The Square of Revenge (26 page)

“In a lot of cases the broad lines are amazingly accurate, although we have to account for the fact that we’re dealing with Americans. Europeans tend to be a little less predictable.”

“So what makes you think that the older man is a mathematician or a statistician?” Hannelore asked. “If you’re right, and we presume the man is older than seventy, then we only have to call a couple of universities. I can’t imagine there were too many math or statistics graduates in the nineteen forties.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Miss,” said Beheyt. “But let me answer your question. The entire procedure followed in both the attack on the jeweler and the abduction suggests that what we would call risks are in fact measured and deliberate steps in their plan. If I’m wrong, then according to the laws of probability they would have to have made at least one mistake, perhaps more. Take the attack on the jeweler. They went to work before midnight in a brightly lit space. They had to have known that someone would see them.” Beheyt rummaged through his papers and pulled out a couple of pages.

“The Dutch couple and the other witness described the older man in very different ways, but the only thing they agreed on was his long gray hair. Everyone knows that the majority of men over seventy have short hair or are either balding or bald. The long gray hair is far too conspicuous. I’m pretty certain it was part of a disguise. We can also say the same about the young man’s beard, another point on which the witnesses were agreed.”

Beheyt peered around the room with a look of victory on his face.

“And there’s plenty more where that came from. Commissioner Van In should be congratulated for anticipating a number of my conclusions intuitively.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Van In decided to thoroughly revise his opinion of the professor. Hannelore beamed and D’Hondt bit his nails.

“I’ll order my men to call the universities immediately,” said Van In with enthusiasm.

“And if he lives in the countryside, it might make sense to check if any remote properties have been rented out short-term in the last couple of weeks,” D’Hondt said, determined to show that he had a contribution to make.

“The professor said he’s been living in the countryside for some time. If he’s holding the boy in his own home, we haven’t got a snowball’s chance of locating the place unless we identify the man first,” said Van In in what came close to an arrogant tone. “And don’t forget, he’s alone with the boy. He’ll probably stay holed up for the next few days. If the house looks occupied, no one will suspect anything.”

“But no one knows if he’s alone. There might be other people involved.”

D’Hondt was nervous, and nervous people say stupid things.

“Out of the question,” said Beheyt, flatly putting an end to the discussion.

Now it was Van In’s turn to explain Charlotte Degroof’s hypothetical diagnosis to the others.

“Versavel and his men are calling round the university hospitals. A five-man team has taken responsibility for the other major hospitals.”

“How long have you known this?” D’Hondt snorted.

“Since last night, Captain.”

“And you waited until now to tell us. I thought we had agreed to contact one another if there were new developments.”

“I have a couple of photocopies to make,” said Beheyt, not interested in witnessing an exchange of words between Van In and D’Hondt.

The situation frustrated him enormously. As an expert, all he could do was draft a hypothetical profile of the perpetrators and wait. Maybe he had been a little too quick to draw conclusions. No further negotiations were planned with the kidnappers. His job was done, more or less. The rest was in the hands of the detectives.

If he had had to choose between the orthodox Van In and the proud local police captain, he would have opted for Van In, no competition.

“Have you scheduled a visit with the parents later?” asked Hannelore. She sensed that D’Hondt was about to explode, and she wanted to alleviate some of the tension. D’Hondt got the hint and reluctantly made himself scarce.

“Deleu’s with them right now,” she added.

“Then they’ll be in need of a visit,” Van In grinned. “Poor bastards are having a hard enough time as it is.”

Beheyt bumped into Versavel in the corridor. The sergeant almost knocked him over.

“A new tip has come in,” he shouted before the door was fully open.

Versavel pointed to the phone. “We have a potential witness to the abduction on the line. You can take the call here.”

Van In lunged at the telephone on his desk.

The witness told his story for the second time in less than fifteen minutes.

The day before around two
P.M
., he was driving on the ring road near Bruges’s windmills. A couple of hundred yards before the traffic lights he noticed a Ford Transit belonging to the local police parked on the cycle path. He slowed down, thinking it was a speed trap. To his surprise, he saw a policeman rip off the reflective orange strip running along the side of the vehicle. It was only then that he realized that there was no light bar on top of the van and there was no sign of the police logo or the emergency number usually found on the sides. He thought it was a bit strange, so he checked in his rearview mirror after driving past.

The van had pulled onto the road, and he had seen an elderly man in civilian clothes at the wheel. The Ford Transit overtook him just after the lights.

“Was the policeman wearing glasses?” Van In asked.

“Yes.”

“And he was taller than most,” Van In repeated as the witness provided a reasonably good description of Daniel Verhaeghe.
Beheyt will be pleased
, he thought to himself.
The alleged policeman had no beard
.

The witness hadn’t noted the vehicle’s plates, but when Van In asked if there was anyone else in the Transit his answer was formal.

“No, just the old guy and the cop,” he said with conviction.

Van In thanked the man and turned to the others.

“Now we know when and where.”

“If what the witness saw had anything to do with the kidnapping,” said D’Hondt.

Van In wanted to punch him. Why was the bastard so contrary?

“Shouldn’t take long to check, Captain,” Van In barked. “Or is it normal for bona fide policemen to screw around with their vehicles when they’re on duty?”

“Listen here, Van In,” D’Hondt hissed. “The way you’ve been handling this case is unprofessional, to say the least. But good, I can live with that. What I don’t have to put up with are insults directed against me and my men.”

“Insults,” Van In snorted. “Everyone knows you need a lot more shit to mold one of your men than one of mine.”

D’Hondt gritted his teeth and said nothing. Hannelore expected him to burst into flames at any minute. His face was bright red.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen. A little respect, if you don’t mind.”

De Kee was standing in the doorway dressed in a loose-fitting pinstriped suit. He looked as if he had just walked out of
The Untouchables
.

“Don’t we have other fish to fry?”

Van In looked at Hannelore, and when she glanced furtively at De Kee he couldn’t help smiling.

D’Hondt backed down with a stiff nod of the head.

“That’s much better,” said De Kee in a cheerful tone.

Beheyt reappeared with a pile of photocopies under his arm and chirped: “Are we having the meeting here?”

“Why not,” said De Kee. “The public prosecutor sends his apologies and Colonel Verriest should have been here by now.”

Van In sighed. He hated meetings. Everything had already been said, as far as he was concerned.

“Let’s take a seat then, shall we,” he suggested apathetically.

Fortunately, the discussion passed without incident. D’Hondt wisely kept his options open. Van In repeated his report of the events of the preceding week on De Kee’s explicit request. He then suggested that a description of Long-legs should be given to the press. “Long-legs” had now been accepted by everyone concerned as the younger kidnapper’s nickname.

“We can be reasonably certain that he’ll be present at tomorrow’s spectacle,” Van In concluded.

Everyone appeared to agree, and Van In was happy that the most tiresome part of his day was behind him.

“Excellent,” Beheyt concurred. “But allow me to add a final observation. In my opinion, the young man commissioner Van In has appropriately styled ‘Long-legs’ is suffering from depression and is exceptionally unbalanced. One might almost be inclined to think that the older man set up the abduction as a sort of ‘live cinema’ just to assuage Long-legs’s volatile personality.”

De Kee ran his fingers through his hair and D’Hondt scratched his head. Only Van In seemed surprised.

“Who knows, Professor Beheyt. Anything is possible in a case like this. But even if we manage to arrest Long-legs before tomorrow, it’s not likely to change anything. The kidnapper’s demands will remain the same.”

“I’ll have the Ford Transit checked out just to be sure,” said D’Hondt decisively. The pig-headed policeman still didn’t understand that his traditional approach wasn’t going to produce results.

Van In wasn’t in the mood for explaining things yet again. He wished everyone a fine morning and headed toward the door.

In the corridor he bumped into Versavel.

“Any news from the university hospitals?” he asked in passing.

“It’s Sunday, and the doctors we’ve managed to speak to have all pulled the professional confidentiality card. They’re only willing to cooperate if we provide a name.”

“And the other hospitals?”

Versavel shook his head.

“Do you really think this is going to get us anywhere?”

“Probably not, Guido, but keep trying all the same and don’t forget to put it all down on paper.”

Versavel nodded understandingly. He knew from experience that policemen always surrounded themselves with mountains of paperwork if a case was in danger of unraveling.

“What’s your next step?”

“A visit to the parents. There’s still a pile of work to be done before tomorrow’s bonfire and I want to have another word with Degroof senior,” said Van In with a secretive smile. “And don’t forget they’re still saddled with Deleu.”

“As if they didn’t have enough problems,” Versavel laughed.

“One last thing, Guido.” Van In turned. “Keep an eye on D’Hondt, will you? Tell him he’s responsible for keeping order tomorrow on Zand Square.”

“Your word is my command.”

Van In raised his hand and went on his way.

“Hey, Commissioner. Aren’t you forgetting someone?” he heard Versavel call from behind.

Hannelore came shuffling along the corridor, her tight miniskirt forcing her to take short steps.

“That’s a new one! Commissioner Van In wants to take off on his own.” Hannelore grumbled. “Couldn’t you wait just a minute? Or don’t you want my company?”

“Secrecy,” he whispered with his finger on his lips. “Didn’t we agree to act normally in public?” he grinned.

“I’m following you for professional reasons,” she snorted. “Don’t read anything into it.”

“Okay, but let’s make a move before D’Hondt gets the same idea.”

When they arrived at the scene, Van In had to ask a motor officer to ride ahead of him down Bishop Avenue. As he had predicted, the chic neighborhood was crawling with outside broadcast units, satellite dishes, camera crews, and photographers. Curious onlookers had also formed a serious crowd to contend with.

Degroof’s neighbors had become world-famous overnight, their testimony being the only thing worth broadcasting at that moment in time. On Professor Beheyt’s advice, Patrick and Charlotte Delahaye had decided not to speak to the press.

When Van In and Hannelore finally reached the bungalow and stepped out of their car, they were immediately surrounded by a swarm of microphone-carrying mosquitoes.

“They’ll be offering you a contract next,” Van In teased. “You’re just as good-looking as Judge Ancia.”

“Just as good-looking,” she sneered. “You can’t be serious. Anyway, maintaining professional standards has nothing to do with looks. Véronique Ancia is a career woman, and so am I!” she huffed.

They elbowed their way through a forest of cameras and padded microphones. Once they were behind the barriers, Van In heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t envy the celebrities who had to deal with this sort of craziness every day of their lives.

“I wonder what it’s going to be like tomorrow,” said Hannelore. In contrast to Van In, she appeared to be enjoying the circus, if only a little.

Charlotte had seen them arrive and had opened the door for them.

“Come inside, Commissioner. And you too, Ms. Martens,” she said as if they were expected for dinner. She looked gaunt and pale. Her carelessly applied makeup failed to conceal the inner chaos. She was like a zombie.

“My husband will join us soon. He’s resting,” she said mechanically. The house was bathed in an impersonal emptiness, as if desperation had taken material form. Today the designer interior looked like a bargain-basement version of a page out of
Better Homes and Gardens
.

“I’m afraid there’s not much to report, ma’am,” said Van In once inside the house.

“The hospitals?” she asked, her voice wavering. She had clamped on to her hypothesis like a baby gorilla to its mother.

“We’re making the calls, ma’am, but try not to build your hopes up. The bastards haven’t given us enough time for an in-depth inquiry.”

There was no sense in pulling the wool over her eyes. Poor coordination had cost them a great deal of time endlessly ruminating over the same limited evidence.

“Is Commissioner Deleu still here?” Van In deliberately changed the subject.

“He’s with Daddy in the garden. I was just about to make a pot of coffee. Can I tempt you?”

“You certainly can, ma’am.”

Van In felt sorry for Charlotte Degroof, but he also admired her for the grace with which she carried her burden. Beheyt had explained to him that the parents of kidnapped children often experienced an unnatural sort of high in the first twenty-four hours after an abduction. The real pain came much later. He compared the situation with a man who has accidentally cut off his finger. First there’s blood everywhere, then he realizes he’s cut off his finger, and only then does he feel the pain.