by Mark Hobson
Stacking up her breakfast things and leaving them on the table – presumably he would return and collect them at some point – Nina stepped back into the sleeping section of the basement, her bedroom she guessed she should call it, and opened the wardrobe and chest of drawers.
Inside she saw freshly laundered and folded t-shirts and pyjamas, socks and undergarments, jumpers and tops, and hanging up on coat hangers were a variety of jeans and leggings and a dressing gown, thicker fleeces and cardigans. At the bottom there were several pairs of footwear such as deck shoes, plimsolls, and some pink fluffy slippers. There were other items such as clean sheets and spare blankets for the bed, a hot water bottle, sanitary products and soaps and shampoos, even a cuddly teddy bear tucked up on a shelf.
In one of the drawers was a paper laundry bag. She quickly changed, putting on fresh clothes and hoping he wasn’t spying on her – strangely, she sensed he wasn’t – and dumped her old clothes into the bag, but she kept back her running shoes and tucked them under her bed. Then she dropped the dirty laundry by the table.
Next Nina decided to explore her new surroundings.
First of all, she went over to the couch and sat staring at the TV. Reaching for the remote, she pressed the power button and the screen came to life. She’d intended to go straight to the news channels RTL.NL or BVN TV, hoping to see something about herself or her parents on the breakfast news shows. But as soon as the screen lit up her heart sank. The television set was pre-tuned to channel AV1. There was no HDMI1 or HDMI2 channels, and no way to change it either, plus there was no smart TV fire stick plugged into the side. Which meant there was no way to watch any of the regular stations or shows. All she would be able to watch were DVDs. There was no way she could follow the news or find out anything about the outside world.
Sighing in frustration, she turned it off.
She wandered over to the bookshelf and browsed through the contents. A few magazines mostly either about fashion or celeb gossip, a few old National Geographic brochures, some puzzle books, plus some paperback fiction novels aimed mostly at the young-adult market. There was a good choice of DVDs including comedy movies, chick-flicks, boxed-sets of TV series, a few sci-fi movies, James Bond, the Jason Bourne series and so on. Finally there were half a dozen jigsaws, mostly of castles or medieval village scenes. She picked one at random – it had a snowy Neuschwanstein Castle surrounded by forests on the front, 1000 pieces long, which she decided would at least give her something to do. Taking it over to the table, Nina sat in the chair from where she could see the door, opened the box up and tipped out the pieces.
As she was sorting them out a little and finding a few of the edge pieces, her eyes flicked over to the cage below the wooden staircase, and immediately she averted her gaze. That was the one part of her new surroundings she didn’t want to think about just yet.
She spent a couple of hours working on the jigsaw. It was more difficult than she thought and was quite slow going, but she managed to get most of the surrounding frame completed with just a few final pieces to link it up which she hadn’t found yet. She started to grow a little bit bored with it and so decided to find something to read.
Picking up one of the puzzle books, she flicked through it and thought it might be worth a try, but then she realized she needed a pen or pencil which she didn’t have, and so she put it back. Silly of him to leave it if she couldn’t do the puzzles.
Next, she pulled out one of the paperbacks. Some slim book apparently written for the teenage reader, something about dragon-eggs and a curse, which kinda sounded ok, if a little babyish even though technically she wasn’t even a teenager yet, and she lay down on the bed and started to read.
After a half-hour she nodded off and awoke with a start, looking quickly around the basement. Her heart was racing away, and it took her a few seconds for her mind to get up to speed, and only when she was sure she was still alone did her nerves settle again.
Getting to her feet she placed the book down on her pillow for later and was just deciding whether or not to watch a movie to pass the time when she heard footsteps overhead and she tensed up all over again.
Once more the door opened and the man with the hood stomped his way down the stairs. Silently he placed her evening meal on the table, careful not to mess-up the jigsaw – it looked like sandwiches and a can of cola – before gathering up the breakfast tray and laundry bag, and, without a word, went back up the staircase and locked the door. There were more footsteps overhead, followed by the faint bump of another door closing somewhere.
Alone again, Nina ate the food.
Later – early evening she assumed – she watched a couple of movies, but she was distracted and found it hard to concentrate on the plots, which were fairly silly anyway. So she decided to use the bathroom, keeping the door open while she did her business, and then thought she might as well try to sleep. Quickly undressing and putting on a clean set of pyjamas, Nina slipped into bed.
Within five minutes, and much to her surprise, she felt herself start to drift off and wondered vaguely if the man in the hood had maybe crushed up a sleeping pill and mixed it into her sandwich. But before she could ponder this any further, she was asleep.
…to awake on her second morning in the basement room to the clomp-clomp of those footsteps.
Looking at the young girl sitting on her bed, the man felt an overwhelming sense of shame wash over him. He felt terrible for what he was putting her through – she was the total innocent in all of this. But he didn’t regret doing what he’d done, especially to her parents who had both had it coming. Killing them had not pricked his conscience in the slightest, just the opposite in fact. He felt elated at that. But the girl, oh why did he have to put her through this? The poor wretch must be terrified, and she must hate him so much.
But perhaps, over time, that might change.
Once he explained the reasons for having taken her. Surely she would understand, and forgive him for that? Perhaps even agree that it was right and just?
However long that took, he would wait. He could be very patient like that.
He turned to go, before his sense of guilt became too much.
“Please take your mask off.”
Her words jolted him and he froze on the spot.
After a moment he turned back and saw through his visor that she was looking straight back, seemingly no longer fearful of him, which confused him. He could hear his own breath rasping in his ears and a slight dizziness passed through his body.
“I want to see your face Tobias,” she whispered.
Why was she doing this? he asked himself. He was the maniac who had murdered her parents and took her away. She should despise him. She shouldn’t be talking like this, calmly and almost like a friend.
Was she trying to trick him? To make him lower his guard by befriending him, in the way that other abducted people tried? He wasn’t stupid, yet he couldn’t keep his identity hidden forever, not if she were going to be living with him from now on.
His head was spinning as these confusing thoughts crashed around inside his brain, and then he watched as the girl rose from the bed and slowly came towards him, her footsteps faltering but determined.
Nina, oh Nina, he thought as she stopped before him, her face just inches from his own, their eyes locked together through the glass visor.
He saw her hands come up, felt them grip the sides of the leather hood, and then lift it clear. He blinked away tears as she smiled and said:
“Hello Tobias, I’m Nina.”
They sat and ate breakfast together. She passed him the toast, saying she would like him to have it, and so he nibbled at it. His eyes remained downcast throughout most of their strange little encounter, even though Nina tried to make eye contact, but on the one occasion when his blue eyes flickered up, she smiled and he gave the tiniest of nervous smiles back.
They only spoke a little. There was nothing really to say, under the bizarre circumstances they were in, but she
did ask him if it were sunny out, to which he replied quietly:
“Yes, and very cold.”
“Is it frosty?” she asked. “Are the canals frozen over?”
“Yes. A beautiful winter’s day.”
“Oh, I like the winter. I like to go skating on the canals. I would love to see them.” But she realized that was a stupid request, and he didn’t reply.
They ate some more in silence, and Nina appraised him, deep in thought.
He had a friendly face. His cheeks were very red, and his nose covered in burst blood vessels, and she guessed he must spend a lot of time outdoors perhaps for his job. He had a pleasant smile and tiny white teeth, and a greying goatee beard which was trimmed neatly, and his blond hair was just showing the first signs of thinness on the crown. His eyes were of the clearest blue, and sparkled even more without the glass visor, with smile lines at their edges. But they shifted around nervously, skittering across the table surface or off to the side, and she sensed that something saddened him enormously.
Nina finished eating and then drank the rest of the fruit juice, then asked him in all innocence: “Is your name really Tobias?”
But the question triggered something in him, for she saw his body suddenly go tense, and she held her breath and felt something flutter in her chest.
He stood up quickly, causing his chair to scrape back over the floor. Without saying a word or looking at her, the man quickly gathered up the plates and the leather hood and then headed for the stairs in a hurry. Reaching the top he paused briefly to look back over his shoulder, and she saw fresh tears and a pained expression, before he slipped through the door and locked it once more.
Confused and now scared again, Nina slumped in her seat.
Upstairs, a darkness descended upon Tobias, a familiar feeling of claustrophobia and fury that he’d suffered from throughout most of his life. Hatred gripped him and in seconds he was in a whirling and spitting and violent turmoil, tearing around the house and screaming himself hoarse, smashing the furniture and punching at the walls with his thick-gloved hands.
The anger was directed at himself, at the weak fool he was. He was a spineless and pathetic excuse for a man, and what made it worse was he could not vent his fury on anybody, because he’d foolishly already killed the parents, and Nina, his beautiful Nina, was so precious and perfect. So he spun and shouted and lashed out at the very air, until eventually he collapsed onto the floor from sheer exhaustion.
Curling himself up into a tight ball he cried and rocked backwards and forwards.
Later, a thought popped into his head.
Snivelling and wiping his nose, it occurred to Tobias that actually, there was somebody he could punish for this whole mess.
Chapter 8
The Clinic
The Vrije Geer Optiek Klineik in Osdorp had only been open for about two years, but already the new state-of-the-art facility had gained a reputation for being one of the best eye surgery centres in The Netherlands.
It had cost 25 million euros to build. Inside, the equipment was the best in the world, from the brand new LEN-XR Laser System and three Refractive Diagnostic Points, a 3D Visualization System and the Galaxy Wavelight Suite. The consultation rooms and theatres and reception area were high-end conceptual designs, and the aftercare wards were as plush as anything found at a 5-star hotel. Even the car park outside had been designed by one of the world’s leading architects, aimed at creating a relaxing and calm environment before visitors or patients even entered through the sliding doors.
Sitting in the car’s passenger seat as they crawled through the morning traffic, Pieter scrolled through the clinic’s website on an iPad, looking at the photos and reading, occasionally tutting to himself and shaking his head, or sighing heavily and drawing the odd glance from Kaatje.
“This must cost a bomb,” he mumbled.
“Too posh for us, Boss?”
“Yep. Only for the rich and famous, or those with very good medical insurance.”
He’d picked Kaatje Groot up from her home at a little before eight. Climbing out of his car, he’d pressed the bell for her apartment, and leaned against the car’s door while he waited for her to come down from the third floor. A few minutes later she’d appeared, dressed in her civvies, looking all flustered and out of breath, and he’d dangled the car keys in front of her, smiling.
“Want to drive?”
Smiling back, Kaatje had grabbed the keys, and they got in.
“So, does this make me your official driver now?” she’d asked.
“I guess so.”
Osdorp was a suburb on the outskirts of Amsterdam, almost in the countryside in fact, and the drive had taken them over an hour. Overnight a heavy frost had settled and most of the narrower canals had frozen over for the first time in three years, and everywhere was covered with a white dusting of ice. Kaatje thought it looked pretty, and she kept pointing out different things as she drove, but after a while Pieter became distracted, and so to kill the time decided to go online and check out the clinic.
It certainly was posh, he thought to himself. Their clients, according to the website, included celebrities and sports stars (particularly boxers needing treatment for retinal detachment) politicians and millionaire business executives, as well as members of the Dutch Royal Family. People from overseas flew in for treatment, often staying overnight in the luxury accommodation wing. But the price tag wasn’t cheap. A list of costs for what he regarded as basic surgery such as cornea reshaping or cataract extraction was eye-wateringly huge.
Christiaan Bakker was their senior Ophthalmologist, with over ten years of experience under his belt and a long list of fancy qualifications. According to his LinkedIn profile, he also enjoyed canoeing and playing tennis in his spare time, and a photo showed him holding aloft a trophy he’d won in a mixed-double amateur match last year. The guy sounded phenomenal according to various testimonials; too good to be true, in Pieter’s opinion.
Just then, Kaatje slowed down and turned off the main road, and drove down a short driveway that curved beyond a stand of poplars. Pieter closed down the iPad and looked through the windscreen at the building up ahead.
The clinic was built over two storeys, the buildings spread along the edge of a wide and frosty lawn. Much of their lower floors consisted of large windows and connecting glass corridors, presumably designed to let in lots of light and to give the place a relaxed and welcoming appearance. The upper floors were covered in white-coloured cladding, the walls with curved edges, the roof of the main building topped with what looked like a viewing terrace.
At the far end of the lawn, which was intersected with several paths, the ground sloped down to a narrow boating lake which was frozen over solid with thick ice. Beyond this was the large and open expanse of the Vrije Geer Nature Park.
It certainly was a beautiful setting, Pieter admitted to himself, on the edge of open countryside but handily close to the city centre. However, after they’d parked up in the large car park in front of the lawn and climbed out, the peaceful scene was marred by a low and deep rumble, and they both glanced up to see a passenger jet fly low overhead. Of course, Schiphol airport was just two or three kilometres to the south. So, the place wasn’t in as relaxing a location as the website claimed, thought Pieter, which for some reason made him feel smug.
They walked down the central path over the lawn and approached the large plate-glass entrance, and the automatic doors parted. Inside the foyer, they made for the high reception desk, where a female receptionist smiled a plastic smile and bid them hello.
“We’re here to see your boss,” Pieter informed her, and flashed his police ID
The smile stayed in place but Pieter saw the edges of her eyes crinkle minutely.
“I’m afraid the Director is at a conference in France at the moment. She won’t be back until tomorrow. Can I help you?”
“Ok, well her immediate subordinate, your supervisor, or someone else. It doesn’t really matter.
Tell them we want to talk about Christiaan Bakker.”
Mention of the name brought the receptionist up sharp, and her bottom lip gave a slight tremble. “Oh, yes. What a horrible thing, we still can’t believe what has happened.”
Pieter gave her a moment to compose herself, and his tone softened a bit.
“We are a little pushed for time, and it’s important that we speak to someone as soon as can be.”
“Do you have an appointment sir?”
“No.” He glanced around and spied the seating area over to his left. “We’ll wait over here.”
Walking away – he could feel the receptionist’s eyes burning into his back – Pieter led Kaatje across the foyer, their feet squeaking on the highly-polished floor.
The seating area consisted of cream-coloured couches with lime-green cushions and lots of plastic potted plants. Pieter chose one and sat down with a sigh. On the wall was a large flat-screen HD television showing the breakfast news.
He and Kaatje chatted for a couple of minutes, explaining how he had to be back in time for the press conference. So far, news that this was now also a kidnapping case as well as a double murder, had not yet been made public. Pieter hoped to use that knowledge to his advantage this morning.
Just then, a middle-aged man dressed in a white doctor’s coat appeared from a doorway and strode straight towards them, his hand extended in apparent greeting. The scowl on his pale face suggested otherwise.
“Good morning, I’m Julian Visser,” he said brusquely.
Pieter shook the proffered hand but did not rise. He noticed he didn’t offer to greet Kaatje, in fact, he barely acknowledged her presence.
