The Public Prosecutor (19 page)

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Authors: Jef Geeraerts

BOOK: The Public Prosecutor
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“
Pan
Albert,
telefon
,” said Maria needlessly. She was wearing jeans, her voluptuous breasts pert and triumphant, her hair in its usual ponytail, Albert’s empty coffee mug in her hand. Barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, Albert made his way into the dining room.
“Hello.”
“Public Prosecutor.” It was his secretary. She hadn’t called him at home for more than a year.
“Yes, Miss Verdonck.”
“Good morning, Public Prosecutor, I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“No problem, Miss Verdonck.”
“Public Prosecutor, you received a call from Major de Vreker, the district commander of the gendarmerie.”
“Yes, and?…”
“He wants you to contact him urgently.”
“At what number?”
“At the station on Boomsesteenweg, Public Prosecutor.”
“Thank you, Miss Verdonck.”
“And again, please excuse the disturbance, Pros—”
“It’s all right, miss.”
Albert slammed down the phone, sighed, swatted the air around him as if he was shooing off an irritating insect and shouted in the direction of the kitchen: “Maria, have you seen my mobile?”
“It’s here, Mr Albert.”
He returned to the kitchen table and gulped at his coffee. She came and stood beside him and he placed his arm around her waist. She stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head. He realized for the first time how tall she was.
He punched in the number of the gendarmerie.
An official-sounding man’s voice said: “Gendarmerie District Antwerp, good morning.”
They’re learning, Albert thought, and answered: “Good morning, can I speak to the district commander?”
“Who can I say is calling?”
“Public Prosecutor Savelkoul,” he said with a fake grin.
“I’ll put you through.”
Put me through
, unprecedented politeness, he thought.
“De Vreker, good morning Public Prosecutor.”
“Good morning, Major, good news?”
“Eh… I would prefer to discuss the matter with you in person, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine, Major. Shall we say in an hour at my office?”
“I’ll be there, Public Prosecutor.”
He hung up and was suddenly reminded that he would normally have called Louise at least twice by this time of the morning. Strange how it left him cold, he thought. What happened? He looked at Maria Landowska and asked himself if she was the one who would finally bring him the
rest
he had long been searching for.
He looked at his watch and said: “I’d better get ready. I have an appointment.”
She nodded in silence.
Before she could say anything, he said: “Let’s have lunch together.”
“What would you like, Albert?” she said.
It was the first time she had used his first name without the Mr, and in German no less. He had to smile.
“Shall I bring some cold hors d’oeuvres?”
“Cold food is no food, we say in Poland.”
“Then make a hot meal.”
“
Smocze ze̜by
.”
He looked at her questioningly.
“
Drachenzähne
.”
“Dragon teeth? What’s that?”
“That’s what the Polish soldiers call asparagus.”
“Excellent, but buy Belgian. With butter sauce and mashed hardboiled egg. I’ll bring the
Tarte
.” He knew how much she loved sweet things.
She started to clear the table, less hurried than in the past. Before he went upstairs to get ready, he took her in his arms and kissed her, caressing her steel teeth with the tip of his tongue. It gave her goosebumps. Her teeth had a penetrating taste he couldn’t place.
She gave him a gentle dog bite on his shoulder. She noticed that he had an erection, but all she did was pass her hand swiftly over his boxers.
He climbed the stairs, humming ‘Dark Eyes’ to himself and thinking: if only Amandine could see us now, God alone knows how she would react. A fit of laughter seized him.
When he passed the statue of Our Lady he noticed that the usual flowers were missing. He suppressed a mocking “
Salve Regina!
” It didn’t interest him, even remotely.
After taking a bath and shaving, he slipped into his room for a moment and took
The Teaching of Buddha
from the shelf. He opened it at page 440 and read:
Of the third type there are those who are more broad-minded and do not become angry very often, who know how to control a greedy mind but are not able to avoid feelings of jealousy.
 
He reflected on the difference between envy and jealousy. I don’t mind if Maria’s
jealous
, he thought, as long as she doesn’t
envy
me for my money and possessions.
He closed the book with a smile and returned it to its place between the Spanish and South African versions of the New Testament.
13
 
Major de Vreker waited in the antechamber with a briefcase at his side. Around ten o’clock, Albert charged along the corridor lined with portraits of his predecessors and into his office, the door of which was wide open, American style. The Major sprung to his feet. Albert waved, offered the Major a firm handshake, asked how he was, and told him he was fortunate that the workers were almost finished with the cabling job. At least they would be able to make each other out.
“Thank you, Public Prosecutor,” de Vreker answered formally, slightly surprised at Albert’s unexpected joviality.
He was in plain clothes: a dark-blue suit with a light-blue shirt and a red-and-black-striped tie, a colour combination that differed little from the uniform of the gendarmerie. He was a handsome man. As tall as Albert, short blond hair, slender build. He was an excellent horseman and had once had an interesting conversation with Albert about horses. They had talked about Monty Roberts, among other things, known for his training methods and his nickname “the Horse Listener”.
Albert invited him to take a seat in one of the armchairs in the corner of his office, the “living room”, where he preferred to receive visitors with a certain status.
“Coffee, Major, or can I offer you something else?” he enquired.
“Coffee please, Public Prosecutor.”
Albert crossed to his desk, dialled an internal line and said flatly: “Two coffees, please.”
He sat down opposite the Major and looked at him.
Major de Vreker advocated the no-nonsense approach. Without saying a word, he opened the briefcase, took out a folder and handed it to Albert, who opened it to reveal a few typed Pro Justitia documents. He held the first document roughly twelve inches from his face and narrowed his eyes. Wearing glasses in front of the Major was out of the question.
The Major had developed a technique for keeping an eye on things while pretending to look aside.
The further Albert read, the harder his expression became. At a certain moment, the blood drained from his face and his lips became narrow and tight. He stood up without looking at the Major, walked to his desk and dialled a number. No answer. He hung up and returned to his seat, still white as a sheet, and continued reading.
Without looking up he said: “Have you any idea which of the horses was shot, Major?”
“A mare, Public Prosecutor.”
“So the other horse is alive?”
“Precisely.”
Albert closed his eyes for a second, stretched his back and read further.
The secretary appeared with two cups, milk, sugar, chocolates and a nickel-plated thermos on a tray.
“Thank you,” said the Major instead of Albert, who was still preoccupied with the documents.
Again without looking up he said: “Close the door behind you, Miss Verdonck.” An indescribable silence filled the room.
When he was finished reading, Albert returned the documents to the folder, opened the thermos and poured a cup of coffee for himself and the Major. He sipped at his coffee in silence.
Major de Vreker waited without moving a muscle.
Albert cleared his throat and said in his usual baritone voice: “So do we have the suspect’s identity and occupation?”
“No, Public Prosecutor. As you can see in the report, the man - Jean Materne - confessed that he was acting out of revenge because the vet, a certain Johannes D’Hoog, had shot his pit bull two days earlier. He had no identity card on his person. He told us his name without difficulty, but refused to give his address.”
“Has all the information been checked?” asked Albert flatly.
“Johannes D’Hoog has disappeared.”
Albert raised an eyebrow but made no comment. Fortunately, Louise had not been mentioned. Strange, he thought, but he said nothing about it.
“And have they issued a missing person’s notice?”
“Of course, Public Prosecutor.”
“Have they been able to determine why Materne was snooping around the house in the middle of the night? And what about his sidekick?”
“He’s still under anaesthetic at the moment. His pelvis was fractured in two places as the result of a stamp from one of the horses.”
“Did he have a car?”
“Yes, but he refused to tell us its location.”
“And are they still looking for it?”
“I’m afraid so…”
The Major coughed a couple of times.
“What about Bineco?” Albert asked.
The Major appeared worried. “We’ve looked everywhere, Public Prosecutor, but there’s no sanitary installations company in Vilvoorde answering to the name.”
“Who’s in charge of the rest of the investigation?”
“CID, orders from the Public Prosecutor’s Office.”
“Do we have any idea what we’re looking at?”
“Not yet, sir.”
The Major averted his gaze, lifted his cup and drank his coffee.
Albert thought for a moment and then said: “Shall we take a look at the crime scene?”
The Major had more or less expected this suggestion, but he didn’t let it show. “A police vehicle is at your disposal, Public Prosecutor,” said the Major, realizing immediately that his proposal was inappropriate.
“No, we’ll take a private car.”
Albert stood and opened the door. Major de Vreker picked up his briefcase and followed.
 
Something unusual happened as Albert and Major de Vreker stepped out of the car at 10.50 in front of the farmhouse on the Oude Baan. Without prior agreement, they set about what the police refer to as “divvying up the work”. Everything went so smoothly and naturally that Albert was reminded at a certain moment of a French expression:
des atomes crochus
- personal chemistry. He opened the front door with a Yale key on a ring with various other keys. Major de Vreker followed him inside. Although Albert had more or less expected to see what he did, it still hit him like a kick to the stomach. He held his breath for a second, stood still and tried to breathe calmly in and out. All the decorative pieces he had once given her were gone: English hunting scenes, the horse collection, gone. Even the teddy bears, cushions and carpets were gone. Everything but the kitchen sink. The .22 rifle had been placed ostentatiously on the floor in front of the fireplace. He noticed immediately that the walnut handle had been scratched.
The definitive end of what had been a fairly happy period in his life, all things considered, he thought. She had even taken Igor, but surprisingly enough it didn’t bother him.
Soliman
was still alive and that was the most important thing.
“I’m off to check on the horse, Major,” he said. His voice reverberated in the hollow, empty room. He was about to say: “Why don’t you take a look around the house,” when the Major asked: “Do you mind if I take a look around in here, Public Prosecutor?”
Albert went outside. The sun was shining as if it was the height of summer. He looked left and right on his way to the stables to see if there was anyone around. The stables were empty. He could see Soliman in a far corner of the paddock, standing in the shade of the trees and looking at him as if he were ready to bolt.
“Soliman!” he shouted. “Come here, boy, come!”
Soliman hesitated for the briefest moment and then galloped calmly towards Albert, who felt a lump in his throat at the sight of his horse’s agile canter. It hit him for the first time that Yamma was dead, the horse that Louise had ridden with such style, turned into a corpse with a single shot, rotting in the stinking hell of the abattoir. He tried to apply his psychological resistance technique, putting Yamma out of his mind, because there was nothing he could do to change things. It didn’t work. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Louise had loved her horse so much and about the dreadful end Soliman’s mother had had to face. He hoped he would never be forced to confront the killer.

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