DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat

by Albert Cornelis Baantjer

“I do hope,” sighed DeKok, “That the guy had the courage to go see a doctor with that wound…”

  He did not finish the sentence.

  Vledder looked a question at him.

  “Do you really think it’s serious?”

  DeKok nodded slowly.

  “Yes, at first glance it seems that he lost a lot of blood. Without medical attention…” He stopped suddenly. His sharp ears had heard a new sound.

  Quickly he indicated to Vledder to position himself next to the door. Softly, without a sound, he went to the switch and turned off the light.

  The soft noise of footsteps could be heard from the warehouse space.

  12

  In darkness, backs against the wall, the two Inspectors listened to the footsteps for seconds that seemed to stretch into hours. The footsteps came closer. Undeniably, inevitably. But the sound became less distinct. It was if the steps had become more cautious, more hesitating, as if sensing an unknown danger. They stopped on the other side of the door.

  Vledder, who kept his fingers into light contact with the door, felt a slight pressure. Softly the door was pushed open … farther, a little farther, until it opened all the way. With tensed muscles, like a runner at the starting block, Vledder waited for a sign from DeKok.

  Suddenly the light was switched on. Vledder jumped. With all the power and strength of his athletic body he threw himself on the intruding figure. For a split second the shape was clearly delineated against the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was the silhouette of a woman in a fur coat.

  * * *

  In the large detective room, against the grim decor of yellowed folders, dusty binders and much abused furniture, the gray sleuth executed a polite bow with old-world formality.

  “As I told you,” he said with a winning smile, “my name is DeKok, with … eh, kay-oh-kay. Please do not consider this conversation as a formal arrest. It’s anything but an arrest. But I thought it better to talk here, rather than in the warehouse. I’d just like to talk to you for a while.” He gestured with a broad grin. “Not an unnatural desire, after all, don’t you agree? Your … eh, your unexpected visit to Farmer’s Alley would naturally arouse our curiosity.”

  She did not answer. She stared at the two Inspectors. There was a melancholy look in her bright, green eyes, not unlike that of a helpless child looking for protection.

  Slowly she unbuttoned her coat and pushed it off her shoulders. It was a studied gesture that indicated refinement and a lot of experience. Only now did it become clear how truly beautiful she was. The dark fur coat had veiled her figure, hid her supple shape.

  DeKok looked at her transfixed. She was, he concluded, a ripe, mild beauty, an intoxicating, magical expression of subtle enticement.

  “I … I hope,” he stammered, “that … that my colleague’s impulsive attack didn’t, eh … damage you in any way?” He almost blushed because he could not at once find the right words. “After all,” he continued, hesitantly, “we … couldn’t have known that … eh, that…”

  She smiled faintly.

  “That it would be me,” she completed.

  She had a rich, deep voice that vibrated melodically.

  DeKok swallowed.

  “Exactly, that’s how it was. We had not expected such a charming visitor. We were prepared for somewhat ‘heavier’ visitors.”

  Another smile briefly shaped her lips.

  “Please be assured that the surprise was mutual,” she said in a friendly tone of voice. “The last thing I expected to find in that old warehouse was the police. I was looking for my husband.”

  DeKok’s eyebrows seemed poised to ripple, but they merely vibrated slightly. Almost disappointed, Vledder released a small sigh.

  “Your husband?” asked DeKok.

  She nodded.

  “I hoped to find him there. You see, last night he didn’t come home at the usual time. I thought it rather strange, I’m not used to that. He’s a very precise man, punctual and considerate in all things. If he expected to be late, he would always call. But he did not call last night and after a while I became worried. I had the feeling something had happened. I even searched his desk and checked his pocket calendar and…”

  She stopped abruptly. She looked at the old Inspector with wide-eyed fear.

  “Has something happened to my husband,” she asked apprehensively. “I mean, your presence in that old warehouse could,… eh, did it have anything to do with my husband?”

  She looked genuinely concerned.

  DeKok smiled.

  “How can I tell you, Ma’am. I don’t even know who you are.”

  She blushed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “You didn’t ask, but I should have introduced myself. It was very rude of me, but you understand, the shock. Frankly, the whole business has me a bit confused.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “I understand. But perhaps you would be so good as to correct the oversight?”

  She smiled coyly.

  “I’m Mrs. Thornbush.”

  There was a sudden silence. It seemed as if the raucous noises from the street had suddenly been stilled by a giant, hidden master switch. The only sound in the detective room was the clattering of the pen that had fallen from Vledder’s hand.

  DeKok swallowed his surprise.

  “Mrs.… eh, Mrs. Thornbush?”

  “Yes.”

  DeKok swallowed again.

  “Your husband is a VP and Corporate Secretary for Bent & Goossens, for B&G?”

  She nodded cheerfully.

  “You know him?”

  DeKok sighed deeply.

  “I … eh, I met him once,” he said after a slight hesitation. “That was this morning, at the offices of B&G at the Emperor’s Canal. Your husband was most cooperative. You see, my colleague and I have been assigned to investigate the hold-up of the armored truck.”

  Her face became serious.

  “Oh, yes, the hold-up. My husband told me about it. It was rather a bold move, I seem to remember. In the center of the city and in broad daylight. It must be difficult for you to find the perpetrators.” She lifted her head toward him, admiration in her open, green eyes. “I’ve often wondered how the police solve all those crimes. I think it’s pretty ingenious.”

  DeKok rubbed his chin and gave her a broad grin. Meanwhile his sharp eyes looked intently at her face, searched for signs of insincerity. He could not detect any. Mrs. Thornbush was calm and at ease, relaxed. A very nice, attractive and above all, naive lady. His professional suspicion could not reach any other conclusion.

  “So, you were looking for your husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you found the Farmer’s Alley address in his note book, his pocket agenda?”

  She made a comical gesture.

  “My husband will be furious. Believe me, I know him. When he hears what I’ve done, there will be the devil to pay. He just doesn’t like for me to go through his desk. We have argued about that before.”

  DeKok coughed.

  “No doubt, there were more addresses in the book. What made you decide to go to Farmer’s Alley?”

  She smiled.

  “The date … the address was listed under today’s date.”

  “Was there any other information? A name, or a time?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “No, just warehouse, Farmer’s Alley, Amsterdam,” she sighed. “That was all.”

  “Did you notice … I mean, did the address appear more than once in the appointment book?”

  She grimaced.

  “I didn’t look any further. I immediately went on my way.”

  “How were you able to find Farmer’s Alley. Did you know where it was?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, I was born and raised in Amsterdam, but I’d never heard of it. I took a cab at the station.” She grinned while she wrinkled her nose. “The driver asked me several times to repeat the address. Apparently he thought it
strange that I would want to go there.”

  DeKok nodded understanding.

  “How did you get to the station?”

  “Well, I arrived by train from Haarlem. That’s where I live.”

  “Do you live close to a Mr. Bergen, another VP at B&G?”

  Her eyes flashed momentarily.

  “Bergen lives to the south of Haarlem, we live more to the north of the city.”

  DeKok scratched the back of his neck.

  “But you were sure your husband was no longer in the office? He could have worked late, or perhaps there was a meeting?”

  “I called the office,” she answered softly. “I reached the security guard. He told me that my husband had left at the usual time, at about the same time as the others.”

  “Perhaps he stopped over with business relations, or friends … family perhaps?”

  She shook her head.

  “We have few contacts with others. We live rather a retiring life.”

  DeKok sighed.

  “So, you haven’t the faintest idea about the whereabouts of your husband?”

  She moved slightly in the chair.

  “No,” she answered in a sudden, vehement tone of voice. “What do you think? Otherwise I certainly wouldn’t have dragged myself all the way to Farmer’s Alley. Believe me, I had to overcome a great deal of fear, of apprehension, before I dared enter that dark warehouse.”

  DeKok nodded at her in a friendly way.

  “You’re a courageous woman,” he said, admiration in his voice. “Also,” he continued, “you apparently care a great deal about your husband.”

  She looked at him with suspicion.

  “Yes,” she said, tentatively, “yes,” firmer this time, “yes, I do.”

  The acting watch-commander, Scholten, entered the room at that point. He carried a note in his hand.

  “Dammit, DeKok,” he growled, “I’ve looked for you everywhere. I even had them check as far as Maltese Cross Alley. Why can we never reach you on the radio? Greanheather told me just now that you were back.”

  DeKok looked at him with amazement.

  “But what can the matter be?”

  “That woman called again.”

  “When?”

  “About an hour ago, you had just left.”

  “Well?”

  Scholten looked hesitantly at the woman in the chair in front of DeKok’s desk. He pondered how explicit he could be in her presence.

  “She gave me a message for you. I wrote it down.”

  DeKok took the note from him and read:

  Thornbush has two airline tickets for Houston, USA.

  Thoughtfully he pulled on his lower lip and then let it plop back. He did that several times. It was a most annoying sound.

  “You’re certain it was the same woman?” he asked finally.

  “Yes, undoubtedly.”

  “You couldn’t be mistaken?”

  “It was the same voice. It was recorded, you know.” Scholten gave the explanation almost automatically, knowing that DeKok would disdain such esoteric developments as the automatic recording of all incoming calls.

  “Did she identify herself?” asked DeKok, sublimely indifferent to the subconscious by-play.

  “I tried, of course, but she refused to tell her name.”

  DeKok crushed the piece of paper in a ball and threw it in the nearest waste basket. He looked up at the acting watch-commander and asked:

  “Did she say anything else? I mean, besides what was in the note?”

  Scholten shook his head.

  “She said no other explanation was needed. You would know exactly what the message meant.”

  DeKok pressed his lips together into a tight line.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Scholten turned around and left the room without another word. He was acting watch-commander but for some reason DeKok nevertheless always intimidated him. Strange really, the man would never be promoted past his present rank. He was too much of a maverick for that. But his age and above all, his thorough understanding of police work, seemed to force respect from all his colleagues, high or low.

  Mrs. Thornbush leaned forward and placed a hand lightly on DeKok’s forearm.

  “News about my husband?” she asked fearfully.

  The gray sleuth looked at her for a long moment and then he slowly shook his head.

  “No,” he lied blandly, “not about your husband. But we must ask you to excuse us. The message makes it necessary that we continue with an ongoing investigation.” He gave her a winning smile, trying to soothe the pomposity in his voice. “I think it best,” he added with a fatherly firmness, “that you go back to Haarlem. Perhaps your husband has come home in the meantime and you’ll find you’ve been worrying about nothing at all, at all.”

  “He isn’t home,” she replied seriously.

  “What?”

  “He isn’t home,” she repeated insistently.

  DeKok gave her a searching look. There had been a strange tone in her voice. It gave him a queazy feeling. As if she had spoken with an inner conviction, based on immutable facts.

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and at the same time pulled up the fur coat and pulled it tighter around her body. She shivered visibly.

  “I’m afraid, Inspector,” she said hoarsely, almost in a whisper, “I’m afraid that something has happened to my husband. Something serious, I mean.” She tapped her ample chest with the tips of her fingers. “Deep inside me I have the terrible feeling that I will never again see my husband alive.” She made a sad gesture. A single tear rolled down her cheek and dripped on her fur coat.

  “I know it’s silly,” she sobbed. “I try to fight it, but it doesn’t work … it doesn’t work. I can’t get rid of that terrible feeling.”

  * * *

  Inspector Vledder whipped the police VW along the road to Schiphol Airport. He held the steering wheel in a firm grip and there was a determined look on his face.

  “I hope we make it,” he said, irritation in his voice. “Once that plane leaves the ground we can’t do anything about it.” He risked a glance at his older colleague. “Didn’t I see you on the phone? Why didn’t you at the same time alert the State Police and Airport Security? You could have asked them to arrest Thornbush at the airport. They would have been happy to comply.”

  DeKok smiled.

  “Certainly. But why should I ask them to arrest Thornbush?”

  Vledder made an unexpected movement, almost causing the small car to leave the road.

  “Why?” he asked in amazement. “You ask WHY? But isn’t it crystal clear that he’s the man behind the hold-up? Everything points to it. Just think. He was almost certainly the man who accepted Geffel’s phone call. You tried a similar call yourself. He was also the man who kept in contact with the robbers. Just think about the note in his appointment book about Farmer’s Alley.” He paused, his attention on the road. Then he snorted and added: “And he’s the man who’s on the verge of absconding with the loot.”

  DeKok raised a restraining hand.

  “Just a moment, my friend,” he laughed. “You’re going too fast. The loot … the loot hasn’t left the country and isn’t going to leave the country. That’s one of the advantages of living in a small country like ours. There are precious few places to hide and there are none where you can hide for long. Besides, I asked Customs at Schiphol to thoroughly search Thornbush and his luggage. Every cubic centimeter of his luggage will be searched.”

  Vledder shrugged his shoulders.

  “But I still think it would have been simpler just to arrest him at the airport. Then we would have had it all: perpetrator and loot.”

  DeKok ignored the remark.

  “Also,” he continued as if Vledder had not said a word, “I made a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  DeKok nodded, self-satisfied.

  “Yes, I made a deal with the Customs people. If they were to find any large quanti
ties of money, jewels, gold, or any other valuables in the luggage, they would alert the State Police to arrest Thornbush. Not before.”

  He looked aside at Vledder and grimaced.

  “We don’t want a VP without loot. If, after his arrest, he were to refuse to tell us about it, about the three million—and he would be crazy if he told us—we would still be as far from the solution as before. You understand?” He paused, glanced at the road, shrugged and continued. “Without the loot our case rests on a notation in a pocket calendar book. Four words: warehouse, Farmer’s Alley, Amsterdam. A very narrow basis for a conviction.” He shook his head. “No, Dick, if the Customs people don’t find anything, we’re better off letting our Secretary go, in the hope that he will eventually lead us to the money. Without the money he isn’t about to stay in Houston.”

  They drove on in silence after that. Suddenly Vledder slowed down. With open mouth he looked at DeKok.

  “B-but…,” he stuttered, “b-but if it’s all taken care of, then why are we racing to the airport?”

  DeKok grinned broadly.

  “Thornbush has two tickets. I’m dying to know who’s flying on the second ticket.”

  13

  Mr. Westerhoff, Assistant Bureau Chief of Customs at Schiphol Airport pointed at the lights of a 747 as it rose into the air near the end of a runway.

  “There she goes,” he said with a wide grin, “Destination: Houston in the good old U. S. of A.”

  DeKok stared after the lights for a long time until they melded into the distance. Then he turned slowly toward the Customs man.

  “And?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What nothing?”

  “He didn’t show up. Everybody had been instructed, everybody was alert. All for nothing. He was a no-show.”

  DeKok’s eyebrows rippled briefly. Westerhoff suddenly looked at him intently, as if he could not believe his own eyes.

  “So, the plane left without him?” asked DeKok.

  The Assistant Bureau Chief shook his head, as if clearing his vision and raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

  “I presume so. There was certainly nobody aboard that looked like the description we received of Thornbush.”

  “Was he listed as a passenger?”

  “Oh, yes. We checked that first. Thornbush was on the passenger’s manifest.”