The Darkroom of Damocles (31 page)

Not until the car pulled up at the entrance of the British army base in Oldenburg did Osewoudt get a chance to exchange a few words with the dentist, whom they had collected on the way.

‘I gather you were a close acquaintance of the Jagtman family,' said Osewoudt.

‘Yes, they were all patients of mine.'

‘And did any of them look like me?'

‘I should say so. That was why I phoned the police when I saw that picture of Dorbeck in the paper. But you must realise that it's five years since I last saw him. I don't keep a photo album of my patients.'

‘What exactly was his name?'

‘Egbert.'

‘Egbert. Did you see him at all after May 1940?'

‘That's a bit of a problem. The last time he came to see me was in August 1939. He was called up after that.'

‘Was he in the artillery?'

‘I wouldn't know for sure.'

‘How old was he?'

‘Twenty-three.'

‘What if he'd had a lot of work done on his teeth by another dentist, while he was in the army?'

‘Oh, the distinctive features of a person's dentition aren't affected, under normal circumstances. The chance of that happening is incredibly small.'

The dentist opened a small case he had been holding on his lap throughout the journey. Just then Selderhorst got in the car again, after having a word with the British commander. He started the engine. The British sentry waved them on. They drove very slowly down a track that was completely ploughed up by tanks, towards a low shed.

There were more British soldiers standing about, unarmed, with their flat helmets pushed back at a jaunty angle. They directed the car to a parking space among their own vehicles.

Selderhorst, the dentist, Spuybroek, and Osewoudt got out.

The dentist put down his case on the grass and opened it. He took out a large, buff-coloured card. It was a diagram of a full set of human teeth, several of them annotated, in two facing horseshoe shapes. On the left were listed the patient's particulars: surname, first name, date of birth, dental appointments, and so on. The dentist happened to be holding the card in his left hand, thus obscuring most of the list, but Osewoudt was able to catch a glimpse of the words Jagtman and Egbert, and a date: 3 December, 1916. There were three addresses, two of which were scored out.

The dentist pointed to the chart.

‘A diagram like this,' he said, ‘gives a complete record of everything that has been done to a person's teeth. It represents a unique combination. Rather like the combination which opens a safe. For example, here we have an inlay in the third molar in the bottom left, a filling on the inside of the second molar, an extracted eye tooth (necessitated in this case by a childhood accident – he was hit by a flying stone), three fillings in the third molar on the right, et cetera … No, no, the chances of this combination occurring in anyone else are negligible.'

A British lieutenant came up to them with a soldier in tow, who set down four pairs of rubber boots on the grass. The
lieutenant was already wearing rubber boots, as was the soldier.

‘Well now, gentleman,' said the lieutenant, ‘would you be so kind as to follow me? That's very kind, because I can't say this is going to be a pleasant undertaking. The storage of the exhumed bodies leaves much to be desired, not least due to their poor state of preservation. The mass grave was discovered purely by chance ten days ago. It's not far from our base, which has simplified transportation.'

He produced a key, put it in a padlock on the shed door, and said: ‘As far as we can tell, the majority are Belgian and Dutch servicemen.'

‘Were they in uniform, then?' Osewoudt asked.

‘Some were. The others had nothing on – another kind of uniform, so to speak.'

In a nearby field stood a diesel generator, blowing blue vapour into the misty air. There were cables running from the generator to various sheds, including this one.

The dentist put away Jagtman's dental chart and put on a pair of rubber gloves. From his case he took a long stainless steel spatula, almost as long as a crowbar, and a curious kind of clamp. The clamp consisted of two flat hooks, as big as spoons and with the convex sides turned outwards. The two hooks could be made to move apart by adjusting a screw. After casting an eye over each of these instruments, he put them all back in the case, which also contained a small mirror on a long handle and a pocket torch.

The door swung open and a sickly stench of decaying flesh mixed with formaldehyde wafted out. The officer turned a switch. Two inspection lamps suspended from the eaves flipped on. The dentist picked up his case.

There were so many bodies in the shed that there was hardly room to walk. Many of them were piled up on each other, so that only the faces of the top ones were visible.

‘Don't worry,' said the lieutenant, ‘we've marked the one we think fits the description.'

Looking left and right, he led the way for the others. Their rubber boots squelched in the black slime underfoot.

All the way at the back lay the marked body. There was a cross of red lead paint on the pale blue, distended belly. The eyelids were parted, but the sockets were empty. There was thin black stubble on the cheeks. The hair on the head was black, too.

‘Is this Dorbeck?' Selderhorst asked.

Osewoudt hesitated.

The dentist sank to his haunches, inserted his spatula between the closed jaws and prised them apart. In his other hand he held his torch.

‘I've seen enough!' he said, straightening up. ‘Not a tooth left in his mouth!'

It was mid-November, and many weeks since Osewoudt had last been called for questioning. One morning when Spuybroek came to inspect his cell, he raised the subject.

‘Couldn't you ask Selderhorst to give me another hearing?'

‘What for? What would be in it for you? Don't you think they've got enough files on you already?'

‘But there are still so many details that haven't been discussed!'

‘You're mad. It's sheer madness on your part to think that more discussions will help. Incriminating evidence is, oddly enough, rather like cork. Sink a ship with a cargo of cork and the cork will come up again, whatever you do.'

‘Still, I'd really like to speak to Selderhorst. Ask him when I can see him.'

At half past eleven that evening he was taken from his cell and conducted to Selderhorst's office.

Selderhorst's desk was stacked so high with files that he could barely see over the top, which was probably why he leaped to his feet when Osewoudt came in through the door.

‘You again! What do you want? I didn't send for you.'

‘That's exactly why I'm here!'

‘I have no intention of losing any sleep over you. Did you think I still don't know enough about you to have you sentenced to death three times over?'

‘No, in actual fact you know nothing about me! You never
brought up any of the facts that speak in my favour. The country's been liberated, and yet here I am, behind bars with a bunch of traitors, spies and black marketeers. Don't I have a right to be free? Did I not do my bit for the liberation? Did I not liquidate the monster Lagendaal?'

Selderhorst stamped his feet with rage.

‘Damn you! How dare you talk to me like that?'

He waved at the files.

‘There isn't a minute of your existence during the German occupation that is not documented in these files. For every time you scratched your arse I can produce ten sworn statements! What's the matter with you? Why did you come here? To tell me yet again that it was you who liquidated Lagendaal? Take a look in the mirror, you creep. Look in the mirror and then tell me you're the kind of man who would have had the guts to liquidate Lagendaal.'

He picked up the phone and shouted: ‘Bring me a mirror! Now! This minute!'

He slammed down the phone, took his chair from behind the desk and set it down back to front before Osewoudt. He sat astride the chair, resting his arms on the back. He was still wearing the same shabby grey suit, his eyes were red from lack of sleep, his cheeks were covered with grey and black stubble, but on his feet he wore a new pair of army boots, brown and lavishly studded with nails.

‘There is no proof whatsoever that you killed Lagendaal! All the records pertaining to his murder come from German sources. How can we trust them? Those same Germans who had you abducted from the hospital by their own people so you would lead them to the Resistance – how reliable can their version of who killed Lagendaal be? It's far more likely they did it themselves; maybe he was asking for too much money. Maybe it was the girl who did it, Annelies van Doormaal, the
poor girl the Germans arrested with one of your photos on her! What the Germans have to say about Lagendaal's murder is of not the slightest interest to us.'

‘What about Lagendaal's young son?'

‘The Lagendaal boy said you took him to Amsterdam by train, along with Annelies van Doormaal. She was arrested on the way, and you abandoned the boy on some pavement, on Rokin it was, I believe. And besides, even if it's true that you killed Lagendaal, how is that going to back up your Dorbeck story?'

‘Lots of people knew Dorbeck. They can't all be dead, and even if they are, they must have mentioned him to other people before they died.'

‘Who would those people be?'

‘For instance the people I did the job in Haarlem with, at Kleine Houtstraat 32.'

‘Aha! Aha! At last!'

Selderhorst jumped up from his chair; the chair teetered.

‘At last Mr Osewoudt here has decided to be more forthcoming! Kleine Houtstraat, number 32! Let's hear what he has to say for himself.'

‘It was one of the first jobs I did for Dorbeck. He'd called at the shop a few days earlier. I asked the policeman who was there when we dug up the uniform, remember, and he said he'd seen him.'

‘He saw that the light was on in the shop, that's all.'

‘He saw someone leaving the shop. Dorbeck had been to see me; he'd given me a pistol. A while before that, he'd sent me a couple of Leica films to develop. Which I did, but there was nothing on them.'

‘Really? Nothing? Are you sure? How could you tell in your darkroom?

‘I didn't have a darkroom.'

‘You didn't have a darkroom? Go on, tell me more.'

‘There was nothing on those Leica films. Dorbeck came to see me and told me the films had been planted on him and his friends by the Germans, by German provocateurs. He had decided to liquidate them. So he had made an appointment with them in Haarlem, at Kleine Houtstraat 32. He wanted me to help. So I did. There were three of us: Dorbeck, Zéwüster and me. Dorbeck stayed outside, on the lookout. Zéwüster and I went inside. We were received in a back room by three people. We shot them immediately.'

‘Exactly,' said Selderhorst, taking out a file. ‘Do you know the names of the victims?'

‘No, we didn't bother with introductions.'

Selderhorst opened the file and flicked through it.

‘Well, as it happens, I do have their names. They were Olifiers, Stoffels and Knijtijzen. Ringing any bells?'

‘Why would those names mean anything to me?'

‘They don't? Then I'll explain. Olifiers was on the level, Stoffels and Knijtijzen were working for the Gestapo. Olifiers didn't know that, through no fault of his own. Why was Olifiers shot too?'

‘How was I supposed to know Olifiers was on the level?'

‘I'll tell you something else. Those films came from Olifiers originally. And there was something on them all right. Photos of secret German documents. But after they'd been developed, the films were blank. How did that happen? You know more about this. Did you or did you not develop those films?'

‘I developed them, it's true.'

‘Did you develop them properly?'

‘I didn't have a darkroom.'

‘Ah, you didn't have a darkroom. So perhaps you made some mistake, causing the images to be lost. Did you mention that when you sent the negatives? Did you put a note in with
them saying: there's nothing on them, but that could be my fault?'

‘No.'

‘And when you heard that those people had to be liquidated because there was nothing on the films, you still didn't say anything?'

‘No, I didn't. I didn't say anything, because Dorbeck had sent two men to tell me there was no need to develop the films since there was nothing on them.'

‘Dorbeck! Not Dorbeck again?'

‘Dorbeck knows exactly how it all went. Anyway, even if there had been anything on those films, it doesn't change the fact that Stoffels and Knijtijzen got what they deserved. You said yourself they were working for the Gestapo.'

‘But Olifiers was straight, and Zéwüster has testified that it was you who shot Olifiers!'

‘Is Zéwüster still alive then?'

‘He was caught later on by the Germans; he was shot. But I have the statements he made to the Germans right here. Zéwüster said he didn't trust you from the start. He even said he'd seen you again some time later, at the University Library in Amsterdam. He had the impression you were following him. Zéwüster was studying accountancy. He thought: what's someone like him doing in a university library? He must be looking for me.'

‘What did the Germans say to that?'

‘They said you'd already told them everything.'

‘They just said that to mislead Zéwüster, to get him to make a confession.'

‘By that time you and Ebernuss were rather good friends, weren't you?'

‘Zéwüster lied,' said Osewoudt. ‘He may have lied to save me, because the man I shot was Knijtijzen. The Germans
removed the bullets from Knijtijzen's body, and they were traced to my pistol.'

Selderhorst slapped the papers down on the desk, and in doing so upset the pile. The whole mass of files toppled over, spilling on to the floor in a large, multicoloured fan.

This was ignored by Selderhorst, who seated himself astride his chair again, his forearms on the back and his chin in his hands. ‘Tell me, Osewoudt, what did the man you shot look like? Can you remember? You'd better tell the truth, because those people weren't killed outright, they had time to make statements before they died.'

‘It was the man who let us in, a man with a red, bald head. He was standing to my left. I had the pistol in a rolled-up beach towel, which I held in front of my chest.'

‘Damn you!' said Selderhorst, rising once more. ‘All right then, so it was Knijtijzen you shot at. What's the difference?'

Osewoudt gulped for air; his face oozed perspiration.

For the next few minutes they stared at each other wordlessly. Then came a knock at the door.

‘Yes!' said Selderhorst.

A guard entered with a small, somewhat tarnished mirror.

‘You asked for a mirror, sir?'

‘Yes! Hold it up to that man's face, will you?'

The guard went up to Osewoudt and obediently held up the mirror.

Was this the face of a man who could ever have been mistaken for Dorbeck?

He looked like an office girl, the kind who knows she'll never get a man, thirtyish – and he was only twenty-four. His nose was upturned and small, with wide, thin nostrils. His eyes seemed to be narrowed even when at rest, and yet they were not the eyes of a keen observer, they had the blank, uncomprehending look of the short-sighted. The pale, thin
skin around the eyes was crinkled, and his mouth, with its thin upper lip and non-existent lower lip, appeared to be permanently set in cantankerous mode. He lifted his eyebrows, making lines appear on his forehead, which continued to shine with the white gleam of a porcelain washbasin. And then there were the thin bat's ears, still rosy even now. And the pale, silky hair, which was still pale though greasy and matted. The cheeks smooth and round as a baby's bottom, the jaw seemingly boneless. And to cap it all: the dimple in the middle of the chin.

He pushed the mirror away, and said: ‘But don't you have the photo circulated by the Germans with my name next to it? That wasn't a picture of me, it was a picture of Dorbeck. It was quite obvious that it wasn't me in the picture. Surely you could use that to track Dorbeck down with instead of a photo of me?'

‘Did you honestly think we didn't have that photo? We showed it to twenty experts, side by side with yours, and eighteen out of twenty were positive that it was the same person in both photos.

‘What good would it do to start circulating the other photo at this stage? We'd only get more people coming forward saying that they'd met Egbert Jagtman at some point in their lives, and where would that get us?

‘Because Egbert Jagtman was the officer who ordered the summary execution of two Germans during the bombing of Rotterdam in May 1940! After the photo was published in the papers he gave himself up to the Germans; he said: here I am! Do what you like with me, but I'm not sorry! I'm an officer in the Dutch army. When the bombs were falling on Rotterdam the German lines were still a long way off, so I was authorised to have any German soldier shot as a franc-tireur; I don't care if he was dropped by parachute or not, your modern
techniques of warfare don't change a thing. That is what Egbert Jagtman said in his statement, it's all in the files.'

Selderhorst gestured behind him.

‘What happened to Egbert Jagtman?' asked Osewoudt.

‘They sent him to a concentration camp without trial. We can't prove that the body we saw in Oldenburg was Egbert Jagtman's, but that the man is no longer alive is not in doubt.'

‘What if he was posing as Dorbeck, what if he'd managed to escape from Germany? That way he could have gone on being active in Holland until the end of the war, couldn't he?'

‘Don't talk rubbish! When did you first meet Dorbeck? Was it on 10 May, yes or no?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did he call himself Dorbeck then?'

‘Yes.'

‘What reason could Jagtman have had to introduce himself as Dorbeck in the first shop in Voorschoten he happened to go into?'

‘Maybe he liked a bit of mystery.'

‘Rubbish. You're the one with a taste for mystery. Let's see, that shooting incident in Haarlem – was Dorbeck there, yes or no?'

‘Yes he was, he was on the lookout.'

‘Ah. The shooting took place on 23 July, 1940. Yes or no?'

‘Yes.'

‘Right. But we know that Egbert Jagtman had already turned himself in to the Germans on 20 July, and that he was deported to Germany two months later. In other words, Egbert Jagtman was behind bars on 23 July. In other words: the man you saw in Haarlem on 23 July cannot have been Egbert Jagtman. Do you follow?'

‘Christ almighty! It wasn't my idea that Dorbeck and Jagtman were the same person! I never said he was Egbert Jagtman. I
said his name was Dorbeck. And if Jagtman and Dorbeck were in fact the same person, how do you explain the following? As I told you before, when I first met Dorbeck he gave me a roll of film he wanted me to develop. That's where those three stupid photos came from: the snowman with the rifle, the three soldiers in gas masks, and the soldier in pyjamas behind a machine gun. But there was a fourth exposure.'

‘So where did it get to? You never mentioned it before – all your statements refer to three photos, not four.'

Osewoudt paused before replying. He lowered his eyes, put both thumbs in his mouth and chewed them like a little girl.

‘Well? What was the fourth photo of then?'