Black Ice (22 page)

Scholten started the car and drove slowly on. The first house he passed had a notice in the window:
Bed and Breakfast – Room Vacant
. An old woman stood in the front garden, bent over, pulling up a weed from the flowerbeds now and then.

Scholten took the room. It cost twenty-five gulden with breakfast, and she wouldn't charge any extra for milk for the cat, said the old lady.

As he undressed and hung his trousers over the chair under the sloping ceiling, he suddenly felt hot. He stopped. The strips of wood. And the insulating tape.

Wallmann had been able to burn the stuff on the
Friday evening. He hadn't. He'd had to put it off because Hilde didn't want him to light the fire. He'd meant to do it this evening, as soon as he got back and before calling the local policeman.

He stood there for a while in shirt and underpants. He was finding it difficult to think; drowsiness kept overcoming him, filling his brain with warmth. After a few moments he dismissed the idea. Nonsense.

They wouldn't search the house and the garage while there was no one there with a key. Grandmontagne would say Scholten had gone off to Holland, angry over the way his old lady nagged him. And Wallmann was in the Bahamas.

And even if they did, who was to say they'd notice anything odd about the strips of wood and the insulating tape? Well, yes, the nails were still in the strips of wood, he hadn't had a chance to knock them out again. But who'd ever notice that? Who would think up an idea like that?

He laughed. Who but Jupp Scholten would think up an idea like that? He unbuttoned his shirt.

And anyway, who was to say the body had already been found? Erika hadn't been found until the Sunday evening. And they'd been actively looking for her.

Scholten got between the sheets. The cat jumped up on the end of the bed, turned round a few times and then settled down.

He lay on his back, looking out of the window. The sky was blue. The curtain swayed in the wind now and then. After a while Scholten closed his eyes. He dreamed of Anna Pattenier. The real world in which he lived sank away. The world he wanted to live in welcomed him. It embraced him, it wrapped its arms and legs around him, it made a warm bed for him.

24

When he woke up twilight was falling. Scholten jumped up, got dressed, put the cat in the basket and drove into the village. One of the large general stores was open. He bought a shaver, shaving cream, eau de cologne, soap, a comb, a toothbrush and toothpaste. He even found a shirt his size and chose a tie to go with it. The shirt was dark brown with a thin yellow stripe. He'd never had one like it.

He drove back to the old woman's house and showered, washed his old shirt and hung it up. At seven-thirty he was back in the café on the beach promenade.

Anna Pattenier had her hands full with a coach-load of English tourists, women and a few men, evidently good business. Anna Pattenier spoke English to them, a language Scholten didn't understand.

He tried to get to know her better, and she was friendly to both him and the cat, but it was no use. She was very busy. A crowd of Dutch came in at nine-thirty too, and Anna Pattenier was on her feet all the time. At some point, when she brought him a fresh beer and another genever, she groaned and said she'd be falling into bed dead tired after this, what a day, no one had expected so many guests, and she had to be out here early tomorrow too.

By eleven Scholten was drunk. He paid, she asked if he'd be back tomorrow when she hoped she'd have more time. He said yes, he certainly would, picked up
the basket and walked out of the door, holding himself very upright.

He missed the second step down from the veranda, stumbled, tried to save himself as he did so, slid over the pavement, landed in the road on one knee and one hand. The basket bounced on the road surface, the cat hissed.

Scholten said: “Hush, hush, little Manny, these things happen, don't be so touchy!” He got up, looked back to see if anyone had noticed his mishap.

The glass of the veranda was all steamed up. He dusted down his trousers, looked at his hand, which was slightly grazed.

He felt his way along the garden fence for the last few feet of his walk back to the house, breathing heavily. He peed against the fence, holding his penis with one hand.

After several unsuccessful attempts, he found the keyhole. He crawled up the steep stairs to his room flat on his front, so as not to run any risks, holding the basket up in the air with one hand. He just managed to hang his new shirt on one of the coat hangers and put his trousers over the chair. Then he fell heavily into bed.

After breakfast on Sunday morning he went to church. There was no Catholic service, so Scholten went to the Gereformeerde Kerk. The bare church and the plain liturgy left him cold for a long time; he looked around for Anna Pattenier, didn't see her, let his thoughts wander, sank back into the dream of his afternoon sleep the day before.

But at some point during one of the solemn, hoarsely sung hymns it caught up with him after all. Tears came into his eyes, he bowed his head, his shoulders shook. What he had done descended on him like
a huge heavy weight, threatening to press him into the ground. He felt it at his throat, on his chest, on his back.

His lips moved, he spoke silently in despair and remorse. “Hilde, Hilde, forgive me, what have I done, dear God, forgive me, I must have been mad, I didn't know what I was doing.” Fear shook him, hot and cold shivers ran down his back. Tears fell on his clasped hands.

He saw Hilde before him, fallen from the steps, grazed all over. Head injuries, yes, and some broken bones, and then lying in the water of the lake for almost two days. He put both hands over his face. Pity tormented him, compunction, remorse, yes, and a deep sense of horror. “What have I done?”

He did not calm down again until the end of the service. Composed now, he said several Our Fathers and Hail Marys, dedicating them to Hilde. Only when the congregation was leaving the church did he conclude his prayer. He prayed: “Dear God, don't forsake me. Save me. And give her poor soul eternal peace. Amen. And save me. Amen.”

Walking slowly, head bent, he went back. He fetched the cat from his room, put it on its leash and walked up and down outside the house with it. After the cat had done its business he took it upstairs again. He wanted to be alone now, all alone.

He climbed up the dune and was going to climb down to the beach but hesitated. He looked round. Then he went back to the house. “The poor animal can't help it.” He fetched the cat and took it for a walk along the beach and through the dunes.

At twelve-thirty he went into the café on the beach promenade with his basket. He had decided it would be better to have lunch before starting to drive back.

Anna Pattenier was not as busy as the evening before. She even sat down at Scholten's table with him for a moment. She did not get up until the landlady called to her from the kitchen. “Anneke!” He watched her walk away.

Later she came back and stood by him for a while. She folded her arms under her breasts and leaned against the side of the table, which pressed into her thigh.

Scholten cut a piece off his rump steak and said her job must be very stressful. She said yes, it was, but very interesting too with all the different guests, and it was all right today and probably wouldn't be so bad this evening, Sundays were never very busy. And tomorrow was her day off.

Scholten chewed, nodded, said: “Wonderful.” He swallowed and asked what she did on her day off. She said tomorrow morning she'd be going into Amsterdam, she wanted to do some shopping, but she hoped to be back by the afternoon, and then she'd lie in the bathtub, have a really good bubble bath, lots and lots of bubbles, she always did that on her day off, and then she'd spoil herself, she usually didn't even get dressed again after her bath, she just lounged around in her dressing gown, didn't go out of doors, and in the evening she read for a bit or watched television.

Scholten nodded, cut another piece off the steak and asked when she was going to Amsterdam in the morning. She said, well, unfortunately rather early, she had to get the nine o'clock bus at the latest or it was so crowded, and she didn't like that.

Scholten chewed, nodded. He piled lettuce on his fork. He was about to convey the fork to his mouth, then stopped and put it down.

Coming to a sudden decision, he dismissed all the
irksome, worrying, frightening ideas lying in wait behind him. He said if she liked he could give her a lift to Amsterdam in his car.

She said: “Oh.” And then she said oh, but she couldn't accept. Scholten said of course she could accept; he'd like to give her a lift. She asked if he had business in Amsterdam himself. He said not exactly, but that made no difference. He smiled. He said: “I'm a free man, after all. No one can tell me what to do, understand?”

She said she'd have to think it over, decide whether she could accept. He said there was nothing to think over, he was happy to do it, and if she liked he'd go shopping with her, or wait while she did her shopping, and then he could give her a lift back too.

She said no, no, he really mustn't. And what had she done to deserve it?

Scholten looked up from his plate. He smiled and said: “I like you.”

She laughed, turned her head half away, looked sideways at him. “Herr Scholten, I think you are a great Casanova!” she said in Dutch.

Scholten laughed, raised his glass and took a long draught of beer, looked at her over the rim of the glass.

She came back to his table a couple more times. They agreed that he would pick her up at the entrance to the side street where she lived at quarter past nine. He left the café at three, slightly drunk.

He went back to his room. Lay on the bed. He refused to think about all the things he must do to avert trouble and all possible complications. After ten minutes he fell asleep, relaxed.

He got up at six, took the cat for a long walk, went to the café for supper at seven-thirty. Anna Pattenier was busy, but that didn't trouble him. He watched her
walking up and down, paid her compliments when she came over to his table. She came over quite often.

She came even when his glass was still full.

When he felt ready for bed he paid and left. He took the cat for another little walk. There was a clear starry sky above the dunes, but in the west a few silvery wisps of mist rose over the sea.

In the dark room, the sinister thing made its way up to him again. Scholten tossed and turned, plumped up the pillow, mopped the sweat from his brow. After a while he leaned over to the end of the bed, picked up the cat and cuddled it. He fell asleep to the sound of its purring.

25

He got up in good time on Monday morning. After breakfast he took the cat out. Half an hour later he brought it back to the room. He put it down on the bed, turned back again. The cat was standing there looking at him, waving its tail. He whispered: “I'll be back soon, Manny, you can't come with me now, be a good boy, I'll be back soon, understand?” The cat mewed and jumped off the bed. He quickly closed the door.

He looked at his watch. Eight-thirty. He climbed downstairs and knocked at the living-room door. The old lady was sitting in an armchair doing crochet. He asked if he could make a phone call to Germany; he'd give her three gulden, it wouldn't take long. The old lady nodded. “Yes, yes,
goed
,
goed
.”

He dialled the firm's office number. He had to dial it three times before he got through. Rosa Thelen answered. He said: “Rosie? Hello, Rosie. I can't come in to work today.”

Rosa cried: “For heaven's sake, Herr Scholten, where are you? We've been so worried. We called your home, and no one answered, and then we called Herr Wallmann's weekend house, and no one answered there either. Where are you?”

“In Holland.”

“Where? Holland? What are you doing there?”

“It happened all of a sudden. Listen, Rosie, I can't talk very long, it's a bit difficult.” He cleared his
throat. “I'm not at all well. I was taken ill here yesterday.”

“For goodness' sake, what's the matter with you?”

“It's my heart and my circulation and so on. But I'm beginning to feel better. I think I'll be able to come home tomorrow, but I can't make it today. Tell Büttgenbach, would you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Right, Rosie, then . . .”

“Wait a moment, Herr Scholten, wait a moment! Tell me the address, so at least we know where you are.”

Scholten hesitated.

Rosa said: “Herr Scholten? Where are you?”

He said: “In Heemswijk.”

“What?”

“Heemswijk. Everyone here knows it. Not far from Amsterdam.”

“And your address?”

“I'm not sure of the address exactly.”

“Then at least tell me the phone number.”

Scholten broke out in a sweat.

Rosa said: “We must be able to get in touch and make sure you're all right.”

He read out the phone number.

Rosa said: “Right, I've got that.”

Scholten said: “I must ring off, Rosie. And the doctor said I wasn't to get up again today. I only got out of bed to phone you.”

“Well, you go right back to bed again. I'll tell Herr Büttgenbach at once.”

“See you, Rosie.”

“Herr Scholten! Just a moment. What about your wife? Is she at least all right so that she can look after you?”

“Yes, yes, everything's okay. See you, Rosie.”

“See you, Herr Scholten! Look after yourself!”

Scholten hung up. He mopped the sweat from his brow. The old woman was looking at him with interest.