38
Nora sat with Marijke in her living room after a simple dinner. As Nora related her confrontation with Nico, Marijke was rapt.
“What did he say when you told him Rose was his daughter?”
“He was shocked, as you might imagine. He must be sitting at a café having a few strong drinks before he has to go home and tell his wife.”
“No question about that! But is he going to help you?”
“He said he would do everything he could. He has the
dagboek
and I explained about my mother—that she was an NSB-er, Abram Rosen’s murder, the judgment and how I suspect that her murder was a revenge killing. He promised to stay at the
Instituut
until he had put all the wheels in motion with his staff and that he would let me know the minute he finds anything. God, I’m so relieved.”
“That he is going to try to find something?”
“Definitely that. But also because he finally knows about Rose.”
Marijke shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to be his wife right now. Is he angry at you for not telling him?”
Nora felt again the fury Nico had unleashed upon her.
How could she not have told him,
he’d yelled.
She had no right!
“
Angry
is too mild a word. He couldn’t believe that, despite what happened between us, I would deprive him of the chance to make a different choice because of the baby.”
“He’s right, you know.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I guess I didn’t feel I had any other option.”
Marijke put her wineglass on the coffee table and shrugged. “Well, at least it’s all out in the open.”
Nora nodded. But she did not tell Marijke that when she stood to leave, he had walked her to the door. Before she could open it, he’d grabbed her and given her a rough kiss. As she’d walked away, the joy of his lips on hers remained. She didn’t know if he still had feelings for her or if knowing that they had a child together had prompted the kiss.
Marijke looked at her watch and stood. “I have to go. I’m meeting my boyfriend at his place.”
“Quite a fiery romance you have going on there, judging by how many nights you spend with him.”
Marijke laughed. “I do rather like the man.”
When she left, Nora gave in to her exhaustion, put on her robe and drew a hot bath. Before she could step into it, the phone rang.
Shit.
“Met Nora de Jong.”
“Nora, it’s Lieutenant Richards.”
“I was just thinking of calling you! Have you gotten anywhere?”
“No, neither the P.I. nor I have found anything new.”
“So what now?”
“We keep looking. Are you coming back soon?”
“Not yet. But I’ve found someone to help me and I think we’ll move forward more quickly now.”
“Who?”
“The head of the Dutch War Institute, Nico Meijer. He can research this far more quickly than I ever could.”
“How do you know this guy? Is he legit?”
Nora was glad he couldn’t see the flush she felt on her cheeks. “He’s—well—he’s Rose’s father.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to explain.” She felt flustered. “I lived with him in Amsterdam, but it didn’t work out and I went back to the States.”
There was a short silence. “Well, do what you need to do. Maybe you’ll get somewhere. We certainly haven’t. And don’t worry, I’ll keep you informed about the investigation here. You let me know if you find something.”
“I will.”
“Goodbye, Nora.”
She stood wearily and went back upstairs, added more hot water and sank gratefully into the steaming tub. But even then she couldn’t relax. In her mind’s eye she saw Rose resting on her legs, wriggling in the soapy water and laughing as Nora planted kisses on her tummy.
Would she ever hold her again? Where was she now? Was she sick, dead?
She closed her eyes, sank down farther in the tub and willed herself to believe that Nico would solve this.
They would find Rose. God couldn’t be so cruel, not before her baby had even begun her life.
Just as the tenseness in her body began to melt, she heard steps on the creaky stairs. “Marijke?” She must have forgotten something. But she heard no answer, only footsteps creeping up the stairs. Nora felt the hair on her neck prickle. She jumped out of the tub, almost falling on the slick tiles, threw on her robe and locked the door. She tried to keep the terror out of her voice. “Who is it? What do you want?”
She heard heavy breathing and saw the knob spin, but not open. She looked around the tiny bathroom for something to use as a weapon. All she saw was a nail file, a plunger.
What could she do?
She heard a hard bang against the door. It was a man, cursing under his breath. At that moment, the doorbell rang.
“Help!” she screamed. “Someone has broken in!”
She heard steps racing down the stairs and a shattering of glass.
Was it safe for her to dash downstairs and run to the door for help?
A loud voice yelled through the front door. “Nora! It’s Nico! Are you all right?”
She ran down and flung open the door. Nico grabbed her and held her close. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”
“A man!” She gasped and pointed to the rear of the house. “I heard a window break.”
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Nora stood shivering in the doorway until he returned. “You’re right. There’s glass all over the floor.” She buried her face in his neck. “It’s all right, he’s gone now.”
He led her into the living room, sat her on the couch and poured her a Scotch. She gulped it down and spluttered. “Nico, I’m so scared.”
He sat down beside her. When he put his warm, strong arms around her, she finally caught her breath.
“It was just a burglar,” said Nico. “Happens all the time in Amsterdam. We should call the police, although I doubt it would do much good.”
Her mind now flashed on the night at the café. “Someone attacked me in an alley a few days ago.”
“God, did he hurt you?”
“No, but he ran off before anyone could catch him. The bartender in a café across the street looked for him. He said it must have been a drug addict or just someone looking for money.”
Nico held her tightly. “That must be what it was. Poor sweetheart.”
Nora drew back. “What if it wasn’t a coincidence? What if someone is after me?”
“Why would that be?”
“Maybe I’m close to finding out something. Maybe someone wants to stop me.”
Nico shook his head. “Seems unlikely. But it still might be dangerous for you to be alone.”
“What can I do? Hire a bodyguard?”
“No, I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“What made you come here tonight?” She grasped his arm as fear and hope consumed her. “Did you find something? Tell me fast!”
“Ja, ja, rustig maar.”
He pulled a small notebook out of the inner pocket of his jacket. “I was able to contact someone I know who specializes in wartime genealogy, one of those permanent graduate students with an obsession, in this case one that works in our favor.”
“What did he find?”
Nico patted her hand and smiled. “Give me a moment to explain. René—the graduate student—has a particular interest in high-ranking NSB-ers.”
“Why?”
“His father was shot down by an NSB-er for stealing food for his family. As you may know, we now have a growing problem with the resurgence of the national socialist movement. René decided that his thesis would focus on if—and how many—NSB children have become part of the new movement.”
“But how does that help us?”
“That’s the beauty of it. As it happens, your mother’s father, Joop Brouwer, was a prominent NSB-er. He was also admitted to the SS, extremely rare for a Dutchman. He was notorious for his savage treatment of the Jews.” He paused. “Apparently he was brilliant at locating Jews, whose names he then turned over to the Nazis.”
Nora felt sick. “How did he do that?”
“He knew Amsterdam. He was adept at ferreting out hiding places because he was so familiar with the city’s buildings. He also turned in many of his neighbors whom he felt were obstructing the unification of Holland with Germany.”
“But what did your friend
find?
”
Nico handed her the small notepad. “He read it to me over the telephone.”
She scanned the page, disappointment welling in her. “But I know this already. Joop, Miep—”
Nico shook his head, leaned in closer to her and pointed to a scrawled word. “Read this.”
She looked again, this time more closely. She saw it—a chicken scratch of a line across from Miep’s name.
Saartje Steen.
Stunned, Nora looked up. “Who is she?”
“I’m not sure. René thinks she may be their sister.”
“Why wasn’t she mentioned in Miep’s diary?”
Nico shrugged. “Maybe they had a falling out.... Or she moved away during the war.”
“Do you know if she’s still alive?” Nora was so afraid. She didn’t know if she could endure another dead end.
Nico pulled out another piece of paper and handed it to Nora. “She’s alive—old, but alive.”
Nora grabbed it and read it quickly. “Was she married?”
“Apparently,” said Nico. “Which is why the
medewerker
didn’t know to look for her.”
Nora clutched the paper. “I have to see her. Right now.”
“Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Look at the address,” he said. “She lives in Schiermonnikoog.”
“Friesland? Why in God’s name would she live there? It’s up north in the middle of nowhere!”
“Who knows?” he said. “Anyway, I found her.”
“And?”
“It’s the address of a convent,” he said. “Saartje is a nun.”
39
Amarisa opened the door. Dirk stood there looking bedraggled and filthy, as usual. “Wonder of wonders.” He grunted and then followed her silently to the kitchen. They sat on opposite sides of the table.
“Well, have you found anything? If you’ve screwed it up, I’m not paying you a cent—”
Dirk glared at her. “If you’d shut up for a minute, I’ll tell you.”
“Don’t push me, Dirk. Let’s not forget what side your bread is buttered on.”
“How could I forget? You shove it up my ass every day.”
“Get on with it.”
“Okay, I broke into her house last night after I made sure she was alone. But as I was going up the stairs, she heard me and screamed. Then some asshole came to the door, so I had to beat it out of there.”
“In other words, nothing.”
“Hey, nobody saw me and now she knows someone is after her.”
“A common burglar, nothing more.”
“Christ, Amarisa, don’t be such a bitch. I’ll still get her. She’s going to Schiermonnikoog. Train leaves at eleven.”
“How do you know?”
“’Cause I hung around outside under the bitch’s window and heard them talking. Some guy named Nico Meijer. Meeting her there tomorrow.”
“What in hell is in Friesland?”
“If you knew, you wouldn’t need me, now would you?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Dirk.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I’m going to tell my worthless nephew that the woman is on her way to Friesland. I’ll tell him to take the afternoon train. You may need a patsy to blame if it all goes wrong. And don’t fuck up like last night or you won’t see a single guilder.”
“Will you listen! It wasn’t my fault—”
“Save it.”
Dirk started to rise.
“Wait,” said Amarisa. “I have something to give you.” She stood, opened her refrigerator and took out the capped syringe, admiring her handiwork. Then she handed it to Dirk.
“What’s this?”
“What does it look like? Take it to Schiermonnikoog and inject it into her carotid artery. Do you even know where that is?” Then she demonstrated with her fingers.
His eyes widened. “What will it do to her?”
“Don’t worry, it works quickly.”
Dirk flung the syringe on the table as if it were a cobra ready to strike. “Look, Amarisa, whatever else I am, I’m not a murderer.”
“No, but you’re a thief, a heroin addict, a gambler and a thug who hurts people when I tell you to. This is just one step further.” Amarisa could see the hate in his eyes. “This isn’t a request, Dirk. It’s an order.”
“Goddamn it, I’m out of this!” He slammed his fist on the table. “Now you want me to
kill
this woman. And who do you think the police will be after?
Me!
Then even if I finger you, who do you think they’ll believe? Some street guy or a rich bitch with a diamond business? No, I won’t do it!”
Amarisa looked at him coolly. “Fine.” Suddenly she reached across the coffee table and yanked up his sleeve. “Look at those tracks. You think I don’t know you’re still dealing? I keep tabs on you, darling Dirk.” She handed him back the syringe. “And don’t forget. One tip from me to the police and you can kiss your life goodbye.”
“Stop threatening me!”
“You have five minutes to make up your mind. So just sit here and think about what you have to lose.” She strolled into the nursery to check on Jacoba. A few moments later, she came back.
Dirk hung his head in his hands.
Fucking bitch.
The thought of killing someone made him feel sick. He knew he was a bum, but a
murderer?
Then a thought struck him.
Wait! Maybe he could run his own show.
“Sit down.” His voice was harsh. Amarisa sank slowly into the soft armchair across from him. “Here’s the deal—and it’s not negotiable. If I do this for you, then it’s over between us. You pay off my debts—all of them. Then ten thousand to do the job and a ticket to Greece with five thousand more to get the hell out of here and start over. That’s it.”
Amarisa stared at him, thinking. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Deal.”
“And I mean it.” He glared at her. “You fuck me over, get me arrested, do anything to lay all this on me and I’ll turn you in so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
“Dirk, I hold the same cards against you. So it serves neither of us to be pitted against the other.” She held out her hand. “Truce?”
Dirk looked at her warily. Finally he stuck out his hand. They shook. He stood and put the syringe inside his jacket pocket. “I’m out of here. I’ll let you know.”
“Good boy.”
He glared at her and stomped out.