Cruise: A Thriller Read online

  There was an instant click when they met. Both men were easy to get along with and dressed casually: shirt, jeans, and leather shoes. Secretly, she was quite relieved about that. The first stop was a non-gay terrace close to the casino.

  “We’ll start on neutral ground,” Christian said in English. “You can tell us your story in peace.”

  It was no trouble at all for Heleen to be open with this couple. She felt very comfortable in their company. When she came to the part of the story about Frank’s double life, Etienne put his hand over his mouth in shock and rolled his eyes dramatically. Christian looked at him as to say What are you doing?

  Etienne answered his glare with: “Why do you always have to be such a macho? I think it’s an emotional story, so what?”

  Heleen had to bite down on her lip so as to not burst out laughing. In order to prevent the next exchange of words from taking place between them, which might cause her to want to laugh even harder, she quickly continued.

  “And now, here I am, this average housewife from Eindhoven on a terrace in beautiful Nice,” she said as she finished her story a little later.

  “With a gay couple,” Christian added dryly. “Well, I only know Vincent Gautier as Bernadette’s neighbor. He was an old queen I may have seen two or three times out here in bars. But I never exchanged a single word with him; we were far too different from each other.”

  Etienne nodded in agreement.

  “One of those typical dirty old men always on the prowl for younger men. If he couldn’t find them then he would let himself be taken care of by one of the young Moroccan guys down by the harbor for twenty euro. If you know what I mean.”

  The men apologized and continued their conversation in French for a quick moment. When they had reached an agreement, Christian explained in English what they were planning. They decided on a tour of the gay bars downtown. The majority of their extended group of friends and acquaintances would all be gathered in that relatively small area.

  Their modest mission began at La Favola, a very busy corner terrace bar on the Cours Saleya. When Heleen asked about that remarkable street name, Christian muttered something about the original language spoken in Nice. She did not ask any more questions, because during his response his eyes remained fixed on two men who were carrying on an intimate conversation not far away from them.

  “Marc with his new flame,” Etienne explained. The man he was talking about had a strong, handsome face and a slim build. He wore a thin, black leather jacket over a light-blue polo shirt. From her vantage point, Heleen determined that Marc definitely loved quality clothing.

  “Be right back,” Christian said curtly as he stood up.

  “He’s an acquaintance, not a friend,” Etienne explained. “Marc is a real bragger who is not really into long-term relationships.” A deep sigh followed. “Such a complicated and difficult guy.”

  Five minutes later, Christian returned. “Nothing useful or helpful,” he said, answering their questioning looks. “He knew who I meant, but that was about it. He made a reference to Le Chat Blanc, where he had seen him, and also a lot of blah-blah, about how well his own business is doing.”

  “What a creep,” Etienne added.

  “See? Sometimes we do agree with each other,” Christian said, grinning at Heleen.

  Le Chat Blanc was a bar just across from the La Favola. It was pleasantly busy there. The bartender had to work hard to provide the approximately fifty guests with drinks. This time they didn’t find a spot at one of the standing tables, but instead they strolled through the establishment slowly. From the warm reactions of the customers it was clear that Christian and Etienne came here more often.

  After a series of greetings where one of her “tour guides” invariably introduced her as their new friend from Holland, it seemed that they finally got somewhere. Instead of the standard pleasantries and personal updates that all meant nothing to her, they were suddenly engaged in a more meaningful and long conversation with a couple in their forties. Because the conversation suddenly switched from English to French, she could barely follow it. However, she could tell from Etienne’s reaction that this conversation had taken an interesting turn.

  “Well, that was pretty predictable,” Christian said, as they exited the bar.

  “Well,” Etienne muttered, “I’m glad we tried the normal way first. Not to start off by sticking labels on things, you know?”

  She looked at them, surprised. “Hello, what’s this about?”

  “La Vie is a place we normally avoid,” Christian said. “It is more a hookup place, in the literal sense of the word. Most of the patrons there are single.”

  “It has a rather seedy atmosphere,” Etienne added as they walked out. “Apparently that was right up Gautier’s alley, because, according to our friends, he practically lived there during the past few months. He also seemed to be spending buckets of money there, something that seems to coincide with your story. It would seem like he had more than enough to spend, right?”

  The atmosphere at La Vie was very different indeed from the bars where they had been earlier that night. There was a lot more sexual tension in the air. She could understand why her new friends avoided this place. The couples let their gaze fall on someone other than their partner’s once too often, clearly indicating that it was more than a simple superficial glance.

  Christian and Etienne spoke to a young man whom she estimated to be in his early twenties. He was more of a boy than a man. He wore tight corduroy pants and a fitted shirt with the top three buttons undone. He made a lot of exaggerated hand gestures, and he had made stroking and flipping his long hair into an art form.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the young man fishing his cell phone from his shirt pocket. Christian picked up his own phone, leaned slightly forward, looked at the screen of the other cellphone and checked the information on his phone. Then he turned and walked toward the exit with Etienne. With a brief nod, he made it clear that she should follow them immediately.

  “Bingo,” Christian announced when they were outside. “The man we’re looking for is called Jorge Castellano; from his name, we can assume that he is Spanish. He lives close by and works in the travel industry. What he does exactly I do not know, but we will find out.”

  He tapped his fingernail on his cell phone’s screen. “I have his name and address stored on here.”

  Heleen responded enthusiastically to this news. She pulled him close and kissed him on the cheek spontaneously. She did the same to Etienne.

  “Okay, enough with the kissing,” Christian said. “We will take you to that address. Once we get there, our job is done. The rest is up to you.”

  Heleen knew she had no choice in the matter and accepted it. This couple had done more for her than she could ever have wished for or imagined.

  “Deal,” she replied. “I am very grateful for all the trouble you went through.”

  Etienne waved her praise away.

  “Don’t be silly, girl. It was a piece of cake.”

  As they walked across the square adjacent to the Palace of Justice, Etienne suddenly looked at his partner closely. He had a very irritated expression on his face.

  He dropped his voice an octave lower and imitated Christian, “Once we get there, our job is done. The rest is up to you. What kind of nonsense is that? Like we are hired bodyguards finishing an assignment? Pff. We are going keep an eye on things from a distance. If Heleen gets into any trouble, we will help her. At least, I will help her. If you have other plans, well, feel free to …”

  Christian grunted something that sounded somewhat approvingly.

  Until the moment the outlines of the park came into sight, not a word was spoken. Heleen suddenly realized that since they had started their bar tour, she had not given any thought to what would happen once she actually found this Jorge. She had experienced the whole evening in a daze, happy that she was doing something about the situation, impressed by the world in which she had landed. But no
w it occurred to her that they were actually on their way to the man who had visited Vincent regularly and who also worked in the travel industry …

  The name Jorge Castellano meant nothing to her. She couldn’t even really remember people’s faces from the cruise. Anyway, she was going to see him now. With so many questions to ask him, she hoped she wouldn’t become upset. She had to come across as calm and confident.

  “That’s not a good idea,” Etienne said, interrupting her thoughts. “Let’s cross at the fountain on Boulevard Jean Jaurès.”

  “No, this is faster. If we cross directly through the park here, we’ll be there within ten minutes.”

  Etienne continued to protest. “Why should we take the risk? You know what happened there last week? The park is well lit from the fountain to Avenue de Verdun. Your route may save us all of five minutes. Should we go looking for trouble to save a few minutes?”

  But Christian remained adamant. He grabbed Heleen loosely by the shoulder, waited for a break in the traffic, and crossed the street very quickly. Etienne followed them with visible reluctance. They took the sidewalk directly into the park.

  An uncomfortable feeling came over her after the first few steps into the park. There was no proper lighting in this part of the park. From the corner of her eye she had seen that there was a clearly lit path at the fountain, making its way through the park, while here they couldn’t really see more than a few feet ahead. They walked on grass; it was covered with dry twigs that snapped loudly under their feet. This shrill sound made the ominous surroundings feel even more threatening.

  “You see?” Christian said. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He pointed to a brightly lit area a few hundred feet away. “That’s Avenue Félix Faure. Once we get to that we will be there in no time.”

  Etienne laughed spitefully. “This is a bad idea …” A sharp snap cut off his sentence. The man causing the sound came from behind a tree. He was no more than ten meters away from them, and only the outline of his body was visible. Suddenly more twigs snapped. Next to the man two more people appeared. Heleen was really scared now.

  The three men came right at them with very determined walks. One of them made a comment that elicited a type of animal growl from his mates. They stood tall and confident right in front of them.

  Now that the distance between them was about two meters, Heleen could see their attackers. Their shaved heads and leather jackets left nothing to the imagination. In their fists they all clutched lead pipes and their eyes sparkled with hatred that seemed to grow by the second, all seeming very unnatural. It was clear that the men were pumped up on drugs.

  Christian carefully stepped forward. With both hands, he made a soothing gesture. He spoke in a dialect that Heleen did not understand at all. The situation escalated when the middle man suddenly lashed out. The lead pipe hit Christian hard on his left shoulder. With a face contorted in pain, he fell to his knees. The three men laughed loudly.

  Etienne pushed Heleen behind him and stepped forward. Before Christian’s attacker could defend himself, Etienne had already hit him directly in his stomach. The man doubled over in pain and began gagging. Etienne kept moving. He turned his upper body a quarter turn and leaned forward slightly. Incredibly fast, he lifted his leg and kicked the middle man straight in the face with the outside of his foot.

  The last gay basher standing grinned maliciously. With a look of insanity in his eyes, he attacked Etienne. Just before their bodies met, Etienne stepped forward, grabbed the skinhead’s arm, and tossed him with a hip throw.

  The man was airborne for a moment and landed on the ground hard. Groaning, he tried to get up. Etienne bridged the distance with a catlike leap. When he landed right next to his opponent, he hit him in the head very hard.

  Quickly, Etienne ran over to Christian, who had, in the meantime, stood up with great difficulty and was clearly in a lot of pain. His face looked almost gray in the moonlight.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just fine,” Christian hissed between his gritted teeth. “I’ll be back at the gym tomorrow, no problem.”

  Etienne supported him. “Don’t try to be a tough guy now.”

  Heleen was still transfixed. The unexpected actions of the funny, caring, and sympathetic Etienne had left her completely astonished.

  “He came in fourth for karate,” Christian said. “Former French champion.”

  “Not important,” Etienne said. “Your shoulder is what is important, and it does not look good.”

  Christian made an attempt at dismissing him. But because of the pain it didn’t go well. “I never knew you were also a doctor.”

  Etienne rolled his eyes, but kept his mouth shut. With only the quiet moans coming from Christian, they walked quietly toward the light.

  “He needs to go to the hospital,” Etienne said when they got to Avenue Félix Faure. Apparently the pain was becoming more intense, because Christian did not protest this time. He brought his uninjured arm to his breast pocket and grabbed his phone. He pressed some buttons and held the lit display up to Heleen’s face.

  “This is Castellano’s address. Take it just to be sure.”

  Heleen grabbed her cell phone from her purse.

  “You cross the street here and follow that street there,” Christian murmured. While she copied down the address, Heleen could sort of see what street he meant.

  “You follow it to Rue Pastorelli. To the left of it, you will see the synagogue, an easy landmark. So you leave that behind you and to your left and you walk to Boulevard Dubouchage. You will cross this road. Then it will be on the right-hand side.”

  Heleen repeated his instructions and kept repeating them until a taxi finally responded to their waves. Etienne wanted to help his partner get in, but Christian refused. Clearly in a great deal of pain, he let himself drop down into the backseat.

  “Watch out with that Castellano,” he whispered to Heleen, who was leaning against the open door.

  “He is a known drug user. Our friend referred to him as a real cokehead. He’s a very unpredictable person who easily goes overboard with his drug use and can also behave aggressively.”

  It was good to know, though it made the prospect of meeting this man even more unpleasant. She opened her mouth to thank the two of them, but Christian interrupted her.

  “There’s something else you should know, Heleen,” he said with great difficulty. “I would never have left you alone with this guy. Sorry, I was just being a jerk. But as you now know, I’m not the real tough guy in this family.” He nodded briefly toward Etienne, who had taken a seat next to the taxi driver. “He is.”

  Etienne ignored his statement. He looked at Heleen almost pleadingly.

  “Please, just come with us now. You can stay with us for a few days, and when Christian is a bit better we can all go see this guy together. That would be much safer.”

  Heleen shook her head slowly.

  “You guys are both sweethearts, but I have to keep going. No more delays this time.” She closed the door and stepped back. “Thanks so much for everything. I will never forget it.”

  The taxi took off. “Keep us informed, and please take care of yourself!” Etienne shouted through the half-open window. Whatever he said next was absorbed by the city traffic before it reached Heleen. She looked at the taxi as it drove off. After the taillights disappeared into the heavy traffic, she crossed the street, filled with a combination of fear, curiosity, and a growing self-confidence.

  22

  With Christian’s directions, she had found the address relatively easily. The house was just outside the busy city center and reflected an atmosphere of former glory. The spacious buildings looked a lot like the tall town houses along the Amsterdam canals. The big difference, however, was the state these houses were in. There were cracks in the walls, the wooden window frames were rotting, and the paint was peeling from the shutters. The meager and somewhat spooky street lighting reinforced the picture of decay.

  The
property consisted of three floors. Jorge Castellano lived on the ground floor. Heleen saw that light penetrated through the cracks in the closed shutters. So Castellano was probably home. She was lucky. On her way there she had gone through numerous scenarios in her mind. The most likely one might be that she would be left standing before a closed door. But she had to continue to believe. Castellano was her only source of information.

  She took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. The electric sound buzzed through the apartment. No response. She waited thirty seconds and rang it again. Just when she wanted to push the button again, a hollow voice rang out through the intercom.

  “Oui?”

  Heleen cleared her throat. She had told herself repeatedly that her first impression had to be decisive. There was no room for stumbling; she had to articulate clearly.

  “Good evening, Mr. Castellano,” she said in English. “Sorry to bother you so late. My name is Heleen van Rijnsburg; I am Frank Eldering’s wife, the man who disappeared last year during a cruise on the ship Columbus. I would really like to talk to you about this.”

  In the silence that fell, she could hear Castellano think.

  “I have no need or desire to talk about that, ma’am. Good-bye.”

  “Wait,” Heleen replied sharply. “I came all the way from Holland to talk to you. I am aware of the relationship that my husband had with the now-deceased Vincent Gautier. I also know that a high insurance premium was paid out and that Gautier was among your acquaintances. The only thing I want is to find answers to the questions that are bothering me. Then I will just go back home, and you’ll never see me again.”

  Hopefully she had been convincing enough, and he would realize she wasn’t going down easy.

  “I cannot help you, ma’am. I would like you to leave now; good night!”