December 2024
Brigadier Terpstra
AFTER HANGING THEIR coats in the entrance hall, Tomas and Karel followed Hendrik Veldkamp into the sitting room. The room was oppressive, with heavy dark furniture, Tiffany-style table lamps, and an oriental rug that must be the source of the musty odor.
The detectives remained standing as the family filed into the room. Tomas introduced himself and Karel.
Hendrik said, “This is my wife, Katja Hart. Louisa was her stepsister.”
The attractive, well-dressed woman was the picture of a law-abiding citizen, but Tomas knew from experience that looks could be deceiving. She had married her stepsister’s widower, which was an interesting development. There was no mention of a love triangle in the case notes, but if Katja and Hendrik had been having an affair, it was a possible motive.
On the other hand, Tomas’s best friend had married his wife’s cousin only months after the wife’s passing. His friend had rhapsodized to Tomas for years about the cousin’s great legs. That didn’t mean he killed the wife. Liver cancer killed her.
Hendrik introduced his sons Jurriaan and Willem, and Willem’s fiancée, a girl with black hair and splendid dark eyes, whose name Tomas didn’t catch, having been distracted by those eyes. Everyone sat down.
The girl shifted under his gaze and adjusted the sling on her left arm. Since she was irrelevant to the case, he turned his attention to the sons.
Jurriaan twitched like a rabbit, whereas Willem didn’t move a muscle, though tension seeped from his pores. According to the case notes, Jurriaan and Willem were twins and had been sixteen at the time their mother disappeared. The surge of hormones in a boy during puberty could unleash powerful emotions. Although rare, it wasn’t unheard of for a teenager to kill a parent.
The radiator ticked, but a stubborn chill hung over the house. Tomas’s wife was always saying he needed meat on his bones to keep warm.
“Before we start with the interviews, do any of you have questions? I’ll answer them as far as I can.”
“You aren’t the same detectives,” Hendrik said.
“That’s right. My team specializes in unsolved cases involving a serious crime.”
“What crime?” Willem asked.
Terpstra considered how much to tell.
“Louisa’s remains were found in a shallow grave on Lutine. We’re treating her death as suspicious.”
“In a grave? We thought she drowned,” Willem said.
“We don’t know yet the cause of death.”
“Are you positive it’s her?” Hendrik said quietly.
“We won’t be sure of the victim’s identity until the mitochondrial DNA analysis is complete. It’s a time-consuming process. It could be months before we have the results, but the remains match the victim’s profile.”
“What is mitochondrial DNA?” Katja asked.
“It’s a form of DNA that can be extracted from very old bones. It’s inherited solely from the mother.”
“Can’t you use dental records for identification?” Willem asked.
“There weren’t enough teeth left.” Tomas tried to keep his tone matter-of-fact. “I’m sorry. This must be hard to hear. Any more questions?”
“Can I see her?” Jurriaan asked.
“That’s not possible, I’m afraid,” Tomas said. A skull, bones, a scrap of fabric. “As I told Hendrik on the phone, the roof of the local police station leaked like a sieve during the storm. They’re still mopping up. We’ll ask you to come in and update your original statements once the station reopens. Meanwhile, we would appreciate your cooperation in clarifying a few points. Bear with us, please, if we ask you questions that you answered in the original investigation. The case is new to us.”
Tomas took their silence as consent.
“We want to speak to each of you alone.”
The girl’s face had paled. He looked closer—at her dark eyes, her delicate nose, the bow-shaped lips, now colorless—and gave a start. Tomas was terrible with names but he was good with faces. He was certain he had met the girl before, maybe years before.
“Are you all right?” Tomas asked her.
“Headache,” she murmured, avoiding eye contact.
“Feel free to leave if you wish. We don’t have any questions for you.”
She looked at the floor as she left the sitting room.
Tomas mused over the girl, confident he would remember who she was in due course, and turned to Hendrik. “I want to start with you, Mr. Veldkamp—Hendrik, that is.”
The others stood up.
“We’ll wait in the kitchen,” Willem said.