erevu Matari mean anything to you?”

  Luc shook his head. “Is that the man’s name?”

  “According to his passport, yes. We found something interesting in his hand luggage. A primitive harp, which could mean he’s a musician, and a wig.”

  “Dreadlocks?”

  De Brabander smiled. “Correct. The chances are good that he was the street musician Ms. Colijn met in Leuven. DNA tests will hopefully determine whether more than one person wore the wig. The young man on the motorcycle for instance.”

  “How did you know he’d be at the airport?” Luc was too tired to beat about the bush. “It couldn’t have been a lucky guess.”

  De Brabander gave a slight smile and took a cellphone from his shirt pocket. “I had Ms. Colijn’s phone with me.” He pushed a few buttons and turned the screen so Luc could read the message. Brussel-Jhb. Etihad. @airport.

  “Private number, of course.”

  Luc frowned. “Who could have sent it? Surely not Matari himself.”

  “If Babette from the corner shop identifies Erevu Matari tomorrow as the man who rented a room from Tieneke Colijn, I guess it was the young man who stayed there with him. Presumably the same one who tried to delay you in Leuven and thus also the one you saw in conversation with Cassandra Colijn at the Graslei.”

  “Matari’s accomplice?”

  “To what degree we don’t know, but yes, I believe we can speak of complicity. I don’t know whether he deliberately betrayed Matari or whether he didn’t know we had Cassandra Colijn’s phone. If the message was meant for Ms. Colijn there are a few pertinent questions she’ll have to answer, of course.”

  “Why would he betray Matari—if it was deliberate?” asked Luc.

  “Presumably to buy time to get away. Possibly with whatever it was Matari took from Caz Colijn.”

  “What happened to the young man?”

  “My guess is he’s on a plane right now.”

  “Guess? Doesn’t this Erevu know?”

  “Erevu isn’t talking. He’s insisting on his right to remain silent and he’s refusing legal representation.”

  Luc thought for a moment. “So he’s protecting the man who betrayed him?”

  “I think he’s chiefly protecting himself and only by default the young man. It’s possible he’s also protecting Cassandra Colijn.”

  “How is she?”

  “Fine, in the circumstances. She will probably be discharged tomorrow morning. We hope she can give us more information.” De Brabander scratched his chin. “I want to thank you for getting us out of that tight spot at the Dijle. Pointing out the stairs. Calling the emergency services and getting them to send a boat.”

  “It was all I could think of doing. You are the hero who dived in, who put your life on the line.”

  The detective snorted. “My life was never in danger. It was hardly heroism. I just didn’t want my chief suspect to drown before I could lock her up.”

  Luc laughed, but De Brabander didn’t move a muscle. Clearly the man was absolutely serious.

  “You still suspect her?” Luc thought of Caz with the young man at the Graslei. With the older man in Leuven. The information sent to her phone. It was a stupid question, actually.

  De Brabander got up. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

  Luc looked at his watch. Tomorrow was almost here and he still had to drive home. Spending any more time on his lecture was out of the question. He would simply have to face the students’ yawns and bored expressions tomorrow. Still, it was certainly better than being in Cassandra Colijn�
�s shoes. Guilty or not guilty.

  Tuesday, September 30

  Caz

  Ghent

  Caz felt self-conscious about her eye, which was a curious shade of blue, and swollen almost shut. Her temple was so sensitive that she could barely run her fingers through her hair.

  But those were only a few of her numerous aches and pains. Her entire body, every muscle and sinew, ached. Her nails were broken to the quick, her fingertips were raw and her hands were covered in cuts.

  She supposed she should be grateful she wasn’t worse off. The doctor who discharged her told her rest was the best medicine. Not that De Brabander seemed inclinced to give her any.

  Grevers had fetched her at the hospital but, instead of taking her to Erdem’s house, he had brought her to the interview room at the Ghent police station.

  “Good morning, Ms. Colijn. How are you feeling this morning?” De Brabander asked as he entered the room. She could see it was just a perfunctory question.

  “Good morning, Commissioner. I’m alive. Thanks to you.”

  “Part of my job. Besides, anyone would have done the same in the circumstances.” He downplayed the matter with a wave of his hand. “Please sit.”

  She had scarcely taken a seat when De Brabander began bombarding her with questions about the man at Groot Begijnhof. He was after every detail of the assault and what had led to it. Where she had seen the attacker before. What her impressions of him were.

  After what seemed like the hundredth question, he looked at her pensively. “Okay. You saw him at the Ghent-Dampoort station and he was on the same train to Sint-Niklaas. You saw him again at the Graslei, and for the last time at the Groot Begijnhof, when he posed as TU. Have I got it right?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you think he could also have been the man who was making music at the bus stop in Leuven?”

  “I don’t think so. The street musician had dreadlocks. His clothes were also different.”

  “But the rest? His features? Build?”