Chantal van Mierlo - Julia Menken

“Have you guys found any information about similar cases?”

“There are a number of unsolved child disappearances and a few murders we’ve looked at too, but there doesn’t appear to be any connection to this case.”

“It’s important to have as open a mind as possible when comparing these cases. It may well looked like there’s no connection at first glance, but the killer can also continue to develop in a certain direction over the course of time. His earlier crimes may have been less extreme. Any missing body parts is therefore an important characteristic. That’s what we need to be looking for.

“Yes, ma’am,” Justus said and returned to what he had been reading.

“Excuse me?”

No reaction.

Justus’ partner got up and worked his large body through the door opening which Julia was still standing in. “I’m going to get some coffee.”

She entered the room and closed the door behind her. Justus kept his eyes focussed on her. He was younger than her, probably not even thirty yet. He was cleanly shaved and tanned. She could see he worked out judging by the contours underneath his shirt. The type who would mainly be occupied with his body and how he looked during his spare time.

“What is your problem?” she asked.

“I have a problem when outsiders interfere with things they know nothing about.”

“Are you talking about me? Because for some reason I don’t feel that applies to me.”

He turned around and rummaged in a drawer. “One profiler. It feels like we’re part of a Netflix series. A psychologist coming in to solve police work. It really doesn’t want to get any crazier than this.” Of course she apparently wasn’t supposed to have heard that, but he made sure he said it loud enough for her to hear.”

“I feel sorry for you if you have a problem with me being here, as I’ve been officially assigned to this case.”

He stood up and pointed his finger at her. “You come down here from your ivory tower to tell us how we should be doing our jobs. Like you have any idea what goes on out on the streets. You’ve never been there. Do you know what it feels like when a drug dealer points his gun at you? Or how about when you manage to save a Bulgarian teenager from a pimp? Or when you come across that very same pimp a week later, with a dirty smile on his face and the next victim in his arms? Any idea?” Bits of spittle were flying out of his mouth.

“I really don’t feel like standing here arguing with you.” She turned around and noticed her knees felt weak. “And for your information: I have been working as a Behavioural Expert for three years. Before that I was a detective and before that I started out on the street, just like you. And a little tip from ma’am: get your facts straight before you start drawing conclusions based on assumptions.”

She opened the door and bumped straight into Diego.

“The father has been found.”

“The boy has been identified?” Justus asked.

Diego nodded. “His name is Brian Huisman and he’s from Arnhem. Some officers have gone over to see his dad. Are you coming, Julia?”

From the corner of her eyes she could see Justus had sat back down again and was staring at his screen. What an unbelievable arsehole. Of course she could understand that it wasn’t easy when the case officer added someone to the investigation team without consultation, but this hostility was downright childish.”

“I’m coming, let me just go and grab my bag.”

The front garden of Brian Huisman’s dad was overgrown with long and thriving grass. The contrast with the neighbours’ gardens couldn’t be greater: they boasted flower troughs full of bright pink geraniums, large white stone ornaments and lanterns in all shapes and sizes. A mint green butterfly decorated the wall next to the large living room window, from which two pairs of eyes were following her every move. These were clearly people who were often at home and kept a very careful eye on all the goings on. She made a mental note to go and talk to the neighbours as soon as possible, as they would undoubtedly have a few stories to tell about the boy next door.

Gert Huisman was on his own. Two family liaison officers were sat on either side of him when Julia and Diego entered the small living room. There was a stuffy feel about the place, like the windows had rarely ever been opened.

Julia caught the eye of the young family liaison officer, who was rubbing the crying man’s back. She remained where she was for a moment and took in the scene before her. Right now she was merely an observer, but soon she would be sucked into this man’s utterly devastated world.

She found it hard to estimate the man’s age. He had deep grooves and acne scars on his face, which undoubtedly made him look older than he actually was. Photographs were on display on the nicotine-stained walls. Family portraits. Brian, his dad and a blonde woman. There was a large photograph of the same woman on a table by the television, with a burning candle and a framed prayer card. A dark wooden cabinet pretty much took up one whole wall of the living room. The furniture reminded her of her grandma’s house. The Huisman family didn’t appear to have done anything about the interior of the house for many years, even the crocheted table cloths had gone yellow. It was messy, yet someone had still done their best to make it look cosy. There were some grubby-looking cushions on the leather sofa, figurines on the windowsill and a fruit bowl with apples on the dining table.

Diego sat down on an armchair which seemed to steam out cigarette smoke. Julia suppressed the urge to open a window.

“I’m so sorry about what happened to your son, Mr Huisman,” Diego started.

The man didn’t react, just continued sobbing uncontrollably.

“We wanted to ask you a few questions, in order to make sure we can catch whoever did this as quickly as possible.”

The man looked at Diego with watery eyes. “He is dead. My child is dead. ” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.

Julia really felt for the dad. What on earth would it be like to lose your child, your most valued possession? It was her own biggest fear. And every time she thought about it she felt an overwhelming feeling of deep instinctive panic. This man wouldn’t be able to tell them anything today, he was simply overwhelmed with grief.

“Could I take a look in Brian’s room, please?”

Gert Huisman nodded. “Top of the stairs on the left.”

She walked back to the hallway and went upstairs, looking at the photographs on the staircase wall. Family pictures. Some of them a little out of focus, but always depicting the same three people. She ended up on a small landing, which offered a view into the bathroom. There was a small pile of washing in the corner, the bathroom cabinet brimming with shampoo bottles, shaving products and other bits and bobs. It was an utter mess, clearly an all-male household with little time left over for tidying and cleaning.

The room smelt stale. A typical teenager’s room: the bed wasn’t made and the bedding hadn’t been changed for quite some time. There was a desk in the corner of the room, completely covered in school books, pens, empty cans of red bull and a plate with a few crumbs and a chocolate bar wrapper. She carefully stepped over the clothing which lay strewn across the worn carpet and looked at what was on the desk. It was homework. She looked at the dusty shelves and found a number of small, apparently meaningless objects. A stone, a small padlock, an empty box.

There was a cabinet with a flat screen television on top opposite the bed. She opened the cabinet doors. Various gaming consoles, one of which still in its packaging and a huge collection of games. She found a MacBook in another section. She let her hand glide across the silver-coloured top, it looked new. She found a bag with designer clothes, with the tags still attached, in a drawer on the other side.