Chantal van Mierlo - Julia Menken

She sighed. “I simply think it’s too early to draw such premature conclusions based on, well, nothing.”

“Do you have an alternative theory?”

“No, not yet. But if we are purely focussing on this paedophile ring theory, we may well miss other important clues.”

“Listen Julia, I just want to do everything in my power to find that bastard. Progress is most important, we can’t just sit here waiting for things to happen. Do you have any arguments which result in a different picture?”

“There are no clear signs of abuse. Just look at how the perpetrator left the crime scene. A paedophile who needed to destroy evidence is not going to leave a pair of shoes on his victim’s chest. He wouldn’t leave his clothes in a neat pile next to him.”

“And?”

She smacked her hand down on the table. “This provides an insight into our perpetrator’s psyche. He carried out this murder as the climax to a carefully planned out fantasy.”

“You don’t think anything was stuck in that rectum at all?”

“The only conclusion I can reach as a profiler, with the information I have at my disposal, is that this was about the kick of the actual murder, that’s what it was all about for the perpetrator.”

“Right, be that as it may: Gert Huisman is being arrested. I have spoken to Maarten Brouwer about it too. He was asking after you. Perhaps you’d better give him a call.”

No. She was not going to call Maarten. She couldn’t handle that today of all days. She felt completely empty, like she could no longer see things clearly.

*

Back at home things were the same as always: Daniel on the sofa with his iPad, Mees and Evi both doing their own thing and the living room was an utter mess. She took a deep breath and greeted her children. She couldn’t muster up the energy to bend down over Daniel, or to get him to move off the sofa. She was done in. The washing up in the sink showed her the kids had already eaten.

“I’m going for a run,” she said, but he didn’t even react.

Mees came up to her once she was back downstairs in her running gear.

“When are you going to read me a story, mummy?”

“Not today, Mees. Mummy needs to clear her head. But I’ll come and give you a kiss once I’m back.”

“But I’ll be asleep by then. You never read to me anymore. I want you to read to me now.” He had crossed his arms and was pouting, just to add a little power to his demand.

“Tomorrow Mees. Tomorrow. OK?” She went outside without waiting for his answer. She managed to stop the tears from flowing until she had gone around the corner. She printed into the park like her life depended on it. She ran as fast as she could, hoping she could run all the misery out of her body. She managed to keep going for a long time. Until her lungs were burning so badly and the muscles in her legs simply couldn’t keep going, and she had no choice but to stop. She sat down on a bench and let her head drop down in her hands.

“What a God forsaken, almighty, bloody mess!” she said out loud. She wasn’t achieving anything, she was completely worthless in this investigation. And everything was terrible at home too. She had been able to get through to Daniel until fairly recently. At least he had still looked at her when they talked back then. She had hoped their last argument would have brought them a little closer again, but he had just ignored her again the next morning. He was completely indifferent. Like he had simply accepted that their relationship was on a downward spiral. Was this the end for them?

Where had it all gone wrong? When Evi had arrived? That’s when he suffered his burnout. An insidious disease which she had underestimated right from the very start. His personality had changed as a result of it, like something had been irreparably destroyed. The passion, the fire inside of him had gone out. He seemed to have accepted life as it was for him right now: grey. If it was down to him, there would be no big arguments, but no peaks of happiness either.

Her mobile vibrated. It was Maarten. She smiled bitterly through her tears. That idiot certainly always knew how to pick his moments. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone and most definitely not Maarten. But this could be about Brian. She had to answer.

“Maarten?”

“Julia, am I calling at a bad time?”

She wiped her face, which was wet from sweat, tears and snot. “No, it’s OK.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t reply, he certainly wouldn’t be finding out about her little breakdown.

“I’ve spoken to Diego,” he continued. “About the fact you don’t agree with the others.”

“I want to avoid the investigation coming to a complete standstill because we’re only going in one specific direction, whilst there is no evidence to back that up.” She was tired of constantly having to repeat herself. So tired.

“Of course, I understand. I just wanted to let you know that I completely support you in this. We’ll talk Monday morning. Look after yourself, Julia.”

She looked at her phone in complete shock. He had hung up. What a vague conversation. Why had he called her? It didn’t actually really matter, she didn’t have the energy to worry about Maarten Brouwer. There was only one thing she wanted: sleep. She was thinking about the new box of tablets in her bathroom cabinet as she slowly jogged home. She needed a double dose tonight, but that would mean her stock would soon diminish. She wouldn’t be getting any more from her GP, she would have to go back to the psychiatrist with her tail between her legs and beg for a prescription, since she’d had to promise she would wean herself off the sleeping tablets during the last appointment. He would ask questions. Horrible questions which would open up all the old wounds again.

*

It took a while for her to figure out what day it was when she woke up the next morning. Daniel wasn’t lying down next to her. So it must be Saturday: the only day of the week he was out of bed before her.

She stumbled down the stairs. She had to talk to Daniel. Urgently. Last night, when she got back from her run, he had already gone to bed. They couldn’t carry on like this anymore and she certainly wasn’t planning on giving up. She was far from ready for that. They were merely co-existing at the moment and if their marriage was worth anything to them, he would need to open up to her. At the moment it felt like he was increasingly withdrawing into his cocoon of self-pity. Of course she knew things were hard on him at the moment, especially as she had to work such long hours. But they had to find a way to become closer again.

Mees and Evi were wandering around the garden in their wellies. Daniel had made some coffee and was sat at the table, reading the paper. It was a fixed ritual: every Saturday he would collect fresh rolls and the Saturday edition of The Telegraph, which he would read through at his leisure. She could faintly smell his shower gel. It was the little things which made him so familiar.

She didn’t want to lose him.

A dull headache was throbbing behind her eyes. Undoubtedly a direct result of the sleeping pills, but it was still better than the alternative: nightmares. She filled a mug with coffee and put this down next to his paper, whilst she hugged him from behind.

“I love you.”

He sighed, but turned around and kissed her. She held onto him, felt the power within him, her rock, the one who had always been there for her. Somewhere deep inside this rock was still there.

“I’m sorry,” she started, but Daniel put a finger on her lips and pulled her in even closer.

The ringing of her phone broke the magic of the moment. She cursed that damned thing. She released herself from his embrace and grabbed her phone from the kitchen worktop. It was Diego.