Black Widow (29 page)

‘Even serial killers are allowed a day off, Chief Inspector. And the fact that our killer might well have been wearing a hairpiece cannot be overlooked. Tanja’s hair is short: she could easily wear a wig over it. Had you thought of that?’

‘No,’ Wever lied.

Van Kempen had something. A file. A plain file. He opened it, and pushed it across the desk to Wever.

‘What is this?’ Wever demanded.

‘Old news,’ van Kempen answered. ‘But still relevant, perhaps. Read it.’

Wever rather deliberately closed the file. ‘Why don’t you tell me what it says?’

‘All right. It’s basically a statement, from Tanja’s mother, from way back in the sixties. The Maastricht police were called out to a domestic. It’s a bit vague, but reading between the lines, it seems that Tanja’s father was a nasty sort.’

‘How nasty?’

‘Hard to say,’ van Kempen replied. ‘But there are hints that
something
was going on, if you catch my drift.’

‘Shit.’

‘And maybe,’ van Kempen concluded, ‘the Butcher’s escape has finally tipped her over the edge.’

‘That’s a big assumption.’

‘You could be right,’ van Kempen conceded. ‘But perhaps we should have a word with her. Just to cover our backs.’

That sounded more than a little contemptible to Anders. ‘With respect, sir, this is still my case. We won’t mention any of this to Tanja. I won’t have her thinking she doesn’t have our full support.’

Van Kempen nodded. ‘As you wish.’ He stood. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be away. The Hoofd has invited me over for coffee.’

Wever watched the KLPD man leave. He seemed to be finding it hard to breathe, as if, somewhere along the way, his canal boat had sunk beneath the surface, taking him with it.

Chapter 20

‘I still can’t believe it,’ Tanja said as they arrived at the station. ‘Not even Harald could be
that
lucky.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Pieter responded distantly. ‘And maybe it isn’t luck; maybe it’s just good detective work. Whatever it is – it’s a mystery to me.’

Tanja looked sideways at her partner. He’d been extremely subdued for the greater part of their journey back from Palmstraat. He’d made a few calls to KLM, and also the Hotel Málaga, the manager there quickly corroborating Greta’s story. When the news filtered through about Ursula Huisman, he became even more despondent.

‘I was so sure we were onto something with Greta Mach,’ he said as they entered the station building. ‘It seemed so plausible.’ He placed his hands to his forehead, running them back through his sandy hair. ‘You must think me a proper idiot. If Harald’s right, well, we
saw
that girl. Ursula is – was – nothing like the woman in Antje’s profile.’

Tanja chose her response carefully. The last thing he needed right now was for her to be smug about it. ‘Maybe not. But we had to check it out.’

‘God! Imagine if we’d gone in with an arrest team!’

‘If you go through your career without smashing up at least one innocent person’s home, you’ll be a better officer than me.’ She fixed him with a grin. ‘Anyway, enough of this moping. What say we gatecrash Harald’s party?’

‘Will he like that?’

‘He won’t have to like it,’ Tanja responded. ‘It’s still my case.’

Anders Wever was waiting for them outside the interview room. Harald had briefed him, but he didn’t seem as animated as Tanja would have expected.

‘Maria’s already made her phone call,’ he advised. ‘To her mother. The girl’s talking though. Didn’t ask for a lawyer.’

‘Anita’s coming?’ Pieter groaned. ‘That woman scares me.’

‘Are you going to sit in on this one?’ Tanja asked Anders.

He looked at the floor. ‘No. I’ve got something else to attend to. A few calls to make. But keep me posted.’

‘Of course.’

They entered the room. Maria was sitting calmly at the table. Harald was pacing about, looking up at the ceiling as if expecting that it might be about to fall. For all his irritating ways, she felt a bit sorry for him. She had never really known his various wives, but he had the look of a man who had been taken advantage of.

But for the moment he was looking quite pleased with himself. He nodded to Tanja, then returned to his seat. Tanja took the chair beside him. Pieter remained standing.

Maria had been given a change of clothing; her blood-stained gear was doubtless off with Visser. But there was still a streak of red on one cheek, and her hair was matted. Her looks, if anything, were more arresting, but it was a sad, fading beauty, like gazing on the last child of a royal dynasty.

Her life was as good as over, Tanja thought. There would be no quick parole, given the ferocity of the attack and the apparent pre-meditation involved. Maria must have recognised that fact. And yet she seemed content with the choice she’d made. She must
really
have hated Ursula.

Tanja nodded to Harald, who started the tape recorder. She recited the ritual words. For a moment afterwards there was no sound save the whirring of the tape.

‘I killed her,’ Maria said. ‘What else is there to say?’

‘Why did you kill her?’ Tanja asked.

‘I’ve already told your friend.’

‘That’s true,’ Harald interceded. ‘Miss Berger is adamant that –’

‘Tell
me
,’ Tanja interrupted.

‘Because she killed Mikael,’ Maria said to Tanja, looking her in the eye as she did so.

Tanja nodded. ‘Mikael Ruben?’

‘Of course!’

‘How do you know Ursula killed Mikael, Maria?’

Maria smiled, her eyes going vacant, a blissful expression settling on her features. Tanja could only think the girl was reliving the moment of the killing. And enjoying it.

Maria’s eyes snapped open. ‘She lied about where she was when Mikael was killed. And she had Mikael’s phone.’

‘I once stole an apple from my teacher’s desk,’ Tanja said. ‘It doesn’t necessarily follow that I’m a murderer.’

Maria tossed her hair. It was so sticky that it seemed to be of one piece. ‘You don’t know her like I do. She used to speak of how much she hated men, how the world would be a better place without them. I always put it down as a quirk. Seems I was wrong.’

‘It seems that way,’ Harald agreed.

Tanja looked at him, frowning as she did so. He shrugged, but there was a certain resentment about him. He’d clearly expected her to take his explanation as to what had happened at face value: Ursula was the serial killer, and Maria had killed her.

‘So where is this phone?’ Tanja asked.

‘I threw it in the canal,’ Maria answered.

‘How convenient!’

Maria blinked slowly. As her eyes opened, they were moist. ‘I was reading through his text messages. Some were from other women. I couldn’t stand it. I threw the phone as far as I could.’

‘What of the map?’ Harald asked.

‘What map?’

Harald removed the map from its plastic bag, and placed it on the table between them. ‘Suspect is shown exhibit 4b,’ he said for the benefit of the tape recorder. ‘Did you give it to Ursula, Maria? Perhaps leave it lying around for her to find?’

Maria frowned. ‘I’ve really no idea what you are talking about.’

Harald loomed closer. He could make for an intimidating sight, Tanja supposed. It wasn’t a trick she’d ever been able to pull off herself, for obvious reasons. But it was all right, she had other tricks at her disposal.

She leant closer, fixing Maria with her steady gaze. ‘Why lure her to the cemetery, Maria? Why there? Because it was so quiet?’

‘I didn’t
lure
her anywhere!’ Maria said vehemently. ‘I followed her, that’s all. I went looking for her as soon as I’d made the connection.’

‘Where did you find her?’ Tanja asked.

‘In the pastry shop around the corner from our flat. She used to go there at least once a day.’

‘She didn’t look particularly fat,’ Pieter noted.

‘I guess that being a murdering bitch burns a few calories.’

‘We’ll have to take your word for that,
Mejuffrouw
Berger,’ Harald said, using the somewhat archaic form of address for an unmarried woman. It suited Maria, Tanja thought. Or had, at least, until she’d turned killer.

‘And after she left the pastry shop?’ Tanja pressed.

‘She didn’t know I was there,’ Maria replied. ‘She seemed distracted. I followed her to a bookshop beside the Singel, then all the way to the Nieuwe Ooster.’

Tanja pictured the journey in her mind. ‘On foot?’

‘On my bike,’ Maria corrected. ‘She left hers at the cemetery gates. So did I.’

‘And what of the photograph?’ Harald demanded.

‘What photograph? You mean the ones she took of me?’

Harald placed the photo next to the map. ‘Of Lander Brill.’

‘Lander Brill?’ Maria looked at the photo, then recoiled with a violent snap of her head. ‘I know that name. That face. Isn’t he Hana Huisman’s boyfriend?’

‘He was,’ Pieter answered. ‘He’s dead, now.’

Maria leant back in her seat. ‘Then Ursula must have killed him, too. She made no secret of the fact that she despised him. She used to get drunk, and say how much she dreamed of killing him.’

Harald nodded. ‘I’ve been asking around. Lander Brill wasn’t the nicest man, by the sound of things. He used to beat Hana. Ursula probably found out about it.’

Tanja was irritated with Harald. They were supposed to be interviewing Maria, not filling in the blanks for her.

She took a sip of her tasteless coffee, considering how strange it was that Maria would so happily confess to killing Ursula, whilst denying that she’d been responsible for luring her to the murder site. Something was missing here, that much was obvious. Was she actually being cleverer than Tanja suspected, maybe building up towards an insanity plea?

‘Are you sure it wasn’t you who killed Lander Brill?’ she asked softly. ‘Are you sure Ursula wasn’t actually an innocent party in all this?’

Maria stared, her hand in her filthy hair. But then she started to shake. ‘No. That isn’t true.’

‘Are you sure?’

Harald coughed into the back of his hand. Tanja broke off for a moment, to speak to him directly. ‘Would you like a glass of water, Detective Sergeant?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ he grunted. But that air of resentment had grown more marked. He had the look of a man who’d been invited to a lock-in, only to find that the barman had forgotten his keys.

Tanja turned back to Maria. ‘But if it wasn’t you who lured Ursula to the cemetery, then who was it?’

‘I don’t know!’ Maria replied. ‘Maybe she wasn’t lured at all. Maybe the things in her pockets were her own keepsakes. Maybe she just liked graveyards. I don’t know! All I know is that she killed Mikael, and that I’ve made her pay for it.’

The door flew open. Anita Berger was there, slapping her hands at the uniform who tried to restrain her, her eyes wild beneath her blonde hair. She was wearing a knee-length raincoat, open at the throat, to reveal a hint of cleavage. She’d clearly left in a hurry; one side of her face was made up, the other was naked.

A man was with her. A lawyer, judging by the expensive suit and suspicious flare of his nostrils.

‘My poor little girl,’ Anita said as she caught her daughter in a hug. Maria’s head clutched to her breast, she looked up, to glare at Tanja. ‘What are you doing to her?’

‘Interviewing her, Mrs Berger. And she has already confessed. To killing Ursula Huisman.’

‘What!’ Anita gasped.

‘If I may,’ the lawyer interjected, ‘my client will not be saying anything else until I have had a chance to speak to her.’

Tanja shrugged. ‘As you wish. I think we have everything we need for now.’

With Pieter in tow, Tanja left the interview room and set off in search of a more palatable coffee. Ursula Huisman, the serial killer? Harald certainly seemed to believe it, and maybe Pieter, too. But she didn’t. The few witness statements were vague, but they all pointed to the killer being an older woman. More than that, The Den set a strict minimum age limit for its customers. Ursula Huisman was no delicate, fresh-faced girl, but she was still appreciably a good deal younger than forty. She wouldn’t have been allowed entry to the club, wig or no wig. And if that didn’t match Harald’s reading of the situation then tough. Facts were facts, and couldn’t be ignored for the sake of expedience.

‘So what next?’ Pieter asked. ‘Tie up a few loose ends? We still have to replace that receipts folder at the Cougar Club.’

‘Oh, come on Pieter. Maria killed Ursula, fine. But Ursula didn’t kill Mikael. Nor any of those other men.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

Tanja ignored the question. Her attention was rather given over to the A4 sheet of paper which had been crudely taped to the wall of the corridor. Christ, did they
really
think that of her? She would almost rather they did, if the alternative was to make a joke out of it.

She saw Pieter fidgeting out of the corner of her eye. His embarrassment only served to fuel her unhappiness. ‘Did you know about this?’ she demanded.

Pieter sighed. ‘Yes.’

‘Then why didn’t you say something?’

‘Honestly? I thought you’d enough on your plate.’

Tanja glared at him. ‘Who the fuck appointed you my guardian? If something happens, I want to know. You got that?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He glanced again at the poster. ‘Any ideas who’s responsible?’

‘Could be any one of fifty people,’ she said bitterly. ‘I’m not the most popular person in the station, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

For a moment it looked as if he were going to refute that suggestion; thankfully, he held his tongue.

Tanja carried on walking. ‘We should probably take a look at the girls’ flat, don’t you think?’

Pieter sighed. ‘If you say so, boss.’

It didn’t take long to get to the Binnengasthuis at this time of day. Tanja struggled to persuade the surly landlady to leave her sitcoms, and was forced to step aside whilst Pieter exerted his effortless charm.

The flat was surprisingly spacious, and airy. Light played softly on the wooden floor and ever-so-slightly bowed walls. There were rugs, and throws, candles and lava lamps.

Ursula’s room was a little darker, even with the curtains wide open.