35
Amarisa drew out a brown vial from her medicine chest and examined the label.
Levorphanol Tartrat, ten milligrams.
Van Brunt had prescribed it for her ten years ago to allay the awful pain she still suffered from the steel bar that Nazi bastard had cracked against her leg. For taking too long in the soup line.
It was a dangerous opioid, he had warned her, eight times as strong as morphine and highly addictive. She was to use it only when the pain was unbearable. He had given her the option to take it in pill form, although the injection would bring her speedier relief. Amarisa had chosen the injections. Even now when the agony hit, it brought her to her knees, screaming. But she had not abused the drug. And after so many years, he was convinced that she was trustworthy in its use.
The vial glinted in the sunlight. Amarisa drew a syringe from the package in the medicine cabinet, inserted the needle into the rubber top and drew all of its contents into the needle. A vial lasted her almost a year, if she used it a few times a month. She then set aside the syringe and withdrew another prescription bottle.
Vicodin.
Prescribed for lesser pain.
She went into the kitchen and removed the porcelain mortar and pestle she used to grind herbs. Its heft felt cool, purposeful. She examined the Vicodin bottle. She then ground a full bottle of pills into dust. To that she added grain alcohol, making it a deadly mixture. By the time she had drawn the rest of her potion into the syringe, she knew there was no way that woman could survive.
Ha!
Overkill.
She laughed at her own joke. Just what the doctor ordered.
36
Nora put her head in her hands. How could she have so repressed that terrible event? She must have been traumatized. And they never did speak of it again, as if it never happened.
One thing now seemed certain. Anneke must somehow have managed to grab her Luger from wherever she had it hidden.
And Rose, had the killer hurt her in front of Anneke?
Nora’s heart slammed. She knew if Anneke was in a situation in which Rose’s safety was threatened Anneke would have offered herself up. Just the sight of those men closing in on her granddaughter— No, Nora could not go there. All she could do now was keep trying to find Rose and bring an end to this hideous nightmare. She willed herself to breathe.
The next thing she heard was the sloshing of a mop and clanking of a pail. She looked at her watch.
Eight-thirty! The cleaning staff was here before the
Instituut
opened.
She grabbed the
dagboek
and crept behind the
medewerkers’
station, praying that the cleaning person wouldn’t start there. Her breath quickened.
Shit, the receptionist. Surely he was there already, preparing to open the doors. How in hell could she escape?
Then she heard the clanking move upstairs, thank God.
Now!
She tiptoed to the wall and peeked around. The receptionist was leaning down, putting his belongings underneath the kiosk. She clutched the
dagboek
and her purse in one hand and darted toward the front door. At that moment, he straightened and his shocked eyes met hers.
“Dr. van Doren!” he demanded. “What are you doing here?” Nora ran for the door as he darted to intercept her. “Stop!” he shouted. “Right now!”
Breathless, Nora grabbed the icy metal handle of the glass door, pushed against it with all her strength, burst through the entrance and slammed into a man’s chest. He reeled backward. For an instant their eyes locked. Then she pushed past him and ran.
All she could feel was her heart clawing at her throat, a desperate bird whose wings beat against its prison. She ran through a gray side street into a wet and miserable alley. The cold now joined with a biting rain that pierced her face with what felt like shards of ice. The wet cobblestones seemed to shudder up her body with each step. In a cramped side street, she collapsed against a rough wall and gasped for breath, eyes shut, the diary clutched in her hands. Slowly, her shaking became a mild trembling and her lungs stopped searing. And then it hit her.
The man she’d run into as she dashed from the
Instituut—
his eyes! In her panic, she’d fled before they could register. The last thing she’d heard as she bolted in the freezing rain was a single word. “Nora!”
That voice was unmistakable—a scar in her heart. The same voice she’d heard the last time she’d fled Amsterdam.
It was Nico.
37
Nora felt the wind along the canal lash one final time as she reached the massive stone entrance of the
Instituut.
It had taken her half an hour to walk back. She saw her blurred reflection in the glass front doors. Her hair was plastered to her head, her leather jacket black from the rain. The gargoyles above the doors seemed to look down upon her with wrathful eyes.
She took a breath and pressed the buzzer. She saw the receptionist’s eyes widen. He picked up a phone and spoke to someone, never taking his eyes off her. Nora shivered. The temperature had dropped during her trudge back. She steeled herself as the guard got out of his chair and strode toward the entrance. He opened the door.
“Dr. van Doren,”
he said tersely.
“Kom binnen.”
As she walked in, she tried to put confidence into her words
. “Ik zou graag Dr. Meijer zien.”
The guard looked as if he wanted to put her in shackles there and then.
“Blijf U daar staan.”
She obeyed his order for her to stay put. Rain dripped from her and pooled on the floor. She rubbed her eyes. When she looked up, she saw Nico walking down the red-carpeted stairs. Her heart lurched—with hope for Rose, she told herself.
He seemed taller and thinner, but his long, thoughtful face was the same. His dark hair made his green eyes stand out. It was those eyes that had captivated her and did not leave hers now. She felt something electric and unbidden go through her.
She saw yesterday’s
medewerker
appear and move toward her. Without shifting his gaze from her, Nico held up a hand and Dijkstra stopped. The guard stood, glaring at her as if she were planning a terrorist attack on the
Instituut.
Nora stepped closer to Nico. In so doing, the green
dagboek
slipped from her jacket onto the slick floor and skittered a few feet away. She froze. Nico walked slowly across the room and picked up the diary. He scanned the first few pages and stared at her.
“That’s it!” cried the young
medewerker.
“The NSB diary I told her she couldn’t have. She broke in and stole it!”
Nico waved the
medewerker
away and walked the few steps to Nora. She could smell a faint trace of his spicy aftershave mixed with a scent distinctly his and then saw the small patch of stubble he always missed when he shaved. Now they were alone in the lobby. It felt to Nora as if they were the last two people in the universe, frozen in unbearable tension.
His voice was low and harsh.
“Kom.”
He turned. Nora followed him up the stairs, down the hall and into an office different from his old one. He held the door open as she walked past him and then closed it.
“Ga zitten.”
There were two plain chairs in front of the desk. She chose one, sat and looked around. She saw the dark wooden desk he had used at home when they lived together. It felt so familiar—covered with books and papers opened to passages he had marked in the blue ink he used to buy at his favorite pen shop around the corner from his house. Two large windows offered a splendid view of the
Herengracht.
A silver frame faced away from her. She felt a stab knowing that the face must be his wife’s, not hers. She turned the small ring she always wore on her left hand so that the design of silver tulips was hidden. She did not want him to know she still wore it.
Nico walked slowly to his desk. His face seemed shut down—tight. She had seen him like that only a few times. Times she had willed herself to forget. Nico placed the diary carefully on his desk, sat behind his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “What in the hell are
you
doing here?”
Nora pressed her palms together to keep them from shaking.
“Waarom spreek je geen Nederlands met mij?”
He glowered at her. “Why should I speak Dutch with you? You left Holland, if you will recall. You’re an American.”
Nora started to speak, but he held up his hand. “Just answer my questions,” he said. “Why are you here? Why did you fake a letter of introduction to get into the
Instituut?
Did you really steal a diary from the archives?” His voice rose. “Have you lost your goddamned
mind?
”
Nora stared back at him, stung. She would gladly take whatever he dished out, as long as he helped her find Rose. “Please stop yelling at me,” she said quietly. “I have excellent reasons for everything I’ve done.”
“Wait a minute,” he said icily. “I’m calling the shots here. Let’s summarize, shall we? The guard tells me that someone I’ve never heard of shows up when I just happen to be on vacation and hands over a letter of introduction
from me.
Not only does she waltz into the research room, asking questions about people whose names are unfamiliar to me, but what am I greeted with the day I return?”
Nora almost interrupted but decided against it. When Nico was angry, it was pointless to reason with him until he had gotten it all out. She focused on staying calm.
“The day I get back, I try to open the door to my place of business and some crazed woman bolts out of the door and almost knocks me down. As if that isn’t astonishing enough, I look down and see you. The woman who swore to me that she would never set foot in Amsterdam again. Does she stay and tell me what the hell she’s doing here? No, she runs off like a criminal.” His face tightened. “Just like she did almost two years ago.”
He took a deep breath. Nora saw the pain on his face. “Then I’m greeted by a
medewerker
who is about to fall on his sword because during his shift, a
dagboek
of some NSB woman has disappeared. Apparently not only is the
dagboek
missing, but so is the mystery woman. This esteemed professor of Netherlands Studies, from Stanford no less.” Nico pushed back his chair. His eyes were fierce.
Nora felt a flush of anger. “Are you finished?”
Nico sat back. “For the present.”
“Good. Then if you’ll listen for just five minutes, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
The sarcasm brought tears to her eyes. She felt so damned tired. And the horrible, horrible things she had read about her mother. She pointed at a small table in the corner. “Could I have a cup of coffee before you have me arrested?”
Grim faced, Nico walked to the coffeepot, poured a cup, added two sugars and brought it to her. He hadn’t forgotten. His fingers touched hers as she took the cup. She tried to ignore the sudden spark she felt. She took a sip. Her hands trembled. She knew he saw her pain, but his face remained unchanged. She took a deep breath. “First, you have every right to be annoyed with me.”
“Annoyed?”
“I should never have fabricated that letter,” she said quietly. “I tried to call you, but they told me you were on vacation.”
“It must be something very important indeed for you to contact me.” His voice was glacial. “I’m fascinated, particularly since you made it clear you never wanted to see me again.”
“Please, Nico. I need to talk to you about something critical. I really
must
have your help.”
“And why did you think I would help you?”
Nora felt like screaming. “Because even though you’re still mad as hell at me for leaving, I knew I could count on you.”
“The Nico you knew would have done anything for you,” he said quietly, “but not the Nico I am today.”
She stared at the thin gold band. “You’re married.”
“That,
Dr.
van Doren, is none of your business. Not anymore.”
Nora looked away, trying not to break down, but tears now streamed down her face. Not only did Nico not care for her anymore, he despised her. He would not help her. She stood and Nico’s face blurred, the furniture spun and the dark waves of the
Herengracht
disappeared as she looked through the window.
Suddenly everything tilted. She imagined Nico moving toward her in slow motion, just as he had in the dreams that never, ever went away. The arms that reached out for her seemed so strong, so safe—no, she wouldn’t faint. Not here, not now. She had to tell him about Rose. He
had
to help her.
Nico put his arm firmly around her waist as he walked her back to her chair. She collapsed into it. He stood over her. She saw the concern on his face. “What is it? Are you ill?”
She took a breath and shook her head. “No, just a little dizzy.”
“Not eating again?”
“It’s not that.” She grasped his arm. “Please sit down, Nico. I have to talk to you. So much has happened.”
Nico took his seat, his face brooding, wary.
“I really need your help.”
She hated the desperation in her voice.
“So you said. Now what is this all about?”
“My mother is dead—murdered.”
“What! Murdered by whom?”
Nora felt more tears start. Her voice shook. “That’s the problem. I don’t know who did it.”
“Nora, this is crazy!” he said. “Who would want to kill your mother?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“What could possibly be here that would lead you to discover that?”
“It’s a long story, Nico, and I will tell it to you.” She paused. “But even more horrible is that someone with the murderer, kidnapped—” she paused for another breath “—my daughter.” Nora felt a sharp pang seeing the shocked expression on his face.
“You have a
daughter?
When did all this happen?”
“After I moved back to the States.”
“Obviously,” he said coldly.
With shaking hands, Nora pulled her wallet from her purse and opened it. The photo of Rose she always carried smiled up at her. Silently, she handed it to Nico.
He took it, stared at it and then handed it back. He cleared his throat. “What is her name?”
“Rose,” she whispered.
“But why do you need my help?” Now his voice was normal, even businesslike. “Surely the police are investigating?”
“The Houston police, the FBI, the Dutch authorities—they haven’t found anything.” She started crying. “Rose has been missing for over two weeks now. They tell me that she may never be found—that she may be
dead.
”
Nico moved his chair closer to hers and took her cold hands into his. His warmth sparked hope into her.
“Nora, I am so sorry,” he said softly. “But what does that have to do with your coming here and doing all these crazy things?”
“The killer had to be from Holland—someone from the war. He murdered my mother for revenge.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you, but you have to
promise
to help me! It’s as much for you as it is for me.”
Confusion filled Nico’s eyes. “What does
that
mean?”
“It’s Rose.”
“But Nora, where is the father?”
“I’m looking at him,” she whispered. “Rose is your daughter.”