Chantal van Mierlo - Julia Menken

She opened Brian’s wardrobe, took out a well-worn jumper and pressed it against her nose. A jumper which was never going to be worn by Brian again. The rough material vaguely smelt of detergent, mixed with cigarette smoke.

She worked her way down the steep staircase again and saw Diego walk out of the living room towards the front door.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

She nodded and followed him outside. He lit a cigarette and she gratefully accepted one too.

“That man is completely broken. He’s not going to be of any use to us right now.”

“What do we know about this family?” She inhaled the smoke deeply.

“The mother is dead, she committed suicide four years ago. Brian’s dad was his sole carer. He works nightshifts in a factory for oil filters and has an extra job as a taxi driver a few times a week.”

“So Brian was often on his own.”

“Yes, but not through choice. I get the feeling his dad was doing everything he could to keep his head above water. He did a shift in his taxi yesterday and then went straight to the factory afterwards.”

“So his son was already dead before he had even started his shift.”

Diego nodded.

“How did you manage to find out who he was in the end?”

“Brian was a student at the VMBO in Elst. His principal recognised him.”

“Why wasn’t he attending one of the Arnhem schools?”

Diego shrugged. “That’s something we still need to find out.”

“And why didn’t the school notify his dad of his absence this morning?”

“I’m not sure yet. Perhaps they couldn’t reach his dad. We’ll have to go over and see them.”

“Do we know anything about Brian’s social circle? Did he have a lot of friends?”

“He seemed to be a bit of a loner.”

“Was he being bullied?” Julia asked.

“From the information I have received, it seems like it was more by choice.”

“How odd. Most thirteen year olds who are on their own would not have particularly opted for this out of their own free will.”

“Fourteen.”

“Whatever. Teenagers want to form part of a group. There’s often more to it.”

Diego looked at her inquisitively. She grabbed her mobile out of her handbag and called Rich. Perhaps he could help complete the image she had of Brian. There was something about that boy. Why had he become a victim of this horrendous murder, what had he been doing in that neighbourhood? She left a message on Rich’s voicemail and opened the door of Diego’s car.

*

She tried to complete the image she had of Brian once she was back at the station, but too many of the puzzle pieces were still missing. How had he managed to get his hands on those expensive things? Did his dad have that extra taxi job purely to finance his son’s luxury products? To make up for the fact he was on his own so much of the time, or to soften the loss of his mother?

She could hear footsteps coming down the corridor. Maarten Brouwer walked into her office without bothering to knock. Except for his hair, which had been cut short, he had barely changed since the last time she had seen him.

Five years and three months ago.

Even though his character absolutely wasn’t her type, she had to admit he looked good. He was tall, broad and had a natural superiority about him because of that dark look of his.

“How are you?” he asked.

He looked a bit lost for a moment, but then decided to pull up a chair and sat down next to her at her desk. She could just about smell his aftershave, it smelt of water, fresh. The grooves in his face gave away his tiredness, as did the dull look in his eyes. She had looked up to him once. She turned away from him. That was a long time ago.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m working with classification models. Sort of like a flowchart for criminal characters. The problem is, we don’t have a great deal of input yet.”

“So what can you tell me about the perpetrator?”

“Male, between 30 and 50 years old. The whole thing was premeditated. A sadistic motive. We can’t exclude the fact that he may have known the victim.” She rattled off what she had been able to conclude up to this point, using the modus operandi and the crime scene. “He’ll try again if we don’t stop him. This guy knew how to use a knife.”

“So you don’t think this was the first time he has done something like this?”

She moved her chair a little further away from him. “Unless we’re dealing with a doctor or a butcher, or something like that.”

“So a high risk of repetition,” Maarten mumbled. “A serial killer?”

“What we know so far could point to that, yes. Serial killers are generally well organised and leave behind very little evidence. The removed body parts are another indication. But a killer isn’t a serial killer until we can link other cases to him.”

“And what exactly are you doing about sketching the perpetrator’s profile? Apart from filling in your flowchart?”

“I’m looking for similar cases which have been solved, in order to hopefully acquire an accurate picture of the perpetrator group. To what extent were the perpetrators the same, what are the specific characteristics? I haven’t quite got as far as I would like.”

“So you don’t have a great deal just yet?”

“I’ve been working on this case since yesterday. I know as much as the rest of the investigation team. It can go in any direction. The most important thing is for us to collect more information. About the victim, for example. Or witnesses.”

“I have to admit, I had expected a little more.”

“Well, I can only work with the information I have at my disposal. I’m not a fucking magician, you know.”

“Alright, alright, no need to start shouting. What does your gut instinct tell you?”

“I don’t work with feelings. That would be unprofessional. I support my findings with statistics and psychological principles. Not feelings or gut instincts.”

Maarten held his hands up in defence. “What happened to that paedo-ring theory?”

“That was the team’s theory, not mine.”

“We shouldn’t exclude anything at this stage.”

“Of course.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Hopefully he’d just go away now, so she could finally get on with her work.

“And how are you doing?”

“Me? Completely irrelevant. I’m working on this case. I don’t have a choice and you know it.

There was literally nothing left to say. Fortunately Maarten finally realised this too and left her on her own. He turned around once he got to the door. “Perhaps it’s time for you to go home, it’s gone ten.”

She stood in the dark living room, not quite sure what to do. She didn’t like to admit it, but Maarten had been right. She had closed her laptop soon after his departure and had driven home. But everything was quiet here and that actually had an adverse effect on her. Her head felt like it was a beehive full of buzzing bees. She really should be going to bed, she desperately needed a couple of hours’ sleep so her brain could enjoy a well-earnt rest. But the feeling that the killer was still out there and was being given ample opportunity to plan his next kill was pulling at her heartstrings. She wouldn’t sleep a wink without a little pill.

Her mobile started vibrating on the kitchen’s granite worktop.

“Rich?”

“Hi, love. I only just picked up your voicemail message, sorry, I’ve been busy all night.” The pathologist’s deep voice resulted in a sense of calm washing over her. She imagined him sitting behind his desk, feet on the table and fingers playing with the dreadlocks which were always neatly hidden underneath his protective head cover during the day.