Chantal van Mierlo - Julia Menken

*

She knocked on Karel’s slightly open door at half past seven the next morning. He was usually in by around seven; he referred to himself as a morning person. Julia certainly didn’t agree with him on that score, as he was usually still there at seven in the evening, so the term evening person definitely applied to him too.

She tentatively entered his office.

“Julia. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Arnhem?”

“I’ve got an appointment at the DFI in The Hague first. Plus I wanted to talk to you.”

He turned away from his computer and stretched his arms out in front of him on his desk. She sat down in the chair opposite him and wondered how to start. She didn’t want this job. It was already tearing open old wounds which she thought had healed. That’s what she really wanted to say to Karel, but this would also mean signing her own resignation letter.

“You know me well, Karel. You know I’m still struggling with what happened. So how on earth can you send me to Maarten Brouwer for the murder of a child?”

Karel didn’t answer straight away. He looked at her inquisitively, perhaps trying to figure out how much she could take. “Brouwer explicitly asked for you.”

That arsehole.

“I really don’t know if I can do this. I actually wanted to get out of the field, so I could gain a little distance.”

Her role had generally always been an advisory one: she would assist the team of detectives with establishing a clear profile of the perpetrator, making sure the detective knew in which direction to continue their search. Of course this also involved murder cases, one more horrid than the next, but it wasn’t her investigation. She had always been far enough removed from it all. This was different. She formed part of an investigation team. Her first impression had told her this wasn’t the first time the perpetrator had killed someone and that he would continue unless he was stopped. The murder was too cold-blooded, executed in far too much of a precise and calculated manner for it to be a one-off incident. Bringing in a Behavioural Expert was therefore most definitely useful, as they were probably dealing with a serial killer. But she didn’t know if she was the right person to be dealing with this level of pressure.

“Why don’t you take on this case yourself? Or what about Max?” She was referring to her colleague, who had formed part of Karel’s team for the past six months.

“Max is going to be taking over the Mirjam Bender case from you.”

“You want me to go to Arnhem.” So she didn’t need to bother relying on Karel’s support. He had done what the Public Prosecutor had asked him to do and freed up her agenda.

“I can do one better than that: I insist. And may I suggest you concentrate on the killer. Another child could disappear at any time. There is severe time pressure here, a real threat. But you will have to learn to deal with that again.”

“It’s too soon.”

“You need to be adaptable. That was a prerequisite for the job you decided to take on here.”“So I don’t have a choice.”

“You are a damned good detective, Julia. And you are the best profiler in the Netherlands. It’s about time you started to realise that. It’s actually unbearable to watch you stand in your own way like this.”

His face was deadly serious. This was more than just a case. It was also a test to see if she could still do her job. She quickly got to her feet.

“Right. I’ve got to be with Galvez in twenty minutes. He’s doing the autopsy on the body.” She raised her hand by way of a goodbye and Karel nodded at her.

“Have faith in yourself, Julia.”

Her heart literally sank into her shoes as she walked out of the office.

*

She took the lift down to the DFI’s basement, where the Forensic Pathology department was located. She would never be able to get used to that weird smell down there. She entered Richard Galvez’s office, where she only found his assistant, who looked up at her with a troubled look on his face. The office was small, the largest part was occupied by a bookcase with professional literature. Rich’s desk was stood right in the middle and was home to a laptop and a stack of documents. The assistant had a small table which had been pushed against the wall. She could hear Mozart’s dulcet tones in the background. So Rich had to be somewhere nearby.

“I’ve got an appointment with Richard,” she said to the assistant, who had already returned to his paperwork. He stood up and shook her hand.

“Sorry, I was really far gone.” He pulled a thick white overall from a pile in the cupboard and handed it to her. “Put this one and you can go straight through. Your colleague is already here.”

“Julia, is that you?” she could hear bellowing out of the autopsy area. She smiled. Galvez was a mountain of a man, warm and cheerful and she had always found it quite extraordinary that he chose to spend his days with corpses.

She entered the sterile autopsy room, fully wrapped up in protective clothing. Rich had his back towards her and was bent down over the steel table, busily working away on the young victim’s insides. Diego stood next to him. Despite his considerable height, he looked insignificant alongside Rich.

“I hope you’ve brought some coffee,” Rich said without looking up.

She couldn’t help but smile. Nothing had changed. She put the thermos flask on a free table by the door and entered the autopsy area. Diego greeted her with a nod.

“Please take a picture of this,” he instructed his assistant in a business-like manner. He moved the large swivel light above the body and turned around.

“Julia.” She could clearly see the laughter lines above his surgical mask. “Great to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

“Five years.”

“They told me the FBI were training you to become a profiler. So I thought: she’s never going to come back.”

“I only went to the States for a few months to attend a course which wasn’t being offered in the Netherlands.” She thought back to her time with the FBI in Quantico, Virginia. Those had been some intensive months, where she had been buried under a stack of files for murder and rape cases. She had learnt how to recognise behavioural patterns in criminals. Every single perpetrator left a figurative fingerprint behind after a crime, the art was in knowing how to find it.

“I’m with Karel Visser now, at the National Unit’s Department of National Operational Cooperation in Zoetermeer.”

“A whole club of profilers together.”

She laughed. “Yes. Our team consists of detective psychologists who, in addition to their national tasks, also support all the regional units. We are mostly used for cold cases.”

“This one’s certainly not cold, baby.”

“No, this is something quite different.” Everyone stayed quiet for a moment and she could feel Rich and Diego looking at her expectantly. Could they possibly know more? Had someone told them about the reason for the change of career?”

“So you’re with Karel,” Rich quickly said, “I don’t know him personally. But I’ve heard plenty about him.”

“Karel Visser was the first profiler in the Netherlands, he’s a master in his field,” Diego said.

He was right. Karel was her mentor and he had taught her more than the FBI boys had been able to. There were plenty more people who professed to being profilers, as it obviously wasn’t a protected title. These were often psychologists who were lacking the forensic expertise and knowledge of criminal investigators. Karel was taken incredibly seriously within the police world and was often the first to be contacted when complicated cases presented themselves.