Willem
WILLEM SAT DOWN on the sofa, facing the detectives. His thoughts turned to that afternoon twenty years ago at the Wexalia Police Station. He should have set off the alarm and alerted the police. No … rewind. He should have called the police from the summerhouse before things had gone so far. He had been old enough to know right from wrong, though not old enough to foresee all the consequences. Now it was within his power to put things right. But at what cost? Everyone he held dear would suffer.
Terpstra got straight down to business.
“Walk us through the events of the day Louisa went missing.”
Willem had gone over his original statement so many times in his head that it was engraved in his memory. He related his story again.
Terpstra nodded. “Your recall is excellent.”
It didn’t feel like a compliment. Who remembers so much minutiae after twenty years? He should have stumbled in the retelling, left something out, pretended to forget the color of Louisa’s T-shirt.
“Describe your relationship with your mother,” the brigadier said.
“You sound like a therapist,” Willem said, forcing a smile.
Terpstra smiled back, like an oily politician. “Did you get along with her?”
“Most of the time.”
“Were you rebellious?”
“Not particularly. I wasn’t a big drinker, and I didn’t touch drugs. I earned good grades.”
“Were you and your mother close?”
“She was away a lot. She gave concerts all over the world.”
“How were things when she was home?”
“She kept us on our toes.”
“Which of your parents was the disciplinarian?”
“I told you, my mother wasn’t home much.”
“The fact is, you haven’t told me much of anything.”
“I’ve answered your questions,” Willem said, but the detective was right. He knew how to engage while revealing nothing of importance.
Terpstra grunted. “I understand Louisa disappeared two days after she arrived on the island. Did you and she argue during that time?”
“Not about anything important.”
“About what, then?”
“Tracking sand into the house. Playing my Walkman too loud.”
“How did she punish you? Did she hit you?”
“Grounding me was as violent as she got.”
“Did you ever hit her?”
Willem’s mouth dried up. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”
“I understand you were expelled from the hockey club that summer for fighting. It was in a letter found among her things.”
Willem tried to make light of it, though the incident still rankled. “The fight was a one-off, and I didn’t start it. The club’s decision was unfair.”
“Did the other player get expelled too?”
“No.”
Terpstra nodded, as if he had scored a point. “Go back to the day Louisa disappeared. What did you think had happened to her when she didn’t return from her run?”
“We thought she might have twisted an ankle. We looked for her.”
“How did you know where to look?”
“I jogged with her sometimes. She kept to the same route.”
“A visitor to the island found her shoes and socks in the sand dunes. What did you make of that?”
Willem took in the brigadier’s long, wrinkled face and his intelligent, deep-set brown eyes, and wondered when he would mention Louisa’s necklace. “My mother suffered from hot, sweaty feet. It wasn’t unusual for her to cool them off in the water. We were afraid she had drowned.”
“Would she have gone for a swim in her running clothes?”
“No. But you don’t have to wade far to get into trouble. The currents are dangerous in that part of the beach. Especially after a storm.”
“Is that so?”
“Ask anyone.”
“In that case, didn’t Louisa know?”
“Not necessarily. She didn’t spend much time on Wexalia.”
“But she can read warning signs.”
“My mother didn’t think rules applied to her.”
Terpstra glanced over at the younger detective, whose head was bent over his iPad. After a pause, he said, “Why is your fiancée’s arm in a sling?”
For Christ’s sake. Did the brigadier think he had hurt Anneliese?
“What does that have to do with the investigation?” Willem asked.
“Just answer the question, please.”
“She had an accident on her bicycle.” He started to add that there had been half a dozen witnesses, but that would make him sound defensive.
Terpstra stood up, perhaps needing to stretch his long legs, and turned toward the window, clasping his hands behind his back. The rain had stopped, but the wind tossed the bare trees back and forth.
This was Willem’s first trip to Wexalia in winter; he didn’t know it could be so bleak, so bone-chillingly cold. What was the detective thinking? Did he know something he wasn’t telling? The uncertainty was unnerving. Willem felt pressure building inside him, but he couldn’t afford the relief of letting go. He had to hold himself together for a while longer.
Terpstra took his seat again.
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your mother?”
“No.”
“What about Menso de Vries, the beachcomber? She accused him of molesting you and your brother.”
Willem shook his head. “He didn’t molest us.”
“I read Jurriaan’s statement. That’s not what he said. Was he lying?”
“He was confused. Jurriaan is highly suggestible. My mother hammered home the story he told the police. But in the end, he recanted. Didn’t you read his amended statement?”
“Being falsely accused of molesting a child is a powerful motive. During the previous investigation, the police found her necklace hidden under the floorboards of his cottage. Terpstra looked at his notes. “A gold chain with a pendant in the form of a piano. What did you think when you heard that?”
“Menso lived off the objects he found on the beach. He may be a thief, but he’s not a murderer.”
“He stated he found the necklace tucked in her trainers. Why would she take it off to go wading?”
“If it came off, she would never find it in the water,” Willem said. The real reason was obvious to him. Leaving the necklace in her shoes had been a clumsy way of linking the shoes to Louisa and supporting the supposition that she had drowned.
After a silence, Terpstra said, “What did you and Jurriaan do for fun?”
Willem raised his eyebrows at the turn the questions had taken. “On the island? We built a fort in one of the old Nazi bunkers. We cycled. I learned to surf. Some nights, we camped out behind the house. And we fished.”
“Where did you fish?”
It was a loaded question. “On the dune lake. At the west end of the island.”
“Did you have a boat?”
“No.” Willem thought back on their secret fishing expeditions to Lutine in Doeksen’s dinghy, and the picnic with Katja. He knew not to mention the dinghy because it was now obvious to Willem that Hendrik had used it to transport Louisa’s body to the sandbank. He prayed Terpstra wouldn’t ask Jurriaan about the boat, at least not before he had time to warn him.
“Did you drive a car that summer?” Terpstra asked.
“I was only sixteen.”
“That’s not what I asked. Let me rephrase. Did you know how to drive?”
“No. I didn’t take lessons until I was eighteen.”
Terpstra’s jowly face was inscrutable. “That’s all for now, Willem. Would you send Jurriaan in?”
“Are you aware of his cognitive disability?”
“Yes. I’ve been apprised. This isn’t a formal interview, and nothing he says can be used as evidence.
“Nevertheless, I should be present. Jurriaan is vulnerable. He gets flustered. He’ll be more at ease if I’m there.” Jurriaan might fall apart. He might tell Terpstra about the assault on Louisa with the hammer. But Jurriaan believed that Louisa had disappeared on the day after.
“Of course, but please interfere as little as possible.”