The Fourth Figure (10 page)

“There has to be something,” Casper Masyn said, his desperation unconcealed.

Rich people were often convinced that the solution to a problem was directly proportional to the money they threw at it. Such a blinkered approach meant good money for many a psychiatrist, and Coleyn was the first to admit that without clients like Frederik Masyn, he wouldn't be able to maintain his luxury yacht and take vacation four times a year. Curing Frederik Masyn would be financial suicide.

“Your son is receiving the best medication on the market, Casper. And science isn't standing still. The medical world is hard at work searching for new approaches, new products. Give it a couple of years …”

Frederik listened to the conversation between his father and the doctor with half an ear. He wasn't sick. His father and mother were sick. They didn't understand the spirituality that was guiding him. It was beyond them … above them.

He had a task to fulfill, and Venex had predicted that those closest to him would persecute him for it.

Colleagues passing Room 204 and glancing inside at Van In and Guido would have been forgiven for thinking the two men looked particularly relaxed. The twinge of jealousy they were likely to experience could also be forgiven. Special Investigations was a luxury unit where more coffee and Jenever was guzzled than the authorities were usually inclined to tolerate. But one thing was completely out of place: No one had ever seen Van In
serving
it!

“So you know nothing about a satanic fraternity with Jasper and Trui among its members.”

“Why ask me that?”

“Because we're curious, Mr. Coleyn.”

Van In smiled and patted Richard on the shoulder. “We know that Trui and Jasper met each other through your agency. Trui was murdered and Jasper jumped out of a window earlier today. Serious business, don't you think?”

Van In studied Coleyn's reaction. He buried his face in his hands. “I didn't know …” he spluttered.

Young people who'd grown up with television knew exactly what to do if they wanted to appear convincing during a police interrogation. The main thing was to not get too emotional. Richard knew they were watching him, and it was of vital importance that he didn't cause suspicion. Bursting into tears would give the wrong impression.

“Jasper was a close friend. When I started the dating agency three years ago, he was one of my first clients.”

He and Jasper had grown up together, attended the same high school, had fallen in love with the same girls. Jasper had introduced him to hash, and they'd later even shared needles.

“Why a dating service?” Guido inquired.

“I needed money, Commissioner.”

“Didn't your father help out?”

The question made Richard blush. His father deposited twenty thousand francs in his account at the beginning of every month. “He rejected me. I wasn't good enough.”

“Because you screwed up at college?”

“That's what
he
says.”

Didn't they know he had been top of his class at school until the year before he left? A grade average of 83 percent and higher for math and Latin. But no, the old bastard insisted on summa cum laude at college, just to be like him.

“So none of it's true?”

“My father was never satisfied.”

“So he gave up on you.”

“You could say that.”

“And then you got the idea of starting a dating agency,” said Van In.

“I read in a magazine that young people were having more and more trouble finding partners, and when I heard they were willing to pay good money for help, I pushed the boat out.”

“And did it float?”

“At the start …”

Van In was familiar with the phenomenon. Eighty percent of the average dating service database consisted of men looking for a one-night stand. Fifteen percent—the genuine ones—were looking for young blondes with a job and, if possible, a sense of humor. The rest were women who had exhausted all the other possibilities without success. Most of them were in their late forties and older.

Guido looked at Van In. The commissioner was playing the role of understanding sergeant with enormous conviction, but in spite of the skilled performance, the interrogation was getting them nowhere.

“So you know nothing about a satanic sect.”

“Why should I?”

“Because Jasper and Trui mixed with the satanic crowd. And Jasper was your friend, as you just informed us.”

“Friends don't always tell each other everything, Sergeant.”

Van In also realized that they were making little, if any, progress. He sighed and turned to Guido. “I fear this conversation is completely pointless, Commissioner.”

Guido nodded and pretended to call the examining magistrate. In reality, he punched in the number of the incident room and had an imaginary conversation with the officer on duty. Coleyn was then informed that he would be transferred to Bruges's main prison and was scheduled to appear in court the following day. The judge would likely remand him into custody in the interests of the investigation. Richard turned pale. He couldn't imagine a day without a fix. Guido stepped outside for a breath of fresh air after he and Van In had agreed to give Mr. Coleyn one final chance. Guido's absence was purely psychological, intended to lower the bar a little. Suspects were always more inclined to confide in subordinates and not superiors.

“Does the word ‘venex' mean anything to you, Mr. Coleyn?”

Van In produced a bottle of Jenever from a drawer and poured a couple of shots. “The commissioner won't be back for a while …” he added temptingly.

Coleyn reached for the glass of Jenever, trying not to shake. The word Van In had mentioned made every hair on his body stand on end. “Is that some kind of drug?”

It sounded stupid, but it was the best he could do.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a person,” said Van In.

Richard slurped some Jenever. “No idea.”

“Jonathan Leman?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Strange,” said Van In. “He says he knows you.”

Richard could feel the sergeant's eyes watching his every move. Lucky the commissioner had left the room. He would have noticed that he was lying right away. “Plenty of people say they know me,” he said.

“Jonathan is close friends with Trui and Jasper. My guess is you know him, Mr. Coleyn.”

Van In threw back some Jenever and held his tongue. Silence was now his best weapon.

“Maybe we met once,” said Richard after a minute.
That asshole Jonathan must've been shooting his mouth off
, he thought.
If he's cooperating with the police, the entire operation could be on the skids.

“Was he one of your clients?”

If Jonathan blabbed to the cops, then they have to know about the fraternity. Why then all the questions about my dating service? Something isn't right. Venex warned me. Cops bluff. …

“Are you all right, Mr. Coleyn?”

Richard leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Now that I think of it, Trui mentioned that name a couple of times. She used to work in an orphanage, and if I'm not mistaken, Jonathan Leman was part of a group she was given charge of.”

“An orphanage?”

The question confused Richard, albeit momentarily. He'd said more than he planned to say, but it was too late to whine about it. If he backtracked now, it would only make him appear more suspicious, and that had to be avoided at all costs.

“Suffer Little Children or something like that.”

Van In was familiar with the place. One of the inmates had killed an elderly man the year before. The local press went to town on it.

“So you were still in touch with Trui and Jasper.”

“Of course, Sergeant.”

Richard breathed a sigh of relief that Van In wasn't going to press him on the orphanage. It didn't matter what he said about Trui and Jasper. They were both dead and they couldn't contradict him. “Jasper asked me to be a witness at his wedding. We had dinner together last Friday. … Spaghetti.”

“I imagine you have an alibi for Tuesday night, early Wednesday.”

Coleyn was now certain that the cops were groping around in the dark. Venex had taken care of everything.

“I was with friends in Antwerp for a couple of days. I just got back yesterday.”

“You know we'll verify everything you have to say, Mr. Coleyn?”

Guido had returned to the room and had listened attentively to the last part of the conversation. Van In pressed his fingertips together. They tingled like his toes. The hot, dry air produced by the central heating made him feel drowsy and clouded his thoughts. He yawned. Guido noticed his head bobbing up and down a couple of times as if he were dozing off, but he couldn't tell if it was real or an act. He'd seen Van In feign tiredness before to hoodwink a suspect.

“I can give you their telephone number,” said Richard with confidence.

Van In started to stretch. Richard's story had its weaknesses, but there was nothing serious enough to have him taken into custody. “I hope you're aware that false statements can have ugly consequences. If it turns out that you lied to me today, we'll come and get you. And rest assured we'll require a little more of your time. Is that understood, Mr. Coleyn?”

Richard nodded. A refreshing breeze filled his mind, blowing away the tensions that had plagued him. The cops knew nothing and he had told them nothing. Father would be content. He would get his fix.

“D'you mean I can go?”

“For the time being,” said Van In.

Coleyn didn't need telling twice. When he was gone, Van In called Inspector Pattyn and told him to keep an eye on Coleyn.

Saartje, who had set herself up in the inspector's office, heard the name “Coleyn” mentioned a couple of times.

“Do you get to do the dirty work, Jean?” she asked after Pattyn had hung up the phone.

The inspector grinned like an idiot as Saartje slammed a dusty dossier shut and made a cute face. He was putty in her hands.

“I had a rummage through Mr. and Mrs. Simons's closet,” said Guido.

“And?”

“Neither of them has a medical background. He's an accountant for a transport company, and she works part-time in a supermarket.”

“Not much chance of them getting hold of the poison then.”

Guido nodded. “I sent a patrol around to check their alibi, just to be on the safe side.”

“There isn't much else we can do,” said Van In.

Guido sat down at his desk and switched on his computer. It was two forty-five and he had a pile of work to write up. Van In poured himself another Jenever and put up his feet on a chair. Commissioners were allowed to indulge themselves now and again and spend an entire afternoon just thinking.

7

“Do you
have
to do it today?” Hannelore asked.

She shuffled into the kitchen, switched on the coffee machine, and waggled to the table, her hands perched on her hips. With every step, a searing pain shot from her lower back through her knees to the soles of her feet. She had been looking forward to a quiet Saturday at home, but now Van In had announced, all cool, calm, and collected, that he was going to work.

“I'm doing it for you, Hanne. The quicker we get this case behind us, the more time I'll have for—”

“Will Guido be with you?”

Guido and Frank had booked a weekend on the coast and were planning to celebrate getting back together with a splash.

“I promise I'll be back before noon.”

“So you're on your own.”

The disbelief in her voice was loud and clear.

“Of course I'm on my own.”

Hannelore buttered a slice of toast. Every ounce of fat she consumed seemed to multiply on her hips, but she was beyond caring. “Still having trouble with Miss Maes?”

It sounded like an innocent remark, but Van In didn't think so. “You're not insinuating that …”

“Don't flatter yourself, Van In.”

Sometimes he couldn't bear it when she called him Van In. “Should I flatter you instead?” The words were out before he had the chance to think of the damage they might cause. Hannelore had been complaining for weeks about her ever-expanding body and how unattractive she felt, fishing for compliments. She had even covered the mirror in the bedroom with a blanket. “Miss Maes has nothing to do with this.”

“But you wouldn't mind strutting down the street with her on your arm.”

Van In hesitated. Saartje Maes was a beautiful young woman, the type any man would be happy to be seen with. And he couldn't deny that a night with her, well … “She has her qualities.”

Mistrust is a prowling predator that appears out of nowhere and strikes when it detects a moment of weakness in its prey. And Hannelore was having a bad day. “So you fancy the whore!”

“Whore?”

He missed the logic in her accusation, but logic wasn't essential at this juncture. Domestic quarrels were like hurricanes. When hot and cold air clashed, the encounter could have terrible consequences.

This was one of those encounters. Words were exchanged, and the whirlwind intensified until Van In threw his empty cup of coffee at the wall and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Hannelore collapsed on a chair and started to sob. But not for long. Why should
she
be the one to do penance? It wasn't her fault that Van In was so touchy!

She made her way to the living room, opened a drawer in the sideboard, and grabbed his credit card, thinking of all the things she could spend his money on. When she turned onto Saint Jacob Street from the Vette Vispoort, she was in such a snit that she didn't notice Jonathan Leman hiding behind the monumental water pump on the opposite side of the street.

Orphanage Ter Heyden had changed its name to Suffer Little Children fifty years ago. The neo-Gothic edifice—a genuine castle by all accounts—had once served as the summer residence of a renowned aristocratic family. After the death of his lordship de Spey van Haverthinge, the last in the family line, the building passed to the Sisters of the Good Samaritan, a congregation dedicated to sheltering orphans and abandoned children. The sisters had worked hard to transform their inheritance into a modern reception center for people in need. Love of one's neighbor was the watchword. At least that's what outsiders believed. In reality, the sisters had taken advantage of the generous subsidies made available by Catholic politicians in those days to keep voters happy. The drafty old castle had been completely renovated, and with the leftover cash, the sisters had built themselves a new convent with all the modern conveniences. Even nuns had the right to a little luxury, didn't they?

Van In stubbed out a half-smoked cigarette in the Golf's ashtray, his third in less than fifteen minutes. He had spent most of the journey from the police station to the orphanage trying stubbornly to ignore the pain in his chest. His ticker ticked with the regularity of a cheap watch. He thought about his father and the fact that he had outlived him a full four years. Any professional investor would be satisfied with that kind of return.

As Van In turned into the drive leading up to Suffer Little Children (the sisters had neatly paved the dirt road) he was suddenly confronted with an overwhelming urge to turn back. What in the name of God was he doing? The man who preached to anyone who would listen that work wasn't everything had walked out on his pregnant wife to chase down some vague clue. As things stood, it was quite possible that Jonathan Leman had nothing to do with the death of Trui Andries. He had also treated Hannelore unfairly. By storming out of the house, he had more or less admitted that something was going on between him and Miss Maes, and that was a mistake he had to put right before war broke out. He vowed to make this interview a quick one.

Sister Marie-Louise accompanied Van In to the parlor, a room by the front door that smelled of sour milk and Dettol.
Dickensian
, Van In thought:
subdued light, the smell of polished leather, oak furniture, and portraits of grim-faced gentlemen with mustaches and sideburns
.

“Take a seat, Commissioner.”

The elderly sister was wearing a gray skirt, a sterile sheath that stopped midcalf, and a flannel blouse, the cloth of which was thick enough to black out a darkroom. Van In had once heard that nuns cut up old towels to make sanitary napkins. After use, they were soaked and boiled and reused. The very idea that Sister Marie-Louise might still need sanitary napkins made him shiver.

“Good morning, Sister. I'd like to ask you some questions about Jonathan Leman. I believe he grew up here. …”

“We don't make a habit of passing on information about our pupils, Commissioner.”

Her brusque reply reminded Van In of his childhood. Sisters didn't like to be contradicted. They were the brides of Christ, and their behavior matched their status.

“The boy has disappeared, Sister. I just want to help him,” said Van In, aware that threats made no sense. He had to get her on a point that was beyond discussion: love of thy neighbor. “His life is in danger, and it would be a real shame if we were too late a second time.”

Sister Marie-Louise's pallid face hardened. She sat down opposite Van In. “What do you mean ‘a second time'?”

“Two young people lost their lives this past week, Sister.”

Sister Marie-Louise nodded. The death of Trui Andries had been all over the news, and it was impossible to deny that the sisters read the papers. “Trui Andries worked here for more than ten years,” she said. “But what does that have to do with Jonathan?”

Van In smiled cautiously, not wanting to make the sister suspicious. “Jonathan told me they were good friends.”

Sister Marie-Louise folded her arms in a conditioned and emotionless gesture. Trui's murder and Jasper Simons's suicide had dominated the conversation among the sisters for the last few days. Everyone was in complete agreement that the hand of God had manifested itself. “I imagine you know that we had to let Trui Andries go a year back.”

Van In moved his head in a manner that neither confirmed nor denied the sister's statement. “Was there something between her and Jonathan?”

The sparks in Sister Marie-Louise's glare would have been enough to start a fire in a downpour. “Jonathan is an unstable boy,” she said. “We did everything we could to help him stay on the straight and narrow, but when he turned eighteen and left the orphanage …” She hesitated, gulped, her sadness apparently genuine.

“You knew about the drug problem?” Van In asked.

Sister Marie-Louise nodded, wrapping her fingers around the cross that hung from her neck on a silver chain, as if to urge her “boss” to get involved in the conversation.

“Was Trui Andries supplying him?” Van In sensed that the sister was getting desperate. She wasn't allowed to lie, and she knew that the commissioner would exploit that fact if he needed to.

“Jasper was the supplier.”

Van In raised his eyebrows.

“Jasper Simons was employed here for a year and a half as a youth worker. He led Trui astray, and both she and Jonathan paid the price.”

“Was she also taking drugs?”

Sister Marie-Louise was suddenly overcome by a sense of doubt and hesitation, a gnawing disquiet that matched the struggle she had waged for years with the now-crumbling certainties that had been fed her as a young novice. Those who believed would be saved, and every prayer was a tile that paved the way to heaven. Certainties were important. That's why she'd entered the convent. The world outside belonged to the devil, and only faith in God could protect her from a life of sin. She had learned that from her teachers, but if her teachers were right, then why had Trui and Jasper been so happy?

“Trui gave in to temptation,” she said. “Jasper tempted her, misled her, deceived her.”

Van In was reminded of the fragment Guido had quoted from the book by Leopold Flam:
The devil tempts, misleads, manipulates, and deceives.
“Are you implying that there was something satanic about Jasper?”

Sister Marie-Louise looked him straight in the eye for the first time in their conversation. People who worked for Catholic organizations were expected to live according to the principles of the Church. No one could serve both God and Satan. Surely that was obvious. “Jasper worshipped evil, Commissioner.”

Van In had no interest in pressing the subject. It was all beginning to sound a little too much like the Inquisition, a phenomenon that moviemakers had milked of all its mystery. “Were they in a relationship?”

Sister Marie-Louise could still remember the day she caught Trui and Jasper together in the supply room in the basement. She had remained by the open door and waited discreetly until the groans had ebbed away. Even now she had to admit that the pair's fleshly union hadn't left her unperturbed.

“Jasper was a disciple of Satan,” she asserted. “He dragged Trui with him into the abyss. We were forced to intervene.”

Van In considered lighting a cigarette. He took one from his pack and started to play with it.

Hannelore was lying on the bed, tired from shopping, when the bell rang. The spoils of her expedition were on the kitchen table: three bags full of things she really didn't need. She knew that it couldn't be Van In—he had his own key—so she hurried downstairs. The bulge, as they called it, still undecided on a name, meant that she was unable to see her feet as she descended, and she was forced to take a step back when she opened the door in the narrow hallway.

“My name's Saartje Maes. Is Pieter Van In at home?”

Hannelore looked her up and down as if she was a piece of trash. “Miss Maes. What a surprise.”

Saartje managed to conceal the fact that the sarcasm in Hannelore's words confused her.
Time to put the hippo in her place
, she thought, and she came straight to the point. “I have to speak with him urgently.”

“Commissioner Van In is out at the moment, Miss Maes. Can I take a message?”

“Thanks, Mrs. Van In, but it's rather personal. I'll see him on Monday at the office.”

In spite of the ice-cold weather, the journalist looked glamorous and sexy. Hannelore was of a mind to treat her to a kick in the ass. Had lack of sex strained Van In's mind so much that some bit of skirt calling herself a journalist was enough to turn his head?

“I'll be sure to tell him, Miss Haes.”

“Maes,” said Saartje.

“Funny,” said Hannelore. “I thought you said Haes.”

“No, Mrs. Van In. My name's Maes.”

“And my name's Martens. Hannelore Martens. Something to remember?”

She slammed the door and waggled to the kitchen. A roll of paper towels was perched on the cooker hood. Hannelore grabbed it, tore off a couple of sheets, and ran upstairs in tears. Pieter was working on his own today after all. Why had she baited him for no reason?

Van In lit the cigarette. Sister Marie-Louise grabbed a saucer from under a potted plant and placed it in front of him.

“I shouldn't really be telling you this, but …”

“Don't worry, Sister. Whatever you say will be held in the strictest confidence, as if I were your confessor.”

The image was a simple one, but it worked. Clichés always worked, even with nuns.

“You were asking about Jonathan.”

Van In nodded.

“Jonathan was abandoned as an infant. Social services entrusted him to us.” Sister Marie-Louise smiled. “He was found in the restroom of a department store. His mother had wrapped him in toilet paper and left him on the floor. It was December twenty-fourth,
nota bene
.”

“A Christmas Carol.”

“What was that, Commissioner?”

“It sounds like a Christmas tale, Sister.”

“And it was, it was. Everyone fell in love with the child. Especially Guy, who saw the baby as a sign.”

“Guy?”

“Guy Deridder. The janitor. He was over the moon. He and his wife took pity on little Jonathan from the outset. They treated him like their own son.”

“Is it possible to have a word with them?” Van In asked.

Sister Marie-Louise lowered her eyes, as though recounting a painful memory. “The Deridders wanted to adopt the boy. But …”

Van In puffed at his cigarette, and as the clouds of smoke drifted upward to the pristine white ceiling he thought of Hannelore and of the child he hadn't wanted at first but now longed for with all his heart. Blood of his blood, soul of his soul. Only children can make you immortal.

“In spite of the fact that Mrs. Deridder was infertile, the couple were still refused permission to adopt little Jonathan. The commission decided they didn't think the Deridders would offer him a decent future. They had very little room at home, and they didn't earn enough money to deal with a baby's needs.”