Searching for Sylvie Lee (34 page)

“No, there has been a misunderstanding. You owe us nothing.”

I must have heard her incorrectly. “What?”

“We are a volunteer organization. We cannot ask money for what we do. We pay for it with donations, volunteers, and quite a bit of our own money. It is a good thing that when I am not searching for bodies, I am a doctor. And my wife is a veterinarian, so she trains the dogs.”

“Oh, Karin.” That is all I can say. I give a half sob, so relieved that at least one burden can be laid aside.

“No price may be set on life or death, Amy.”

At that moment I understand why Sylvie loved the Netherlands so much. Then I call the police.

I ask for Danique. As soon as she answers, I say, “When will the autopsy report be available?” I feel a desperate desire to know every detail. What could have happened?

Her voice is distant and tinny on the phone. “Actually, it is not likely that we will conduct one.”

“What? My sister has been found dead inside her car and you won’t investigate further?” My voice rises and I practically shriek into the phone. I can’t believe the police didn’t find her body and now they still do nothing. My heartbeat pounds so loudly in my ears I have to strain to hear through the rush of fury that washes over me.

“Family members always believe the case involves murder, but the vast majority of the time, the most likely cause is suicide. We do not at this moment have any reason to suspect criminal activity.”

Oh, so we’re the stupid, misguided family members. Majority of the time! No reason to suspect! Trying to stay calm, I tell her about Filip, how suspiciously he’s acted, how there’s a missing fortune in jewelry.

She says, “Well, men do strange things sometimes when they meet an attractive woman. Sadly, there is no proof the jewelry ever existed. And if he was involved in a murder, why would he lead you to the body?”

“I don’t know. That’s your job,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “Maybe he tampered with the evidence underwater. He was the first one to reach the car and he was alone. He misled me for our entire relationship and pretended he didn’t know either one of us. Don’t you think that’s a bit suspicious?” I am growling into the phone. I bite back the words:
You imbecile. You uncaring bitch.

“It would be if there was a possible motive. Lying in a personal relationship is not very honest but it is also not a crime. Perhaps he thought you would not like him if you knew he was acquainted with your sister. Now if there is not anything else . . .”

She’s going to hang up on me. Getting angry won’t get me an autopsy. I somehow need to convince this idiot of a police agent. I have to be smart, like Sylvie. “Look, Sylvie was a young, healthy, successful woman. Our family needs to know if she was drugged or under the influence of alcohol. Her husband was here. They were having trouble. Maybe they had a fight . . . were there any bruises on her body? I am not accusing anyone of anything but there are still so many questions. Even if she died of a heart attack or stroke and lost control of the car, for example, I need to know that for my own health reasons.” I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.
Please, please, please
. I can’t be left never knowing what happened to Sylvie.

The silence over the phone is long and heavy. Then she says, not unkindly, “I am very sorry. The case is closed. Amy, let me give you some advice. It is over. Stop asking questions, stop pushing. Find your peace. Just go home and live again. Not everything in life has answers.”

I hang up and want to scream. That’s easy for her to say. Lose the person you love most in the world and see how accepting and peaceful you are then. I am no longer the Amy who would have crawled back to Ma and Pa and pulled the covers over her head. No more.

I try to think everything through. Is it possible Sylvie killed herself—but then why? The problems with Jim and her job had started before she left for the Netherlands. Something must have tipped her over the edge. If she didn’t do it, did someone drug her and place her in the car? Did it have something to do with Grandma’s jewelry? No matter what the Dutch police say about the gold, my Chinese instincts tell me it existed—and what about Jim? He had come to the Netherlands and Lukas said that Jim had asked Sylvie not to destroy his life. Jim had threatened Sylvie. But that was probably because Jim didn’t want Sylvie to leave him; he must have felt desperate at the thought. Jim has enough money of his own and I can’t think of another reason he would want Sylvie gone. Helena? Out of rage, if Sylvie had indeed taken Grandma’s gold? Willem? He’s so strange and creepy. Could he have done something to Sylvie as a child and she’d threatened to come forward?

Then there were the two men, Lukas and Filip. Perhaps Lukas wanted the gold for himself? He’s said how much he wants to own his own place, and there could have been some kind of tussle or an accident. But his grief has been so desperate, so vicious. I can’t believe anyone is that good of an actor. Between the two of them, Filip is the obvious suspect. I still can’t believe he’d known Sylvie and manipulated a meeting with me. He must have jumped on my bicycle knowing full well who I was. The flesh on my forearms breaks out in goose bumps. I’d thought he was cute, open, and vulnerable. I’d thought he liked me. Fortunately, I am so exhausted from my grief and rage that I have little emotional space left for embarrassment. Did he have a relationship with Sylvie? Did he need the money? Or was there some sort of love triangle and things got out of hand?

I’ve been calling and leaving messages for Filip. I think over everything I’ve learned since coming to the Netherlands. What had Helena said about a trip to Venice? Who did Sylvie go with? I could ask Helena and Willem about it, but Sylvie might have lied to them. I am realizing that my sister hid so much more of herself than I ever knew.
Sylvie,
I pray,
I am ready to sacrifice my imagined ideal of you if only I can find out who you really were. Please help me.

Then the answer comes to me. Estelle.

Telephone Call

Sunday, May 15

ESTELLE:
I am so very sorry. My parents saw it on the television. I see you rang me a few hours ago but I was flying. We just landed in Kuala Lumpur. I am in shock. I could barely concentrate on the flight.

AMY:
Thanks.

ESTELLE:
Sylvie was the loveliest, most loyal person. Many people only saw her from the outside. I cannot believe it. [Voice breaks] And I was with her so recently.

AMY:
Yes, that’s what I wanted to ask you about. Did you know about that trip she took to Venice?

ESTELLE:
Of course. I was there. I arranged the tickets.

AMY:
Really? Who else went with you?

ESTELLE:
Lukas and Filip. We had a wonderful time. Well, except for a terrible fight the guys had.

AMY:
What did they fight about?

ESTELLE:
Nothing. It was stupid. Something about a show we had just seen—came out of nowhere.

AMY:
Actually, Filip introduced himself to me without telling me he knew any of you. We saw each other a few times.

ESTELLE:
What?

AMY:
To be honest, it’s kind of creepy. Do you know why he would have done that?

ESTELLE:
Amy, I do not have any idea. But Filip is a good man. You should ask him.

AMY:
I’m trying, but no one’s talking to me. Lukas has disappeared; Filip’s not picking up.

ESTELLE:
Yes, Lukas is not answering my calls either. Filip can have a terrible temper too. Lukas, well, he and Sylvie have always had a special relationship.

AMY:
I don’t mean to pry, but does Lukas disappear on you often?

ESTELLE:
Sure. There are often long periods when I do not know where he is, because we both travel so much. But usually he returns my calls. I imagine this must be horrible for him. I am worried.

AMY:
Estelle, were Filip and Sylvie romantically involved?

ESTELLE:
. . . Honestly, I do not know the answer to that, but if they were, it was only a surface love. I think you better ask him yourself. I have no idea where Lukas is right now but I can tell you that most weekends, Filip performs with the Netherlands Philharmonic Orchestra. I am so sorry, Amy. Truly I am. But I am sure that neither of them had anything to do with Sylvie’s tragic passing.

Chapter 25

Sylvie

Monday, April 25

T
he house felt strangely empty when Lukas and I opened the front door—and where was Isa’s coat, which she normally hung on the rack? Perhaps she was at the store. Lukas and I tiptoed upstairs, in case Grandma was sleeping. I clutched her present, the white-gold keychain and Murano key, in my hand. Her door had been left ajar. I pushed it all the way open and a sudden wave of cold swept over me. Her bed was made and empty. Her medicines and oxygen tank were gone. No, it could not be. If there had been an incident, Helena and Willem would have called us.

Lukas stopped midstride. Then he was calling over the staircase, “Ma, Pa! Where is Grandma?”

Willem emerged from their bedroom, unshaven, still wearing his pajamas.

Something was wrong. I could not get enough air. I pressed my knuckles against my sore, aching heart. My voice was small and tight. “Did you move Grandma to a hospice?”

He shook his head and his crimson, swollen eyes said enough.

Lukas whispered, “No.”

I gripped the left side of my head as if to cover my ear, as if that would stop Willem from confirming what I already knew. My breath rasped in my chest. I started to lurch into Grandma’s bedroom but my knees gave way and I bumped into the doorframe, the glass key digging into my palm. I staggered forward until I fell facedown, arms splayed, onto Grandma’s bed, where I had spoken to her only a few days ago. The key fell from my stupefied fingers, hit the wooden floor, and shattered. I pressed my face into the coverlet that had once warmed Grandma, and that was still here while my grandma was dead, and sobbed.

The bed shifted, there was a weight beside me, and then Lukas was stroking my back. He said, “Oh, Sylvie,” in a voice clogged with tears. Poor Lukas. Grandma had cared for him his entire life.

He sniffed, and I pushed myself upright so I could wrap my arms around him. We held each other while we convulsed with grief.

Then Willem’s arms were around us both and I stiffened. He smelled of sweat, his flesh too warm through his thin pajamas. The embrace was intimate and I shifted away.

Lukas asked, his face tear-stained, “How? Why did you not call us?”

Willem straightened and raked his fingers through his disheveled hair. “She instigated the euthanasia procedure the moment you were gone. She did not want you to be notified. Do not feel bad. She planned it that way. It was what she wanted.”

At this, I hid my face in my palms. Grandma did not want me with her. Even she had rejected me in the end. She had died with only Willem and Helena around her. I had taken her Lukas away too. Because of me, she had died essentially alone.

Lukas croaked, “But we did not get to say goodbye.”

Willem raised his arms as if he wanted to comfort us once again, thought better of it, and let them drop to his sides. “She wanted to go with as little fuss as possible. She arranged it months ago with the euthanasia commission once she knew she was terminal.”

I managed to ask, “How did it happen?”

“Very peacefully. She started the procedure as soon as you left. Two doctors came yesterday—her own and the one from the commission. They spoke to her separately to make sure she was doing it out of her own free will, and that she was in her right mind.” Willem was rubbing the back of his ear, a nervous tic he had.

Yesterday: while Lukas and I were dancing and kissing, and I was off having fun with my friends. I can barely squeeze out the words. “And did it go quickly?”

“Two shots. One to put her to sleep and the other to stop her heart. She did not suffer at all. She is at peace.”

A hard, brittle voice came from the doorway. “Did you enjoy your time in Venice?” It was Helena, her eyes aflame, skin pale and blotchy, jaw clenched as if to hold back her anger and grief.