Luc
Ghent
Luc put down the cellphone with a deep sigh. What was going on with Ammie today of all days? She was not usually the weepy type, yet Lieve had just told him she arrived this morning to find Ammie crying, and the tears just kept flowing. Ammie refused to say what was making her so sad.
Hopefully Lieve would phone as soon as she determined what the problem was. It couldn’t be good for Ammie’s health.
But now he had to focus on his lectures. He had another one in half an hour and he didn’t feel sufficiently prepared. Yesterday had been a full day.
The Godparents’ and the parents’ evenings had both gone reasonably well, even though things were awkward between Laura and himself. But for Laura duty came first and it was clear that she had set her emotions aside. He appreciated it. How things would ultimately work out for them, he couldn’t say.
What he did know was that he was fed-up with complications. That was why he had decided to cut all ties with Caz Colijn. He would do what De Brabander asked him regarding the case, but that was all. Caz Colijn would have to muddle along on her own.
When the phone rang again five minutes later he closed his eyes in frustration. He had just got going.
“Yes, Lieve? Did Ammie tell you what’s wrong?”
“It’s not Lieve, Professor DeReu, and I don’t know whether Ammie told her anything. It’s Caz Colijn here. Can we please stop playing games?”
Luc looked at the screen. CC-new. Of course. She could use her Belgian phone. He had given her his regular number. What an idiot! He considered ending the call, but took a deep breath instead.
“Are you there?” Her voice was husky. A sexy kind of husky.
“I’m here. And, yes, I realize the so-called game is up. I had my reasons for misleading you, making you think I was someone else.” He could barely remember what they were.
“I’m not interested in your reasons. As long as we can behave like grown-ups. I’m not interested in a second-hand version of events either. I want to meet Ammie Pauwels. Preferably before someone gets an urge to chuck me into a river again.”
A lump had formed inside him. “Ammie is unwell.”
“And when might she be well again?”
Her sarcasm instantly infuriated him. “What, Ms. Colijn, makes you think I would consider introducing you to Ammie? Wherever you go you leave a trail of blood and chaos.” He instantly regretted the melodrama, but it was too late.
“At least I don’t sexually harass my students and ruin their futures. I just kill people and move on.”
He gasped. Where in hell had she heard the Suri story?
“Professor DeReu, I presume you’re intelligent enough to understand that I categorically deny ever in my life having committed a murder or being an accessory to murder.”
“I’m quite intelligent enough to understand that. And I categorically deny ever having harassed a woman—sexually or otherwise—or ruined anyone’s career.”
“If you give me the benefit of the doubt, I’ll do the same.”
“We don’t have to believe each other. Fact remains, Ammie is not well. She’s had a setback. Remember, she’s eighty-two.”
“I’m sorry to hear about the setback, but her advanced age also means I can’t wait forever.” He heard her sigh. “Look, Professor, it’s my birthday today. In other words today, fifty-three years ago, Ammie gave birth to me. It is my first birthday after finding out she’s my birth mother. It’s the kind of day when one has more questions than usual. Such as: How could she simply abandon her newborn baby and leave? Where do I actually come from? I want to know and I want to hear it from her.”
“I understand that you want to know. But I don’t understand why you want to meet her. She rejected you. Doesn’t want anything to do with you. Why punish yourself?” The cruelty of his words shocked even himself, but it was the truth. Perhaps it was less cruel than hearing from her birth mother how she hated Caz, that she was the bearer of killer genes.
A drawn-out silence followed.
“It’s not only about me. I want her to look me in the eye and tell me why my daughter is black.”
He nearly dropped the phone. He managed to catch it in time and put it back to his ear. “What?”
“Black. My daughter is black. It’s the politically correct way of referring to the color of her skin. Are you a racist, Professor?”
Luc nearly choked. “Naturally not.”
“If you’re truly not a racist, there’s very little that’s natural about it. Racism—and I’m not talking about racial hatred, rather about the view that one’s own race is superior—is actually a very natural reaction. It boils down to ‘us’ and ‘them’. Just like sexism: Venus and Mars. Religion: the saved and the unsaved. In fact, it’s also in the nature of competitive sport. War. Any conflict or otherness.”
“Thanks for the lecture, Ms. Colijn, but the fact remains that I’m not a racist. Neither am I a sexist. And though I was raised a Catholic, I’m more or less agnostic. Of sport I know just about as little as I know of war. Okay, your daughter is black and you want to ask Ammie why. You probably want to know who your father is. It’s understandable, but I can find out for you.” Or rather, decide how much to tell you.
“It’s a little more complex, Professor. You see, my daughter doesn’t only want to know who her grandfather is. She wants to trace her entire family tree. She wants to know how much black and how much white blood are in her ancestry. Only Ammie will know. And I want to hear it from her in person, not from you.”
“May I ask why your daughter needs so much detail?”
“No.” There was a short pause. “Okay, fine. She wants to have children. There’s a professor of genetics who can help her work out how big the risk is of having a white child. It’s important to her.”
The louder tick of the wall clock made Luc look up. Damn, his lecture.
“I’m sorry, but I’m already late for class. I’ll think about it. Speak to Ammie. I’ll call you when I know more. Have to run.”
“I can find out where she lives. I know it’s in Leuven. I want to hear from you today, or I’ll take matters into my own hands. Goodbye, Professor.”
Luc stuffed the cellphone in his coat pocket, grabbed his briefcase, remembered the printout of his lecture notes just in time and rushed out through his office door.
Caz
Ghent
Why she hadn’t realized long before now that she could phone out on her Belgian phone, she didn’t know. It only dawned on her after De Brabander’s call. Then she also remembered that she actually had DeReu’s number, not the number of some phantom friend.
On the other hand, she had nearly forgotten her own birthday. If it hadn’t been for Lilah’s message, it might have passed her by entirely.
Caz didn’t know how she felt about Lilah and Aubrey’s strong feelings about the possibility of having a white child. They were willing to accept shades of brown or black, but not white.
Up to a point, Caz understood their view, but it wasn’t as if they were dealing with a bloody congenital disease. Of course she knew from personal experience how hard it would be for them, and certainly for the child as well, but should it stop them if they really wanted to have a child? Well, at least they were prepared for the possibility, not like Hentie and herself, who had never dreamed their child would not be white.
Going by the information Lilah had given him on the Maritz and Colijn families, the professor in genetics had declared it impossible for Lilah to be black. If a freak occurrence had taken place, however, and if Lilah really came from all-white ancestry, chances were excellent that she and Aubrey might have a white child. Especially as Aubrey’s mother had mixed blood herself.
Ammie Pauwels had to have the answers. Caz’s threat hadn’t been an idle one. She would find the woman herself if she had to. It wasn
’t only about her or the bloody contents of the strongbox any more. More than anything, she was fighting for her child’s happiness.
Yesterday afternoon she had moved her flight forward to the thirteenth, unfortunately only two days ahead of time, but it made a difference. It would mean she had until the twelfth to discover what she could over here. And on the fourteenth she would know exactly what was in that bloody box.
Any plans and decisions would have to wait until then. But before she left here, she wanted to look Ammie Pauwels in the eye. That was non-negotiable.
Luc
Ghent
Luc was relieved to see that the students were still waiting for him in the lecture hall and he was happy to hear a group arguing about the way the Congo’s independence was handled.
“What did they expect?” Nele Sluyck asked the student behind her. “The colonialists refused to train the évolués properly or allow them to progress beyond an internship. Then they suddenly say: Here you go, here’s your country. Do as you please with it. Sort out your own problems. We wash our hands.”
She fell silent when she noticed the others looking at her with wide eyes. She turned and blushed when she realized Luc had been listening.
“A valid argument, Miss Sluyck.” He put down his briefcase and lecture notes, and leaned with his elbow on the lectern. “What do the rest of you think?”
A lively debate ensued. At times he had to intervene, but mostly he just facilitated the exchange of opinions through questions and hypothetical answers, occasionally playing devil’s advocate.
Now and again, while the students were presenting hackneyed arguments, his mind wandered. He remembered Ammie’s account of Elijah’s murder. On the same day and at more or less the same time that Patrice Lumumba was murdered.
It must be terrible to see your beloved shot dead before your eyes. By your lawful husband, besides. At the time Ammie didn’t know she was pregnant. Her conflicting emotions when she did find out must have exhausted her emotionally. Especially since she didn’t know whose child she was carrying.
Today was that child’s birthday. Was that why Ammie had burst into tears today of all days? Could she have been crying on this day for the past fifty-three years?
“Don’t you get it?” a louder voice got through to him. “Many of the colonialists you are reviling now happen to be our forefathers. You are accusing our grandparents of those atrocities, for crying out loud.”
Luc realized he would have to step in again. He would worry about Ammie and Caz later.
Caz
Ghent
Babette avoided Caz’s eyes when she entered the shop, and muttered a reply to her greeting.
Caz took a bottle of sparkling wine and a six-pack of Lindemans from the shelf. Bread, cheese and ham. Erdem had butter. Not exactly a birthday feast, but she didn’t feel up to going to a restaurant with her eye looking the way it did and Grevers watching her.
She wondered whether Grevers had followed her on foot. She didn’t want to look over her shoulder on her way to the shop.
Babette didn’t meet her gaze while she rung up the items.
“Were you able to identify the two men who rented from Tieneke?” Caz asked and hoped she didn’t sound as irritable as she felt. What was up with the woman? She was the one who’d been telling tales, after all, blackening Caz’s name.
“I’m sure it’s confidential,” came the curt reply.
Caz reined herself in. “I’ve been wanting to thank you for your kindness the day we found out about Tieneke. But things have been a bit chaotic since Sunday. As I’m sure you understand.”
Babette shoved the change across the counter and looked up at last. Her eyes widened slightly, probably at the sight of Caz’s shiner, but her gaze was filled with venom. “That was before I realized you’re in cahoots with those savages. To think I felt sorry for you.”
For a moment Caz was speechless. It was one thing to be suspected by De Brabander. It was completely different to understand she’d already been convicted by an outsider. Someone she had been on friendly terms with.
“Babette ...”
Babette silenced her with an angry shake of the head. “I’d appreciate it if you left my shop. Now.” Something like a sob came from her. “Sparkling wine! You’re drinking sparkling wine before your victim has even been buried. It’s shameful.”
“As far as I know, Tieneke’s body hasn’t been made available for burial yet. As for the reason behind the sparkling wine, it’s my birthday and against all odds, I am still alive. Goodbye, Babette.”
Caz left, blinded by tears of rage. Let Babette think her judgmental thoughts and to hell with De Brabander and Luc DeReu. She knew what she knew. And what she didn’t know, she was bloody well going to find out. As soon as possible. Fuck them all.
Luc
Damme
After getting home late three nights in a row and spending two nights in Leuven, it was a relief to arrive home in daylight. Some of his plants looked wilted and the patio was covered in dust and dry leaves. He hadn’t attended to the garden and greenhouse since Saturday and then it had been a rushed affair. It felt like an eternity ago.
Considering what had happened since then, it was an eternity ago.
Lieve had sent a message to say Ammie was calmer and her speech wasn’t so slurred any more, but she was still miserable and refused to talk about it.
He had to phone De Brabander, find out where things stood before he could even think of making a decision about a possible meeting between Caz and Ammie. Fortunately he had a good rapport with the detective since the events at the Begijnhof and Brussels.
“No new developments, but some progress, yes.” De Brabander sounded tired. “We hope to make Miss Colijn’s body available to the undertakers tomorrow. The post mortem has been completed. There’s no doubt it was murder, not manslaughter. We have evidence that the tenants in the house next door were involved, but we can’t prove yet that Matari and this Njiwa youngster were those tenants. If Miss Colijn kept a register of the tenants, it has gone missing.
“We’re waiting for forensic results. In the meantime we’re looking for Njiwa. Unfortunately there were no African surnames on passenger lists of flights leaving Brussels at the time. There’s no first-year from the DRC registered at the university and the single one from South Africa is white.”
Luc wasn’t surprised. “In Leuven he also pretended to be a student. Undoubtedly another lie. Weren’t the results of the identity parade conclusive? Could Babette identify them as the tenants?”
De Brabander hesitated. “I might as well tell you. Ms. Colijn was spot-on and so were you. Babette identified Matari without the dreadlocks but not with the wig. She was only eighty per cent sure the youngster she saw next door to Miss Colijn resembled Njiwa’s identikit. Apparently she never really saw his face and always from a distance.
“It means we don’t have irrefutable evidence that it was Matari and Njiwa who stayed in the house next door and were involved in the murder. The mvet alone isn’t enough. If they were indeed the perpetrators, and I have little doubt they were, Njiwa must have committed the murder, as Matari was in Leuven at the time of Miss Colijn’s death.”
“And the assault?”
“There we’re on solid ground. We know it was Matari, but he’s making it very hard for us with his silence. Your evidence in that regard is very valuable. But of course the first prize would be if the fingerprints on Ms. Colijn’s possessions match Matari’s.
“Unfortunately there’s no evidence that he was the one who monitored Ms. Colijn’s cellphone. The only phone we found on him was brand new and unused. Not a single number on the SIM card. Which raises suspicion, but doesn’t prove anything. Besides, we have only Ms. Colijn’s word that he pretended to be TU.”
“Any further news about her? Ms. Colijn?” He tried to make it sound l
ike a casual enquiry.
“We’ve been in contact with the Stanford police in South Africa. They’re still convinced she forgot to activate the alarm and that so-called tikkoppe were responsible for the burglary at her house. They didn’t take fingerprints. Bizarre, but true. Our IT man tried to identify the second user on Ms Colijn’s laptop but the person has vanished into thin air and cleaned up after himself.”
Luc didn’t really know what De Brabander was talking about. Perhaps the commissioner was under the impression he knew more than was actually the case. Perhaps he was just tired.
“What I actually want to hear, Commissioner, is whether you think Caz Colijn is a danger to others. She wants to meet Ammie Pauwels. Among other things, she wants to know if Ammie can cast light on the fact that she, Caz, has a ... an unusual daughter.” He remembered just in time that it might be confidential.
“We know about Lilah. That she’s black. Beautiful young woman. Truly breathtaking.”
Luc wondered how he knew what the daughter looked like, but chose not to ask.
“Ms. Colijn and her daughter probably have the right to ask about their ancestry, Professor. I don’t think Ms. Colijn herself is capable of physical violence. How badly she might upset your stepmother, well, that I can’t predict. But it may help you to know we’re having Ms. Colijn watched. So far she hasn’t done anything suspicious. Walked to the corner shop once, that’s all. Now you’ll have to excuse me. I hope to spend tonight with my wife and children for a change.”
“Of course. I’m sorry I kept you.”
“No problem. Have a good evening.”
Luc hesitated a moment, then typed a message. Will speak to Ammie tomorrow. She’s still not well. If she doesn’t agree, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you don’t get to see her. But if she’s willing, I won’t stand in your way.
It’s a little late, but happy birthday. Luc.
Her reply came within moments.
Could we please stop threatening each other? And please speak to Ammie as soon as possible, it’s urgent. Thanks for the birthday wish. Caz.
Sacrificed Page 34
