He opened the door to the corridor, letting a gust of wind and much-needed oxygen flow into the room. “One of our officers will bring a phone to you shortly,” he barked, then slammed the door shut.
After a few minutes in which the world seemed to have come screeching to a halt, an officer entered the room, carrying a mobile phone. “You have three minutes,” he said and laid the device, serving as a symbol for my connection to the outside world, on the table, before leaving me alone again.
I typed in the ten digits with trembling fingers, feeling incredibly relieved I’d memorised them.
“Hello,” said the familiar voice, prompting me to break down and burst into tears.
“Dan,” I sobbed with heaving shoulders. “I’ve been arrested by the police. They think I’m responsible for Sandra’s death.”
“What?” Dan exclaimed. There was a short pause. “But how is that even possible?”
I wiped my nose on my sleeve and pulled my arms tightly across my chest, my eyes burning with tears. “They seem to have a pile of evidence against me. I’m at my wits’ end. You have to help me, please. Do you think you could defend me, now that you’ve been put on hold by the firm?”
Dan seemed to be contemplating it for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I believe I can. The bar hasn’t suspended my licence, so I’m allowed to continue representing clients as an independent lawyer. But honestly – it’s not my area of expertise.”
“I don’t care. You’re a top lawyer at an international firm, you’re good at what you do, but more importantly – I trust you. Please help me, Dan,” I implored.
“All right, I will.”
My hands were shaking so violently, my pearl teardrop earrings clanged against the phone. “How long will it take you to get here?”
“Should be doable within an hour.”
Something came to my mind. “Can you call my parents? I asked my colleague to ring them up to keep Tim one more night, but they must be worried out of their minds.”
“No problem,” Dan responded, then asked tentatively, “What shall I tell them?”
I dithered. “Please tell them that it was just an interview with the police, and that I now have to work an unforeseen extra night shift.”
“Okay, I’ll pass on the message,” Dan said briskly.
I gave him my parents’ landline number, which, as luck would have it, I’d always remembered, and the location of the police station where I was being detained.
The door swung open again and the officer spoke with a blank face. “Time’s up.”
I managed a slight bob of my head to the policeman and raised my index finger. “I have to go,” I said to Dan, jacked up. “See you soon, okay?”
“Of course, don’t you worry. We are going to rectify this,” he assured me cool-headedly, as if were dealing with a wrongful traffic fine, and it gave me a glimmer of hope.
We hung up and I handed the phone back to the agent, who gave me a nod as a sign that I had to stand up. “I’ll take you to your cell where you can wait for your lawyer.”
I rose to my feet, fidgeting with my hands, trying to keep my sanity.
He pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket and commanded, “Hands behind your back.”
“But, wait …” I stammered. “That wasn’t necessary when they brought me in. I promise you that I won’t …”
He interrupted my plea and shrugged. “Sorry, it’s standard procedure.”
I yielded and turned around, bringing my hands to my back, trying to quell the panic rising in my chest as he secured the ring of hard metal around my wrists.
The officer steered me along the hall and up three flights of stairs, his gaze ahead and his hand in my back as if propelling me forward. As I was listening to the echo of my shoes on the concrete floor, I suddenly caught a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror on the wall and stifled a shriek. My face was smeared with streaks of mascara meandering down my cheeks, my eyes looked hollow and forlorn and my jumper was hanging loosely around my body – I was a shell of myself. The hand on my back steered me sideways turning us to the right, into another hallway where we stopped at the third green metal door. As I glanced at the viewing hatch, positioned at eye level on the door, a wave of dread washed over me - I was about to be locked up in a police cell. The man used one of the keys on his chain to open the door, gave a quick nod, and I shuffled into the small cell, containing merely a plain bed, a toilet and a sink, where he unshackled my wrists. “Food will be brought in half an hour,” the officer barked.
But I had lost all appetite.
36
I was sitting on the hard bed, staring out of the narrow window where life outside just seemed to carry on as normal. I couldn’t wrap my head around what was going on. Suddenly there was a grinding of the key in the lock and I looked up. The door swung open – there stood Dan in the doorway.
I’d never been this exhilarated to see someone in my life and I jumped up. Without any reservations I threw myself into his arms, resting my head against his chest. The clean detergent scent of his crisp linen shirt as well as the spicy fragrance of his aftershave reached my nostrils, causing a paradoxical feeling of comfort and shame over my own crumpled appearance. I let go of Dan, withdrew and muttered, “I’m so sorry.” Feeling mortified over the mess I was in, I averted my gaze as we talked. “You have no idea how relieved I am that you’re here.”
He leaned in, closing the distance between us and tenderly brushed a strand of hair back from my face, bringing tears to my eyes, spilling onto my shirt. I quickly wiped them with the back of my hand.
“Come on,” Dan said gently with a nod, his dark eyes full of compassion behind the elegant set of spectacles I hadn’t seen him wear since the day we met. “Let’s sit down.”
We lowered ourselves onto the creaking bed next to one another, our knees almost touching, elbows brushing against each other.
I held my head in my hands, struggling to find words. “I don’t know where to start. That detective’s been taunting and grilling me, I seem to be directly in their crosshairs. How did I end up in this nightmare?” I asked, although I didn’t expect a plausible answer from Dan.
Dan kept silent for a moment and stroked my back, as I gave a sob of despair, my hands still covering my face.
After a while, I pulled myself together, straightened my shoulders and ran a hand through my hair, before mustering up the courage to look into Dan’s caring eyes. “Did you get a hold of my parents?”
“They are more than happy to take care of Tim for as long as it takes.” His gaze moved to the tray, which had been delivered earlier, sitting untouched on the floor in the corner of the room. “Did you eat anything at all?”
I shook my head resolutely. “I can’t get anything down right now.”
Dan rose to his feet, advanced a few steps to the food and leaned over to pick up the plate. “Come on, just have a few bites,” he insisted, holding out the cheese sandwich. “You need to keep your strength up.”
I reluctantly took the sandwich from Dan, not feeling like arguing with him over it and with the utmost effort managed a few bites, just to please him.
Dan stood up and filled the plastic cup in the sink with water. “Here, drink up.”
I washed down a piece of bread with the water, while bringing him up to speed about the harsh interrogation and the collection of evidence they’d garnered against me. As we sat back down on the bed, I ended my account of events with the proposal of four years incarceration that the detective had offered.
Dan raised his thick, brown eyebrows as he listened, observing me in silence.
“Do you think I should take it?” I asked, feeling a sense of surrealism as I uttered the words. “Accept the offer of four years in prison?” A voice in my head was telling me to maintain my innocence, but the thought of being sentenced for an even longer period made me wonder if it might be wise to settle.
Dan shook his head. “Absolutely not. The detective is using the carrot-and-sti
ck approach to coerce you. We mustn’t make any rash decisions.” His tone was unwavering. And yet there was a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite read.
“Dan, it sounded like they have pretty conclusive evidence to lock me up for years,” I said, shifting on the thin mattress, coils poking into my thighs. “The phone details, my DNA on Sandra’s bike, the tram driver’s statement – it’s almost a watertight case. To make matters worse, I’ve been unable to provide a good explanation for any of the allegations. With four years and good behaviour, I’ll be home in no time,” I tried to encourage myself.
“Don’t you see it?” Dan said, a resoluteness in his voice. “The evidence is not real, it’s fake. It has somehow been fabricated. Just like they did with all those previous cases at Mason & McGant.” He paused for a moment, presumably for his words to sink in, but I hadn’t the faintest clue what the connection between the two was. “This is how they work, Jennifer. It’s their modus operandi, their means of operation.”
I kept shaking my head, my mouth dropping open slightly.
Dan laid his hands on my shoulders and held them tightly. “Someone in high places at Mason & McGant wants to frame you for Sandra’s murder. Remember, how they tampered with DNA samples and phone records to keep those clients from going inside?”
I nodded.
Dan continued with a grim look in his eyes. “In a similar way, they’ve managed to falsify the evidence to get you wrongfully arrested.”
And then there was a click in my brain and the disturbing truth struck me – these people had, by hook or by crook, made it evident to the detective that the DNA found on Sandra’s bike belonged to me and had localised my phone at the crime scene at the time of the murder.
My eyes strayed past Dan’s shoulder, towards the blank wall opposite me – I felt gobsmacked by the ingenuity of it all. This methodical approach, involving infiltration of the highest levels of the criminal investigation department, was beyond imagination, but Dan had to be right. After all, I was certain I hadn’t been in the vicinity of the tram accident on that day, and it was impossible for my DNA to end up on Sandra’s bike. I felt foolish and feeble for buckling under the detective’s coercion and starting to question myself.
I slowly rose to my feet, clasping my hands at my head as I muttered in astonishment. “It is all slotting into place. How does that rotten law firm manage to bend the world to its will, time and time again? It’s as if it has monstrous tentacles wrapped around every aspect of the constitutional state, locking it into place.”
I looked at Dan, who was ruminatively rubbing his chin. “They’re clearly not lacking in guile. But I just can’t wrap my head around how they got a hold of your DNA at the DFI. They would only be able to find a match if they have a sample of your genetic material at their disposal.” He shook his head. “It’ll have to wait. I’m working out a legal strategy in my head. We need to be able to provide as much evidence as possible to the criminal investigation department in order for them to cross you off as a suspect, so that they can turn their full focus of attention to Mason & McGant. Where did you save that audio recording taken during your visit to the DFI?”
“It’s on my phone,” I answered. “They confiscated it.”
“I’ll have to reclaim it to extract the recording,” Dan replied, biting his thumb, seemingly reflecting on it all for a moment. “But not right now. Upon arrival I was told you were only allowed to consult me for half an hour and that the hearing would continue afterwards.”
I felt my stomach clench, and for a moment I was afraid that those few chunks of sandwich would come back up again, but I managed to get a hold of myself. “I’m not sure I can do this, Dan, I’m so scared,” I said, quelling the urge to desperately cling on to him like a little child.
Dan held me by the upper arms again, his hands soft and firm, his big brown eyes locking onto mine. “You must be strong, Jennifer . Think of your son, think of Oliver.”
He was right, I had to keep my composure.
“Everything will be okay in the end. You need to have faith that justice will prevail,” he added solemnly.
I nodded, stroking the sides of my face with my hands, pulling myself together – I had to rise to the challenge.
There was a sharp rap at the door.
“Are you ready?” Dan asked.
I lifted my chin, looked him deep in the eyes and straightened my back. With a firm jaw, I confirmed I was prepared for whatever was coming next. “Yes.”
We rose from the bed, as the lock of the steel door clicked open, revealing a tall male guard with startling blue eyes awaiting me with a pair of handcuffs. “The detective is expecting you.”
Not waiting for the guard to ask the question, I turned and put my hands behind my back to be cuffed again, avoiding Dan’s gaze during this humiliating scene.
The three of us headed downstairs in silence, where Dan and I were led to the same interrogation room I’d been in earlier. As the guard uncuffed me, he instructed us to sit down alongside one another, on two chairs at one end of the table. Moments later, Detective Armstrong entered the room, ending our muffled conversation, closed the door behind him and advanced towards us, sending a chill down my spine.
“Good afternoon,” he said, shaking hands with Dan. “I understand you will act as a legal counsellor on behalf of Mrs Smits today?”
“Yes, I will.”
“I gather you’ve recharged your batteries with a light refreshment,” the detective turned to me affably, as if he’d whisked me off to a two star Michelin restaurant.
I nodded, my lips pulled into a straight line.
He grimaced. “Wonderful. Let’s get going again.”
The detective switched on the recorder and after verbalising all the details, turned his attention to Dan. “Your client, Mrs van Smits, is accused of involvement in the death of Sandra delaHaye and will be charged with manslaughter.”
“So I’ve been led to believe,” Dan responded in a business-like tone that I hadn’t heard from him before. “Let’s not get ahead of things, shall we?” Dan pressed on. “The DNA proof that you claim to have against my client is circumstantial. Why don’t we first wait and see if there’s unequivocally a match when we compare the DNA profile you found on the victim’s bike with my client’s.”
My eyes flew open. What was Dan doing? He was hanging me out to dry. We already knew that Mason & McGant had somehow retrieved my DNA and that there was a match via the Databank with a sample my father had once handed in. So what was the point of going down this route?
Dan gave me a reassuring look. I sat back, trying to soothe myself –surely he would know what he was doing? I had no other option but to trust him right now.
The detective cast us a cantankerous look, noticeably displeased with Dan taking charge of the interrogation and spoke between gritted teeth. “We are indeed compelled to take a direct sample of Mrs Smits’ DNA to complete the forensic evidence. But there’s no doubt in my mind that our suspicions regarding Mrs Smits’ involvement will be confirmed, given the family bond that has already been demonstrated.” He rose from his chair. “I’ll be right back.”
When the detective had left the room, I turned to Dan, the bit of self-confidence that I had left in me was crumbling away in chunks. “Why did you bring that up? It’s clear that they’ll find a match when they collect my DNA – it will provide them with the evidence they need to corroborate their accusations.” I felt like I’d been hurled out of the pot and into the fire.
“Granted,” Dan said in a muffled voice, as if he was expecting the detective to be eavesdropping on us from the other side of the door. “I’m merely taking this route to buy us some time. Although the evidence they have is prima facie, from a legal point of view, nothing has been proven yet. By first having them run a full DNA analysis, we’re creating an opportunity to garner all the evidence to the contrary.”
“Right,” I muttered, feeling flustered by the legal terms Dan was throwing at me, but there
was a voice in the back of my mind whispering that we were heading down the wrong path.
There wasn’t any time to elaborate on Dan’s plan and give his approach more consideration, as the detective entered the room again, accompanied by a younger officer, carrying a test tube with a cotton swab, asking me to open my mouth. As I stood up and complied, I thought to myself, another umpteenth degrading gesture, while the man briskly scraped the inside of my cheeks with the brush. Detective Armstrong towered over us, as if to check the officer was doing his job properly.
“That should do it,” the junior officer declared as he finished, sliding the specimen into the tube and retreating into the dimly lit corridor.
We all sat down on the wooden chairs again, the inside of my mouth felt dry and cottony. The detective leaned back and folded his arms over his big belly protruding over his grey trousers, and the buttons of his dated, white shirt looked set to pop open. “I took the liberty to discuss the death of Mrs DelaHaye at length with Mrs Smits this morning. Although I presume there was nothing new to you, or was there?” the detective said with a condescending sneer. “What we haven’t done yet though is review the death of your husband, Oliver Smits.”
I shot a nervous glance at Dan, but his eyes remained riveted on the detective. What was this all about?
“Please enlighten me on what the afternoon of your husband’s death looked like?”
My thoughts went back to that fateful day, when my life changed forever. I took a deep breath and started recounting the events. “We had decided to go away for a long weekend, just the three of us. Oliver had booked a bungalow at one of those holiday parks in the south of the country.”
Double Deceit Page 32
