But when she dropped her hand and opened her eyes again, the anxious look was back. ‘What do you mean by a very long time?’
‘Well, maybe two or three years. I’m not a judge.’
‘You mean he’ll have to go to prison?’ Her voice took on a touch of hysteria — whether for joy, or horror at having come so close to a kind of criminality that could carry a jail sentence, I wasn’t sure.
‘I’d assume so. But I’d rather not explain the circumstances. If Abakay ever finds a connection between you and me, I think it will be better if you know as little as possible about the dirt he has sticking to him. Let me reassure you: his criminal deeds have nothing to do with Marieke. Abakay is a nasty character, but as for your daughter, I think he tried more or less the same number on her as he did with you: Frankfurt in the Shadow of the Banking Towers, social injustice, blah blah blah …’
I was thinking of the trembling girl I had found in Abakay’s apartment, smeared with her own vomit, and I wasn’t feeling very good about it.
So I didn’t immediately notice the change in Valerie de Chavannes’s expression. All of a sudden I took in her horrified, injured look. As if I’d insulted her severely. And then I realised why: as for your daughter, I think he tried more or less the same number on her as he did with you.
And because the same number as he did with you really mattered in only one context, the next question was obvious. Valerie de Chavannes took a deep breath before saying, with as much self-control as she could manage, ‘He didn’t pull off any number on me. He’d have liked to, but let me make it clear to you, Herr Kayankaya: it didn’t work.’ And then, visibly summoning up all her courage, she asked, ‘Do you think Marieke has slept with him?’
I hesitated. Her seriousness was infectious. ‘I’ve no idea, but I don’t think so. Marieke seems to me too sensible for that. Maybe they made out a bit …’
… Clever, demanding upper-class girl, political interests, likes conversations, will go to great lengths in her search for adventure if the tone is right, ready for almost anything …
‘You don’t have children, do you? You can’t know how much I hope you’re right.’
‘I can imagine, though.’
‘Suppose …’ She stopped, thought about what she wanted to say. ‘Suppose Abakay doesn’t have to go to prison — maybe a clever lawyer could fix it for him — and then he turns up here again?’
Something told me that this question didn’t come out of the blue. Valerie de Chavannes had an idea, and it had not occurred to her only this minute.
‘I don’t think that will happen. And if it does — I can offer you my services. You know my fee.’
She didn’t respond to the last remark. ‘Why don’t you think it will happen? He’s seen the villa, so of course he thinks we’re exceptionally wealthy. And how often does a man like that come so close to real wealth? He’ll try getting whatever he can out of us.’
‘Well, yes, but he’s done that already. He’s made advances to both the ladies of the house, I gave him a bloody nose for one of those occasions, what can he do now? Steal your letterbox, I suppose. I can always get that back if it’s worth it to you. But as I said: Abakay will be going to prison, I assure you he will.’
For a moment she looked desperate, as if I were slow on the uptake. Then she glanced quickly at the neighbouring properties to the right and left of the villa, at the open front door behind her and up at the windows — no sign of life anywhere there — took two steps towards me and whispered, ‘And suppose he tries blackmailing me? He can do that from prison, or get some friend of his to do it.’
‘Blackmail you? Hmm …’ I scratched my throat with one finger and asked, in as neutral a tone as possible, ‘But what could he blackmail you with?’
‘How do I know? He’ll simply think something up. There’s always something that could be used.’
‘Well, there aren’t a thousand possibilities. Either you’ve committed some kind of crime — cheated the taxman on a grand scale, something like that, and you’re being pestered about it with emails, recorded phone calls — ’
‘Or as I said,’ she interrupted me, ‘he’ll think something up. Something that could conceivably be true and ruin my reputation — that sort of thing’s been known to happen.’
‘Hmm. For instance, that he had an affair with you?’
‘For instance. And then I’ll have to prove it isn’t true. It’s just crazy!’
‘Yes, that would indeed be crazy.’
We looked at each other for a while. Then I said, ‘And what are you suggesting to me now?’
She swallowed, and a pleading expression came into her eyes — a plea for understanding, help, pity. When she slowly opened her mouth, her lips were trembling. ‘You said just now you gave Abakay a bloody nose. Well … I’m wondering how far you would go in that direction …? For payment corresponding to the job, of course. I mean — Abakay is a nasty piece of work, you said so yourself, and I know what a bastard he is …’
I was less surprised than might have been expected. For one thing, it wasn’t the first time I’d had such an offer put to me; for another, there’d been something of this nature in the air all along. Valerie de Chavannes wanted Abakay to disappear from the face of the earth.
‘Do you know what he said when he was leaving after that supper here, and we were alone in the hall for a moment? He told me I’d never sleep easy again until he had a large slice of my cake. And by cake, of course he meant the house and what he thinks I have in the bank. Then, two weeks later, my daughter disappeared. Do you understand? Even if he goes to prison for two or three years — what are two or three years to a man who thinks he has the opportunity of a lifetime? And we are weak people, soft art lovers, people who read books — we don’t stand a chance against someone like Abakay. Suppose he goes to The Hague to see my husband tomorrow, tells him lies of some kind, maybe threatens him or even beats him up? My husband would give him anything he asked. Out of fear, and what else could he do? Call the police? Nothing has happened yet. What was it you said this morning? At sixteen Marieke has the right to go out with a man. And don’t tell me there are no drugs involved! I don’t mean smoking a bit of weed, why would he go to prison for that? So stop telling me fairy tales!’
I looked at the villa to see if there was any activity at the windows. In the last few minutes Valerie de Chavannes’s voice had risen louder and louder. But I couldn’t see either Marieke or the housekeeper.
Now Valerie de Chavannes wasn’t looking at me with pleading in her eyes, but like a wild animal. A mother animal who would defend her young however bloody the fight. And she wanted me to decide: was I for her or against her?
As calmly as possible I said, ‘I’m not telling you fairy tales. Abakay won’t be going to prison for dealing drugs but — or if I were the public prosecutor this is how I’d construct the case — for murder.’
I emphasised the word murder clearly. Presumably there were several ways of nailing Abakay: for trafficking in minors, pimping, sexual abuse, abduction, rape, drugs — and maybe murder too, depending on how you interpreted the scene in the front hall of his apartment, but that made no difference to me at the moment. I just wanted to utter the word murder. Valerie de Chavannes had to hear the precise description of what she was suggesting to me. Never mind I’m wondering how far you would go in that direction …?
‘It will probably be hard to pin murder on him, but who knows?’
‘Murder …?’ Obviously my remarks had had the desired effect. Valerie de Chavannes looked as if someone had kicked her hard in the behind.
‘That’s what it’s called when someone is killed, however much of a bastard he is. Incidentally, you get far longer than two or three years in prison for it. And you know something? I wouldn’t even like to spend a weekend in there.’