Shadow Sister (16 page)

It’s actually quite lucky that Bilal isn’t home. Maybe I can talk to his mother or sister, but how should I handle it? Ring on the bell and say: Hello, I’m Elisa van Woerkom and I wanted to ask if any of you had anything to do with my sister’s death? Could I come in for a moment?

I could ask for someone else, as though I had the wrong house. That would allow me a glimpse of the inhabitants. I’ve no idea how that might help me, but I ring the bell. I hear a door open and close inside the house. I wait, but nobody comes. I ring the bell again.

The net curtains open a chink and a woman looks out at me. She makes a helpless gesture with her hands and closes the curtain again. I stand there waiting. I don’t understand.

‘She’s not going to open up,’ a voice behind me says.

The three boys have followed me across the street.

‘She’s not allowed to open the door when she’s on her own in the house,’ one of them explains.

I give up.

Once I’m on the bus, I call Sylvie on my mobile. When she answers I ask whether she feels like coming to Night City with me this evening.

‘Night City? Why do you want to go there?’

I tell her that Lydia once mentioned that a lot of her students, including Bilal, go to Night City. This is met with silence. Finally Sylvie says she thinks I’ve gone mad.

‘So you don’t want to come with me?’

No, of course she’s not coming with me and she doesn’t think I should go either – it seems risky to her.

‘Hmmm,’ I say.

‘Elisa, you’re not going there tonight.’

‘Why not? I can go where I want,’ I say. ‘How are you, by the way? And your new love?’

Sylvie laughs quietly, she’s happy. ‘Really well. Nice of you to ask. Of course I know why you’re changing the subject. But now we’re talking about it, I hope it doesn’t bother you.’

‘What?’ I ask, though I know damn well what she’s talking about.

‘Me having a new boyfriend. It must be odd.’

‘It doesn’t bother me at all,’ I say. ‘Although I am a bit surprised.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I didn’t see the two of you as an obvious combination.’

Sylvie laughs again. ‘Opposites attract, eh? Let’s meet up soon.’

‘I was trying to,’ I say.

‘Not in Night City,’ Sylvie says. ‘I’ll come round to yours tonight, okay?’

‘Come tomorrow instead.’ With that I hang up.

Thomas isn’t up for a night out either. He’s not that keen on going out during the week and he really doesn’t want to go to a club. I should have known that. My mobile still in my hand, I stare out of the window at the bus shelters, cyclists and pedestrians. I know that Thomas doesn’t like dancing, but he could have done this for me, couldn’t he? He certainly would have before. ‘All right, don’t come,’ I say to myself. ‘I’ll go alone.’

Night City is a music venue and night club set up for immigrant clubbers. They have Turkish, Cape Verdian and Hindustani nights, among others, but quite a few Dutch people go too. I’ve never been myself. I’m not that keen on clubbing either. I’ve never seen the point of standing around at 3 a.m., beer glass in hand, trying to shout into someone’s ear above the deafening music. I’d rather rent a couple of DVDs and spend the evening with Lydia and other friends, our feet up on the coffee table, a bottle of wine within hand’s reach.

But now I want to go to Night City and I want to go tonight.

When I get there, Zuco 103 is playing and I make a few vague moves on the dance floor. The smoke machine shrouds the
crowd in a red and blue cloud. The noise is ear-splitting and people are dancing with abandon. Most of the audience is foreign. I attract attention, but I’m not the only white person here.

Next to me is a Dutch girl with red-dyed cropped hair, dancing away ecstatically with a Moroccan boy. He tries to flirt with me at the same time. Despite the racket, we start chatting – we have to stand close to be able to hear each other.

‘Are you here on your own?’ the boy shouts in my ear.

I nod, but tell him that I’m looking for someone.

‘Who?’

‘Bilal,’ I scream. ‘Bilal Assrouti. Do you know him?’

He doesn’t reply but says something to the red-haired girl. They wave goodbye to me and they’re off. I watch them go in astonishment.

The same thing happens all evening. Every time I ask someone about Bilal, they disappear. I give up at last. It was a ridiculous idea to think that I would be able to find a stranger on this enormous dance floor. Instead I dance, losing myself in the music. As I move my hips, someone puts their arm around my waist. A handsome, dark face looks at me for a moment intensely and then slips away.

I spin around at once, but the boy has already disappeared into the crowd. At the same time I see someone else looking at me: a tall, dark young man who makes eye contact with another young man and gestures to him.

He pushes through the crowd towards me and out of the corner of my eye I can see that his friend is doing the same. Panic washes over me.

I wrestle towards the exit, the crowd moving aside more easily for me than for my two followers. I’m still ahead of them. I look back over my shoulder and see that the young men are being hindered from every direction.

I run to the coat check and get my jacket. My nerves calm a
little. There are two strong bouncers not far away.

The cool night air welcomes me, the silence makes my ears whistle. As I cross the street, I pull on my jacket, looking back over my shoulder from time to time, but the street is almost deserted. My pursuers are nowhere to be seen.

I’m rooted to my chair, my eyes fixed on the figure on the other side of the street. It really is Bilal standing there. He’s got his hands in his pockets, a hat pulled down to his eyebrows and he’s staring at me. It is him and I know right away this means bad news.

Bilal takes his hand out of his pocket and for the duration of two heartbeats I’m convinced he’s pulling out a gun. But he’s only making a gesture with his hand and at that moment I become aware of a couple of shapes looming in the edge of my vision.

‘Elisa,’ I say hoarsely.

‘Yes?’ Elisa is playing noughts and crosses with Valerie on the back of the bill and looks up at me.

I’m surprised by how calm and controlled I am and how quickly I come up with a plan.

‘Don’t look now but Bilal is standing in front of the Pathé, and a couple of guys are walking towards the terrace. Please
take Valerie away at once. Do it quickly and calmly, as if nothing’s happening.’

You can say a lot about Elisa, but not that she doesn’t react quickly. She stands up, gathers her things, takes Valerie by the hand and immediately goes inside with her. I stand up as well, but don’t go with them. At least I’ve got Valerie out of the way.

I leave the terrace and walk down the pavement. The two boys follow at a distance. Are they part of Bilal’s gang? Was it coincidence that these guys started moving after Bilal gestured?

A group of school kids go past and I walk in their midst, ignoring their irritated glances. A bus is coming down the street so I sprint to the stop. Bilal’s friends are advancing on me.

The bus stops and they quicken their pace. I help an elderly couple climb in and keep them between me and the boys. They make no attempt to get on the bus, but stand there discussing something.

‘Do you see those boys there?’ I ask the driver. ‘Would you mind making sure they don’t get on?’

A glance at them is enough to make him close the doors immediately. The boys begin to run then and bang on the doors.

The bus driver accelerates, leaving them in a cloud of diesel smoke. Weak from shock, I look out of the back window and see them glaring at the bus. They’ve taken their hands out of their pockets, but I don’t see any weapons. Now that I know I’m safe, I begin to doubt myself. Am I imagining things? Were those boys just trying to catch a bus?

I make a call to Elisa.

‘Elisa?’

‘We’re fine,’ she says, to my great relief. ‘What was the matter back there?’

‘Where is Bilal?’ I interrupt.

‘Lydia, I didn’t see him. I just wanted to get Valerie away.’

‘Oh.’

‘There’s no one around. Perhaps you were panicking about nothing. But I do understand, you know. Of course you were terrified.’ Elisa’s voice is sweet and understanding.

I let my head rest against the cold windowpane. ‘I’m on the bus, Elisa, I’m going straight home. Will you bring Valerie back?’

‘Of course. See you in a bit.’

I spot the white envelope on the doormat right away. I take the time to close the door behind me before I slit open the envelope with my index finger and pull out a tatty sheet of paper. Pasted on it is a collection of letters cut from a newspaper in a rainbow of inks.

YOU ARE A WHORE. I WILL KILL YOU.

I stare at the lettering for a long time. My mind buzzes like an overloaded network and my body sets off all of its alarm functions. I lock the front door and pull all the blinds down. Then I ring Elisa and ask her to take Valerie to her house instead. It’s dark in the house with the blinds closed. The sun shines on the windows in vain and the birdsong coming from the tree in the front garden sounds like a protest. I put the letter in a plastic bag.

Raoul’s number goes straight to voicemail. It’s half past three, he’s probably in the gym. I try not to sound too fraught as I leave a message, but my voice cracks and breaks. I tell him what has happened and say, ‘You have to come home now.’ When he hears the message he’ll come, no doubt about that.

Raoul doesn’t come home. It turns half past four, then five, and no sign of him. I try his mobile every ten minutes, but nothing. Where the hell is he?

I peer through a chink in the blinds at every person who passes the house. They might be Raoul. Or Bilal.

The ringing of the telephone breaks the silence so unexpectedly that it’s like a siren going off. I jump so much that I bang my hip against one of the cabinets. A chain of curses leaves my lips. The telephone stops, but then rings again a second later. That persistence can only be my mother.

Now I have to be careful or she’ll twig that something is wrong.

‘Lydia Salentijn.’

My mother’s voice fills my ears. ‘Hi darling, how are you?’

‘Fine, and you? And Dad?’

‘Fantastic. Your father’s working on the barbecue, but it just doesn’t want to light.’

Show some interest. Remember the chitchat. If she finds out what’s going on she’s capable of turning up here immediately and not leaving for weeks.

‘Isn’t it amazing that we can have barbecues so early in the year? I can’t remember beginning in April before. Have you bought a new one by the way?’ I ask, as I stare out through the blinds.

‘Yes, your father insisted on an old-fashioned coal one. I’m curious whether it will work tomorrow. He’d better begin lighting it early if we want to eat before 10 p.m.’

‘It’ll be all right,’ I say.

‘We’ll see. How did you go with the quiche?’

Shit, the quiche.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I’m going to make it later.’

‘Had you forgotten?’ my mother asks, her tone suggesting that nothing would surprise her.

‘No, no,’ I say. Through the blinds I see a shadow moving outside and I drop the receiver. Putting it back to my ear, I keep an eye on the window. The shadow disappears and I hear the sound of a key in the lock.

‘What are you doing?’ my mother asks.

‘Nothing, I dropped the phone. Listen, Mum, Raoul is just coming in so I’m going to hang up. See you tomorrow, all right?’

‘Oh.’ My mother sounds put out. ‘Well, if you don’t have time for me…I just wanted to ask if the quiche had turned out.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ I promise. ‘See you tomorrow!’

I put the phone down, sure that my mother now knows that something’s up. We usually chat for hours, whether Raoul is there or not.

I rush into the hall to Raoul, taking the letter with me. ‘I’ve only just heard your message,’ he says. He looks stressed. ‘Where’s the letter?’

I hand it over.

He reads it through the plastic and his expression changes to anger.

‘Will you come with me to the police?’ I find myself crying.

He nods, wraps one arm around me and guides me out of the front door.

The police take it seriously. When the duty officer hears what happened earlier in the week, he calls over to his colleague. The sergeant who comes to us introduces himself as David Winsemius. He leads us to a small room and offers us chairs. And then I tell my story. I tell the sergeant about the threats at school, the damage to my car and finally I show him the letter.

Winsemius takes it from me and studies the sheet of paper for a while in silence. Finally he looks up and says, ‘I see that you put the letter in a plastic bag, that’s very good.’

He tells us that the technical department at the station will treat the letter with a special liquid that will render any fingerprints visible. Then he picks it up again and studies it carefully.

‘May I ask you why you didn’t report the threats at school to the police that same day, Mrs Salentijn?’

His words seem like an accusation to me, though they might not be intended that way. ‘Because I didn’t want to publicise it,’ I say. ‘I didn’t want the police to come to the school. The school’s reputation, you understand…’

Winsemius nods. ‘Are there witnesses to the fact that Bilal Assrouti threatened you?’

‘You might say that. The whole class was there,’ Raoul says.

‘Could you give me a few names?’ Winsemius picks up a pen.

I hesitate. ‘I’m not sure if that’s sensible. They’re all friends of Bilal’s and as I just said, I’d rather that no one at school knew that I’d gone to the police.’

‘I can’t take anyone in for questioning without a shred of evidence.’

‘It’s true, Lydia,’ Raoul says. ‘Just give him the names, and they’ll be able to go and get the guy. A night in the cells will do him some good.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ I say. ‘They won’t be able to hold him for long and the second he’s free again, his first stop will be my house.’

‘What do you want then?’ Winsemius asks.