From Bruges with Love by Pieter Aspe Read Free Book Online

prestigious realization,” he continued with renewed vigor. “The farm offers a home to twenty single people and ten families. The entire project is self-financing. We produce our own food and cover the rest of our needs by selling fruit and vegetables.”
    â€œSo you sold the Vermast place to finance the new project,” said Van In guardedly. He stubbed out the half-smoked cigar. This was the biggest pile of crap he’d heard in a long time. Benedict seemed to read his mind.
    â€œWhen the big service clubs brag about their charitable achievements, Joe Public thinks it’s fantastic. They organize a tasteless banquet a couple of times a year, have their members pay a fortune to attend, and hand over ten percent of the takings to one or another good cause. The press loves it. But Helping Our Own doesn’t need publicity. Our funds are used directly to help the poor improve their lives, to give them a better future.”
    â€œA very noble goal,” said Van In dryly. The puffed-up rhetoric­ of this Samaritan from West Flanders was beginning to get on his nerves. “I’ll be sure to visit Care House when the investigation is over, but in the meantime, I have to be moving. I have a busy afternoon ahead.”
    Vervoort walked Van In to the door. They shook hands.
    â€œBy the way, Mr. Vervoort, Vermast’s farm had a gate with a remote control. Did the charity install it?”
    â€œIt was already there, Commissioner. The former owner probably knows more about it.”
    â€œOf course,” said Van In. “And do you happen to have the name of the former owner?”
    â€œIs that important?”
    â€œIn a murder investigation, everything is important, Mr. Vervoort.”
    The realtor may have felt cornered at that moment, but he didn’t let it show.
    â€œI’m afraid my hands are tied, Commissioner. The farm was made available to us by a benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous.”
    In polite conversation, such a response would have been enough to prevent further inquiry, but Van In didn’t consider it polite conversation, not in the least. “Listen very carefully, Mr. Vervoort. As a realtor, you know as well as I do that such transactions are always registered. For me it’s only a question of time before I identify your anonymous benefactor. The choice is yours.”
    Vervoort swallowed his indignation and switched back to the good little boy approach. He had made a mistake, and he had to correct it.
    â€œMy apologies, Commissioner. I didn’t realize such information might be important to the investigation. I hope you understand our need for discretion when it comes to our financial backers. The majority prefer to remain anonymous. That’s why I—”
    â€œThe name please, Mr. Vervoort.”
    â€œAre you familiar with Lodewijk Vandaele?”
    Van In nodded. Lodewijk Vandaele owned one of the largest contractor companies in West Flanders.
    â€œSo we’re talking about Lodewijk Vandaele,” said Van In.
    â€œIndeed, Commissioner. But I beg you to use this information only if it’s absolutely necessary for the investigation. Mr. Vandaele detests publicity, and Helping Our Own is deep in his debt.”
    â€œI’ll do my best,” said Van In. He glanced at his watch. “But now I really have to go. Good-bye, Mr. Vervoort.”
    Van In made his way to the parking lot. His VW Golf was alone as he had left it. Only then did Van In realize that Vervoort’s multifunctional real estate agency had been client-free throughout his visit.
    Linda Aerts was snoring, flat out on a narrow single bed, an empty bottle of Elixir d’Anvers on the nightstand, and a Marlboro still smoldering in the ashtray beside it. A two-inch ash clung to the filter like grim death. The room stank of sour sweat, cheap deodorant, and dirty laundry, and the chaos was enough to turn the average teenager green with jealousy.