Double Deceit

by Julienne Brouwers

  I glanced at Tim who was playing innocently with his toy cars. Then I hurried to the narrow corridor of the bungalow. Bright yellow stripes on a blue coat sleeve visible through the glass panel in the door stopped me dead in my tracks. My breath caught in my throat. I slowly opened the door with great reluctance, like a sheep being led to the slaughterhouse.

  Two police officers stood solemnly in front of me, an expression of pity on their faces. They didn’t look me straight in the eye but past me, seemingly distressed.

  This couldn’t be happening. I felt like I was about to lose it. My knees weakened and my voice squeaked. “Please tell me it’s not my husband.”

  The male agent spoke in a hushed tone. “Mrs Smits, wife of Oliver Smits?”

  I gave an almost invisible nod.

  “I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.”

  All the blood seemed to drain from my head. I felt my legs sink away from underneath me; the female agent responded quickly by stepping forward and grabbing my arm.

  I recovered and leaned against the doorframe. My heart started pounding again, pumping blood through my veins in a frenzy, trying to catch up.

  I was vaguely aware of the fact that they were talking to me, but I was unable to translate the words into meaning. It was as if I was watching a movie that was being played in slow motion, distorting the sounds. I shook my head in an effort to wake up from this terrible nightmare.

  “It’s your husband,” the male officer said. He swallowed visibly. “I’m afraid we have located his body. I’m sorry to inform you that your husband has died.”

  My shaking hands cupped my mouth, as if they were a plastic bag stifling the searing hyperventilation. But it didn’t work, the panic took hold of me, leaving me completely numb. I looked at the man in disbelief, my eyes bulging. Everything around me seemed to freeze. I gasped.

  I felt the woman take hold of me by my elbow, her voice sounding distant and muffled. “Come on, let’s go and sit down.”

  She gave me a gentle nudge down the hall to the kitchen. I slowly shuffled forward, my legs feeling like jelly. The officer planted me on a chair.

  My breathing became increasingly out of control. It felt like my throat was blocked as I was struggling for air, but my rapid respiration had the opposite effect – I felt utterly deprived of oxygen.

  I looked desperately at the woman. Help me, I’m suffocating, I wanted to scream, but the words were stuck in my throat.

  Her grey eyes calmly observed me. “Breathe deeply through your nose,” she said in a soothing voice.

  I tried to follow her advice, but it didn’t work – I kept fighting for breath like a fish out of water.

  The woman took the seat facing me and put her cool hands on my forearms. “Come on, give it a try. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” She puffed effusively. “Two counts in, three counts out.”

  I repeated her words in my head like a mantra.

  Slowly I seemed to get a grip of myself again and managed to get my breathing under control. As the balance between oxygen and carbon dioxide restored itself, my brain started functioning again. While the panic subsided, the questions starting whirling through my mind. Where was Oliver? What on earth had happened to him? Had he been involved in a terrible accident?

  I pulled my arms back from under the hands of the female officer and gave a nod as a thank you. “What happened?” I finally managed to verbalise.

  She answered in an empathic voice. “A walker found the body of a man in the forest located behind the holiday park. The lady was out for a stroll with her dog and saw a bright red shirt at the bottom of the hill, which caught her attention. As she looked closer, she saw that someone was lying there.” I turned my gaze away and stared into space. The words coming out of the female agent’s mouth whizzed past me.

  “The walker called the emergency services right away,” the officer continued. “When the ambulance arrived at the scene, they found that CPR wasn’t an option anymore. We believe your husband already perished yesterday afternoon.”

  I jerked my head towards the woman. Yesterday afternoon? So it happened not long after our fight. “Where was Oliver lying?”

  The police officer looked at me with compassion through her round glasses. “Your husband was found at the base of a small slope. It looks like he stumbled or perhaps didn’t fully appreciate the depth of the slant. He presumably died as a result of misadventure.” The woman turned to her male colleague, who was standing and leaning back against the fridge, and spoke softly. “Peter, can you get Mrs Smits a glass of water?”

  The man acknowledged her request and began opening the cupboards in search of a glass amidst the mismatched porcelain.

  I rested my head in my hands. I couldn’t believe it. Oliver had been the victim of a dreadful accident. I had to know everything. “What was the cause of death?” My lips seemed frozen, making it difficult for me to pronounce the words properly.

  Peter slid the glass of water in front of me and I thanked him.

  “Unfortunately I can’t answer that question just now,” the woman replied. “We’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report.”

  “The coroner,” I muttered, staring at the yellow diamond shapes on the plastic tablecloth. My hand reached thoughtlessly towards the glass. I took a sip of water, which left a cold trail as it made its way down my throat.

  A trace of hope flashed into me. Maybe they were all mistaken. I rose to my feet. “Are you sure it’s my husband? There could be a mix-up of identity – it happens. It may be someone else.” It couldn’t be Oliver. It just couldn’t be true.

  The male officer shook his head in pity. “The paramedics called us after they couldn’t find a pulse on your husband. When we searched his pockets, we found a wallet with an identity card in it. We were therefore able to conclude that it was your husband, Oliver Smits.” Peter exchanged looks with the female officer. “We’d like to ask you to come with us to formally identify him.”

  Stupefied, I let myself fall back into the chair and nodded. The decorative pattern on the light green kitchen tiles was dancing in front of my eyes. I felt like I was having a terrible nightmare. Was this really happening to me?

  I shook my head and refocused my attention on the female officer who was still sitting opposite me. “How did you know where we were staying?”

  The woman pressed her glasses onto the bridge of her nose. “Since there are no houses in the immediate vicinity, it seemed most likely that we were dealing with someone from the holiday park. When we checked at the reception, they referred us to house number thirteen.”

  I nodded.

  Silence filled the room for a while, until suddenly I heard a loud humming from the lounge. Tim hadn’t made an appearance all this time, so I’d completely forgotten that he was sitting on the floor in the semi-open living room. “Tim,” I cried and jumped up.

  I walked the few steps needed to be able to see him and then looked at my oblivious son, who was still playing with his toy cars. My son, whose life would never be the same from today onward. I turned around to look at the female officer and stammered. “My child no longer has a father.”

  The woman refrained from replying, she simply bowed her head.

  I walked back to my seat and thoughtfully picked up on what the policewoman had said. An indefinable feeling came over me. “How do you know for sure this was the result of an accident?”

  The woman looked up and exchanged a glance with her male colleague. “We haven’t ruled anything out,” Peter replied. I hadn’t noticed the man’s lisp until now. “Our colleagues are currently working hard on an extensive forensic investigation. The coroner will examine your husband thoroughly. However, at first glance, it looks unlikely he’ll find anything out of the ordinary, but we’ll have to wait for the official results.”

  “Wait for the results,” I repeated lifelessly. Should I not be screaming or balling my eyes out, I wondered. But I felt neither anger nor sadness. I just felt compl
etely numb.

  I abruptly pushed the chair back and leaped up. “I need to see him. Now.”

  The woman in front of me stood up and straightened her uniform with long strokes. “By all means. We’ll take you to him.”

  The male officer came down the hall with Lindsey in his wake. Her face showed a mixture of concern and confusion. It took a few seconds for me to remember that she’d of course been en route to me when the officers had unexpectedly turned up on my doorstep.

  “Oliver is dead,” I yelled and ran towards her.

  I could see Lindsey’s eyes open wide in disbelief before I fell into her arms. Only after a while did it dawn on me that the loud, lamentable screeching I heard was coming from my own throat.

  Lindsey stroked my hair. “Oh, sweetheart. Bless you, sweetheart.”

  I leaned against my beloved friend like a rag doll and cried uncontrollably. The news was starting to sink in – Oliver was dead. My world had come crashing down. Life as I’d known it until now would never be the same again.

  Lindsey was giving gentle pats on my back, rocking me back and forth. “Everything will be all right. Really, trust me. You’ll be okay,” she kept repeating, but we both knew it wasn’t true.

  I thought about Tim. I couldn’t bear for him to see me so distraught. I let go of Lindsey and wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. I looked around for my son and saw through the window that Peter had taken him outside. Tim was playing animatedly with Peter’s walkie-talkie on the grass in front of the bungalow, the wind whirling through his curly hair.

  Lindsey stared at me with a look of horror on her face. She stammered. “What in heaven’s name happened?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t have the strength to explain the details to her. “I want to go to Oliver, I need to see him. Can you watch Tim?”

  She nodded. “Of course. Don’t worry about him. I will stay here.”

  5

  During the twenty-minute drive from our holiday home to the police station, the female officer sat next to me on the black, slightly tired leather seat. She’d told me to call her Allison. My gaze drifted outside. While life stood still for me, it seemingly went on undisturbed for the rest of the world. I registered children playing on a lawn, a car honking loudly for a cyclist who turned abruptly, trucks transporting their freight from place to place.

  Just before we’d left the holiday home I’d explained to Lindsey that Tim needed to eat a sandwich and take his afternoon nap. She shouldn’t forget to turn on his musical bear – otherwise he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. I’d briefly spoken to my mother on the phone, she’d promised to drive to us right away. I couldn’t bring myself to call Oliver’s parents yet. It was ultimately inescapable, but I decided to delay the conversation until it was absolutely final. It would by far become the hardest phone call I was ever forced to make.

  My thoughts were interrupted when the policeman suddenly turned off the engine. Allison got out of the vehicle and gently opened my door. “Thank you,” I mumbled before sliding over and exiting. My muscles felt stiff and it wasn’t until now that I realised I’d been in the same rigid position throughout the entire ride. We mutely walked up the three steps to the police station. The building, constructed of large blocks of grey concrete, looked desolate and dreary, forming the appropriate backdrop to the harrowing movie my life appeared to have become. Allison asked me to wait in the hallway while she consulted a colleague in one of the adjacent rooms. Two other officers down the hall spoke to each other in hushed tones and seemed to be glancing in my direction, although perhaps I was only imagining things. It was hard to make sense of everything that was going on around me.

  Allison swiftly returned from the room and turned to me. “Please follow me.” She opened the door of the stairwell and we descended one floor. We walked silently across a long, fluorescent-lit corridor in the basement, where no natural light seemed to reach the space.

  We stopped at a heavy, stainless steel door. “Your husband’s body is through here,” Allison said as she examined me. “Are you ready, or would you like to take a moment?”

  I ignored the pain of my pounding heart and nodded.

  Allison held her police badge against the card reader and I caught a glimpse of her picture, taken in better times. The massive door opened sluggishly and automatically, presenting a view of an almost empty space. In the far corner of the room was a metal table with a white sheet draped over it.

  I held my breath as I followed Allison into the room, a blast of cold, airconditioned air gushing in my face. I still felt like I was dreaming and could wake up at any moment.

  When we were standing next to the table, Allison held the two corners of the sheet in her hands and, after giving a short bob of her head, slowly lifted it until a face became visible.

  I put a hand to my mouth and gasped. I could only see the forehead, but I knew enough. A mixture of panic and despair swirled through me. I couldn’t ignore the obvious anymore. This was actually happening, Oliver was dead.

  I wanted to hurl myself at him and never let him go, but I resisted the urge and spoke the definitive words. “This is my husband. This is Oliver Smits.”

  The policewoman gave a formal nod. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” I responded in a monotonous whisper, my arms dangling lifelessly by my side. I turned my gaze from Oliver to the officer. “I need to be alone with him right now.”

  Allison put her hand to her mouth and coughed, visibly uncomfortable. “I’m afraid the pathologist needs to examine your husband first. Only then will his body be released.”

  I winced at hearing those cold words. Surely she didn’t expect me to wait for that man to finish his job? If anything, her refusal made me more determined to spend a private moment with Oliver. “I don’t care what the pathologist needs to do. I just want to be with my husband. Alone,” I said bluntly.

  She bit her lip. “I’m very sorry. Unfortunately, according to internal protocol, I’m not authorised to release a body – any deviations are subject to deputy approval,” she recited, taking refuge behind lawful procedures. “You’ll have all the time you need to be with him soon,” she added, trying to soften the situation.

  I emitted a mocking sound. As if they dealt with sudden deaths of young people here in this rural place on a daily basis, I thought to myself. “Deviate from the protocol?” I hissed with clenched jaws. “You’re talking about my husband here.”

  The officer had a tortured expression on her face. To my relief, she buckled under the pressure of my insisting. “Alright then. Five minutes. That’s all I can give you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling flustered and like I could burst into tears. Despite my angry outburst at the policewoman, I was keenly aware of the power she held at this moment.

  Allison walked towards the exit and pressed a button, which opened the massive door to the corridor. “I’ll be waiting for you outside.”

  I nodded and looked at my husband again. Oliver’s cheeks were pale, nonetheless his face was virtually unscathed, which made it almost seem as if he were sleeping. I gently pulled the sheet further down, revealing his bare chest. I wondered if they’d discovered him like this or if they’d stripped him of his clothes. I felt an almost irrepressible desire to hold him tight, hug him and kiss him, to breathe in his scent and to never let go, but I knew it was pointless – he was not coming back.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I put my left hand on his shoulder, leaned forward, and rested my head on his chest. It felt odd and familiar all at the same time. With my other hand I reached for Oliver’s and entangled our fingers. His chest hair tickled my face, and I smiled. Where I used to hear the pumping of his heart and wondered if it was his or mine, it now remained hauntingly quiet. My beloved husband felt cold and stiff, and I knew from my professional experience that he probably died some time ago. I closed my eyes, deeply inhaled his wonderful smell and resolved to never forget it.

  “Oh, sweetie,�
�� I whimpered. “My poor baby. I love you so much. So much. I’m so terribly sorry about our fight.” It dawned on me that we’d never be able to reconcile – the painful awareness weighed down on me like a heavy burden. I felt tears slowly gliding down my cheeks and dripping onto Oliver’s chest.

  My mind wandered back to the start of our relationship. We’d met in a pub, and in the beginning we’d spend days in bed together like this. Me lying with my head on his chest, which wasn’t as hairy back then as it was now, his arm protectively wrapped around me, his hand gently stroking my cheeks. Spending hours together talking about all our plans for the future, laughing and making love. When we would finally roll out of bed around noon, I’d put on his boxers and shirt, much to Oliver’s amusement. In recent months, those intimate moments never seemed to happen anymore. It was as if we were unable to connect like we used to. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d fallen asleep lying closely, our bodies entwined with each other. Most of the time it was a quick ‘goodnight’, after which Oliver would roll over and turn his back on me. Otherwise he’d work at the office into the wee hours, only to quietly sneak into the room at night, careful not to wake me up.

  After a while I stood up and studied his face, looking for clues. I spotted a nasty scratch that marked his right cheek. “What happened to you?” I asked, gently running my finger down his nose. I stroked his wavy hair tenderly, until all of a sudden I felt something wet and sticky. I shrank back and looked at my fingers. Blood. My gaze moved back to Oliver. I now noticed his beautiful, blonde curls were coloured red at the back of his head. He must have landed on his head as he fell.

  I jumped when I heard a knock. “Mrs Smits,” Allison called from behind the door. “We ought to head back upstairs now.”

  My hand rested on Oliver’s chest as my eyes were full of tears. I didn’t want to move yet. It was as if leaving this space would be the first step in letting Oliver go. I just wanted to stay with him, reminisce about the old days and all the fond memories we’d created together. “If only we’d had more time. Then everything would have worked out, for sure.”