Lukas’s hand clenches so tightly around his coffee mug that his knuckles turn white. “She is fine.”
I stare at him. “What do you mean?”
He stares into the back garden, avoiding my eyes. “She is just taking some time for herself.” His voice cracks and he looks furious at himself for it.
“She has enough means, I am certain.” Helena’s tone contains more accusation than reassurance. She doesn’t add anything else.
In the silence that follows, the doorbell rings. The police are here.
An enormous man enters the house, stooping to avoid the low-hanging lamp in the hallway. He must be at least six foot five, with protruding red ears and a squashed, intelligent face like a French bulldog’s. His head is shaved bald but judging from the gray hairs in his scraggly eyebrows and the lines around his eyes, he’s in his early fifties. He’s accompanied by a younger woman, perhaps late twenties. Her dark blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she has a firm, determined mouth. They are both dressed in regular clothing rather than police uniforms.
They shake hands with everyone, including me. Thank goodness, no three kisses for them. Helena slips on her pumps as we move into the living room. Willem pours everyone a coffee or tea. Lukas pulls up a chair from the dining room table and sits. I find myself wedged on the couch between Willem and Helena.
The policeman’s knees seem to come up to his ears when he sits in the stern-looking armchair. A torrent of Dutch pours from his mouth.
Willem responds in kind, gesturing at me.
“Oh, I am sorry,” the man says with a thick accent. “You speak English only?” At my nod, he says, “My name is Pim de Jong. This is my colleague, Danique Smits. You are Amy Lee, the sister of the . . .”
As he searches for a word, Danique leans forward in her armchair. She smiles and manages to look both competent and warm, and her English is much better than his. “The missing person. You are from the United States? And Sylvie Lee, she is also American?”
I say, “Yes,” at the same time Lukas says, “No, she is Dutch.”
Then Helena smiles and says, “She is Chinese,” as if that settles the matter.
Willem says, “Sylvie has dual Dutch American nationality.”
Pim writes this down in his notepad. He jerks his head slightly at his colleague and I see they have decided that she will do the talking as he takes notes.
Danique says, “We already have the basic information you gave us over the telephone and now we can officially begin.”
I say, “Wh-what? You are o-only starting now? Why?”
“She is an adult, with a good mental and physical state. There is nothing to show she may be in danger or dangerous to other people. There is no signal of a crime.”
“Sylvie would never just disappear like this.”
“Most missing persons return by themselves and the police have limited resources. For a child or an older person, we take immediate action. For a healthy adult, we wait. But we will do our best to find your sister, I promise you this. Do you have a recent picture of her?”
I want to smack myself. Why hadn’t I thought to bring one with me? My eyes flit over the many images of Lukas in the living room. Obviously no one here ever cared enough to photograph her. But Lukas pulls a large envelope from a folder he’s stashed beneath his chair. He passes it to Danique.
“Where did you get that?” I ask.
“I took it myself.”
Of course, I’d forgotten he’s a professional photographer. Danique opens the envelope, slides out an eight-by-ten, and holds it up so we all can see. She raises her eyebrows. “Is this a good likeness of her?”
It is a stunning portrait of Sylvie. She’s slightly turned away from the camera, the angles of her high cheekbones and straight nose highlighted by the golden sunlight that glides over her skin and gathers in her glossy hair, her eyes so sad beneath the winged eyebrows. Helena’s lips are pressed firmly together, simmering, and Willem stares at the photo with so much open longing I am embarrassed.
Danique takes our silence for acquiescence. “How would you describe her character?”
“Secretive,” Helena says.
I want to kick her. But then I think about all the things I didn’t know, and still don’t, about my sister. “P-private. Loyal. Brilliant.”
Danique’s sharp eyes are trained on Helena. “Why do you say ‘secretive’?”
Helena shrugs, an abrupt, aggressive movement. “She keeps her thoughts to herself.”
“Would you say she is introverted or a loner?”
“She never fits in,” Helena answers.
“We do not either,” says Lukas, glaring at his mother. I’m happy I’m not the only one who doesn’t like hearing these negative things about Sylvie. This warms me to him.
“What do you mean?” Danique asks.
Lukas shifts on his chair. “It is not always easy being one of the few Chinese families here.”
Pim’s mouth falls open, and if he still had hair, I’m sure his eyebrows would have disappeared. “But there is no racism in this village.”
Lukas cocks his head, his eyes burning. “Really? Well, you are a white man and a police agent, so people are not likely to treat you in a different way, are they?”
“This is all beside the point,” says Willem. “The most important thing now is to find Sylvie.”
Danique turns to me. “Would you agree that she is an outsider, Amy?”
“Well,” I say slowly, “Sylvie has always been special, so by definition, she is different from normal people.”
“I understand she was here because her grandmother was dying. Did she seem depressed after her grandma passed on?”
Helena snorted. “She was off having a grand time celebrating her birthday in Venice when her grandma died.”
“Wh-what?!” I protest. “Sylvie wouldn’t do that. She loved Grandma deeply. She came all the way here to be with her.” Venice! Why in the world would Sylvie go to Venice? Had she gone alone? But indeed, Sylvie hadn’t called me on her birthday. She’d texted me that she had too much going on with the family and that with the time difference, it was too hard to talk. My gaze darts around the room. Lukas has averted his eyes and his neck has reddened.
Helena presses her lips together, as if she’s holding the words inside by brute force alone.
“Did Sylvie ever talk about hurting herself?” Danique asks.
“Sylvie d-did not commit suicide,” I say.
“When somebody disappears and does not return within three days, there are usually only four main possibilities: suicide, murder, kidnapping, or flight.”
I gasp at her plain words. Pim shoots her a look, and says, “We do not know the reasons yet.”
Looking mildly chagrined, Danique continues her questions. “She has many impressive diplomas, is that correct? And a very good job? Sometimes, a person who is very successful, if they lose face, can become depressed. They can do something about it or they can flee. Perhaps it can be issues in their relationship. Were there any changes in her circumstances recently?”
I don’t want to reveal Sylvie’s troubles in front of Helena, but I want the police to be able to help her too. Before I can decide what to say, Lukas speaks up. “She was having problems with her marriage. Her husband was stalking her. He even showed up here. They had a fight.”