Het Tweede Gelaat


Based on the novel Double Face

by Jef Geeraerts

- Mr Verstuyft.

- Sorry.

- Here.

- I've already got one.


Thank you.

- Good evening, Eva.

- Freddy.

You're looking fantastic again.

Hmm, and it smells good already.

It was this evening, wasn't it?


It's next Friday.



And the day before that and the day

before that. Come on then, come in.

There's more than enough.

I'll set another place.

- I'll get another plate.

- OK.

Vincke should have been made

Superintendent ages ago.

But I'm convinced certain people are

preventing it from happening.

The person preventing it

from happening is here.

- Who? Me?

- No, no, silly. No, me.

I wouldn't want to be responsible

for so many people.

- And besides, I'd be a terrible boss.

- That's true.

You're a difficult man.

And a right fusspot.

- God, this is good wine.

- No, thanks.

I'll write the name down.

I'll get it translated into Bulgarian then

the guy in the night store can order some.

- Eh?

- Nothing.


- Didn't you hear your phone?

- Yeah.

- A call-out.

- Yeah. A call-out. There, ready.

No ID in the clothes.

The labels have been cut out.

Fingertips have been burned off,

probably with acid.

All the blood has drained away.

And I needn't hope for any footprints

or tyre tracks, eh?

In that loose sand?

- You let him leave?

- You mean Bertie?

He's just an elderly bricklayer

from the village.

A bricklayer? What was he doing here

at 5 in the morning?

He's been caught snaring rabbits a few

times. You'll get a copy of his statement.

Nothing special, apart from the fact

he heard a car drive off.

Personally, I think

he disturbed the perpetrator.

That's what I think. The perpetrator

dropped everything and fled.

Dropped everything?

What about the head then?

Come on, search. Come on, search.

We've got something here.

Be careful. Make sure

it doesn't damage anything.

There's something here too.

Something here as well.

Something here too.

- Is she among them? I want to see her.

- We don't know yet, Mrs Tissot.

I can tell if it's her.

I'm her mother.

Yes. But there's no need

for you personally...

I mean, if your daughter is among them

the lab will identify her.

- She's got three moles here.

- Yes, it's in her file.

We also have her DNA. I imagine

we will probably know tomorrow...

No, not tomorrow. Please, no, now.

I know where those moles are.

I can show you right away.

I realize that, madam. But we have

to follow a certain protocol.

Hold on a minute. Eh?

Sit there.

This is the most recent victim.

How far have you got?

Six at once, our department

isn't equipped for that, eh?

I've done an initial external examination

of the three that have decayed the least

and I haven't yet found anything on the

bodies themselves that indicates violence.

- No violence?

- No.

- Not on the latest victim either?

- No. And I don't know how fresh it is,

- I think the body's been in the freezer.

- In the freezer?

All of them? The others too?

So how can you say with any certainty

when they died?

Well, that was already very difficult

but now...

- I've asked Ghent for assistance.

- Good morning.

Good morning. Good morning.

I'm sorry.

Is there anyone we can call?


I'll get someone from Victim Support

to come.

- Morning. Morning.

- Morning.


- Freddy.

- I'll be right with you.

- Good morning.

- Have any more victims been identified?

Yes, one of the older bodies had had

some serious operations on the tibia.

Vera Vandijk.

Missing for more than three years.

Her bike was found in Breda at the time,

halfway between a nightclub and her house.

Breda? That's at least 40km from

where the body was found.

That's why we're checking

all disappearances in a 50km radius.

That's not many, eh?

Did you go back five years?

No, not yet. We're waiting for some files

from the Netherlands too.


Elise Tissot, 25. Julia Steegmans, 44.

Tissot, librarian.

Vera Vandijk, doing a PhD in biochemistry.

Iris Sluys was a prostitute.

She's small and voluptuous while Tissot

is more of the model type, shall we say.

Blonde hair, brown, black.

No similarities.

- That's what I mean.

- Why would they be similar?

A serial killer goes for

a certain type, eh?

Why? I've had girlfriends

in all shapes and sizes.

Yes, and in all price categories.

- That's not funny, Benji.

- Why them? That's what we want to know.

I want you to go through their laptops,

Facebook page, social media,

videos, everything.

Why them? What's the connection?

They were the easiest prey

in that place at that time.

I want to contact an old friend of mine,

Anton Mulder.

- Mulder? The Dutchman?

- A profiler, wow.

Vincke, come on, not a profiler? You might

just as well ask a fortune-teller.

Well, I'm going to ask him.

This case is too big to do it on our own.

A Dutchman, guys.

Great, great, great.

They've found a woman in Doel.

Well, well,

the kindergarten cops are here.

- Hello.

- Good morning.

Where is she?

She's not there anymore.

She's no longer where he said she was.

He? Who's he?

A guy on a bike who thought he saw

a dead woman as he was cycling along.

- Thought? He didn't go and look?

- No, he cycled straight to the station.

He looked more dead

than alive himself so...

As white as a sheet,

- from the shock.

- Oh, was it a ghost?


- Let's go and see, come on.

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Jef Geeraerts

Jozef Adriaan Anna Geeraerts (23 February 1930 – 11 May 2015), better known as Jef Geeraerts, was a Belgian writer. Geeraerts was born in Antwerp. After his studies in political and administrative sciences at the Koloniale Hogeschool in Antwerp he became a colonial administrator in Belgian Congo. On the independence of the Congo he sent his wife and children back to Belgium and in August 1960 he himself returned to Belgium. During the next six years he was paid by the government (return program). After that time he needed to find a job to survive. He decided to become a writer and went to the University of Brussels to study Germanic languages. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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