I sat on the couch in the living room and looked over at Tim. He was playing quietly on the rug with his toy cars, making vroom vroom sounds and crashing noises. I rubbed my eyes, feeling drained. The last two nights I’d had a tough time sleeping, as I kept brooding over my conversation with Lindsey. Just when I finally thought I could leave everything regarding the deaths of Oliver and Sandra to rest, this mess suddenly dominated my whole life again. Even though I knew deep down that Oliver’s accident had a strange and inexplicable edge to it, I had more or less come to grips with it. But now, to my horror, it was beginning to resurface.
I opened one of the garden doors and walked onto the flagstones. It was windy and drizzling, which didn’t benefit my state of mind, but nevertheless it was nice to have a breath of fresh air.
I took my phone out of the back pocket of a brand new pair of jeans that I’d recently ordered online, looked up the number of the police station in Amsterdam and asked to be connected to Detective Armstrong. It wasn’t long before he answered his phone.
“Armstrong,” the man barked.
“Good morning, this is Jennifer Smits speaking. I’m Oliver’s wife, the man who died in a holiday park after a fall a few months ago.”
There was a pause. “Right. I remember. What can I do for you, Mrs Smits?”
I launched into my story. “Some strange things have happened since my husband’s death.” I explained how Sandra had suddenly died as a result of a tram accident. “She was a friend of ours,” I said, obviously being cryptic for good reasons.
“I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been tough losing two people close to you in such a short space of time,” the detective responded. “But I don’t quite understand what this woman’s death has to do with your husband’s accident.”
I scratched my eyebrow. There was such chaos in my head that I had to strain to convey the story in a coherent fashion. “Sandra’s husband works at the same law firm that my husband worked at. She and I recently discovered that Oliver was conducting a secretive, internal investigation. I omitted the details of how we had learned about this information, as it arguably wouldn’t contribute to my credibility if I added that we had misappropriated documents from Mason & McGant. “All information suggests that my husband was slowly unravelling secret activities that were taking place at his firm. I find it quite remarkable, to put it mildly, that both he and Sandra died under suspicious circumstances. I believe there is enough circumstantial evidence to reopen the investigation,” I ended my plea.
The detective sounded weary. “Mrs Smits, I informed you some time ago that there was nothing suspicious about your husband’s death. We’ve done various investigations and tests. Your husband died as a result of a nasty fall.”
“What about Sandra?” I protested. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that she got hit by a tram in broad daylight? It doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t there be a more detailed inquiry to determine the precise circumstances of her death?”
“I’ve heard of this accident,” the detective responded. “My colleague was in charge of the case. I can assure you that he’s laboriously examined everything and gleaned information from various sources, but nothing suspicious came out of it. With this in mind, I’m confident to say we can rule out any criminal wrongdoing.”
I felt the conversation slipping through my fingers, but I wanted to do everything in my power to persuade him to start another investigation. “What about the red knickers my husband wore when he was found? You have to admit there’s something not right about that.”
“Well,” he said, laughing. “Wearing a pair of ladies knickers certainly wouldn’t float my boat, but who am I to judge? You’re not suggesting your husband was killed over some ladies knickers, are you?”
I shook my head. He didn’t understand me and I started wondering if the police had botched the investigation. Wasn’t there such a thing as tunnel vision, where they’d cross off theories too early?
I pressed my face against the window to check up on Tim who was still inside. Then I turned around and rested my back against the cool glass. “Who was the detective on Sandra’s case?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t reveal that kind of information,” the detective replied.
I was considering informing the man about the threatening note I’d received at home, but I knew it would be pointless. I’d failed to hold on to it, something I now deeply regretted.
I bowed my head, as if admitting defeat. There was nothing more I could think of to say. “Thank you for your time.”
“I wish I could help you more in this hour of need. You take care, Mrs Smits.”
I hung up and kicked a pebble that landed against the shed with a sharp tap.
I lowered myself onto one of the garden chairs that I’d recently taken out of the shed, all excited over the sudden arrival of spring, but jumped up swearing when I realised that my trousers had become soaked.
I wrapped my arms around myself as I stood outside, musing over the phone call. On second thought, maybe the detective was right and I was establishing imaginary links. Admittedly, I’d recently concluded myself that there was no substantial evidence whatsoever linking Oliver’s death to Mason & McGant. Undoubtably, if the police were to dig around the place, something would come to light that could be frowned upon, but a firm committing murders and sending lawyers after people was an utterly ludicrous suggestion.
I wiped my feet on the mat and went back inside.
“Mummy,” Tim yelled, running towards me. I sank down on my knees as he threw himself into my arms. I held him tightly and forgot about all the worries in my life for a brief moment.
He wriggled himself loose. “I want a biscuit.”
“Can I have a biscuit?” I corrected him.
He repeated my words, after which I praised him. “C’mon.” I lifted him up and planted him onto one of the kitchen stools, something he hadn’t been allowed to do before.
Excitement started spreading across his face.
“Can you sit by yourself?” I asked and cautiously let go of him.
He nodded and beamed with pride, his legs wiggling with delight. I grabbed my phone to take a picture of him to send to Oliver, until I realised that it was no longer possible. And then out of the blue, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of grief, as raw and fierce as it had been months ago.
Before I could hold them back, tears were rolling down my cheeks.
“Mummy ouch?”
I explained to Tim that I missed his father and asked him tentatively if he ever thought about Daddy. I wanted so desperately for him to keep vivid memories of Oliver, but I knew he was too young.
He looked at me with eyes wide open and nodded yes. I didn’t often break down in his presence, but this time I couldn’t help it.
I pulled myself together, smiled, and gave Tim a pat on his head, after which I handed him the promised biscuit and filled up the kettle.
Tim nibbled on his biscuit, his little legs sticking horizontally over the edge of the stool while I waited for the water to boil, my thoughts straying to Sandra’s death. Her husband had told me over the phone that she’d been hit by tram twelve. But had it really been an accident or was there foul play involved? Detective Armstrong hadn’t been the one assigned to the case and wasn’t willing to share with me which colleague it was. I was prepared to pull out all the stops to uncover the truth about Sandra’s collision, in order to determine whether I was in danger or not. But if I didn’t know which investigator was on the case, how could I find out more?
Once the kettle had boiled, I made a cup of tea for myself and Tim. I added some cold water in Tim’s cup and then put it in front of him.
Suddenly I had an idea.
I took my phone from my pocket and called Sandra’s mobile. Her husband had presumably heard more about the circumstances in which she died.
But to my great disappointment, I heard an unknown voice say the number no longer existed. Sandra’s husband evidently must have ended her phone contract.
I sat down on a stool opposite Tim and took a sip. “Isn’t this nice, the two of us sitting together?” I asked rhetorically. “You’re getting so big, baby. Daddy would have been as proud as peacock,” I said and to my surprise, found myself not feeling sad or gloomy.
My thoughts wandered off again and I realised that I didn’t know anything about Sandra’s life that could provide a lead to work with – her husband’s surname, her address, the gym she was a member of or an employer.
Tim rolled around onto his belly and let himself slide down the stool. “I want to play.”
I was about to say ‘sure’ when on the spur of the moment an idea came to me. I was grasping at straws, but there’d be no harm in giving it a try.
“Tim? Mummy has a surprise for you.” There was something I knew he enjoyed, but we only did once in a blue moon. “Would you like to take a ride on the tram with Mummy?”
He threw his chubby, little arms in the air. “Yeah,” he yelled and started running in circles around the room in sheer excitement.
I smiled. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s put on your coat.”
After pulling on my jacket too, I opened the front door and Tim stepped outside, his tiny legs moving cautiously over the doorstep. Then I realised that I didn’t have a snack with me to keep him quiet if he needed distraction. “Wait here. I’ll be right back, baby,” I said, and turned towards the kitchen.
Moments later I returned to the front door only to find out Tim was no longer where I’d left him.
I looked left and right, calling out his name, but he was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t a busy street that we lived on, but it made me feel uneasy. Tim was far too young to be out by himself.
I scurried about a hundred metres to the left, where I got to an intersection. “Tim, where are you?” I yelled. The air was cold and crisp and the sun was shining in the bright, blue sky – little white clouds of vapour were rising from my mouth each time I called out his name. With my hand above my eyes, I peered down both ends of the side street, but with the exception of a single walker, I didn’t see a soul. I felt like an idiot, I couldn’t believe I’d let him out of my sight.
I turned around and rushed back over the pavement, passing my house, and continued my way to the next side street. I checked both directions, but this part of the neighbourhood was filled with little shops and coffee bars with their trendy chalkboards full of cheerful messages blocking my view of the pavement. After moments of dithering, I decided to return home and devise a plan from there, my heart skittering in my chest.
As I ran into my street again, I noticed my upstairs neighbour step out of her front door. She had presumably seen me running around the neighbourhood. “What’s wrong, Jennifer?” she asked kindly.
I clung on to her, feeling distraught and bewildered. “Timmy’s gone. He ran off.” I barely managed to check my tears.
She wrapped a woollen scarf around her neck and closed the door behind her. “I’m sure he won’t be far. I’ll help you look for him.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She pointed into the direction of the Vondelpark. “I’ll go that way. Maybe you can check the playground,” she suggested. “He may have gone there.”
I felt stupid for not thinking of that myself. “I will.”
I rushed across the road and headed for his favourite playground.
It was probably less than a minute later when something happened behind me. I can’t recall what I heard first – it’s quite possible that it took place simultaneously – the piercing shriek of my neighbour that vibrated through my heart or the sound of a car coming to a screeching halt.
I turned abruptly. “Tim!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. As fast as my legs could carry me, I ran in the direction of the sound, my legs nearly buckling under me.
As I turned the corner, I saw a car halted in the middle of the road. A red pushbike was lying on its side in front of the car, a dent clearly visible in the bumper. My neighbour stood over the bike with a look of concern on her face.
I came to a stop, brought my hands to my cheeks and froze. “Oh God, no,” I whispered. “This can’t be happening.”
I could see the car driver getting out of his car, looking as pale as a ghost, covering his mouth with his hand.
Somehow, I was able to move again and managed to sprint towards the scene of the accident. When I almost got there, I saw a child lying on his back in the road, in front of the car. The boy with the blond curls slowly clambered to his feet and started crying. My dear neighbour wrapped her arms around him and held him gently.
Despite the short distance, I was out of breath when I arrived.
“He had a narrow escape,” the neighbour said softly and passed Tim to me. “That car missed him by a hair’s breadth.”
Tim wrapped his arms around me and started balling his eyes out. I gently stroked his back, whispering words of comfort into his ear.
The driver came up to us, a disconcerted look still written across his face. “I’m terribly sorry,” he muttered. “The boy hurtled across the road out of nowhere.”
I looked at the man. “It’s my fault.” I wiped away tears from my face. “I should have kept a closer eye on him.”
I noticed the neighbour exchanging a look of understanding with the motorist. “Perhaps he’s a bit too young to be playing outside alone.”
“Of course he is,” I responded defensively. “I never let him out by himself. We were about to leave the house and then I forgot to bring something with me and then …” I broke off and shook my head, trying to collect myself. “Never mind.”
I put Tim down as he’d stopped crying by now, and inspected him. To my relief, he seemed to be unharmed.
The man spoke again. “Well if he’s alright, I’ll be leaving now.” He gave Tim a pat on the back of his head. “No more cycling on the road for you, young fellow.”
Tim nodded, his face all red and swollen from weeping.
“I’m so sorry for all this fuss,” I said.
The driver raised his hand, got into his car and continued on his way.
I put Tim on his pushbike, thanked my neighbour extensively and hurried home, my hand on Tim’s back. I noticed my armpits were soaked when I spoke to him firmly. “Promise me, you’ll never take off without mummy again.”
He didn’t react to my reprimand. “Mister had cookies.”
I frowned. “What’s that?”
“Mister had cookies. For Tim.”
My heart started pounding and I felt sick.
I stopped the pushbike, squatted next to him and looked him in the eye. “Did a man tell you he had cookies for you?”
Tim nodded.
“Was it the man from the car?”
He shook his head. “Man with the hat. Tim had to come.”
It felt as if my heart was going to burst out of my chest.
“Did a man with a hat tell you to come with him, and that you would get cookies from him?”
Tim lowered his eyes and slowly nodded. “Tim naughty?” He’d probably noticed the anguished expression on my face.
“Oh no, baby,” I responded and pulled him into my arms. “No … Don’t you worry, alright?” Then I let go of him and looked at him, my eyes piercing into his, innocent and trusting. “But please promise Mummy, you’ll never – and I mean never, ever – talk to a stranger again. Alright?”
Once we arrived at our front door, I decided to exchange the pushbike for the buggy. As expected, Tim objected by stiffening up like a board and squealing like a pig, and it was only after I offered him a lollipop I managed to fix the straps and started walking towards the tram stop. Although the Baarsjes was a considerable distance away in the south of the city, I was lucky that the number twelve tram stopped less than a ten-minute’s walk from our house.
It had started drizzling and I unfolded the hood of the buggy, so that Tim wouldn’t get soaked, flipped the hood of my winter coat over my head and upped my pace. On the way to the tram stop I passed the numerous restaurants and coffee bars that Oliver and I had found so charming when we bought the house and where we’d spent many an hour with friends or just the two of us. I thought about the implication of Tim’s remarks – it seemed there had been someone who had tried to lure him or even abduct him. Should I interpret this event as a warning directed at me or did it have nothing to do with my search? Was it in any way related to the threatening letter that I’d recently received at home?
There was, of course, the possibility that Tim’s imagination had gotten the better of him, but in any case, it made me feel unsafe and jittery.
We arrived at the Museumplein stop, where the atmosphere changed from residential to tourist. Around me I heard people chatting in foreign languages, taking pictures of the points of interest surrounding us. I was glad my hood was partly shielding my face and hoped it would prevent visitors from asking me directions.
Tim jumped up in his seat at every tram that arrived at the stop. “This one?” he’d exclaim, and I smiled and told him “not yet”.
After I’d seen tram twelve pop up in the distance, we got on and I prudently walked towards the front of the tram, pushing the buggy ahead of me, and braced myself as the vehicle started to move.
Due to the dreary weather, there were fortunately few tourists in the tram, and I managed to put the buggy away from the aisle on its brakes.
The tram driver’s head was about half a metre away from me, his hair thinning considerably and exposing the white of his scalp here and there, and I felt the tension in my stomach rising. I glanced at Tim, who seemed to be enjoying himself, feasting his eyes on the scenery that flashed past the windows, and decided to approach the man casually.
“Sir, may I ask you something?”
“Yes, miss,” the driver answered, his gaze still on the track.
I pretended to be unfamiliar in the city and asked him if the tram would make a stop on the street where Sandra had been involved in the accident.
“It goes quite a long way over it. Where exactly do you need to be?” he asked.
Off the top of my head I tried to come up with something that was nearby and gave the name of a hardware store.
The man, who looked like he was in his fifties, turned his head towards me and gave me an inquisitive gaze. Then he turned his eyes back to the track again. “In that case you’ll need to get off at the third stop,” he replied, his face flashing with pride, presumably from knowing the map of Amsterdam by heart.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, raising my thumb.
The tram drew to a halt at the next stop where a large number of passengers exited.
“Nice weather all of a sudden, isn’t it,” I said with a mock serious face, lingering at the front of the tram and trying to strike up a conversation.
The driver pressed a button to close the doors, checked his mirrors and gently accelerated. “Tell me about it. It’s been chucking it down nonstop for the past hour,” he responded. “Oh well, I’m locked up in this beast anyway.” The driver, who must have weighed over a hundred kilograms, gave a deep-throated laugh, his belly shaking under his blue uniform.
Tim started fussing in his buggy. “Hush darling,” I said as I rummaged in my bag, relieved to find a second lollipop. It was against my principles to keep him quiet with unhealthy food, but lately I found myself throwing these good intentions out of the window.
“I heard about that accident with the cyclist and a tram the other day through the grapevine. Wasn’t it just awful?” I gave a gasp and covered my mouth with my hand like a second-rate actress in an am-dram trying to simulate shock.
“Yes, someone told me about it during my lunch break.” The man shook his head. “How awful.”
“Awful,” I echoed his words flatly.
He looked at me for a moment. “It affects us all, you know. A horrific accident like that is a tram driver’s worst nightmare.”
“I’m sure it is.”
The tram driver pressed his intercom and informed the passengers that we were almost arriving at the Vondelpark. He needed little encouragement to carry on speaking, feeding my need to find out more about the circumstances in which Sandra had died. “It happened in a flash, so I heard. I just don’t understand people, they rush across the street in a hurry without looking and don’t seem to realise what a giant a tram like that really is. If you get underneath it, you’ll be smashed beyond recognition or repair, there’ll be nothing left of you.”
I closed my eyes, shook my head and tried to wipe the image of Sandra under the tram from my mind.
The doors opened again and a couple of people entered, whereupon the tram driver said “good morning”. I moved over to let the passengers filter past.
My heart was beating faster as I worried the driver would start asking questions about me poking around, but I did my utmost to make my voice sound calm. “By the way, didn’t that accident happen on this line? Number twelve?”
“You’re right. Yes, my colleague Archie was on duty that day. Decent chap. We’ve known each other for years. Riding the tram was his life and soul, but now he’s become a shell of a man. Spends his days at home now. From what I’ve heard, he can’t get the accident out of his mind, poor sod.”
It wasn’t just horrible for Sandra and her family, but it had obviously taken a large toll on the driver, as he was presumably traumatised by the collision. “Oh gosh, that’s dreadful,” I coaxed, hoping for more details. I glanced at Tim, who had almost finished his lollipop. I was getting closer, but I needed to hurry up.
The driver shook his head. “The irony is, that it all happened just around the corner from that poor guy’s house. So each time he goes out, even if it’s just for a walk from his flat to the deli, he’s reminded of the accident.”
My ears pricked up at this point. “Is that so?” I mentioned the name of the street where the accident had supposedly taken place to the tram driver.
“He lives just around the corner from there, opposite that Turkish greengrocer who was recently mugged. Archie and his wife have a flat on the third floor. The children left the house years ago.”
“Isn’t that something,” I whispered, imprinting this valuable piece of information to memory.
There was a pause as we were each caught up in our own thoughts, until Tim started whining and I turned my attention to him.
Even though I had achieved my goal, I didn’t get off the tram until we arrived at the stop the driver had mentioned, in order not to raise suspicion.
I waved to the driver and pretended to walk away from the tram stop.
Once the tram was out of sight, I crossed the track to get to the other side of the road. “Tim, Mummy has surprise for you again,” I chirped. “We’re going to take another ride.”
While I was waiting for the tram heading back home, I entered a number of search terms on my phone. It didn’t take me long to find a local newspaper’s item with a mention of a Turkish greengrocer recently robbed in broad daylight, not too far from where I was right now. On my digital map I saw that it was a side street from tram twelve’s route and that there was a deli just around the corner. “Bingo,” I exclaimed.