Isa never had anything to do with the local police, or any police for that matter,
before. Her conception of police work came from the numerous detective novels in
her bookcase. So it was with surprise and soon with frustration that she realised that
reality differed very much from fiction.
First of all, it took ages for the local coppers to arrive. And when they did finally arrive, looking initially very bored but soon rather excited, it took them over an hour to get round to interviewing the women and Dirk, who stood there freezing in the brisk wind and shocked.
Suzan looked terrible. Finding a dead man was not her idea of spending a cosy Christmas afternoon, and she hated losing control. Bobby clung to Isa’s arm and was silent throughout. Dirk had retreated a little, his body language making clear that he wanted to be elsewhere. He answered the questions, when they were put to him at last, with short answers. Isa felt miserable, and vaguely responsible.
When their stories had been repeated at least five times, and their addresses were written down, and their mobile phone numbers as well, and they had been a witness to three new police vans arriving all together, they were sent on their way with the warning not to speak to anyone and to stay at home until they were visited by yet another police van with two policemen.
When it appeared they had to walk back along the dyke to the Twingo, one of the latest arrivals took pity on them and gave them a lift back to the car park, cheerfully telling them on the way that this was his first corpse.
Isa dropped Dirk off at his bicycle. She had given him her phone number in the police van, and had noted his number and address in her mobile.
“Take care, and let me know how you are? Phone me this evening?” she urged him. He nodded and mumbled something she didn’t catch.
Then the three women drove back to Nieuwenhoorn in silence.
Bobby made a pot of coffee and Isa put the bottle of Cognac next to it on the low table. Suzan, for once, didn’t comment.
“Christ,” Bobby swept back her long hair and put it up into a messy knot at the back of her head.
“Christ!” she repeated.
Suzan shivered. “I can’t get the image of that hand out of my head, it is right there in front of me all the time. I’m very glad that I didn’t see more.”
“I’m very glad I didn’t see it at all,” Isa sighed. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, honey.”
“Who could it be? I mean...I..It could be someone we know, couldn’t it? Theoretically? No, I think, really? Do we know any missing guys?” asked Bobby of no one in particular.
Her sister looked at her with a frown. “Seriously?”
“No, of course not. I think not,” sighed Isa.
She somehow couldn’t seem to stop sighing. Suddenly she felt exhausted. What an awful afternoon!
“Girls, do you mind if I have a lie-down, just for half an hour? I am knackered. Wake me up if the police come calling. And wake me up anyway after an hour, if I’m not down already, okay?”
Her daughters didn’t mind, in fact they both curled up next to the heater as well. So Isa slowly dragged herself upstairs, and hid herself under her duvet. Images of Suzan crumpling to the wet grass, of Dirk’s white shocked face, of the revolving blue lights
First of all, it took ages for the local coppers to arrive. And when they did finally arrive, looking initially very bored but soon rather excited, it took them over an hour to get round to interviewing the women and Dirk, who stood there freezing in the brisk wind and shocked.
Suzan looked terrible. Finding a dead man was not her idea of spending a cosy Christmas afternoon, and she hated losing control. Bobby clung to Isa’s arm and was silent throughout. Dirk had retreated a little, his body language making clear that he wanted to be elsewhere. He answered the questions, when they were put to him at last, with short answers. Isa felt miserable, and vaguely responsible.
When their stories had been repeated at least five times, and their addresses were written down, and their mobile phone numbers as well, and they had been a witness to three new police vans arriving all together, they were sent on their way with the warning not to speak to anyone and to stay at home until they were visited by yet another police van with two policemen.
When it appeared they had to walk back along the dyke to the Twingo, one of the latest arrivals took pity on them and gave them a lift back to the car park, cheerfully telling them on the way that this was his first corpse.
Isa dropped Dirk off at his bicycle. She had given him her phone number in the police van, and had noted his number and address in her mobile.
“Take care, and let me know how you are? Phone me this evening?” she urged him. He nodded and mumbled something she didn’t catch.
Then the three women drove back to Nieuwenhoorn in silence.
Bobby made a pot of coffee and Isa put the bottle of Cognac next to it on the low table. Suzan, for once, didn’t comment.
“Christ,” Bobby swept back her long hair and put it up into a messy knot at the back of her head.
“Christ!” she repeated.
Suzan shivered. “I can’t get the image of that hand out of my head, it is right there in front of me all the time. I’m very glad that I didn’t see more.”
“I’m very glad I didn’t see it at all,” Isa sighed. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, honey.”
“Who could it be? I mean...I..It could be someone we know, couldn’t it? Theoretically? No, I think, really? Do we know any missing guys?” asked Bobby of no one in particular.
Her sister looked at her with a frown. “Seriously?”
“No, of course not. I think not,” sighed Isa.
She somehow couldn’t seem to stop sighing. Suddenly she felt exhausted. What an awful afternoon!
“Girls, do you mind if I have a lie-down, just for half an hour? I am knackered. Wake me up if the police come calling. And wake me up anyway after an hour, if I’m not down already, okay?”
Her daughters didn’t mind, in fact they both curled up next to the heater as well. So Isa slowly dragged herself upstairs, and hid herself under her duvet. Images of Suzan crumpling to the wet grass, of Dirk’s white shocked face, of the revolving blue lights
on the police vans, and of the bright blue garbage bag on the breakwater kept twirling
in front of her mind’s eye.
What a mess!
© Renée Koopman
What a mess!
© Renée Koopman
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