DeKok ignored the question.
“Was it the first time he was late with a payment?
Freddie Wezel again sank back in his chair. He shook his head, as if to clear it.
“No, things weren’t going well for Pierrot. Something smelled. He bet heavily, kept losing. He needed more and more credit, but the payments became fewer. For a while I took it easy on him. I gave him a couple of friendly warnings, even suggested he stop gambling for a while, until he paid down his debt. Nobody starts with the heavy stuff right away.”
“But eventually you had no choice, eh? The situation got heavy, I guess.”
The gambler sighed.
“He gave me no choice. At the end of the day this was business. The last time he understood he had to come across …
no more delays.” He paused. “He was to pay in cash,” he added.
DeKok had listened carefully.
“What do you mean in cash?”
Freddie extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray.
“He offered me this gob of jewelry.”
It was DeKok’s turn to sit up straight in his chair.
“Jewelry?” he inquired, trying to hide any emotion.
Freddie nodded complacently.
“He wanted me to accept it as payment.”
They plodded along the wide side of Gelder Quay in silence. Each was lost in his own thoughts. The statements of the gambling boss had brought yet another dimension to the murder. Vledder finally broke the silence.
“Do you really believe that Freddie wasn’t interested in the jewelry?”
“Yes,” nodded DeKok slowly. “Freddie Wezel is not a man to take unnecessary risks. As he said, he suspected they were hot. The moment he accepted the jewelry it would have become his responsibility. Sooner, rather than later, he’d have to convert this very distinctive property into cash. He’d have to involve middlemen … too messy. Here’s how Freddie thinks: He’d rather keep clown boy on a tight tether. You can bet Pierrot would fear Freddie more than any consequence of selling stolen jewelry.”
Vledder sighed deeply.
“Trouble is we’re not even sure which jewels we’re talking about.” He glanced at DeKok. “We never looked around the houseboat. Could they still be there?”
DeKok shrugged.
“I doubt Pierrot would make such a dumb move. Remember he’d already shown the jewelry to Freddie.” He grinned. “Freddie is like a shark. He’d tip off one of his underworld connections to sniff around the houseboat, but only after Freddie had taken the first bite.”
“You mean, after he had Pierrot’s debt covered.”
“Yes, of course. But it never got that far, according to Freddie. Pierrot was dead hours before Freddie’s deadline.” He paused and stopped suddenly. There was a thoughtful look on his face as he slowly chewed his lower lip. Then he started moving again. “I have a good idea,” he continued. “Freddie did have him running scared. We can safely assume Pierrot would scramble to get the money before his time ran out.”
They turned a corner and found themselves in Amsterdam’s China Town.
“Where are we going?” asked Vledder. “You looking for a place to eat?”
“No,” said DeKok. “It’s too early, besides, I brought my lunch today. No, I thought we might as well take a look at the houseboat, since you mentioned it.”
“Why?”
“Buitendam was so reluctant to make the murder a department priority. It is doubtful he’d call headquarters to ask a forensic team to examine the victim’s residence. He’s all about solving the robberies in The Hague. Chances are we’ll find it in virgin condition, so to speak.”
“Do you know where the boat is?”
“Yes, on the Inner Side, near Skipper Street.”
Vledder looked apprehensive.
“How are you going to get in? I found no keys in Pierrot’s clothing.”
DeKok smiled. He felt in his pockets and produced a small brass tube, a little wider than a fountain pen. Handy Henkie, a former burglar and now a respectable instrument maker, had made it for DeKok. The tube contained enough picks and other unique instruments to allow DeKok to open just about any lock. Henkie had trained him well in its use.
Vledder saw what he held in his hands.
“You’re not going to break in, again?” He sounded worried. “Why? The commissaris would get us a search warrant, no problem.”
“No.” DeKok shook his head. “I just explained. It was his job to get the forensic team to the property. That’s standard operating procedure. If he had done it we’d have seen a report or gotten a phone call by now. If we ask for a warrant now, he’s going to ask all sorts of questions we can’t answer. We still know too little.”
They reached Inner Side Canal. DeKok steered left, in the direction of Skipper Street.
“Besides,” continued DeKok, “Buitendam warned me not to pursue the murder case. It puts me in a difficult position.” He looked at Vledder. “If we drop the murder case, we cannot be sure Pierrot offered the jewels as payment!”
Vledder sighed in exasperation.
“Look. A search warrant could result in the recovery of the jewels.”
DeKok was unmoved. If at all possible, he intended to keep the commissaris out of his investigation. As they reached Skipper Street, they crossed the quay. DeKok led the way across the gangplank to the front door of the houseboat. Carefully he felt the knob. The door was locked. He turned to Vledder.
“Stand close behind me. No one needs to see this.”
The young inspector groaned, but shielded his partner from curious eyes.
DeKok took a closer look at the lock and selected a particular setting on his little instrument. He inserted it into the lock and twisted. Within a few seconds, the door creaked open.
They entered cautiously. DeKok quietly closed the front door behind them. They entered a hallway—to the right a door was ajar. DeKok pushed against it.
He froze in surprise as he observed the chaos in the room. In the center a table was upside down on the floor, with one leg broken. Chairs had been tossed around at random. Drawers and cupboards were open, the contents spilled on the floor.
Vledder looked over DeKok’s shoulder.
“They’ve been here first.”
DeKok walked farther into the room. Vledder followed. At the end of the room an open door led to a bedroom. Here, too, the scene was one of total chaos. The bed was upside down, the contents of the closets emptied onto the floor.
Vledder nudged DeKok and pointed at the blue, floor-length curtains. One curtain billowed as if the window behind it were open. DeKok walked to the curtains and opened them. They covered a French door, leading to a narrow deck. It stood open.
DeKok stood still and exhaled. He was too intrigued for stress. There was no sign of forcible entry. The doors looked as if they had been opened from the inside.
“Vledder, notify forensics. Get a team here as soon as possible. The commissaris cannot delay any longer. I have—” he stopped talking suddenly. He had heard a faint, squeaking nose. He motioned Vledder to come closer.
“There’s somebody at the door,” he whispered.
The two inspectors froze almost half a minute, then they stepped out of the bedroom, back into the living room.
A young woman stood next to an upended chair. DeKok approached her.
“Who are you?” he asked casually.
The woman was startled.
“Charlotte …” she said.
“Fantinelli’s wife,” completed DeKok.
11
DeKok bowed stiffly in the direction of the young woman, while he kept his eyes glued to her face. She was very beautiful, he thought, unusually so. Tall and slender, she had charming curves. She was dressed in a formfitting overcoat. Just above her slightly elevated cheekbones, big green eyes sparkled in her oval face. Long, blonde hair descended in waves down to her shoulders.
DeKok consciously allowed himself to be swayed by his first imp
ression. He knew her beauty had an effect on him. She emanated a provocative, tantalizing scent. She had an aura of glamour and sensuality. He realized most men would find her irresistibly enticing.
He coughed, buying a moment. It took a few more seconds for him to break the spell she had cast.
“It’s a … eh, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he stuttered. “My name is DeKok, with a kay-oh-kay.” He pointed at Vledder. “And this is my colleague, Vledder. We’re inspectors, attached to Warmoes Street Station, and we’re investigating the murder of the clown, Pierrot.”
She looked confused.
“Police,” she said with a sigh of relief.
DeKok gave her a penetrating look.
“You expected someone else?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“No … no, I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
DeKok stretched out an index finger.
“But we were surprised to find you here. How did you get in?”
The young woman felt in her coat pocket and held up a key.
“Pieter and I were old friends. He gave me this key.” She hesitated for a moment, looked from DeKok to Vledder, and back again. “His real name was Pieter … Pieter Eikelbos.”
“We know that,” smiled DeKok.
Charlotte lifted her head.
“Are you getting anywhere?”
“With what?”
“With your investigation.”
DeKok did not respond. He did not care to have someone else take the initiative in a conversation.
“Your visit here had a purpose?” he asked, harsher than it was meant to be.
She nodded.
“I came for a clean pair of pajamas, for Pieter. He’s going to be buried tomorrow, and I don’t want him to be buried in one of those horrible paper shrouds.”
“When did you last see Pieter?”
Her expression became sad.
“Last weekend … we spent it together, here. Sunday afternoon he left for a performance. He was to perform in Leeuwarden that night.”
“And Monday night in Groningen?”
“That’s right,” she nodded. “Pieter was always heavily booked.”
“Tell me about you and Fantinelli?”
She shook her head.
“It’s been hard to find gigs since the bankruptcy.”
DeKok rubbed his chin.
“That Sunday afternoon, after Pieter left, how long did you stay?”
“I had to finish his suit.”
DeKok looked puzzled.
“His suit?”
“I should have said costume. Pieter always had two costumes, one spare, you see. Friday night somebody broke into his car. It was parked on the quay, in front of the boat.”
“Someone stole costumes out of his car?”
“Yes, along with his make-up kit. I bought the material for the costume Saturday.” She smiled. “Before I met Fantinelli I worked in a fashion house. I modeled and did alterations.”
“And where is that costume now?”
Charlotte lowered her head. Her sensual aura diminished markedly. She looked stricken.
“That,” she said despondently, “is the costume he wore when he was killed.”
“The new suit?”
“Yes, it has to be. The costume he wore Sunday, in Leeuwarden, is still in his car.”
DeKok narrowed his eyes.
“How do you know that?”
She pointed behind her.
“I looked in the trunk. The car is parked down the canal, under the trees. It isn’t locked—Pieter never had time to fix the broken lock.”
DeKok pondered. Clearly the clown’s murder was meticulously planned and executed, right down to timing the appearance of his replacement on the stage in Groningen. While he thought, he studied the face of the young woman. He searched feverishly for a motive.
“What was the nature of your relationship with Pieter?”
“I don’t understand,” she said, flustered.
DeKok searched for the right words.
“According to our information,” he said hesitantly, “your, eh, your interest in men is primarily sexual.”
Her eyes flashed.
“So?”
DeKok heard the combative tone in her voice.
“What I’m getting at is whether you shared—outside of the bedroom—did you also share his worries?”
“Did he have things that worried him?”
DeKok nodded emphatically.
“We know he was being pressed to pay heavy gambling debts.”
Charlotte gave him a short, scornful laugh.
“What else? He was a compulsive gambler, probably for his adult life. It was well known for as long as he was a member of the theater group. He’d probably started long before that. He never had a steady relationship with a woman. He didn’t want anyone to share his misery.”
“He was prepared to show you the same concern?”
There was a tender smile on her face.
“I accepted him unconditionally.”
“Did he respond in kind?”
Again there was a brief flashing of the eyes.
“He knew my history.”
DeKok nodded soothingly.
“Did everyone in the theater group know about his gambling problems?”
Charlotte grinned.
“Pieter never made a secret of that. Whenever he won, he would be very generous—presents, dinners, drinks. When he hit a slump, he would try to borrow money from everybody.”
DeKok shook his head in bewilderment.
“How could the group, then, make him responsible for the finances?”
Charlotte looked surprised.
“He did a good job. Of us all he was the most qualified. Even my husband appreciated his effectiveness. He really gave no one reason to criticize. It only started to get bad about six months ago. Suddenly, the accounts were drained. All we had left were unpaid bills.”
“And you, the group, went broke.”
She nodded.
“Lots of pain and misery followed … broken contracts, no work. We had no prospects and no income.”
“Did you already have an affair with Pieter at that time?”
“No, not then … at that time I was involved with Charles, Charles Boer.”
DeKok gave her a sly look.
“Was that the acrobat, or the magician?”
The sadness fled from her face. Her full lips curled into a sweet smile.
“Mr. DeKok, you have done your homework.” There was a hint of admiration in her voice.
The gray sleuth ignored the remark and the compliment. He pointed at the destruction around them.
“Do have any idea who might be responsible for this mess?”
Charlotte made a helpless gesture.
“The murderer, I imagine.”
DeKok did not seem to understand her.
“What could he have been looking for?”
Charlotte shrugged.
“Really, I have no idea.”
The inspector concentrated on her face before he asked the next question.
“Do you know where Pieter hid the jewels?”
“Jewels?” There was genuine surprise in her voice.
“Yes.”
“What jewels?”
DeKok spread his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“The jewels he wanted to use to pay off his gambling debts.”
For a long time Charlotte just looked at him. Her face was expressionless. Then she pressed her lips together and shook her head. There was an alert look in her green eyes. Finally she spoke, slowly and clearly.
“Pieter has never owned any jewels.”
Vledder walked angrily up and down the detective room, raking his hands through his blond hair. His face was red. Finally he stopped in front of DeKok’s desk.
“She’s lying,” he exclaimed emotionally. He banged a full fist on DeKok’s desk. “She’s a liar,” he repeated, “she knows v
ery well what jewels we’re talking about.” He leaned on the desk and brought his face close to DeKok. “Could you not see she was lying?”
DeKok nodded.
“I heard her,” he said laconically.
Vledder became even more excited.
“Yet you did nothing … absolutely NOTHING. You just let her walk away, carrying the victim’s pajamas.”
DeKok looked up at him, while he took a sandwich out of his brown bag.
“What should I have done?” he asked sarcastically. “Should I have interrogated her? Put her on the rack … flogged her … pulled out her nails? Just tell me what you wanted.”
Vledder ignored the sarcasm. He pulled up a chair and sank down in it.
“This reeks, DeKok,” he said, more even-tempered. “It stinks like rot.”
“What? My sandwich? You want one? My wife packed an extra one. It’s prosciutto—no stink.”
Vledder shook his head impatiently.
“You’re not getting it. Charlotte is in this up to her neck. You saw her. She’s one of those women, who are irresistibly drawn to crime.”
DeKok managed to look surprised as he took a bite from his sandwich.
“What’s that?” he asked with his mouth full. “Psychobabble?”
Vledder shook his head.
“You know very well there is a type,” he said, irritation in his voice. “In this line of work we meet them. Matter of fact, weren’t you the one who said, ‘The more beautiful the woman, the greater her capacity for getting into trouble?’”
“And Charlotte is in trouble?”
“Here we go again,” nodded Vledder. “Fantinelli is our man. He used Clarisse, or Carol—whatever her name is—to get the information he needed to organize the robbery at Vlaanderen’s. Charlotte heard about it from Carol. Charlotte told Pierrot. Pierrot, in financial need and under threat by Freddie and Company, demanded a part of the loot.”
DeKok rocked slowly back and forth in his chair.
“I see,” he said, “so while they were discussing this delicate subject, a fight erupted. Fantinelli shoved one of his knives between Pierrot’s ribs.”
Vledder slapped his hand down on his own knee.
DeKok and the Death of a Clown Page 9