Girl in the Dark (26 page)

My mother had a bridge game every Wednesday night from seven thirty to ten thirty at the senior center a couple of blocks from her house. The bridge club had a jolly-sounding name, “Gray Matters.” The name referred not only to the color of the players' hair but also to the fact that bridge is supposed to keep your brain cells youthful. My mother still colored her hair. She always said she'd stay blond until the day she died. I'd even had to promise I'd touch up her roots before she was laid out for the final viewing.

At her house a light was on in the hall, and one little lamp in the living room. If you want to show there's nobody home, do by all means leave on a single lamp, like a lighthouse beacon guiding ships into port. I'd tried to point this out to her, but according to my mother, thieves wouldn't dare break in if they saw a light, even if it was just one brave little lamp in a corner of the room.

Binnie was babysitting Aaron, and I wasn't completely reassured that it would go well. The last time she'd watched him I'd found chewing gum in his hair the next morning. But Binnie had sworn she wouldn't give him any gum and my mother was the only other person I trusted to watch Aaron and I obviously couldn't ask her to watch him so I could break into her house.

I stuck the key in the lock and glanced over my shoulder. A man walking his dog strolled past, but didn't seem to be paying attention to me. I turned the key and stepped inside.

I was nervous. Even though it was unlikely my mother would come home early from her bridge game, it
was
possible. She would be unpleasantly surprised to find me here, to say the least.

Since my mother was refusing to tell me anything about Ray or his dad, I had decided to take it upon myself to do a little investigating. The last time I had gone hunting for clues in her study, Ray had been the focus of my search. This time I wanted to see if I could ferret out anything that might lead me to Ray's father.

I tiptoed through the living room—not that anyone could hear me—and shone my flashlight on my mother's little desk.

The aquarium looked spooky in the dark. It gave a greenish-blue cast to the room, as in an underwater cave. The fish were calmly swimming around, blissfully unaware.

I opened the drawers and examined their contents. My mother's bank statements; warranties; gas, water, and electric bills. A box of rubber bands and paper clips. A street map of Amstelveen, bus tickets, and a two-year-old postcard from Spain sent by one of my father's former colleagues. I leafed through her address book. It contained so many names of people I didn't know that it didn't make me any the wiser.

A gold fountain pen lying on the desk caught my eye. I had seen my mother write with it often, but suddenly I noticed its resemblance to the pen I'd seen Peter van Benschop use. I spun it around until my flashlight revealed the inscription:
Van Benschop Shipping Co.

Where did my mother get this? A pen like this was too expensive to be handed out as a freebie. Someone must have given it to her. I picked up my mother's address book and redirected
my focus. What was the name of the old man I'd met in Victor Asscher's parking lot again? I found him under the
A
's.
Antoine
, without a surname.

“Aha,” I said out loud. How many Antoines could there be? I took out my cell phone and dialed the number. After a couple of seconds, I heard an old man say “Hello?” I quickly hung up and thanked myself for having a restricted number.

My mother knew Antoine van Benschop. The Van Benschop family was one of Bartels & Peters's biggest clients, going way back. Had my mother asked Antoine van Benschop to get Bartels & Peters to take me on? The perfect job: practically around the corner from where I lived, and part-time to boot. In hindsight, the way I'd been hired was almost too good to be true. Before I'd had Aaron, it wasn't unusual for me to be approached by headhunters on behalf of competing firms. Once I got pregnant, the offers had dried up completely.

My mother had urged me to look for another job. I'd reluctantly put a few feelers out, but it seemed that no law firm in the land was just waiting for a young single mother wishing to work part-time. Just before I went on maternity leave, however, Lawrence had called. He just happened to be looking for a part-time associate. I was too delighted and relieved to be surprised. My colleagues were envious. “You're going to work part-time at a firm? Really? Unbelievable.”

The more I thought about it, the more certain I grew. It couldn't have been a coincidence that I was offered this job. Martha had dropped hints about it, Rence was indirectly acquainted with my mother, and Van Benschop had reacted like a cornered dog when he'd heard my name. The question was: How did my mother know Antoine van Benschop, and what made her able to demand favors of him?

The two hours Aaron had been in Binnie's care had passed without calamity. He'd just woken up briefly, and she'd given him some juice. I was delighted.

“All I can do is guess,” I said after filling Binnie in on my visit to my mother's house. “The question is, how well does my mother know him? I'm beginning to think . . .”

“. . . that Antoine van Benschop is Ray's father.”

“Hard to believe, but it's beginning to look that way. What do you know about this Antoine? Didn't you do some research on—what did you call them—your ‘future in-laws'?”

Binnie put her hands to her temples—it helped her think, she said—and closed her eyes. “Antoine van Benschop . . .” she muttered a few times. “His name isn't originally Van Benschop, for starters.”

“What?”

“He had a different name originally, something along the lines of Blumenveld, Parrotpiss or whatever, doesn't matter. He took his wife's name when they got married.”

“Well! I assume he had a good reason?”

“What do you think? Pop van Benschop, Barbara's old man, insisted that his sons-in-law take the family name if they wanted to take over the family business.”

“Okay . . .”

“It's coming back to me now,” said Binnie, letting go of her temples. “I also remember that Antoine had been employed at Van Benschop, and was just about pushed into Barb's arms by Pops.”

“True love.”

“True love,” Binnie agreed.

“Who would ever turn down the Van Benschop Shipping Co. as a dowry?”

“
I
wouldn't, anyway.”

“My mother used to work as a secretary. Maybe she worked there. Maybe she met Antoine van Benschop that way.”

“But what are you going to do? Confront your mother? Call Antoine?”

“I may do both.”

“You know what's such a weird idea?” said Binnie. “If Antoine is Ray's father, then Ray is Pissing Peter's half-brother.”

I grasped my head in both hands and groaned.

“Don't worry, at least
you're
not related to him by blood,” Binnie added with a laugh.

At nine thirty the next morning I was put through to a secretary. “Mr. Van Benschop only comes in on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. I'm afraid you'll have to call back next week.”

“I must speak to him urgently,” I said. “Perhaps you'd be kind enough to tell him that Iris Kastelein of Bartels & Peters would like to speak with him about an important matter.”

“I've made a note of it. But I can't promise anything. Mr. Van Benschop makes up his own mind.”

“I'm sure he does.”

Antoine van Benschop returned my call the same day. The exchange was brief. Before I had a chance to explain what I wanted with him, he said, “Stay out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. If you're a sensible girl, you'll leave well enough alone.”

“Well! Going by the vehemence of your reaction, I almost
have
to conclude you are Ray Boelens's father.”

“There is absolutely nothing
to conclude,
” he said, and hung up.

On entering the visiting room, my mother didn't say anything. She gave me a curt nod and sat down in the chair across from me. The first thing I noticed was the huge gold bee pin on her red sweater. Then I saw that her hair was a bit shorter than the last time I'd seen her. It framed her face in tight little waves. I wished I could reach out and touch it.

She folded her hands together and parked her elbows on the table. “You must be wondering what I'm doing here.”

I realized I was shaking, and pushed my hands under my thighs so they wouldn't flap and hover. Was she going to hug me? Was she going to tell me I was her son and she'd always be there for me, even if we did no longer live together?

“I understand you've met your sister.” She gave a little laugh, but I didn't think it was a genuine laugh. “And that she's offered to help you with your case.”

I nodded. Iris Kastelein. My little sister.

“That's what I've come to speak with you about.” My mother was looking at me sternly through her blue eyes edged with black. She had never been fooled by my size. She knew exactly how small I was on the inside.

“But first, let's discuss something else. Am I to understand that you're allowed to keep your aquarium in your suite?”

“Yeah! Next week.” I suddenly started feeling anxious. “I can, Mother, can't I?”

She smiled. “Of course, darling. You can have your aquarium. As long as you're good, and you're not breaking any rules.”

“I am. I really am.”

“Good. I know you're doing your best, Ray.”

“Yes.” I pulled my hands out from under my legs. They remained calm, resting in my lap.

“But there are some new rules you'll have to follow. Rules you don't know about yet.”

“Okay.”

“Would you mind getting us some coffees?” my mother asked André.

“Fine,” he said. He left the room with the guard. It surprised me. Mo never got visitors anything to drink. And he would never leave the room, either.

“The new rule, Ray,” said my mother slowly, “is that you've got to stop telling everyone you're innocent.”

I wasn't sure I'd heard her right. “But I
am
innocent, Mother!”

“The new rule,” my mother repeated, calmly and emphatically, “is that you say you
did
commit the murder. That's the condition for keeping the fish. Do you understand?”

I shook my head and shoved my hands under my legs again, just in case.

“Ray, you killed Rosita and Anna. You're going to write that down, in a note to your sister. You're going to tell her she has to stop her ridiculous snooping. And that it's best if you don't ever see each other again. Never.” My mother took out a notepad and pen and slapped them down in front of me. “Write down what I said.”

“No,” I said. “I didn't do it. I
really
didn't do it!
You
know that. And I don't want to write a letter to Iris Kastelein, either. I want her to go on helping me.”

She stared at me coolly. “Very well, then. I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.” She leaned down to take something else out of her bag. It was a cookie tin.

Where was the social worker with the glasses? Where was the guard?

My mother lifted off the lid and took out a frozen icepack. Underneath was something wrapped in a paper towel with pictures of little kittens. She unfolded it. “You asked for it.”

A mutilated fish fell out. Even though it had been sliced open on both sides, I immediately recognized it. It was Hannibal, and I could see his intestines.

The next fish she rolled out of the paper towel was King Kong. He, too, had been cut open. I couldn't look. Not King Kong! Not my majestic King Kong, the one I'd bought for Anna!

“Now you will write down exactly what I tell you, or there won't be any fish left in your aquarium.” I knew my mother meant it. This was the Last Warning.

As my mother dictated the letter and I started writing down the words without even thinking what they meant, I tried not to cry. King Kong! Hannibal! My best, my most beautiful fish. They'd always been there for me, swimming around calmly in their perfectly calibrated world where the pH levels were exactly right and they got fed every day the exact same amount of fish food at the exact same time.

“Here we are,” I heard André say. He walked in, followed by the guard. My mother had just told me to sign the letter.

I wrote my name at the end of the note.

André coughed, staring with raised eyebrows at the dead fish
on the table. My mother quickly rolled them up in the paper towel and stuffed them back in the tin.

“Are you done, Mrs. Boelens?” asked André.

“Yes, indeed.” My mother's voice sounded completely normal. She picked up the notepad and tore off the top page. “There, that goes in the mail.”

My mouth opened and a bellowing sound came out. I banged my fists on the table.
“No! No! No!”

“You'd better give him something to calm him down,” said my mother. She got up and put a hand on my shoulder. “It's best this way. Believe me, Ray. In a few days you'll have your aquarium and you'll have forgotten about this whole thing.”

She strode out of the room with André close behind.

The guard let me bawl for a while longer. Finally he tapped me on the shoulder. “Time to pipe down.”

I couldn't, not even when I tried following the steps I'd been taught in therapy at the Mason Home. First I took a deep breath in through my nose. Then I blew it out of my mouth. I breathed in and out a few times like that, trying to calm down. It worked for a few seconds, but then I started screaming again, banging my fists on the table.

“Stop it!” The guard started shaking me. “Stop it, damn you!”

I nodded and tried to stop, I really did, but I was just too upset.

The guard slapped me in the face. I hadn't seen it coming. My head snapped back and my hands went up to the spot where he'd hit me.

“There,” he said. “Now we'll get you back to your suite.”