DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat

by Albert Cornelis Baantjer

  22

  DeKok strode down the long corridor of the hospital with an unfamiliar shopping bag filled with fruit awkwardly under one arm. A blushing nurse pointed the way.

  Vledder looked pale, even against the white hospital sheets. His face still bore traces of pain and emotion. But a smile appeared on his lips when he spotted DeKok. His stumbling, cumbersome entrance, combined with the worried look on his face were positively comical to his young partner.

  The gray sleuth made quite a production of depositing his old, decrepit hat at the foot of the bed. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “I … eh, I brought you some oranges and stuff,” he said with a helpless gesture. “I hope you like it. I don’t know what they feed you in this place.”

  “Thank you,” answered Vledder. DeKok was from a generation that equated hospital visits with fruit baskets.

  DeKok placed the bag next to Vledder.

  “How is it going?” he asked, concerned.

  Vledder pointed toward his shoulder.

  “They took the bullet out. There it is, on the night table, in the tube.”

  DeKok took the bullet from the medicine bottle and let it roll over the palm of his hand.

  “The same caliber that put an end to Thornbush?”

  Vledder nodded. His face was serious.

  “Yes, his wife killed him.”

  “That’s right, Dick, and she almost killed you as well. We finished the interrogation this afternoon. She confessed fully and in detail.”

  Vledder shook his head in confusion.

  “It’s terrible,” he sighed. “Just terrible. Despite the fact that she fired at me, tried to kill me, I still think it’s terrible.”

  DeKok looked at him with considerable surprise.

  “Why?”

  “I liked her. She seemed such a dear … sweet woman. The last thing I expected was that she would actually pull the trigger. I just didn’t think her capable. Despite your hints about her being responsible for the death of her husband, I just couldn’t accept it intellectually. Naive, I suppose.”

  DeKok pulled on his lower lip and let it plop back. He did that several times. It was an annoying sound, one of his more irritating habits.

  “Yes,” he said after a while, as if reminiscing. “Yes, soft and sweet. She used to be just that. Before Thornbush woke the devil in her and drove her to murder.”

  Vledder frowned.

  “Thornbush drove her to murder?”

  DeKok nodded.

  “Yes, he drove her to kill him.” He moved in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position on the unyielding hospital furniture. “Perhaps I should tell the whole story. You should be strong enough, by now. Besides … you’re entitled to know.”

  Vledder smiled.

  “Tell me already.”

  DeKok rubbed his face with a flat hand.

  “Some people,” he began slowly, “are driven by dreams. Charles Thornbush dreamed about a carefree existence in South America with the woman he loved at his side.”

  “Mrs. Bent.”

  “Yes, he had maintained a more or less intimate relationship with her for some time. His wife knew about it. He never even bothered to keep it a secret from her. He admitted to her, on several occasions, that he was fascinated with Bent’s wife. Mrs. Thornbush accepted it, endured it, because she really loved her husband deeply. She hoped passionately that his infatuation with the other woman would be a temporary thing.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  DeKok shook his head slowly, sadly.

  “No, Thornbush was possessed. He was driven by his dream. About three months ago he came up with a plan. You’ll remember that Mrs. Thornbush’s maiden name was Klarenbeek. Well, she has two brothers: Tim and Walt Klarenbeek. The boys are a bit bohemian and have a friendly, cheerful, casual attitude to life. They both have some artistic talent that affords them a reasonable living. They have a studio in some basement near the Front Fort Canal. One of them paints a bit and the other does weird things with metal, mobiles, I think you call them.”

  He paused briefly, looked worriedly at Vledder and asked him if it was not too tiring for him. Upon Vledder’s denial, he continued.

  “Well, whenever they needed some extra cash, they would do something commercial, design stands for exhibitions, or what have you. Their output wasn’t great, but it was enough. They really couldn’t care less. They had enough to eat for their needs and an extra beer whenever they wanted. Besides, Little Lowee had a weak spot for them and would often draw them free beer. If they really were short, they could always tap their ‘bourgeois’ sister in Haarlem for some extra cash. After all, Thornbush made good money and he would never notice the amount.”

  Again he paused briefly.

  “Anyway,” he went on, “during one of their expeditions for extra cash, Thornbush revealed his plans and enlisted their help.”

  “The hold-up?”

  “Exactly. It was really very simple. Thornbush travelled extensively for the firm. He had picked up a couple of pistols somewhere. You know how it’s almost impossible to obtain handguns in Holland. But now, with the EEC and all, it’s very easy to bring them into the country. Nobody checks luggage anymore, especially on trains.”

  “I know,” remarked Vledder. “Last year Celine and I went to Spain. I could almost have left my passport at home. You just hold it up as the Customs people pass through the train. The cover is enough.”

  “Right,” agreed DeKok. “Anyway, it was thought that the guards would be so frightened at the mere sight of the pistols, that they would cause no problem. There was virtually no risk. They simply had to wait for the right transport. Thornbush, because of his job, would know exactly when that would happen. He would also know the route, of course. The boys were immediately in favor of the plan. After all, so they reasoned, nobody would get hurt. The company was insured and as for the insurance company … well, insurance companies made too much money anyway.”

  He shook his head, reached over to the bedside table and took a large sip of Vledder’s water.

  “Mrs. Thornbush didn’t like it, didn’t agree at all. It was criminal, she said and she was especially upset about the involvement of her two younger brothers. That’s when Thornbush played his ace in the hole.” Again he shook his head. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked. “I really don’t want to tire you, you know.”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” said Vledder impatiently. “Now that I know most of it, I want to know the rest. Don’t forget, after I stopped that bullet, I was out of it for all practical purposes. I’m better off knowing. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Well, all right.” It sounded dubious. “As I said, he played his ace card. During some pillow talk he had confided to his wife that he had tried to break the relationship with Sandra Bent. He told her that he finally realized that she couldn’t possibly compare to his own wife. But, he asserted, Sandra didn’t want to hear about a break. She insisted that he keep the relationship going. She had, according to Thornbush, threatened to ruin his standing at B&G. She had ways to influence her husband, she said. Then he added that the money could make them financially independent and they could all go to South America together, far away from the pernicious influence of his boss’ wife.”

  “And?”

  “Mrs. Thornbush gave in. She even insisted on taking an active part in the hold-up. They agreed that she would dress as a man and she would drive the getaway car.”

  “So, there was your third man.”

  DeKok nodded pensively.

  “Yes. The first attempt failed because of a mistake by Walt. During a rehearsal he was so nervous that he promptly put the stolen car against a light pole. He was just as promptly arrested and disappeared for a month. He served his sentence in the Haarlem jail.”

  Vledder’s eyes lit up.

  “And that’s where he met Pete Geffel.”

  “Yes. They vaguely knew each other from their visits to Little Low
ee’s … eh, establishment. In jail they became better acquainted with each other and Walt Klarenbeek told Pete in a confidential mood about his glorious plans for a hold-up. For one reason or another he kept silent about the role of his brother-in-law, the VP. No doubt in order to impress his underworld acquaintance he emphasized his own role in the plans. He just mentioned in passing a contact within the company that knew all about the money transports.”

  DeKok stopped and for a long time he stared at nothing in particular.

  “Fate took a hand at that time,” he said somberly, “the cards were dealt and the game would be played to its inevitable end. It’s a sad fact that it was actually Flossie who started the ball rolling. She forced Peter to inform the company.”

  “And Pete landed in the not-so-tender hands of Thornbush.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “I’ve been wondering how Cunning Pete could have fallen so naively into the trap that Thornbush had set him. One explanation is that Pete just wasn’t himself. His entire life he had dealt in cheating and lying. He had concentrated on the seamier side of ‘business’, so to speak. He just wasn’t prepared to deal in an atmosphere of openness and honesty. Thornbush exploited that very cleverly. It’s possible that Thornbush promised him some sort of reward. We’ll never know. No matter, he succeeded in enticing him to the sand dunes and slipping a dagger into his back.”

  Vledder gestured with his left arm.

  “But Tim said it was his dagger and he had done the stabbing.”

  DeKok smiled.

  “Tim has retracted that confession. As soon as he realized that I was aware of his sister’s role in all this, he became more forthcoming. The dagger was an old family heirloom. The boys had it on the wall as a decoration. On the afternoon after the hold-up, Thornbush visited them in their hideaway in Farmer’s Alley. He scolded Walt for his loose lips in jail and then added, calm as you please, that he had been forced to silence Cunning Pete forever. Both boys were furious and threatened to inform the police. Thornbush advised them differently. In the first place, so he said, their sister would not escape punishment as an accomplice in armed robbery and as far as the murder was concerned … that was committed with an antique dagger of a special design. Only then did the boys realize that the dagger had been missing for some time.”

  “What a bastard.”

  Vledder’s voice trembled with indignation.

  DeKok looked searchingly at his younger colleague. There was an unhealthy, excited blush on his cheeks.

  “I really think I better stop,” he said, genuinely concerned. “I’ll let you know the rest some other time. This cannot be healthy for you.” He groped for his hat and showed every indication of leaving.

  Vledder pushed himself up on his left elbow, a painful grimace on his face.

  “If you stop now,” he threatened, “I’ll get out of bed and follow you until I know it all.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “Blackmail,” he said resignedly.

  Vledder grinned.

  “Call it what you will.”

  DeKok sighed ostentatiously.

  “All right,” he said with uncharacteristic meekness, “what else do you want to know?”

  Vledder shook his head in frustrated despair.

  “Everything, of course. For instance, what led you to suspect Mrs. Thornbush? I don’t recall anything that pointed in that direction.”

  DeKok grinned.

  “Mrs. Thornbush made a small mistake. When she went to Farmer’s Alley to visit her brothers, the day after the hold-up, she didn’t know that Little Lowee had taken the boys to a new hiding place. Much to her surprise and shock she was suddenly attacked by us. In order to explain her presence she said that she had found the address in her husband’s pocket calendar. You see, that aroused my suspicion. A businessman, certainly a VP and Secretary of a large company, doesn’t usually leave the house without his appointments. When we found him later, near the Joy, his note book was in his pockets. You may remember that I went through it, page by page. The address in Farmer’s Alley wasn’t there.”

  Vledder smiled.

  “So, obviously she lied and knew more about the hold-up and the robbers than she let on.”

  “Exactly. Therefore there was every reason to keep an eye on Mrs. Thornbush. When she came to the station, supposedly to inquire about her husband, she fainted when I asked her about a cat. In view of the cat’s hair on the corpse’s clothes, it reinforced my suspicion that she knew something about the death of her husband. That’s why I had you drive her home. Then, when you returned and reported that you had seen nothing of a cat, I was momentarily at a loss. It seemed a dead end. But not for long. The story from the Bents about the Simca, the money and the dead Thornbush, brought the trail right back to her.”

  Vledder looked at him with a confused look on his face.

  “I don’t understand that.”

  “You remember what you said when we found the corpse? Why did the killer leave the money in the trunk. Tax-free money, you said.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was a good question, but the thrust of the question was wrong.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We should have asked ourselves why whoever killed Thornbush placed the body on a bed of bank notes. And not just a quantity of bank notes, but exactly seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, or the equivalent, anyway.”

  “You mean that the amount had a certain significance?”

  “Yes. We even touched upon it, briefly. We mentioned that seventy-five percent was still missing. You see, that was crucial. It meant that exactly twenty-five percent was in the trunk. You understand? Thornbush had been placed on top of his share.”

  Vledder beamed.

  “Dammit, yes. From that it followed that there had to be three others.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “But not just that. It also meant that in killing Thornbush, other motives, besides money, were a consideration. Under normal circumstances, any gang of four, would have divided the spoils into three after the demise of one of their members. But that didn’t happen. Charles Thornbush received his full share. He and his share were then transported to the villa at the Amstel, to the Bent house. Why? As we know now, Bent had nothing to do with the entire mess. But Sandra Bent was a different kettle of fish altogether. She was presented with her lover, complete with his share of the loot … but he was dead as a doornail.”

  DeKok rubbed his eyes with the back of hand.

  “That type of cynicism could only be conceived by the brain of a jealous woman.”

  His voice sounded bitter. For a long time after that they remained silent. Wet snow was sticking to the outside of the window. Vledder was the first to break the silence. There was a deep crease in his forehead, something that usually happened when he concentrated deeply on something.

  “But I don’t understand how she could kill her husband. After all, she did love him very much. What was the direct cause for that?”

  DeKok sighed.

  “She found the tickets for Houston.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. Tim had told her about the dagger and the murder of Pete Geffel. From that moment on she looked at her husband with new suspicion. She followed him unobtrusively and discovered that he had plans to abscond with the entire loot. When she then, more or less by accident, found the airplane tickets she suddenly realized the how and the why of the entire plan. She realized that she had been lied to and that she and her brothers had been used in order to enable him and his paramour to flee to South America. That was too much, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. She took one of the weapons that had been used during the hold-up and waited for him in the hall. In her heart she doubted herself. She did still have a faint hope that she was mistaken. She hoped that, perhaps, the second ticket was for her. But Thornbush ignored her, didn’t even notice her in the hall. At the moment that he was about to leave with his suitcases, she called him back and sho
t him from close by.”

  DeKok rose from his chair and ambled through the room. There were two other beds, but both were unoccupied. He stopped in front of one of the windows and stared at the snow. Vledder looked at his broad back.

  “Did you find the missing money in the garage?”

  “No, not in the garage, but in suitcases under the bed.”

  “Not in the garage?” asked Vledder, astonished at the revelation.

  DeKok turned toward him.

  “No.”

  Vledder swallowed.

  “But … but, then why did she shoot me when I wanted to go to the garage?”

  “The cat was there.”

  “The cat?”

  DeKok nodded slowly.

  “Thornbush also had a cat, from before his marriage. But Mrs. Thornbush didn’t like cats, is allergic to them. The animal wasn’t allowed in the house. That’s why the cat lived in the garage. It had a basket, a box and was fed there. Thornbush did take good care of his cat. The animal was very much attached to him. When Mrs. Thornbush conceived the plan to deliver the corpse of her husband to Sandra Bent, she dragged the body to the garage where the blue Simca had been parked all this time. She took the suitcases from the hall and coolly counted out exactly one fourth of the loot. When she arrived in the garage with the money, she received the shock of her life. The black tomcat was seated on the chest of her dead husband and howled its sorrow for all to hear.”

  “Rather strange,” sighed Vledder, “one expects it from dogs, somehow. But it explains the cat’s fur on his clothes.”

  DeKok nodded slowly.

  “Yes, the poor dumb brute was the only one to mourn his passing.”

  Books by A. C. Baantjer:

  Murder in Amsterdam

  DeKok and the Sunday Strangler

  DeKok and the Corpse on Christmas Eve

  DeKok and the Somber Nude

  DeKok and the Dead Harlequin

  DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat

  DeKok and the Disillusioned Corpse

  DeKok and the Careful Killer

  DeKok and the Romantic Murder

  DeKok and the Dying Stroller