The Darkroom of Damocles (12 page)

Osewoudt made a fanning gesture with his hat, as if to dispel the atmosphere the man brought with him.

‘Are you Mr de Vos Clootwijk?'

‘What precisely do you want? I was at Maliebaan police station yesterday, and gave a full report of what happened. I have nothing further to add.'

The man stopped speaking, but went on working his mouth, the way people disturbed during a meal sometimes do.

Osewoudt took a step towards him.

‘Did someone by the name of Elly Sprenkelbach Meijer get in touch with you?'

‘As I said: I told them everything at Maliebaan station!'

‘I have nothing to do with that station, I'm from the Binnenhof police station in The Hague.'

Osewoudt stepped sideways and dropped into an armchair. He gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering.

‘It is annoying to be obliged to repeat the same story a hundred times.'

‘But I haven't heard it yet. What happened, exactly?'

The man began to pace up and down at the far end of the room, by the window. He put his hands together and pressed them briefly to his nose.

‘It was like this. Last Wednesday at about one o'clock, the maid came to tell me there was someone to see me. I was pressed for time, I went into the hall where the person was waiting. She made an extremely unfavourable impression. I told her I was in a hurry and had to be off in five minutes. She said she wanted to ask me something. And what do you suppose she asked me? Whether I would be prepared to give her information about trains being used for German troop movements, and if not, would I give her the address of some
colleague who would. I told her she had come to the wrong man. So she left. But she had hardly been gone a second when the bell rang again. I was still in the hall, so I answered the door myself. It was the same young lady. She said: I am Miss Sprenkelbach Meijer. Please do not mention any of this to Mr van Stockum.

‘I said I would not.

‘My wife had been watching from behind the net curtains in the dining room, on the other side of the hall. My wife, too, formed an extremely unfavourable impression of her.

‘I went to my office and reported the matter to my head of department, Mr Beuleveld. Mr Beuleveld contacted the police.'

‘What for?'

Osewoudt stood up.

The man did not move.

‘I suggest you ask Mr Beuleveld that, sir.'

‘Did you think Miss Sprenkelbach Meijer was some sort of provocateur, sent by the Germans to give you a little test?'

‘No I did not. She came from London! She also said her boyfriend was English. That is what she said.'

‘So you believed her when she said she came from London?'

‘Yes!'

‘You believed her, did you? Strange. Then why did you turn her down?'

‘Sir, I must protest! What makes you think I would pass on information to a complete stranger who turns up on my doorstep?'

‘That wasn't all she asked for; she also asked, in the event of your being unable or unwilling to provide information, for the address of someone who might be.'

‘But sir, do you really think that I, in my position—'

Osewoudt stepped forward. The man was not tall, but still taller than Osewoudt by half a head.

‘Sir! You are, I believe, the right man in the right place at the right time! You occupy a senior and responsible post, but you're not sufficiently patriotic to run the slightest risk! You could easily have kept your mouth shut with your head of department, but you didn't even do that! Clearly it is not the place of someone like me to criticise your treatment of an emissary of the former government in London, but I must say: you have some funny ideas about our police methods! Thinking we would take it into our heads to send you some girl just to draw you out! You seem to have a strange notion of National Socialist values! Or, to be more precise: you seem to suffer from a mixture of base fear and a complete lack of political sense. What did you think – that the Germans have nothing better to do than send provocateurs all over the place to find out if any Tom, Dick or Harry might be persuaded to serve the very same government that they'd served until four years ago? As if the German police don't already have enough on their plate. The idea is absurd!

‘The Germans only use provocateurs when they need evidence against people they already have reason to suspect. In other words, people who pose a threat, and whom they want to get rid of. But don't worry, you're not among them, you're too much of a coward.'

Osewoudt put on his hat and made for the door.

Mr de Vos Clootwijk stood rooted to the spot, working his mouth with increasing agitation, though by now he must have had time to swallow his food.

Osewoudt said: ‘I dare say it surprises you to be addressed in this way by a plain traitor, a Dutchman assisting the German police. But I must advise you, sir, not to mention this conversation to anyone, not to the police at Maliebaan station and not to your head of department either. And if your wife happens to be eavesdropping you'd better tell her to keep her mouth
shut, as you could be in great danger. I hope you survive this war, because I'd like to hear what you have to say for yourself when it's over and you are held to account. Thank you! I'll let myself out.'

He went out into the corridor, through the hall, and left the house. He ran off on tiptoe, darted into the first side street and then another. Only then did he slow down.

The train was still some distance from the station when Osewoudt posted himself at the carriage door. He swung it open before the train came to a halt.

He hurried down the platform, his fingers folding the lower half of his Leiden-Amersfoort return ticket. He ran up the steps of the railway bridge, down the other side, passed through the barrier and walked to a ticket window.

‘Third-class return to Wageningen.'

He paid and straightened himself up, licking his lips which were parched from all the panting. He followed a party of cattle dealers into the waiting room.

There she was! The National Youth Storm leader! What luck! Beddable, smashing legs too! On her ash-blonde curls she wore a kind of Cossack cap of astrakhan with an orange crown. Symbol of the new Germanic Netherlands! Vestige of loyalty to the House of Orange, so recently forsaken! Her eyes were naturally slightly narrowed and her lower lip protruded somewhat, so that it seemed everything she laid eyes on was beneath contempt.

She stood by one of the doors to the platform, her hands in the pockets of her navy blue coat. She's on the lookout for me, thought Osewoudt.

He went up to her and tipped his hat.

‘Pardon me, but haven't I met you before? Aren't you Comrade Nispeldoorn's fiancée?'

She merely turned her head slightly, keeping her body quite still.

‘No, I don't know you, and I don't know Comrade Nispeldoorn either.'

She looked outside again, and this time changed her pose. Osewoudt raised his arm to her back in the Nazi salute, muttering:
Houzee
. Then he crossed to the farthest corner of the waiting room as quickly as possible. He checked his watch. Another twenty minutes before the train left for Wageningen. There was no other Youth Storm leader to be seen.

Again he studied the lovely creature at the door. Again she shifted her pose, slowly turning round as if the man who had spoken to her merited a second glance after all. Osewoudt stepped to one side so as to be obscured by a fat cattle dealer standing roughly in the middle of the waiting room. You sweet thing, he thought, spending a night of bliss with you and then doing you in would be right up my street, and a patriotic deed into the bargain.

The cattle dealer bent over to talk to the other dealers, who were seated at a table. Osewoudt could now see her profile, her nose, her stern chin, her disdainful lower lip, the mist of fair hair on her forehead. Even beneath her coat, her breasts were alluring. Then he thought: maybe she's sorry I left so quickly, but it's also possible that she suspects something. His throat tightened. The waiting room was stuffy and warm with a fug of steam, stale breath and unfermented tobacco. He wished he could go outside. If only I dared, if only I weren't scared of having to face that Youth Storm leader again. He had a vision of dozens of Youth Storm leaders swarming into the waiting room and him having to go up to each one in turn and ask: haven't we met before? Aren't you Comrade Nispeldoorn's fiancée?

The cattle dealers now rose from their table and moved to
the exit en masse. The moment they were gone he caught sight of another National Youth Storm leader. She was alone.

She seemed hesitant, glancing about warily while keeping her head as still as possible. Clearly she was looking for someone. That must be her. She had bandy legs, no figure to speak of, and her navy coat was ill-fitting. She too had fair hair, but it was thin and lifeless. She had a coarse face, almost like a man's. The sort of woman who has an invisible, but when it comes down to it, unmistakable moustache. She had sharp creases either side of her mouth, and yet she could not have been very old. Below the left corner of her mouth was a brown wart, starkly defined against her pale skin, which reminded him of the colour of boiled veal. He did not go up to her. Her gaze slid over him without apparent question. He looked again at the other youth leader, who at that moment stooped to pick up her travelling bag and left the waiting room. The ugly youth leader was standing by the stove, about three metres away from Osewoudt. He looked around: no one was paying any attention to either of them. Then he took a few steps towards her.

She noticed him coming and looked him in the eye. He knew there was no need for him to reel off his little piece, but did so all the same.

‘Haven't I met you before? Aren't you Comrade Nispeldoorn's fiancée?'

She had no eyebrows, but raised the areas of her forehead where they should have been. She began to laugh quietly, and he noticed her face was filmed with curiously minute beads of perspiration.

‘I am not engaged to Comrade Nispeldoorn, but I can show you a photo that will interest you.'

Osewoudt lifted his left wrist and pushed up his sleeve to uncover his watch.

‘I think we'd better get on that train now.'

‘Fair enough.'

They left the waiting room; the girl had no luggage.

As they drew near to the train she asked: ‘Do you know what this is all about?'

‘No, I don't. All they said was to buy a return ticket to Wageningen.'

‘Oh. It's quite a serious business, actually. Let's get on the train first.'

He stepped towards an open carriage door.

‘Are there two seats? Yes, you go on up then,' she said.

She stepped to one side and stood there, peering into the train with the same expression as when she had entered the waiting room. She seemed to be checking for someone else in the carriage she had to watch out for.

Finally, she too boarded the train, murmuring: ‘I'm not really sure what's best.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Oh, nothing. You stay there by the window, all right?'

He banged the carriage door shut. It was an old train, with wooden benches painted pale yellow and paired compartments.

The bench opposite them was unoccupied. Beside them sat an old lady with a spasmodic twitch in her throat, so that her head was never quite still.

‘Now you can tell me what they've got lined up for us.'

The girl sat close to him, the suspected moustache now clearly visible.

She leaned towards him as if they had known each other for at least an hour.

‘I'll explain. We aren't going all the way to Wageningen; we're getting off before then, at Lunteren. Lunteren is where someone called Lagendaal lives. He needs dealing with, he's a very dangerous individual, works for the Gestapo, has grassed
on dozens of people. He lives outside the village, on open heathland. Used to run a bicycle repair shop before the war, but now he's got himself a nice bungalow. I know how to get there; I've done a recce, so you needn't worry about that. The thing is, he's had some sort of warning. In other words, he's on the alert, but isn't sure what for.'

‘So what does he suspect?'

On the platform a whistle sounded, the train lurched into motion, a thick cloud of smoke floated past the window.

‘He knows that something might happen at any moment. It's quite remote where he lives, or rather where his wife and small son live. He's not there most of the time. But he is today. The parents have decided to send the boy to stay elsewhere. A National Youth Storm leader is supposed to come and collect him.'

She smiled, baring large, even teeth, but they were closer to grey than white.

‘So I go there first, to collect the boy. I take him to the station. Then it's your turn. Did you bring some pliers? You're to cut the telephone wires, to be on the safe side. When you've done that you go in and deal with the man.'

‘I've got the pliers, I was told to bring them. What about the wife?'

‘Obviously, you mustn't take any risks.'

He could tell from her expression that she knew the wife would be there. And it was equally clear what she meant by taking no risks.

‘Oh, so you're the Youth Storm leader who's supposed to collect the kid,' he said. ‘Are they expecting you this afternoon?'

‘I hope so.'

He felt his teeth might start chattering. He saw her flare her nostrils, as if she could scent the future. She took his hand. Hers was ice-cold and dripping wet.

Osewoudt withdrew his hand and patted the back of her hand.

‘So what happens to the kid afterwards?'

‘I get off the train at Amersfoort, and there our ways part for good. Yours and mine I mean. The child stays with me.'

Then he said: ‘Have you ever met someone—'

He was going to say ‘called Dorbeck', but she cut in.

‘No no, I haven't met anyone! Not anyone! Ever! Remember that!'

Of course she hadn't met Dorbeck, he thought, because if she had she'd have been startled when she saw me, someone who looked exactly like him.

‘Do you know my name, by the way?'

‘No, what is it?'

‘Filip van Druten. And yours?'

‘Oh, there's no point telling you, really. Just carry on addressing me as “you”. Just say “Hey you!” when you need me.'

At the exit of Lunteren station they saw the other Youth Storm leader. The genuine one! Carrying her travelling bag! She'd been on the same train! Got off in Lunteren, same as them!

‘See that girl?' he said.

‘Doesn't mean a thing. Lunteren's crawling with that lot, didn't you know? Perhaps she's come to make the Leader's bed for him – he holds rallies here all the time.'

When they came out of the station the other youth leader was about thirty metres ahead of them.

‘Which way?'

‘Same as her.'

They followed the railway embankment up to the level crossing. The other youth leader was already on the other side. If she happens to look left now she'll see us, Osewoudt thought. But she didn't look left.

They too went over the crossing, and came to a wide road lined with boarding houses and the old-fashioned country homes of retired gentry.

‘Is it around here?'

‘No, much further on. God forbid, if it were here we'd have all the neighbours coming to the rescue. They do that sometimes. Did you know?'

‘Yes, so I've heard.'

‘A lot of people working for the Krauts have neighbours who take them for good patriots.'

‘Naturally.'

‘You know, the Germans don't even like using party members to do their dirty work, because then everyone would be forewarned.'

‘Stands to reason.'

The other youth leader was still ahead, and had now increased the distance between them to fifty metres. But Osewoudt still had a clear view of her shapely legs in their black silk stockings, and of her trim waist in the custom-made uniform. He looked from her to his dowdy companion and thought: won't anyone seeing the first one go by, and then this one, think there's something fishy going on?

They came to a complicated intersection.

‘This way?'

‘Yes, we stick to the asphalt.'

The other youth leader had taken the asphalt road too. A greengrocer on a horse-drawn cart came towards them. When he was close by he made a filthy noise in his throat and spat on the ground. He glared at Osewoudt and his companion by turns, then half stood up on the box to look back at the other youth leader.

Further down the road the buildings petered out. On either
side were stands of trees, interspersed here and there with an old country house set in a garden.

‘How far do we still have to go?'

‘Another fifteen minutes or so, I think. See that letter box over there?'

He saw the shiny red letter box on a short post further along the road. Next to it stood an old-fashioned gas street lamp.

‘Past there we turn left across the heath.'

To his consternation he saw the lovely, genuine youth leader turning left at almost the same instant.

‘Where the hell is she going?'

The girl began to laugh, took his arm and pressed it to her side. She smelled of Lux bath soap.

‘I believe you're a good sort, Filip. But shall I tell you what I think? She's going to the same address as we are!'

‘To the same address? So what does that mean?'

‘Isn't it obvious? She's going there to collect the little boy and take him to a safe place.'

‘What about you then?'

‘Well, things might get a bit awkward. We can't very well seize the boy from her by force. That would be overdoing the child-protection act a bit.'

‘What do you think would be best then?'

‘I don't know, that's for you to decide.'

‘But you're the one who set the whole thing up! You did the recce! It's your plan!'

‘I … I … That's a bit much. I didn't plan it all on my own! Besides, the order to liquidate Lagendaal came from London. To be honest, that girl's going to complicate matters. At least that's what I think. I was actually counting on her arriving on a later train, by which time we'd have gone.'

They too now reached the road branching off on to the heath. It was sandy and little more than a dirt track along a
ditch, and apparently hard going for the other youth leader because she was closer than before. There were no houses along this road, although it was lined with telegraph poles. The poles carried only a couple of wires.

‘If that's the way things are,' said Osewoudt, ‘what did you reckon on doing with the kid?'

‘The father has to go, the mother too if you can't help it, but the boy mustn't come to any harm.'

‘But he's bound to scream if we snatch him off the youth leader!'

‘Can't we think of some way of stopping her from getting hold of him in the first place?'

‘Of course. Otherwise there wouldn't be any point in you having dressed up as a Youth Storm leader. Come on, let's get a move on, we need to catch up with her.'

Just then the other youth leader looked back; it was the first time she had done so. She even stopped for a moment, no doubt stunned by what she saw.

Then she walked on. Faster than before? Had she realised?