She sighed audibly. “What’s left to talk about? We’ve been over everything there is to discuss, haven’t we?”
“There’s one other pressing question I need to ask you.”
“Why don’t you ask me now, over the phone? I have a busy schedule,” she declared, although I wasn’t too sure about that.
I was reluctant to show my cards just yet as I wanted to see her face when I confronted her with the red knickers. “It doesn’t have to take long,” I insisted.
She caved in. “Alright. I have a spot this afternoon.”
I was surprised to hear she was yet again available during the day, although it suited my current schedule.
“How about four o’clock? Same location?” she suggested.
“Fine. And thanks,” I replied after which we disconnected.
A few hours later I’d left Tim with our neighbour upstairs so that I could meet Sandra alone. As I entered Coffee Cups I noticed that Sandra hadn’t arrived yet. I’d have killed for a glass of wine, but I restrained myself – I didn’t want to pick up Tim in an intoxicated state. I ventured a guess and ordered two lattes. Then I took a seat on a leather couch. The red knickers were kept tightly in my pocket, like a mistress hidden under a blanket.
Sandra entered the cafe, said hello and sat down in front of me. She’d just been to the gym judging by her outfit and the purple sports headband on her forehead. I questioningly shoved the latte in her direction, to which she nodded.
She gave a meaningful look at her watch. “I don’t have much time. I’m having friends over for dinner tonight and I still need to shower and change,” she declared and gestured to her clothes.
I got the message and wanted to get this over with quickly. But suddenly I sensed a tightness in my shoulders and the sweat in my palms. How should I approach this?
“The police returned Oliver’s clothes, the ones he wore on the day he died.”
A compassionate expression passed over her face. “That must have been hard.” She looked at me calmly, probably wondering where this was going.
I yanked the knickers out of my pocket and threw them onto the table.
A look of shock crossed her face. “What are these?”
I snickered. “Look familiar, huh?”
Her jaw dropped. “They’re mine! I was wondering where they’d gone.” She snatched the knickers off the table, looked around in humiliation and clutched them in her fist. Her mouth repetitively opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. When she did finally speak, she practically spat the words out. “Where the hell did you find these?”
I wasn’t impressed by her anger – I leaned back, folded my arms and raised my eyebrows. “Oliver was wearing them. On the day he died.”
Her mouth remained open. “What?” she blurted. “Oliver wore them? How on earth is that possible?”
“I was hoping you’d be able to provide an explanation.”
She shook her head in astonishment. “I have no idea. Honestly.”
I stared intently at her before speaking again. “I got a call from the police saying Oliver died as a result of a fatal accident. He presumably lost his balance, fell down and his head hit a rock. When they undressed him, he was, as it turns out, wearing your underwear.”
Confusion now seemed to have the upper hand. Or was she faking all of it?
Her left eyelid fluttered. “What are you saying?”
I leaned forward and set my palms down flat on the table. “You know exactly what I’m saying. Are you somehow involved in this? Were you with my husband when he died?”
“Of course not.” She began to blink nervously. “Honestly, I wasn’t. We’ve only seen each other three times. I told you that last time, remember?”
I started to lose my temper. Surely, she didn’t think she could play me for a fool? “I’m not an idiot. I know what you told me,” I said explicitly. “But how do I know you’re being truthful at all? For all I know you might be spinning tales.”
“I’m not messing with you. You have to believe me. I was totally unaware of the fact that your husband was away for a weekend, let alone know the whereabouts of the holiday park.”
I needed a moment to process the information. “So how did he end up wearing your underwear?”
“I haven’t the faintest clue.” She paused and seemed to be musing on it. “He might’ve taken them with him after one of our encounters?”
“Huh,” I snorted. “Why would he do that? As some kind of trophy?”
She shook her head. “No idea.”
I didn’t believe it for a second. “Surely you would have noticed if you’d suddenly lost your knickers?”
“I’d sometimes bring a clean set of underwear. For when we finished …” She turned red as she was searching for the right words. “For when I went home again.”
I felt like throwing up.
She quickly continued speaking. “He may have snatched them from my bag. In any case, I’ve got nothing to do with it,” she stated, with an increased amount of confidence.
She suddenly plucked the knickers with a sense of composure and determination and started to put them in her bag.
I grabbed her arm. “Give them back.”
“What do you want them for? They’re mine.”
I squeezed harder. “Let go.” I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, but I had to keep them. It was the only tangible clue I had. A small form of proof that something didn’t add up about Oliver’s death.
She was pleading with me. “Stop. You’re hurting me,” she whimpered.
But I refused to loosen my grip and she finally relented and let go of the velvet fabric.
I released my hand and slid the knickers back in the pocket of my jacket.
She rubbed her arm with a face of agony. “My goodness, woman. What’s wrong with you?”
Somehow her words snapped me back to reality. It was as if I saw myself from a distance, as it if wasn’t me who had gone off the rails, once again.
I regained my senses and blew the air out of my lungs. “I’m really sorry,” I said softly. Sandra must think I was a lunatic. What had gotten into me? I had no control over myself. I no longer knew who or what I should believe and felt utterly stupefied.
I drew in a long breath and took a mouthful of my coffee, which had turned cold, and tried to regain my composure.
We sat in silence for a while.
“Do you think something happened to Oliver?” Sandra asked. She shook her head. “Er … I mean, do you think it wasn’t really just an accident?”
I dug my nails into my palms, trying to hold back the tears. “I don’t know what to think anymore. There just seems to be more to it than meets the eye. I keep going over it. I have no simple explanation for the fact that he wasn’t wearing his own underwear. Yet at the same time it doesn’t necessarily imply foul play.”
I rested my face in my hands. “I feel so tired. The grief of Oliver’s death hadn’t even fully sunk in when I heard of your existence, and now this. I can’t seem to get my thoughts in order.”
“I see,” she said, empathically.
It was painful to have to acknowledge it, but perhaps she’d known other sides of Oliver’s life than I had. “Do you know if something unusual had been going on before he died?”
Sandra strummed with painted nails on her lips. “The only thing that comes to mind is that odd phone call about that client Van Santen that I told you about last time. It was clearly a case that demanded a lot from him.”
I too had seen in the months leading up to his death that Oliver’s work at the firm had occupied him, but I hardly knew the details of what he’d been up to. “Can you recall anything else about that phone call?” I asked.
She swivelled the cup, which was empty by now, in her hands while thinking. “No, sorry. Nothing specific comes to mind.”
“Your husband was one of the partners at Mason & McGant, right?”
Sandra nodded.
I hesitated for a momen
t before I asked. “Does your husband still not know about er … Oliver and you?”
She shook her head.
“Could you perhaps ask him about that case?” Oliver’s fierce reaction, when Sandra had started talking about Van Santen, made me feel uneasy. I couldn’t fully explain why, but I felt a strong desire to find out more about the last client for which he’d worked. “As the head of the office, your husband is surely in the loop on all cases.”
Sandra didn’t seem to care much for my suggestion. “I’m not too sure whether that’s a good idea. My husband and I try to keep work and personal life separate.”
“Come on,” I beseeched. “It’s not that much trouble, is it?”
She sighed and seemed to mull it over. “Fine. I’ll ask him about it.”
I gave her a nod. “Thank you. I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said trivialising, but in reality I doubted that.
I glanced at my watch and stood up. “I have to go and pick up my son.”
Sandra slid her arms into her jacket. “I’ll call you when I know more.”
As I walked out, something came to my mind. Sandra had promised to quiz her husband, but there could be an alternative way to gather information.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked up Oliver’s former employer’s number.
The receptionist answered my call, “Mason & McGant, how may I help you?”
“This is Jennifer Smits. Can you put me through to Benedict van Suyten from the mergers and acquisitions department?” Benedict had started working as a paralegal at Mason & McGant in the same year as Oliver and the two had become close colleagues.
“One moment please.”
While the other end of the line fell silent, I put on my headphones, got on the bike and left in the direction of Tim’s day-care.
“Benedict van Suyten,” I heard, moments later.
“Hi Ben, this is Jennifer, Oliver Smits’ wife.”
His voice sounded friendly. “Hi Jennifer, great to hear from you.” We hadn’t spoken to each other since Oliver’s funeral. His tone softened. “How are you doing?”
“I’m alright,” I replied.
“How’s the little man doing?”
I smiled. “Good. Tim’s growing before my eyes.”
Benedict laughed. “I’m sure he is. He takes after his father. How are you holding up without Oliver?” he asked, a sound of genuine concern in his voice.
“I don’t know. Fine, I guess,” I answered, not quite sure what to add. I clammed up as the traffic rushed past me. “How have you been?”
“Good, good … busy. Up to my neck in cases.” He guffawed. “As always, the partners at Mason & McGant keep hurling cases at us.” Nothing had changed at the firm, by the sound of it.
“Ben, I’d like to ask you something. I’ve received two e-mails from the secretary of Oliver’s department saying there’s a box with his belongings. I don’t know what it contains, but I intend to come over and collect it soon. While I’m there, would you like to go for a coffee together?”
Benedict and I had always had plenty to talk about whenever we saw each other at one of Mason & McGant’s drinks and he reacted as expected with enthusiasm. “Sounds like a good plan. How about early next week?”
“Perfect. Would you happen to know what’s in the package?” I asked tentatively. Recent developments had made me curious about its contents. I was hoping the box would provide clues on the case that Oliver had been working on.
“No idea. But you know what? As luck would have it, I’m close to the secretary right now,” Benedict replied. “I’ll have a look for you.”
I keenly accepted his offer. There were some voices in the background as I was cycling.
He returned to the phone. “It’s Ben again.” I heard a crackling sound. “There are some practical items in it, such as a writing pad and a few ballpoints, and a picture of the three of you. That’s about it.”
“I see,” I said with a feeling of disappointment.
I knew Benedict was busy and didn’t want to fritter away his time, but I had to bring it up. “Ben, I wanted to ask you one last thing. Oliver seemed to be swamped at the office in the last few months before his death. Do you know what he was working on?” Benedict was positioned in a different department to Oliver, but they’d regularly have lunch together, so perhaps he was up to date on what had been going on.
There was something distant in his voice. “Not really.”
I contemplated how I could clarify myself. “I recently got the impression that there may have been something out of the ordinary going on at the firm.”
“Might be. You know how things are around here. Never a dull moment,” Benedict quipped and laughed, but there was something disingenuous and evasive about his manner.
He didn’t seem to understand what I was getting at. “Would you have any idea what case he was assigned to? Could it be that he defended a master criminal, a client who was seeking to exploit the loopholes of the law?” I asked without holding back.
There was a short pause. When Benedict spoke again, kindness had disappeared from his voice. “What exactly do you want from me, Jennifer?”
I was shocked by his reaction. “It would be good if …” I faltered. “I’d just like to know what case Oliver was working on. He was away from home so much and seemed to be worried about something, but I have no idea what was really going on.”
“What’s the point? You know that as lawyers we’re sometimes forced to defend mega crooks and keep secrets to ourselves. It’s part of our profession.”
I felt uneasy. “You’re probably right. I’m just asking because finding answers would help me gain some closure.”
“You’re well aware that as a lawyer, Oliver often had to deal with the big boys. There’s no need to know any more than that. You’re better off leaving the matter to rest.”
He had a point. The traffic light turned green and I cycled on.
I tried to sound jaunty in an attempt to smooth over the hostile atmosphere that had so suddenly arisen. “Never mind. So, when will coffee suit you next week?” I had all the time in the world now that I’d taken a breather from work. “I’d love to hear how you, Melanie and the kids are all doing now,” I tried to ingratiate myself to him, but in reality I had a glimmer of hope that he might confide in me if we saw each other in person.
Benedict coughed. “I just realised that I am completely full next week.”
“What about the following week? Any time and day is fine for me,” I chirped.
He rejected my proposal. “We’re going on a ski trip with the family for a week, alas. I won’t be able to make it any time soon I’m afraid.”
“Right,” I mumbled.
“I’ll make sure the box of belongings will be couriered to you, to save you a trip to the office,” Benedict said.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I will come …”
He cut straight across me. “I insist. I have to go now. I’ll call you another time, okay?”
Before I was even able to utter another word the phone was disconnected.
12
Two days later, I was waiting for my cappuccino and slice of chocolate fudge cake in a coffee shop, when my phone screen lit up.
“I spoke to my husband,” Sandra whispered.
I was barely able to make out what she saying over the buzz of conversation around me and covered my other ear with my hand.
“Roderick told me Oliver was involved up to his neck in an extortion case,” Sandra continued. “Oliver represented some guy named Mark Van Santen, a well-known figure in the property business. You know, one of those guys operating on the edge of what is and isn’t allowed. Notoriously difficult to get folks like that behind bars. They apparently have henchmen everywhere to protect them.”
I sat on the edge of my seat. “Go on.”
“He was already one …”
I interrupted her. “Can you speak up? I can barely hear you.”
“Hold
on,” she whispered. I heard footsteps and a door close. Moments later she spoke, sounding jittery. “I’m in my bedroom.”
I noticed that Sandra was home yet again on a weekday. She seemed to be the kind of woman who didn’t have a paid job, but presided over all sorts of volunteer organisations and committees.
“I haven’t much time,” she rushed. “My husband is working from home today and I don’t want him to eavesdrop on our conversation. I could tell his suspicion was raised when I was asking about the case and he was quite reluctant to share any information.”
My order was delivered on a tray and I acknowledged the waitress with a nod. “So what explanation did you provide for asking him all these questions?”
“I spun a tale of how we happened to meet in the park and started talking. I kept rambling pathetically about how you’d love to know what Oliver had been up to in the last few months and what his life at work looked like just before his death. I sold him a line that it would give you peace, or whatever.”
“What else did your husband let slip?”
“Oliver had been preparing the case for several months. The hearing was due to take place a week after his death,” she reeled off.
I thoughtlessly stuck my fork into my pastry, but my appetite had disappeared. “Do you think Oliver was caught up in something shady? Do you reckon this Mark Van Santen had something to do with his death?”
“No idea, but we shouldn’t rule anything out.”
I was cautious of confiding in Sandra about the conversation I’d had with Benedict. After all, I hardly knew anything about this woman that Oliver had been attracted to. On the other hand, she’d stuck her neck out by quizzing her husband, so I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I reached out to one of Oliver’s former colleagues. They were pretty tight knit so if anyone at Mason & McGant were to know if something was wrong with Oliver, it would be him.”
“Interesting. What did he have to say?”
I brought Sandra up to speed on the phone call during which Ben had initially responded heartily to my proposal for a cup of coffee, until I started talking about the case that Oliver had been slogging away at before his death.
“So his attitude only changed after you’d touched upon the subject?”
Double Deceit Page 9
