Caz
Ghent
Caz heard the sound of her cellphone but finished the kriek she was enjoying on the terrace before she went inside and dug the phone out of her handbag.
A text message from TU. Reluctantly she opened it.
Can you meet me in an hour at De Witte Leeuw at the Graslei? I happen to be in Ghent. TU.
Now? Today? Damn it, she wasn’t ready. On the other hand, she would probably never be ready to learn more about Ammie Pauwels. The sooner she got it over with, the better.
The message was sent ten minutes ago. She looked on her watch. It was after twelve. No wonder she felt peckish. The previous night’s pea soup, rich and delicious as it was, was long forgotten. With her anxiety about Tieneke, she hadn’t even given breakfast a thought.
Maybe it was better to meet the woman here, on more or less equal ground. It would also save her a train ride to Leuven.
It reminded her that she still had to look for a flight home.
Tieneke’s disappearance had upset all her plans, and this TU business didn’t help either.
With Tieneke weighing more and more heavily on her mind, her attention was divided. Maybe it was a good thing, or she would have had only Ammie Pauwels to worry about.
The fact was, she couldn’t leave without knowing what had become of Tieneke. Tieneke might not be at the top of her prayer list, but she had to know she was safe. Maybe she was a touch neurotic, coming from a crime mecca, but she had a bizarre feeling that the house wasn’t as it should be. As if someone other than Tieneke had been there.
There she went again—feeding the neurosis.
Was she going to meet TU in a little less than an hour, or not? That was the question she had to focus on. The answer was a counterquestion. What did she have to lose?
Thank you, yes. How will I know you?
Caz made certain she had everything she needed in her handbag and took a light sweater. It was still warm, but last night it had grown cold at the waterfront. After the meeting, she could carry on worrying anywhere she chose. Or she could explore the city. It was no good sitting on this terrace day in and day out.
Luc
Ghent
Luc was already on his way to Ghent when the message came through. Just as well he didn’t wait for her answer before he left Damme. Now he was hoping he could prove that he had a screw loose and that no third party was reading Caz Colijn’s messages.
He parked at the Blandijn next to the Boekentoren and caught a tram. If he did manage to find a parking spot in the old city centre he would have to walk miles anyway. At least here at the university he had free parking. He just hoped his plan worked—whatever the outcome.
Erevu
Ghent
He had nearly missed the message.
Dove should have been here. He was the one who should have gone to the Graslei. Posing as a student, he would attract less attention. The Caz woman wouldn’t be suspicious if she ran into Dove at the Graslei again. But he hadn’t replied to the messages Erevu had left and there was no time to go and look for him at his hideout.
Erevu moved through the crowd as fast as possible, stopping some distance from De Witte Leeuw to collect himself. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
His hand was trembling as he took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. It wasn’t the heat that was making him perspirate. This country didn’t have what it took to make an African sweat. It was the tension. He had been caught off-guard. Bloody Dove.
Somewhat calmer, he turned the corner. Without looking at anyone in particular, he tried to find a seat. His options were limited. There was one table that hadn’t been cleared yet and at another table people were getting ready to leave.
He chose the table that was already vacant. He had to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Once the waiter had removed the used glasses and taken his order, he looked around him, instantly averting his eyes when he saw the Caz woman approach. It was unlikely that she would recognize him from Dampoort, and even if she did, it shouldn’t arouse her suspicion. They had been at the same station and on the same train by chance. That was hopefully what she would think. Ghent wasn’t a big city.
When he glanced up again, she was standing at the table that had just become available, searching the crowd. The waiter approached and spoke to her. She nodded, said something in reply and sat down. Amid the general noise he couldn’t overhear the conversation.
A tall man with a thick mop of graying hair sauntered up and stood at the waffle stand across the street. There were lots of other people too, but the man’s height and hair had caught Erevu’s eye. It was not only that, though. He looked familiar.
Something drew the man’s attention. Something in the vicinity of the Caz woman. Maybe she herself. She was certainly eye-catching with her long gray curls.
Erevu tried to think where he had seen the man before. Then he remembered. The photo Jela had sent. It had been quite blurred, but he could swear the man standing over there, looking at the crowd, was Luc DeReu.
TU of the messages was in fact Professor Luc DeReu, Erevu instantly realized.
Luc
Ghent
Luc couldn’t believe his eyes. The attractive woman with the long gray curly hair was smiling at the waiter as he put a kriek in front of her. Lord knows, if it hadn’t been for bloody Caz Colijn he would have seen it as a sign. He would strongly have considered asking her whether he might share her table. There were no others available.
But he wasn’t here to chat up one of the few women who had recently caught his eye. Unfortunately not. He had to find out who in this crowd was Caz Colijn. And whether the person who was intercepting her messages was anywhere close. If there was such a person, mind you.
He turned his back on De Witte Leeuw and pretended to be studying the selection of waffles on the board. He keyed in a smiley, held the phone to his ear with his thumb on the send button and turned back to De Witte Leeuw. He sent the message and crossed the street, pretending to be talking on the phone. His eyes swept over the people at the tables. The curly-headed woman picked up her phone and looked at the screen.
Was it possible? Luc was so surprised that he nearly failed to notice the man who also took his cellphone from his shirt pocket.
Caz
Ghent
Caz frowned. A smiley? What did TU mean? Was the woman making a fool of her? Or was there a hidden meaning?
She studied the crowd but didn’t see anyone standing around, smiling. The only person that attracted her attention was a tall man with a mophead and a deep frown who had his cellphone against his ear. He peered at it before putting it back to his ear and resuming his conversation.
A second smiley came through and moments later a third one.
No one seemed to be trying to identify a face in the crowd. TU couldn’t have made it clearer. She might as well have texted: Caught you, sucker.
If the waiter hadn’t put the kriek in front of her at that very moment, Caz would have got up and left.
Happened to be in Ghent? My arse. Annoyed, she put down her cellphone. The thing could ping all it liked. She had no desire to play games with an unstable woman who had trust issues with her husband or boyfriend.
Yet even that didn’t make sense. What could anyone win in that kind of game?
Erevu
Ghent
Erevu didn’t understand the three smiling faces coming through at short intervals. He didn’t see anyone texting. A young girl was sitting with her cellphone to her ear, laughing. Another youngster’s thumbs were flying across the keys, a bored expression on his face. He was certainly not sending one smiley after another. The professor was pacing up and down, talking on his phone. Could it be that DeReu and TU weren’t the same person after all? TU was supposed to be here to meet the Caz woman and DeReu was not making a move, even though he had noticed her. But TU had also said DeReu couldn’t be contacted.
There was a snake in the grass. He beckoned the waiter over, paid for the coffee he hadn’t drunk yet and got up. He passed as close to the professor as possible.
The professor was focused on his conversation. “If you can’t manage the research, you shouldn’t have handed in your dissertation. I’m sorry, Miss, but postgraduate studies call for dedication and precision.”
The professor’s voice faded as Erevu walked away. He looked around one last time. Into the eyes of the Caz woman. She gave a slight nod. She had recognized him. Damn all people with good memories. He frowned and turned away.
Caz
Ghent
She might be mistaken, but she could swear it was the man who had offered to help her with the train timetable on her way to Doel. The one she had seen getting off at Sint-Niklaas as well.
Maybe he hadn’t recognized her. Middle-aged white women were a much more common sight in Belgium than smartly clad black men with shaven heads.
The man and his short memory were unimportant, though. The fact remained, she had fallen for a bad joke, concocted by a neurotic. It was all she could assume. Even though it made no sense.
While she drank her kriek, she glanced at the menu. The food looked delectable but the prices were beyond her means. Even the kriek was a euro more here than just a short distance away. At least they served snacks with the drinks—even if the portions were miniscule.
When she looked up, the mophead who had been so engrossed in conversation on his cellphone was gone. New people were seated at the dark-skinned man’s table.
Her cherry beer was hardly finished when the waiter appeared at her side. “Another one?”
Caz shook her head. “Only the bill, please.”
“Four euro fifty.”
She gave him five euros and took the slip he was holding out to her.
“I’ve been asked to tell you to read this, but not here.” The waiter smiled and left.
Caz got up and walked away slowly, the slip of paper in her hand. What the hell now?
She stopped at a safe distance and unfolded the note.
Change your phone and SIM. Present phone being monitored. Text only with new phone to this number. After the number the person had written: See LinkedIn. TU.
The note had been written in bold but hasty capital letters. She looked around her, but she couldn’t see De Witte Leeuw or its patrons from there. TU, whoever she or he might be, must have been there, watching her. The handwriting looked masculine. Maybe the black man? But no, the timing between his departure and the arrival of the note didn’t match.
The only other person she had noticed was the mophead on the phone. Because of his height but, to be honest, also because she had found him attractive despite his grim face.
It couldn’t have been the waiter. He had served others as well. TU must have asked or bribed the waiter to deliver the note written on the back of a till slip before he came to ask if she’d like another kriek.
She could only assume that TU was completely bonkers.
Shit, what if it was true? That her phone was being monitored? But that was academic. Where would she find another phone and SIM card?
She headed for the street café where she’d had the pea soup. It was much cheaper because it was slightly off the beaten track. Still at the waterfront, but walled in by buildings on either side. She looked around, not quite sure where the place was. Just past that cannon, if her memory served her correctly. The enormous thing was called Dulle Griet according to the plaque.
She was lucky enough to find a table at the water’s edge. She knew by now that it was the Leie River, though it still looked more like a canal to her. A long boat filled with tourists went past and a few waved. She waved back at them.
“Back for more pea soup?”
The man was the owner as well as the chef, she had gathered the day before. He had proved that he had a sense of humor, calling all the women Grietjie and all the men Dullerd. She had also heard him teasing a guest, who seemed to be an old acquaintance.
“You don’t happen to serve cellphones with new SIM cards?”
He stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “Did yours fall into the Leie? You won’t be the first to lose a phone that way. Let’s get you something to drink, then I’ll see what I can do. A glass of wine?”
She needed one, but she asked for coffee instead, and the menu. It was rather limited, but everything looked appetizing.
“Were you serious about the cellphone?” the man enquired when he brought her coffee.
She nodded. “I don’t know how one goes about getting one here. At home it’s a big schlepp.”
“Well, not here. You simply buy one with a prepaid card. It will cost you about eighty euros before calls.”
One thousand two hundred rand. For a phone she was only going to use for a few days? No way.
“I have an old one, if that will help? Not all that old. I upgraded about three months ago. Give me fifteen euros for it and you can just buy a Proximus prepaid card. Or if you wish, you can sit back and I’ll send one of the lazy louts who work for me to go and buy it for you. I can put it on your bill and you can pay for everything with your credit card.”
Caz suddenly felt her lower lip begin to tremble.
“And now, Grietjie?”
Caz cleared her throat and tried to pull herself together. “I’m not used to people being so kind. That would be wonderful, thanks.”
The owner patted her shoulder. “You just relax, Grietjie, and enjoy your coffee. I’ll see to the rest.”
Luc
Ghent
He still couldn’t get over the fact that the curly-headed woman with the slim figure and striking face was Caz Colijn.
He understood now why he had noticed her. It wasn’t only the hair and the height, or the fact that he found her attractive. It was that defiant posture you saw in so many South Africans. Shoulders back, chin up. A sharpness of gaze too, as if they took in more than the average person—paid more attention to what was going on around them.
But if the woman turned out not to be Caz Colijn, if she had just happened to get a message from someone else at the same time he was sending his, he was in trouble.
She would think he was crazy. Or a pervert. Maybe she would think it was one of the weirdest pick-up lines she had ever come across. To make it worse, his cellphone number was on that note.
But there had been no alternative he could think of. Surely three messages, one after the other, made the possibility of a coincidence too remote? No, it couldn’t have been by chance. She had looked at her messages three times. And she didn’t seem very happy.
He hoped and prayed she would get another phone and not decide someone was playing a trick on her. And he hoped she would text him from the new number, or he wouldn’t be able to contact her.
Which could be a disaster. They had to change the place and time of Monday’s appointment in Leuven to mislead the person who was monitoring her phone.
For now he just had to presume it was indeed Caz who had received the note. To keep wondering about it was not productive.
Whether the man sitting near her was the one who had access to her phone was even less certain. He had heard no cellphone sounds, yet the moment Luc had sent the first smiley, the man had taken his cellphone from his shirt pocket and looked at it. It was probably set to vibrate, not ring.
He had looked closely at the phone and pressed buttons again immediately after the last two smileys had been sent.
His studies had taught Luc not to assume anything was true just because it seemed logical. At most, there could be a strong suspicion that the man was watching Caz and monitoring her calls. Why he had Caz in his sights was a mystery.
The fact that the man was black didn’t mean he was from the Congo, but if he was, it could have something to do with Ammie. But how did he know about Caz?
The whole business was a conundrum. All he knew was that Ammie wouldn’t have lived under an assumed name for fifty-three years if she hadn’t felt threatened.