Zelda sashayed her way around Friedrich’s dining table, whooping softly in delight. It had to be the root cellar, safely tucked away under the shed in their old garden, well-protected from bombing raids and prying eyes. Where else could Arjan van Heemsvliet and Philip Verbeet have stored all that artwork and expected it to have remained hidden and safe until the war was over? And according to the current owners, the concrete shed was the only space on the property that had remained untouched all these years.
Friedrich’s doorbell began ringing, putting a temporary halt to her jubilant dance. As it wasn’t her house, she didn’t really feel comfortable answering the door. On the other hand, she knew after a long night out drinking, Friedrich’s housemates would be comatose until noon or later and probably didn’t even hear the bell ring. When it began to chime again, Zelda listened intently for movement from one of the rooms above but didn’t hear a single peep or creak. Eight a.m. on a Saturday morning was too early for door-to-door salesmen or even package deliveries. In his sleep-deprived state Friedrich must have forgotten his keys, she reckoned, unless the Jehovah’s Witnesses were getting an early start to their day.
Humming a jaunty tune, she began jogging down the two flights of stairs. The bell went a third time, convincing her it was her friend trying to get back inside. “Keep your pants on, I’m coming,” she called down, increasing her pace.
As she opened the door, slightly out of breath, her smile froze in place.
“Back up slowly.”
Zelda looked down the barrel of a gun into the steely eyes of Karen O’Neil’s lawyer and did as she was told.
“How did you find me?” she asked, her voice trembling as much as her body. She’d never had a gun pointed at her before. The fear was overwhelming; he only had to flinch and her life was over. Zelda willed her muscles to stop twitching as Konrad Oswald Gotthard Heider stepped inside and closed the door.
“I followed you two from your flat last night and saw you turn onto this street. If you hadn’t run that last red light, I would have seen which apartment you went into. Instead, I had to wait in my Audi until one of you finally emerged,” he said, rolling the kinks out of his shoulders. He spoke so casually and conversationally Zelda had trouble remembering he had a weapon trained on her.
“Where are the letters?”
“Upstairs,” she replied promptly, knowing she was in no position to argue.
Waving his pistol towards the stairs, she began climbing back up to the kitchen. She hoped none of Friedrich’s housemates heard them talking and poked their heads out to see what was going on. She was sure Heider wouldn’t just let them go back to bed.
As they entered Friedrich’s kitchen, the lawyer stopped in the doorway to take in the scratched-up furnishings, peeling paint and sink full of dirty dishes, disgust etched on his face.
Her eyes darted reflexively towards the dining table where Arjan van Heemsvliet’s letters and their translations were piled up.
“Gather them up and put them in here.” He set his shoulder bag down on one corner of the table and fished two manila envelopes out of it with his free hand.
Zelda did as she was told, careful not to tear the fragile documents. When she was done, the lawyer stuffed the envelopes back into his bag, the gun never leaving his right hand.
“Why did you have to hurt Gerard?” she asked.
Konrad smirked. “Just before his heart gave out, Gerard told me you had the letters all along. It’s too bad about the old man, but you have no one to blame but yourself. If you hadn’t lied to Bernice Dijkstra and Huub Konijn, Gerard would still be alive today.”
His words were like a knife in her heart. If she had done what Gerard had asked of her – given the letters to the museum professionals straight away – instead of trying to help Rita, Konrad wouldn’t have gone to his house. Her deep-seated need to be right had in fact gotten him killed. Her legs were like jelly; she sank into a chair and hid her face in her hands, trying to come to terms with her actions.
“You’re bad luck, aren’t you?” the lawyer grinned, obviously enjoying himself. “Now Friedrich has to die, too. After I take care of you.”
“We read all of Arjan’s letters last night; I know where the artwork is,” she blurted out.
“Even more reason to get rid of your friend.”
“No!” Zelda yelped. Gerard’s senseless death was more than enough pain to deal with; she couldn’t bear it if anything happening to her friend as well. She had to get Konrad Heider out of this house before Friedrich came home, even if that meant revealing the truth straightaway.
“Why would you kill Friedrich? He doesn’t know where Arjan’s collection is hidden; only I do,” she said in a defiant tone, trying to muster her courage.
Heider’s gun sagged slightly. “You mean to tell me you’ve been in his house studying these letters all night long, yet only you know where the art is? Impossible.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Arjan never mentioned the exact location of his hiding place in any of his letters.” Heider cocked his gun, causing Zelda to speak even faster. “But he did leave his brother Gerard some clues as to its whereabouts. It was only after Friedrich went out a few minutes ago that I remembered something Rita Brouwer said when we were at her childhood home. Suddenly everything fell into place. Friedrich’s never met Rita or been to her house, he wouldn’t know where to look – only I do. But if you hurt Friedrich I won’t tell you a thing,” she exclaimed shrilly, resolutely crossing her arms over her torso. Every second they remained in this house was a second too long.
The lawyer frowned. “You think Arjan’s art collection is hidden in Philip Verbeet’s old house? I don’t believe you. They didn’t know each other.”
“Arjan wrote to his brother that it was Philip Verbeet who had access to a space large enough to hold all three hundred and twenty-six pieces. When Rita and I were at her family home, she told me about the root cellar her father dug out under the garden shed. The current residents didn’t even know it existed, so the entrance must be hidden. Rita said it was as solid as a bomb shelter and as big as their living room. It’s the only place Arjan’s art collection could be. The rest of the house has been remodeled too many times since then for all those paintings to have been hidden inside their apartment.”
A glimmer of hope crossed the lawyer’s face, quickly replaced by disbelief. “My uncle spent his life studying Arjan’s business records. Verbeet was not one of the frame makers he worked closely with. Why should I believe you?”
“Your uncle didn’t have these letters. Read them yourself if you don’t believe me.”
The lawyer fell silent, obviously contemplating his options.
Zelda pushed on, willing him to move towards the front door. “If I’m right, all the paintings listed in Arjan’s inventory book will be there.”
Heider stared at her through the gun’s sights as he decided what to do. Zelda forced herself to breathe deeply and try to stay calm.
“Okay, walk slowly down the stairs to the front door. You try to run, I shoot you and wait for Friedrich.”
Zelda didn’t doubt him. The look in his eyes told her that he would happily pull the trigger if she disobeyed him. She followed his orders, waiting until he was beside her before opening the front door.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her outside, onto the sidewalk. “Remember what I said.”
She nodded gravely. He tugged her arm towards the right. His silver sports car was parked two doors down. Even though her street was already abuzz with early morning shoppers and bicycling commuters, no one seemed to notice them. Zelda walked along silently, resisting any temptation to try and make a run for it, only hoping the lawyer would be true to his word and leave Friedrich alone if she did as he asked. She wished there was some way to warn her friend, to let him know what was happening and where they were going.
After they settled into his Audi R8, Konrad asked, “Where to?”
“Frans Halsstraat 14. Take a left onto Stadhouderskade and then the fifth left. Her house is in the middle of the block,” Zelda answered in a resigned tone.
As Konrad Heider pulled into traffic, she prayed Eva and baby Cor weren’t home.