Authors: Isadora Bryan
‘Who are this lot?’ Pieter asked, pointing a finger at an array of posters.
‘Oh, let’s see,’ Tanja answered. ‘There’s Betty Friedan. And Virginia Woolf. Andrea Dworkin. Interesting person, Andrea. She moved to Amsterdam in the late sixties, and married an anarchist. He used to beat the shit out of her. She later became a leading player in the anti-porn movement.’
‘Is it something you are interested in then, feminism?’
‘I attended a few rallies in my student years,’ Tanja answered. ‘But I was never what you would call militant.’
‘And now?’
‘And now I suppose I still cling to a few of the old ideals. More out of habit than anything, I suspect.’
Tanja looked away, a little embarrassed. Not for the first time, she had cause to consider that Kissin might well be a natural; he could make people open up, even when they’d no wish to do so.
‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘Maria told us that Ursula had Mikael’s phone. Let’s see if there’s anything else she might have borrowed.’
They found Maria’s bag soon enough. Pieter carefully emptied the contents onto the carpet. There was nothing particularly contentious.
Tanja took the bag from him, and felt inside. There was a secret compartment at the bottom, accessed by pulling a shred of loose ribbon. There was a click. She took out a stack of photographs.
‘How did you –?’ Pieter began.
‘Female intuition,’ Tanja said.
All save three of the photos had been ripped in half. It wasn’t hard to work out why: the destroyed photos all depicted Maria, in various states of undress.
The other three were more innocuous, on the face of it. But a second glance had Pieter gasping.
‘Hey, is that Mikael Ruben?’ he said. ‘Look – it is.’
‘Yes,’ Tanja agreed. ‘And that street – that’s Enge Lombardsteeg, unless I’m very much mistaken. Not far from The Den. So who’s the woman?’
‘Can’t see. Damn it, you can’t see her face in any of these. But she’s got blonde hair, hasn’t she?’ For a moment it felt as if Tanja’s exterior senses had been shut down: all she could feel was the beat of her heart, distant now, yet growing closer all the while. And here it was, the thump-thump of revelation! The blissful, painful moment of clarity.
This
woman was the killer? It seemed ludicrous, perverse, that such a dynamic person could be bound up in the prison of a static photograph.
‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘Blonde hair. And see – over her shoulder? A red handbag.’
Pieter held one of the photos to his eye. ‘You think it’s Ursula? You think Maria took it?’
It amazed her that he was still thinking along those lines. ‘No. Ursula was a good five-ten. We know that Ruben was five-eleven – yet he’s clearly much taller than the woman in the shot, even though she’s wearing heels.’
‘Damn. You’re right. So much for Janssen’s theory, then.’
She felt no triumph. Just a quiet surge of renewed confidence, that her instincts were still to be trusted. ‘So it seems.’
Tanja took a few moments to look at the photographs in turn. The woman, she saw, was wearing a pale dress, of elegant design. Mikael Ruben wasn’t holding her hand, and there was a gap of perhaps a metre between them as they walked. It didn’t imply any great familiarity on their part.
‘It’s usually the most obvious answer which is the right one, Pieter,’ she said. ‘
Ursula
took the photos. This was her private hoard. Or was, at least, until Maria found it.’
‘And the photo of Lander Brill?’
‘I don’t think she took that one. It’s a Polaroid. But these others aren’t.’ Tanja set off on a slow tour of the room, her fingers brushing the posters. ‘How about this: Ursula is following Mikael Ruben –’
‘Why?’
Tanja pointed at the ripped-up photos. ‘Because she is envious of what he has with Maria. She blames him for it. I’m sure Antje Scholten would tell us it is natural to fixate on the causes of our unhappiness.’
‘Right.’
‘So,’ she continued, ‘Ursula follows Mikael, and sees him with another woman. Now this is where it gets a bit shaky. Rather than being appalled, when she makes the connection to his murder, maybe she is
grateful
. Maybe she starts to identify with the killer. As another feminist icon, perhaps.’
Pieter nodded. ‘And so she contacts her?’
‘Perhaps. And perhaps the killer is so discomfited by Ursula’s attention that she decides to kill her.’
‘By luring her to the park?’
‘Yes,’ said Tanja.
‘And killing Lander Brill was part of that?’
‘Again, perhaps.’
‘But the method was so different,’ Pieter noted.
‘Of course,’ Tanja concurred. ‘Lander didn’t fit the pattern of the killer’s usual targets. She wouldn’t have felt any need to employ the full ritual on him.’
‘Now that is a Scholtenism!’ Pieter said. ‘So what are you saying, that it was just an accident that Maria got to her first?’
‘It’s plausible.’
Pieter considered Tanja’s words carefully, his lips moving soundlessly as he struggled to fit it all together. ‘You know, it’s the first time I’ve heard you offer a theory as to what is going on here.’
‘I like to have a few facts in place before committing myself. But it’s still only a theory, at this stage, and a partial one at that.’
Anders Wever hadn’t spoken with Alex Hoekstra since the day of his transfer. They’d got on well enough, before, but it was still with some trepidation that he made the call.
It was maddening: at the time Anders should have been celebrating the probable solution of the Cougar Killer case – a misnomer, in retrospect! – he was being forced to go behind the back of one of his officers. Still, he couldn’t simply dismiss the call from Balistraat; he needed to check it out.
‘Alex,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, pretty good, sir, thanks for asking!’ A pause. ‘How’s Tanja?’
‘Oh, the same as ever,’ Wever answered.
‘Well, that’s a relief. I take it you’ve heard?’
‘That you’ve split up again? Yes.’
‘It’s for the best.’ Alex said determinedly. ‘But how can I help you, Chief Inspector?’
‘Well, it’s about Tanja, funnily enough. And you.’
There was a marked catch in Alex’s voice. ‘Oh?’
‘I’ve just had the strangest call,’ Wever continued. ‘From one of the Balistraat boys. Concerning a man named Jasper Endqvist. Does that mean anything to you?’
There was a pause, followed by a deep sigh. ‘I knew it would get out eventually. Has he issued a formal complaint?’
‘Not exactly,’ Wever answered. ‘He’s dead. Murdered.’
Alex gasped. ‘Shit. You’re kidding. Ah,
shit
.’
‘Tell me about the accident, Alex.’
‘You remember, don’t you? Tanja and I were at a party. She’d had a few glasses of wine. I drove us home. In her car. But then a man stepped out in front of me. I swerved, and crashed into a shop.’
‘You never mentioned it in much detail at the time,’ Wever said. ‘The way it was described to me, it was just a little bump.’
‘I suppose we were a little embarrassed.’
We?
Something in Alex’s tone alerted Wever. It was too light, too carefree. He felt a cold finger on his spine, as if some malignant ghost were measuring him for a lethal blow. ‘So why would Mr Endqvist get involved in all this?’
‘Well,’ Alex answered, then pausing, ‘the problem was, there were a couple of witnesses. And they sort of suggested that it wasn’t me who was driving, but Tanja.’
And perhaps they were telling the truth
, Anders thought.
Wever was not without a few tricks. ‘I made you a DS, remember, Alex? The Superintendent said you were too young, but I trusted in you.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Do you trust
me
, Alex?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes sir. You know I do.’
‘Then trust in this: I am going to ask you a question, and if you lie to me, then sooner or later it will come back to haunt you. Do you understand?
‘Sir.’
Wever paused a moment to gather his strength. ‘Was it really you driving that night? Or was it Tanja?’
Alex didn’t answer immediately.
But when he did, his voice was calm, almost relieved. ‘I could have stopped her – of course I could – but at the time I was more worried about setting her off again. It was at the height of the Butcher case. She was under pressure. You know how it was.’
‘Yes.’
‘So, she crashed the car. Took out a shop window. We only had a few moments before a patrol arrived. We argued over what we were going to do. In the end we agreed that I would take the rap. I did, and when they breathalysed me they found I hadn’t touched a drop. I told them I’d swerved to avoid a drunk. They believed me. Of course they did – I’m a cop.’
Anders didn’t say anything for a moment. He could feel his heart beating, too fast. Maybe this was it, the heart attack his doctor had been warning him about for the last ten years.
‘And since then, Alex?’
‘As I say. there were a couple of witnesses. Neither were what you would call particularly reliable, but the insurance company didn’t see it that way. Jasper Endqvist was certain that Tanja had been driving. He sent her a few letters, threatening legal action. They were quite smug, as I recall. They used to make Tanja mad.’
‘Even though she was guilty as charged?’
‘Yes,’ Alex replied.
‘And the settlement is still pending, as far as you are aware?’
‘I believe so,’ Alex affirmed. ‘Tanja – she hates the fact that she’s had to lie. But you know what she’s like. As soon as she starts on a course of action, she won’t let it go. She can’t. You know what she’s done, though, to try and make up for it? She’s given a thousand euro of her own money to some victim support charity. And the claim is only for five hundred!’
‘It doesn’t make it right, Alex.’
‘No,’ Alex conceded. ‘But, sir, you can’t think that
Tanja
had anything to do with the murder?’
Now it was Anders’ turn to hesitate. ‘No, of course not.’
‘For what it’s worth, sir, I’d like to apologise –’
‘Not now, Hoekstra. You’ve let yourself down. You’ve let me down. What happens next is up for grabs.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘We’ll talk about this more in due course. In the meantime, keep your mouth shut, understand?’
Anders hung up. He took a few moments to compose himself, then stamped to his door. He threw it open. ‘Tanja!’
Tanja appeared a moment later. She looked at him with an enquiring eye, then sat down in the spare seat.
‘I didn’t say you could sit,’ he said coldly.
Tanja stood, her expression haunted. ‘Sir –?’
‘Two days ago a man was run over in the Oosterpark. He was killed. Did you hear anything about that?’
‘That would be Balistraat business, wouldn’t it?’
‘His name was Jasper Endqvist,’ Wever advised. ‘I believe you knew him.’
Tanja sat down again. Anders didn’t move to stop her this time. She had her hand to her mouth, and now her hair. Her eyes were wide open, now tight shut. ‘He’s dead? Murdered?’
‘Yes.’
She shook her head. ‘But how can that be? Who would want to murder him?’ She gasped, and stared at Anders. ‘And why are you asking me about this?’
‘One of the Balistraat detectives alerted me to the fact that you’d been speaking to Mr Endqvist,’ Anders replied. ‘But I didn’t know why until I’d spoken to Alex Hoekstra.’
A range of emotions played on Tanja’s face. ‘Alex told you? He betrayed me?’
‘Christ, Tanja, you had no right to his loyalty. What you did – it was unconscionable.’
‘It was either that or lose my job,’ she said. ‘But it was Alex’s idea, as I recall.’
‘Oh? He implied that it was a joint decision.’
She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t. I was all for confessing everything. I think part of me was craving punishment, at the time. But Alex wouldn’t listen. After that, well, we were pretty much committed to it.’
Anders looked Tanja full in the eye, as he’d stared into the eyes of so many criminals over the years. And part of him, the part which still refused to believe that Tanja was guilty of anything except a fairly minor insurance fraud, was aware of what a tragedy it was, how this moment would effectively mark the end of their friendship. Yet the question couldn’t be avoided.
‘Tanja – I have to ask you: did you have anything to do with Jasper Endqvist’s death?’
‘No,’ she answered.
‘You swear to me, now? For all the years we’ve known each other?’
‘If I’d known you a thousand years, Anders, the answer would be the same.’
‘Your husband and I were at the Academy. You remember how close we were?’
Her eyes smouldered with that familiar terracotta glow. ‘Yes, I remember. And I also remember that you carried his coffin at the funeral. As if that makes even the slightest difference to anything. He –
they’ve
– been dead twenty years.’
Anders sat back in his seat. He wanted, more than anything, to believe her. But all the while he couldn’t forget the Hoofdcommissaris’ threat. Or van Kempen’s suspicions. Or, harder to bear, his own.
‘So,’ he said, adopting his most neutral tone of voice. ‘What are we going to do now?’
‘We could talk about the Cougar Killer, if you like,’ Tanja suggested. ‘Unless you’d rather discuss my imminent suspension?’
Anders wasn’t taken in by her confrontational tone. Not for a second. He knew that she was suffering. How vulnerable she was. He’d always seen that in her, even if it had escaped her other colleagues. Even if it had escaped her. It was a terrible thing, a terrible responsibility, to know a person better than she knew herself.
‘The last thing I want to talk about right now is your suspension,’ he said.
‘Will I be suspended?’
‘I don’t know. Jesus, Tanja!’ He made an effort to calm himself down. ‘So you think the Huisman girl is the Cougar Killer? I hear Janssen is telling anyone who will listen that the case is as good as closed.’
‘There’s a lot more work to be done. But if I had to give my opinion right now, I’d say that Ursula Huisman is no more responsible for the deaths of those men than I am responsible for the death of Jasper Endqvist.’
It was hardly the answer Wever was looking for. On any level.