Cruise: A Thriller

by Suzanne Vermeer

  Much to her relief, Esther had answered the call right away and responded with surprise but handled her question very well. She understood immediately that Heleen needed help urgently and simply did what was asked of her. By the time she had made her way back to the car, which was still parked in the center of town, her cell phone rang. Niels gave her the address that was registered with the phone number. As an added bonus, he also had the name of the person who paid the phone bill every two months. Romina Castellano. It was obvious that she must be related to Jorge. She had thanked Niels quickly and had disconnected the call.

  Heleen took a left turn, leaving the boulevard and the harbor behind her. As she came to the center of the city, she ended up on a two-lane street. The long, stretched-out boulevard was on her left. On the right, there were endless rows of apartment buildings, which all made very a cumbersome and decrepit impression. Before the boulevard emptied out and changed into mountains and rocks, she took a right on the roundabout. The neighborhood she landed in was a mecca for young people. A slew of fast-food restaurants passed by in rapid succession, as well as a variety of dodgy bars, English-style pubs, and nightclubs, and all of the storefronts and neon signs were desperately in need of a face-lift. The rancid smell of overused cooking oil penetrated her nostrils. A group of young boys with bare torsos walked in the street. They ate french fries from a plastic container and drank beer. They tossed their empty beer cans carelessly onto the sidewalk.

  Heleen pressed down hard on the gas pedal. She had to get out of there quickly. Once she had definitely left the nightlife area, she stopped along the side of the road. She had to take a moment to think about how she should continue. Driving around aimlessly made no sense. She would never get anywhere that way. She had hoped to find a city map somewhere along the road, but it seemed they had never heard of such a thing around here. The only clues she found were the various signs and posters for the various tourist spots in Blanes. After fifteen minutes of looking around, she had given up.

  Maybe she could buy a map somewhere. There were numerous shops around, but a map of the city was nowhere to be found. Blanes was far too small for that, a store owner explained to her. But the majority of the other shop owners didn’t even bother to explain anything and looked at her like she was from another planet. Maybe she would have better luck at a hotel?

  Sadly, the hotels didn’t have much more than a simple brochure, which only showed the center of the town. She made her way through sweaty throngs of tourists to find her way out of the building.

  At that time of night, all government institutions were closed. She’d considered asking a police officer, but she eventually decided against it. That was far too risky. All that was left to do was to search through the suburbs of Blanes herself. The tourist center was surrounded by hills with large villas on them. At first glance, there seemed to be hundreds of them, so she had to make a choice and use her intuition. She decided to start on the north side.

  The city center changed seamlessly into a suburb characterized by high-rise buildings. Only the apartments were built a little farther apart here than the ones in the tourist area. She reached a small road that led to an area surrounded by dried-out pine trees. A middle-aged couple stood at the intersection in front of her. They looked like they lived in the neighborhood. The woman held a cell phone pressed against her ear and spoke in rapid Spanish. The man stared dead ahead and seemed to be completely uninterested. All that modern stuff was clearly not his cup of tea.

  Heleen pulled the car over to the side of the road and got out. She nodded politely to the man, who looked at her suspiciously. When she mentioned the address and tried to explain to him that she was lost using hand gestures, not a single muscle moved in his wrinkled face. He kept looking at her for a few seconds, after which he turned his head aside.

  “Cállate!” he growled at his cackling wife. She was unimpressed by his scolding, because she continued to ramble on. But she did take two steps backward, something her husband considered a small victory during an endless war. He nodded briefly to Heleen, after which she repeated the address again.

  Much to her surprise, he pointed to one of the hills. He had to repeat the directions three times before she understood what he meant. Follow the road, second right, first left. At least, that’s what she thought he meant.

  She thanked the man and walked back to her car. Once she was back on the road again, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw he was still standing in the same place with his wife next to him. She was still yapping away on her phone

  27

  Calle Albareda was a dirt road that meandered from the paved road all the way to the top of the hill. House number 5 was located around the middle. The houses on this road were no villas. It was a very basic property that gave the impression that it was snatched right out of a regular residential street of houses with plain terraces. But the location made all the difference. From the small front garden you had a panoramic view of Blanes and of the Mediterranean Sea. The backyard was hidden behind the house, and there was a forest of the same pine trees she had seen all around the area.

  Heleen had passed the house and parked her car in sandy ditch. She wanted to take the time to recharge her own battery. To jump out of the car immediately and ring the doorbell would just be reckless. She had to prepare herself for the meeting with this woman.

  She felt reasonably clear, but not really sharp enough. Before she went to the house she wanted to be balanced, confident, and brave.

  She had crossed the border that morning around six. She had taken a room at the first motel she came across. Even though her head was spinning, she still managed to fall asleep relatively quickly. Eight hours later, after filling her plate with the most appealing and delicious looking salads from the buffet and drinking some bottled water, she slowly felt herself changing from a zombie back into a fully functioning human being.

  After a long shower, she had changed her clothes, jumped in the car, and taken the first exit off the highway. Ten minutes later, she was sitting on the terrace of a restaurant she didn’t know the name of, and that looked out over an ancient church of some unknown village. While enjoying a strong cup of coffee, she thought about all of yesterday’s events in peace.

  Jorge Castellano had panicked. He had been surprised by her visit and had almost killed her. So he had something to hide. Whatever it was, it was not something innocuous.

  Cruise, Gautier, gay, insurance money, Castellano, drugs. But where did Frank, the protagonist in her story, fit in on this list? His connection was dubious at best. His double life was a farce and only existed on paper. He was not gay. Assuming Bernadette’s observations were correct, it would seem that he had never even set foot in Gautier’s apartment. Yet, his signature was definitely on the partnership contract. …

  But when it came to that insurance money … it had to be fraud. She had to assume that and keep looking in that direction. Frank had become involved in a situation and obviously gotten carried away. It would explain that nonsense about the insurance claim, as well as Gautier’s death, because he knew too much, and Castellano’s response to her. If this was the truth, then she had to assume that Frank was dead. Murdered and tossed overboard by Jorge Castellano.

  But suppose Frank was still alive? What if he had been the main person behind this scam? But then the facts didn’t add up. The whole ship was searched top to bottom. This made it impossible for him to have remained on board. If he had left the ship with a lifeboat the crew would have undoubtedly noticed. Taking a dive into the Mediterranean without any floatation device and with no sign of the coast in sight would be impossible. It would be obvious to anyone that no one could survive that.

  Maybe Jorge Castellano was a killer? Clearly there was a connection between him and Vincent Gautier—who had died of a drug overdose. If she had not defended herself, she would have met the same fate. Castellano may very well be a killer, but he was not in charge. She was almost certain of that. When she was in t
he basement, he had not known what to do. That’s must have been why he made a call, and was it directly to his boss? Castellano’s emotional screams were filled with a sense of fear and reluctance. He didn’t want to murder a woman, but was forced to do so by his superior.

  That’s how it could have gone. Or not—the language barrier had been far too great for her to get any more details. She really had no idea what Castellano had said exactly. He had spoken to Romina Castellano. Maybe she was his mother, sister, niece, grandmother, wife, or someone who was above him in the family hierarchy. However, one of the first three options seemed most probable. Heleen opened the car door. As she walked toward the house, she tightened her muscles unconsciously. To her, this lovely little house was more like the belly of the beast. She opened the garden gate and rang the doorbell.

  28

  The woman who opened the door was a classic beauty. She had medium-length black hair, high cheekbones, jet-black eyes and olive-brown skin. She wore jeans and a white sweater that accentuated her firm breasts. Heleen thought that this woman could probably wear rags and would still look dazzling.

  “Hello, Heleen,” Romina Castellano said in English immediately and with a mysterious smile that showed her sparkling-white teeth for a moment. “Come in.”

  Heleen stepped into the hallway. She was rather overwhelmed by this reception, but she kept her expression completely neutral. Just play the game until an opportunity came where she could make her move. Romina led the way. She nodded briefly toward an extension of the living room.

  “Let’s go to the garden. I want you to meet Fernando and David.”

  Heleen took her time. The woman’s friendly, almost-casual appearance had to be an act. Romina knew she was coming and had prepared for this visit. The sliding door opened into a deep garden. The terrace adjacent to the living room was made from dark-red marble. There were four worn-out lawn chairs and a wobbly table, which made ​​a shabby impression. At the end of the garden, between the trees and shrubs, Heleen could see a wooden shed.

  “Go ahead and have a seat,” Romina said in an overly friendly tone. Before Heleen got the chance to tell her that she had not come for fun and games, she saw something move behind a bush. A little boy came walking toward her.

  “That’s my son, David,” Romina explained. “He’s three years old and loves to play in the garden at night. It’s a lot cooler then.”

  David looked at Heleen nervously and walked to his mother with his arms open. “Mama.”

  He was cute. Romina picked him up.

  “David, this is Heleen. Be a good boy and say hello to her.”

  David had his face buried in Romina’s chest and did not intend to comply with his mother’s request. But his curiosity soon outweighed his shyness. He lifted his head and looked Heleen with a sideways glance.

  “Hola,” he whispered shyly.

  “Hello, David …” The sentence she wanted to say in English was stuck in her throat. Mesmerized, she looked at the sweet face of this three-year-old boy. This was not a full-blooded Spanish child. His hair was dark but the pigment of his skin was significantly lighter than that of his mother. However, what held Heleen’s attention the most were his eyes. She recognized them. His glance took her back to the past, something familiar.

  “Why don’t you go play in your room now?” Romina said. She turned around and put David back on the ground. “Mommy will be there in a minute.”

  Heleen tried to get another look at the child’s eyes, but the little boy walked straight into the living room, so she could only see him from behind. Before she could even process the special moment she’d just experienced, her attention was drawn by the sound of squeaking of hinges. The door to the shed opened. A burly man with a gray beard and dark sunglasses calmly walked toward her. From under his baseball cap you could see his tousled gray hair, most of it pointing in all directions. He wore long shorts and a flannel shirt, which showed the contours of a large belly.

  A few meters from the terrace he slowed down his pace. He took off his cap and sunglasses, looked straight at her, and smiled broadly.

  “Hello, Heleen.”

  Her heart stopped. Her mouth dropped open. The utter shock hit her like a ton of bricks and her muscles tightened up. Motionless, she stared at her husband, who had undergone quite a metamorphosis.

  “Frank?” It was all she could manage to say. She felt a sharp pain and then nothing.

  29

  “I’m sorry that Romina hit you so hard,” Frank said in a soothing tone. As he said this, his eyes flashed from the road ahead of him to the rearview mirror. “Spaniards are just hot-tempered people that do things in an emotional state and then regret it later.”

  He took his right hand off the steering wheel and made a gesture that was supposed to look like some sort of an apology.

  “It was not meant to seriously hurt you. You’ve been hurt enough. Unfortunately, Romina lost control for a moment.”

  Heleen saw that they were entering Blanes. The first rays from the neon lights reflected on the hood of the car. The noise from outside began to penetrate her ears like a dull murmur. There was a clock next to a pharmacy indicating that it was almost midnight.

  “Where are we going?” Heleen wanted to know.

  “Somewhere where we can talk quietly.”

  A jolt of pain shot from her head to her neck. She bit her lip. The bump throbbed like crazy. That Spanish bitch, she thought.

  She had woken up in the shed. It was stuffy there, and the door was locked. Because not a single ray of light came in, she’d had no concept of ​​time. The confrontation with Frank had caused a deep shock within her. She was overcome by emotion. In part, relief that she had found him, alive. And anger for what he had done to her. She was completely confused about the reason for his disappearance and filled with fear for what would happen next.

  In one year, Frank had changed from an athletic man to some sort of Canadian lumberjack. He had dyed his hair gray, let his beard grow, and gained at least twenty pounds. He had become a whole other person and was obviously trying to fool everyone into thinking he was someone else.

  So who were this Romina and her son, David? He sure looked a lot like Frank. … Did he just start over? But the boy was already three years old …

  They had been informed that she was coming. Jorge Castellano had warned them. The only good thing about that was that it meant he was alive, and, therefore, she wouldn’t be indicted for his murder. … Wait, indicted for murder? As if she didn’t have more important things to worry about right now!

  They were driving along the promenade in the direction of the harbor. During the drive, she recognized all the places where she had walked and driven a few hours ago. With the exception of a few couples, it was very quiet. In this part of Blanes things pretty much ended around midnight. But on the other side of the boulevard, the crowded bars and clubs were only just beginning to gain momentum.

  “Where’s my purse?”

  Frank shook his head in disbelief. “How do you come up with this stuff? A perfect example of the strange way a woman’s brain works. Of course your handbag is still at our house. You will get it back when we return later.” He chuckled.

  Heleen looked straight ahead. The words “at our house” echoed through her head.

  She felt a surge of panic in her belly. Where did he want to go? If they knew that she was coming, they had also ordered Castellano to murder her. The man who was trying to come across so casually wasn’t anything like the husband she had been so happy with for all those years. What the hell was going on here? Involuntarily, her fingers clutched the door. She had to get out of here. She wasn’t able to think clearly anymore. She pulled the door handle. But the door was locked.

  “The childproof lock is on, Heleen,” Frank said carelessly. “Don’t worry so much. Nothing is going to happen. The hit on the head was a misunderstanding. Trust me; we’ll go talk about in peace, and then you’re free to come and go as you please.”
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  Heleen remained quiet. Her panic gave way to anger. He had the nerve to say “trust me”? This was all beyond ridiculous. Yet, she decided to hold back for another moment and to remain accommodating. This might cause him to relax, and then she could strike when he least expected it. Frank took a right at the end of the boulevard. They arrived at a square with a small terrace on it. The place was closed. The only light in this corner came from the streetlight and the neon advertising signs. The green neon showed the name CAN FLORES 2.

  Just before the parking lot Frank took a sharp right. Twenty meters farther he slowed down. They stopped at a small security gate. Beside it stood a pole with a red flag with a white cross on it. In the dim light, she could see a sign in the distance, which said CLUB VELA BLANES in white letters.

  Frank pulled a card from his pocket and put it in the entry system slot. The security gate went up. Frank took the card back and parked the car next to a pier. He pressed two buttons simultaneously, unlocking both the childproof lock and the trunk at the same time. He then got out and walked to the back of the car. When the trunk closed, Heleen saw that he was wearing an orange windbreaker and that he held a similar jacket in his hand.

  “Pull the hood over your head.”

  She got out and did what he asked. Any form of resistance was useless now. This place was abandoned, and Frank was way stronger than she was. Suddenly, he put his right arm around her shoulder and pulled her along with him. If any outsider were to see them, the image suggested they were two lovers casually strolling through the port.

  They walked across a wooden bridge that connected the dock to the main jetty. Ten meters farther, Frank pointed to the stern of a ship docked there. He made an inviting gesture with his arm.