MY DECISION TO COOPERATE WITH THE JUSTICE DEPARTMENT DIDN’T mean I put my fate willingly into their hands. My image of them had not changed, and I didn’t expect to be able to fully count on them. How could I trust a judiciary when I knew corrupt officers were messing with its investigative system?
I’d be crazy to think they’d take over “the Wim issue” from me, so I didn’t. I chose to cooperate with the Justice Department so I could make my own way, to play a double game. This way I could continue to see Wim regularly without running the risk of the Justice Department seeing me as an extension of him. Staying in touch with both the Justice Department and Wim would allow me to collect my own evidence, and then I’d see what my cooperation with the Justice Department would do for me.
Of course I was hoping Wim would get charged and prosecuted while he was in jail, since a prosecution with him on the outside would be extremely dangerous for us. Still, I didn’t count on things going this way. No—should I end up facing an adverse investigative system, I wanted to have a plan B. I was going to collect enough evidence myself to force prosecution through a judge or supported by the media.
Whichever way it went, I had to take into account that a prosecution didn’t guarantee a conviction. Wim would never surrender without a fight. Sixteen years of growing up with an insane father and forty years at the top of organized crime had turned him into a professional survivor, a master of self-preservation.
That’s what we had to deal with.
He would throw all of his weight behind avoiding conviction. He would manipulate, cheat, and pressure any witness in order to remain a free man. The latter would be disastrous, for once outside, he’d have plenty of opportunity and ways to kill us. That’s why we had to anticipate his defense and take into account what to expect from him.
Our advantage was in knowing him, and knowing what was coming. All through his criminal career, we’d been witnesses to, sometimes even involved in, Wim’s cunning methods of “proactive defense.”
The Heineken kidnapping had taught Wim that the extortion of wealthy people yielded a lot of cash, but it also taught him that kidnapping, holding hostages, and collecting ransom money involved a high risk of getting caught. Wim was done with kidnapping. He had switched to a more calculated extortion method: extorting without taking a person’s personal freedom.
Wim still chose his victims based on their financial status, but as opposed to the Heineken and Doderer technique, he didn’t grab them off the street, wrestle them into a car, and lock them up—he already knew his new victims.
They were his friends and family, people he visited at home and whose kids he played with, at whose table he ate meals cooked by their wives. They all thought he was their friend, and none of them could foresee that Wim would suddenly turn into a foe. On the contrary, they trusted him completely and believed him when he came by to warn them “as a friend” about the wicked plans of some scary criminals concerning their money, or their life, or their spouse’s life.
“There’s trouble coming!” he would tell them.
But not to worry, he knew who was behind it. As your friend, he would come to your aid.
With your best interest at heart, he was willing to act as a mediator in this conflict, which you probably didn’t even know existed.
Then the “pay-up” began.
He was the messenger, so he was in complete control of what he told one party about the other.
“You were betrayed by your best friend. You’d better trust me.” “You need to pay or they’ll kill you.”
The method enabled him to pit everyone against each other and play both sides. Thus, none of the parties would notice he was using them all and they were all his victims. Nobody noticed he was the one and only cause of the conflict.
Once they did notice, once they realized that their best friend had turned into their worst enemy, it was too late. They couldn’t report him to the Justice Department, because they had their own crimes to conceal, including those committed in cooperation with Wim. If he was jailed for extortion, he’d tell the police about them, too, and he’d make sure they got locked up as well. If this didn’t impress them, he’d make it clear that talking to the police meant the death penalty and he’d always find out through his rats. When his terror had made their lives so miserable that they were even willing to take that risk, he’d start to threaten their loved ones, and he ratcheted up his threats by showing up at their kids’ schools.
In this way he improved on the classic kidnapping: he held people by fear without having to deal with the risks of physical kidnapping.
The most brilliant part of this extortion method, however, was the way he presented his role of mediator as his alibi. He didn’t have any conflicts; they did. He was just passing on messages and helping out.
He linked a publicity strategy to his extortion business, covering his extortion for years. He’d make sure that the story of his “mediating role” was communicated to the Justice Department as well as to the criminal world and the media. He fed everyone his message about hoping to resolve the conflict—how could that be criminal? He explained all of his dealings with suspects and victims by saying, “I’m just trying to help.” The Justice Department ought to be pleased with him!
Wim didn’t care that some of the people he had “mediated for” were dead, or that some of them had pointed him out before their deaths not only as their extorter, but also as their future killer. Unlike extortion, liquidation was a crime that didn’t require him to be in the victim’s vicinity. He just had to give the command and could stay at a safe distance himself, preferably abroad.
He made sure his executioners couldn’t point him out as the commander. He used intermediaries who’d never name him, for “they’d be in it up to their necks themselves.” Wim knew that no one he’d involved in his schemes would confess to a murder, let alone multiple murders; that would land them in prison for life.
This was his usual strategy: get everyone involved, by force if necessary, and they’ll have to be silent forever.
Any witness claiming to know Willem Holleeder had given the command could only have learned this from an intermediary, from hearsay—never from Wim himself.
Since this rumor was heard so often—he’d exclaim, “Every liquidation seems to have my name on it!”—Wim’s defense was that these witnesses had gotten it from the media: “These accusations are really wearing me out.”
He wasn’t a perpetrator but the media’s victim.
Before, during, and after committing his crimes, he’d always be collecting and tweaking information both within criminal circles and in the Justice Department. As he had told me, “Information can be both bought and produced.” He did both through the use of his rats.
In this way he could stay informed about what he should guard against, and create his defense ahead of time by spreading disinformation, putting the Justice Department on the wrong track.
Meanwhile, he’d plant his stories within criminal circles so the disinformation he’d spread inside the Justice Department would be confirmed, and the other way around, making his story more credible.
He was very knowledgeable about the investigative methods used by the Justice Department, and he used them to his advantage. He made sure he couldn’t possibly be incriminated by any traceable encounter, observation, visible contact, conversation, or telephone call. When he wanted to plant a false story, he’d talk about it on the phone or somewhere that was sure to be bugged. “Making taps,” he calls it. He’d whisper or gesture the things he didn’t want the Justice Department to hear.
He seemed to have succeeded pretty well, too; so far he hadn’t been prosecuted for a single murder. And he’d managed to spread alternative scenarios that could help in his defense.
In this regard, we were hugely disadvantaged, and we knew he’d use his standard claim about our accusations: we got it all from the media.
At the same time, he’d try to chip away at our credibility by accusing us of all kinds of things and dismissing us as liars who’d benefit from getting rid of him. He’d do anything to raise doubt, for he knows a judge shouldn’t just find evidence to be lawful, but convincing as well.
One thing Wim doesn’t lack is persuasiveness. Within half an hour, he’ll have your sympathy.
Within forty-five minutes, he’ll have brainwashed you with his conspiracy theories.
Within an hour, you’ll be doubting everything I’ve just told you. Within an hour and fifteen minutes, you’ll be thinking, Surely this friendly, charming gentleman couldn’t have done such things? Within an hour and a half, he’ll have manipulated you into feeling sorry for him for getting screwed over by his sisters like this.
No, we couldn’t expect Wim to surrender without a fight. So we had to come up with a way to show the world that his “credibility” was nothing but a carefully constructed facade, a rampart he’d built up around himself to cover his actions.
I knew Wim would deny ever having spoken to me about the liquidations, which was easy for him to claim because it was usually just the two of us. If there was one other person who knew, it had to be Sonja. He’d claim she took my side and joined the conspiracy against him.
“Maybe other witnesses will come forward once we’ve told our story,” Sonja had said, but I knew we shouldn’t count on it. He’d already cornered everyone who had anything on him. His fellow criminals remained silent for fear he’d start talking about their own illegal activities, and he’d corrupted every contact with decent people to make them susceptible to blackmail. Thanks to his charm, he could get in touch with the wealthiest, smartest, and most capable people. He’d use his social skills to make them forget about his horrible crime, and then he’d take the next step: he’d turn his criminal history—his disadvantage—into an advantage. Poor him, so much harm was done to him. He’d always been treated unjustly, he’d been wrongly convicted, and the Justice Department was ruining his life.
He was just a poor guy, not some vicious criminal, and believe it or not, even though they knew about his past of extortions and the liquidations he’s associated with, some people grew to love him. Oblivious, they’d step into his web and come to his rescue. Registering a scooter, car, or a warehouse under their own names for him, renting a house: all of this is impossible for him to do without help, because the Justice Department had unjustly made it so.
Give Wim an inch and he won’t just take a mile, but the entire road, and if he feels like it, everything you have. After you help him once, to him it’s only natural that you’ll continue to do so. If you don’t comply with his wishes, this is what will happen: He’ll turn into your enemy as quickly as he became your friend. The infatuation phase is over and he switches to enforcement, while threatening your loved ones. Going to the police is not an option, for he’ll tell them what you’ve done for him and how this links you to his illegal actions. If you’ve done nothing for him that he can hold against you, he’ll make something up. Because merely hanging out with him turns you into a suspect, and he’ll threaten to add lies to it: “If you talk to the police, I’ll drag you down with me.” It’ll be his word against yours.
No one, especially not people who are higher up the social ladder, will take that risk, and he knows it, for the higher the other’s status, the bigger their fear of losing it. Reputations are easily destroyed.
Nobody would come to our aid if we took the witness stand. Since our lives were on the line, we couldn’t confide in anybody else. If we were going to do this, it had to succeed the first time around; there would be no second chance.
Testifying meant anticipating his defense. We could only do this the way he himself had been doing it since the early nineties: by recording my conversations with him. It was the one way I could support my statements and show that he entrusted his secrets to me. That we shared these secrets.
“People won’t believe us until they hear him saying it himself,” I told Sonja.
The problem with our plan was that Wim had trained us to communicate in a way that made it nearly impossible to record anything.
Ever since the Heineken kidnapping, we haven’t trusted anyone outside the family, and we don’t speak to people we don’t know. We always, literally always, keep in mind that we may be monitored by the Justice Department or an informant.
That’s why communicating isn’t just about talking for us. We communicate through mimicry, intonation, pauses, and silence.
We don’t talk in any place that could have been equipped with recording devices by the Justice Department. So we never talk at home, not in, on, or near our cars or motorbikes, and we never sit at the same table if we go out. When we talk, we avoid people nearby because they might be undercover agents. We avoid the possibility of installed directional microphones by never talking in one spot, staying on the move. We only talk on the street, sometimes even covering our mouths with our hands, as we once discovered the Justice Department was using a lip-reader to monitor conversations.
We use nonverbal communication to inform each other of things so the Justice Department can’t monitor it. We use gestures and eye movements. There are gestures for verbs and gestures to designate specific people. But by far the most important way to discuss incriminating subjects is by whispering into each other’s ears. We never talk out loud unless we want to mislead the Justice Department and to let them monitor what we say. Same holds for every phone call. Because we know we’re probably being wiretapped, we let them hear us so that the Justice Department will register our denial and lack of involvement. They’ll never succeed in registering anything incriminating about us in a phone call. We only speak in riddles.
“You know.” “That one, you know.” “The thing, you know.” “That thing I had to do, right?”
Threats are cloaked as well.
“You know what I’ll do, don’t you?” “You know what I’m like, right?” “I’ll take a swing at it in the dark.”
People have nicknames so we don’t have to mention their names: Fatty, Longneck, Cross-Eyed. And Wim uses the all-purpose nickname Fucking Dog for whoever has aroused his anger.
This whole verbal, nonverbal, and hidden communication method has developed over time and is based on our shared history. After everything we’ve been through and shared together, our messages always come across.
Always factoring in the possibility of someone recording him, Wim, distrustful of everybody he speaks with, directs every conversation. He’ll only discuss subjects of his choice. He’ll determine the contents and course of the conversation, and block any other input. That’s what he does with us as well, expecting us to toe the line. If we don’t, he’ll get suspicious immediately.
Every contact we have is dominated by rules that are set in stone; that’s what we were taught, and that’s the way we’ve done it for thirty years. The system is so complicated that it’s almost impossible to get him to say anything incriminating about himself. I couldn’t start talking to him in a different way without arousing his suspicion.
His observations are razor sharp. I was afraid he’d notice I was recording our conversations from my behavior, that I couldn’t handle myself, that I would show an involuntary change despite my efforts. He would notice the smallest of changes and immediately attribute them to betrayal.
In his eyes, any deviation from your usual behavior shows you’re hiding something or talking to the police. Even a tiny change is suspicious. All it takes is one faulty question. Or choosing your words wrongly, mentioning names, or talking out loud instead of whispering.
Bringing up a random issue is a no-go as well. If I were to just start talking about Cor, for example, it would immediately raise a red flag. That subject is off-limits. Many issues he is sensitive to—ones that could incriminate him—cannot be discussed.
This significantly limited the chances of a substantively successful recording.
Then there were technicalities. He might frisk me to see if I was wired. Search me, even though he trusted me. According to Wim, “checking isn’t distrusting.” But he’ll distrust you the second you won’t let him search you.
I was certain he would beat me to death immediately if he discovered I was recording our conversations. He’d know why I did it right away, realize what we had discussed, and know I’d sided with the authorities. He wouldn’t take any risk and wouldn’t let me get away.
I asked Peter de Vries for advice. He’d worked with hidden cameras and microphones before. Because he knew Wim only talked while walking down the street, he supplied me with recording equipment to be worn inside of a coat, with the microphone wired through the sleeve and attached underneath the coat’s lapel.
I tried it at home. That didn’t go well. The recording device was so large that Wim wouldn’t even need to search me to find it. The wire and microphone were visible whenever I moved. It wouldn’t work. I needed to find equipment that was invisible, that could not be felt by him, and that allowed me to move freely and behave normally.