“Means nothing to me,” he said sharply. “It’s the answer I want. Let’s stop overlooking the most likely possibility.”
“And what is that?”
“The murderer got the jewelry—he killed Pierrot for it.”
DeKok leaned his head to one side.
“How does Butterfly fit into the equation?”
His eyes were downcast, his voice smaller. “She doesn’t, not yet, anyway.”
DeKok smiled.
“No matter. It’s still a mess … for me, too. Do you find it remarkable nobody in that group knows a thing about the jewels? Charlotte, who was closest to the clown, swears he had no jewels. Butterfly has no jewelry, except a few personal pieces. She is clueless about any other jewelry. Finally the magician looks dumbfounded when you mention the word jewelry. Yet—”
They had reached the station. As they entered, Kuster waved them closer.
“One of you call Kruger? He has something.”
Vledder went behind the counter and lifted the receiver off a telephone.
DeKok took Kuster by the lapels of his coat.
“How would you like to organize another party for your soccer club, complete with variety entertainers?”
Kuster grinned.
“Are you paying?”
Vledder pushed Kuster aside. His face was serious.
“What’s the matter?” asked DeKok.
“Kruger found some prints in Butterfly’s apartment.”
“Sounds right. Whose prints are they?”
“Maurice Vlaanderen’s.”
15
“How is that possible?”
Vledder looked at DeKok with a bewildered look on his face.
“What?”
“How could Kruger identify Maurice Vlaanderen’s prints in her apartment, or anywhere else? Is he in our files?”
Vledder nodded.
“Maurice was caught in a theft, not a robbery, when he was eighteen. He got a suspended sentence and the file was sealed. Obviously the prints remained in our records.”
“What kind of theft?”
“Jewelry.”
Defeated, DeKok sank back in his chair.
“Do we need this?”
Vledder pushed his keyboard to one side and leaned closer to DeKok’s desk.
“Does that change our plans? I mean, do you still want me to pick up Vlaanderen before the autopsy?”
DeKok nodded slowly, more to himself than to Vledder.
“It seems to me it could be productive, but keep it quiet. Not a word to the old man about his son’s fingerprints.”
“I promise,” said Vledder. Then he gave DeKok a penetrating look. “When are we going to arrest Maurice?”
DeKok did not answer. It seemed he had not even heard the question. He was absorbed in trying to fit the broker’s son into the big picture, to no avail. This was one thing too many. Then, proving that he had heard him after all, he spoke to Vledder.
“My conclusions are incomplete. Watch carefully for Vlaanderen’s reaction when he sees Butterfly’s corpse. I’ll wait here in the morning. Let me know as soon as you can.”
“Why don’t you come along? You are more of an expert at reading people’s reactions than me.”
DeKok shook his head.
“Don’t forget to bring me the knife from her back. I need it.” He pulled open a drawer in his desk and took out the knife that had killed Pierrot. He studied it carefully. “I have some calls to make tomorrow. Among others I want to talk to the Water Police.”
“What about?”
“I want to know if they found a boat.”
“What kind of boat?”
“I don’t know, some sort of runabout … something with an outboard motor. I’ll have to check.”
“I see,” said Vledder. He wondered whether DeKok’s knowledge of boats was as limited as his knowledge of cars.
DeKok looked at the wall clock. He hoisted himself out of his chair and grabbed his raincoat off its peg.
“I’m going home. It’s almost eleven o’clock. I’ve had enough for one day.”
“What do you want with a boat?” asked Vledder.
“Well, Dick, how do you think the clown’s corpse got to that little dock? He didn’t fly.”
Adjutant Kamper propped open the door with one foot and stepped into the detective room. He carried an enormous stack of files in his arms. He stopped at DeKok’s desk and dropped the stack.
DeKok looked up.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, annoyed.
The adjutant shrugged.
“The commissaris personally instructed me to bring you these. He said to put them on your desk. These are case files from The Hague concerning jewelry thefts.”
DeKok shook his head sadly.
“He couldn’t give them to me himself?”
Kamper grinned.
“Buitendam said he tried, but you forgot to take them with you.” He turned around and whistled a tune as he walked away.
The inspector pushed the pile of papers to the outermost corner of his desk. There was a stubborn look on his face.
“Whatever you think,” he growled to himself, “you’re not going to read a single word.”
He pulled the telephone closer and dialed a number. Angrily he tossed the receiver back on the hook. It was the sixth time he was connected to a busy signal. He tried again, but looked up when Vledder stormed into the room.
Vledder was gray around the gills. As he arrived at DeKok’s desk, he dropped a plastic evidence bag, containing a bloody knife.
“Here—your souvenir.”
“You don’t look so good.”
Vledder sank into his chair.
“It’s the worst autopsy I’ve ever witnessed. Butterfly—Martha—was a gorgeous woman, even on the dissection table.”
DeKok ignored the remark.
“Did the senior Vlaanderen recognize her?”
Vledder shook his head.
“He looked at her for a long time, outwardly unmoved. I tried to read him. He turned to me and said the woman was completely unknown to him.” He sighed. “One other thing.”
“What?”
“I asked Vlaanderen if Maurice would be home in the afternoon. You understand it would be handy to know his whereabouts, if we’re going to arrest him.”
“And?”
“Maurice never came home last night. Our bird flew the coop.”
DeKok ambled over to where he kept his coat and struggled into it. Vledder called from his desk.
“Shouldn’t we send out an APB before we leave?”
“What kind of APB?”
“For the apprehension of Maurice Vlaanderen.”
DeKok shook his head and put on his hat.
“Wait until I get back.”
Vledder looked strange.
“You’re going alone?” There was a mixture of surprise and disappointment in his voice.
“Yes.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m attending Pierrot’s funeral. I want to know who else shows up.”
“What do you want me to do in the meantime?”
DeKok pointed at his desk.
“I checked with the Water Police this morning. They have indeed found a speedboat they can’t identify. They towed it from Western Basin to their headquarters at West Dock Quay. Go take a look at that boat. I think it was used to transport Pierrot’s corpse.”
“From where?”
“From the houseboat on Inner Side Canal.”
“So you think he was murdered at home?” Vledder seemed surprised.
“Yes,” said DeKok. “Now that Lowee’s friend made such a mess, we have little, if any, useful evidence. Check it out anyway, would you? Forensics should be finished with their investigation by now. Maybe they found something, maybe not.”
“I’ll take care of that. When will you be back?”
DeKok grinned sadly.
“After my final salute to the clown
.”
Outside a dense cover of low-hanging clouds covered the city. Sparse droplets of cold drizzle turned into heavy fog. Next it would change to the consistency of the “misters” one sees at amusement parks on hot days. Every once in a while it would rain harder, but never enough to warrant an umbrella. This kind of weather could keep on for days in Amsterdam, soaking everything. It looked as though Heaven had turned away from the city, leaving behind this dismal, wet blanket.
DeKok pulled up the collar of his coat and pushed his hat low down over his eyes. He moved across the gravel paths of the cemetery, in his typical duck-footed gait. The water dripped from his face. He wondered if anyone else would show up.
Anyone could have recognized his car by the way he had parked. It was an inexpert, crooked job. No other cars arrived. This surprised him; he hoped there would be other mourners to accompany Pierrot to his last resting place. He had never known the clown in life. He only remembered him in death.
The cemetery was a sad and deserted place. The flowers had lost their color and even the birds were silent. DeKok walked on, his head bent down. When he looked up he saw a woman in the distance. She stood remote and alone, under the chapel overhang. The sight stirred memories. He’d seen such great sadness too many times in his life.
When he came closer, a smile of recognition curled his lips.
“Charlotte, I’m glad to see you.” It sounded sincere.
She looked around and smiled sadly.
“I thought there would be more interest. It’s his last performance.”
A large hearse approached at a disrespectful speed. The car stopped near the chapel. The brakes squealed and gravel flew. A man in a black uniform stepped out of the car and ran toward DeKok and Charlotte.
“You’re here for Mr. Eikelbos?”
Both of them nodded.
“Oh,” the man said. It sounded disappointed. “You may follow us.” He ran back through the rain and slid behind the wheel.
Slowly the car moved off. Charlotte and DeKok followed. They walked silently next to each other. The gleaming, black vehicle purred softly in front of them.
Charlotte glanced aside.
“Is it usual for a police inspector to attend the funeral of a victim?”
DeKok shook his head solemnly.
“No, I came on my own.”
“Why?”
The gray sleuth shrugged his shoulders.
“I had a nebulous thought,” he said absent mindedly, “that few people would show up. For most people a clown and a funeral are incongruent concepts. A clown doesn’t die and isn’t buried. A clown just disappears, applause following him out of the ring, or off the stage,” he licked his lips and sighed. “Clowns are often sad people. The makeup, costumes, jokes, and pratfalls are smoke and mirrors.”
Charlotte slowed down slightly. The exhaust from the car stank.
“Have you any idea who the killer might be?”
“No, we’re still in the throws of the investigation. Do you have any idea who it could be?”
Charlotte said nothing. She stared at the gravel as they walked on. DeKok did not press her. After a while she started talking again.
“Did you ever see any of his performances?”
DeKok made a regretful gesture.
“No, never.”
She breathed deeply.
“That’s really a pity. You should not have missed it. Pieter was one of a kind. Usually I waited in the wings for him, but one time I sat with the audience instead. It was almost magical. Pieter could keep any audience in a trance.”
DeKok leaned his head forward and let the water run from the brim of his hat.
“Inimitable?”
“Absolutely. Holland will never have another Pierrot.
“You loved him?”
A tired smile played around her lips.
“Love, well, I don’t know. Romantic love has always eluded me. Rather than a grand passion, it seems I have Fantinelli to nurture. He’s a great, awkward, and helpless child. Perhaps that’s why I’m always in pursuit of men.”
“Like the clown?”
“Yes, like the clown … like so many.”
Again a silence fell between them. The rain increased, became more insistent. DeKok looked at the gravestones, reading the dates of birth and death. Most people, he realized with a start, did not live very long. He changed his gaze back to the hearse and thought about Charlotte’s words.
“You really think he couldn’t be replaced?”
“Who?”
“Pierrot.”
Charlotte shook her head decisively.
“Impossible.”
“But it happened. On the night that Pierrot’s corpse was discovered, another Pierrot performed in Groningen. From what I hear, he performed flawlessly.
“Are you sincere?” There was disbelief in her voice.
DeKok nodded.
“Nobody, not on stage and not in the audience, noticed a difference.”
Charlotte stopped. The hearse purred on. She wiped the water out of her eyes with the back of her hand. There was a dark look in her bright, green eyes.
“Butterfly … she was the only person who knew Pierrot’s act inside out.”
16
Vledder looked at DeKok in amazement.
“Butterfly,” he exclaimed, dazed. “It was Butterfly in Groningen?”
DeKok nodded complacently.
“According to Charlotte, Butterfly was capable of doing Pierrot’s act, almost to perfection. She had done it for the group a few times, just as a joke.”
“How would we ever prove that?”
DeKok nodded in agreement. His face was somber.
“The more I think about it, no two people could have mimicked him. We’ve only looked at Butterfly as a sweet, little dancer. By her own admission, she didn’t have much of an impact alone. She hung at the end of a cable with some plastic wings. We saw her as a possible lead to the jewels. We completely ignored her musical background. Pierrot’s act consisted largely of musical jokes, masterfully executed. Butterfly studied violin at the Conservatory. She probably played other instruments. Over the years, as a member of the group, she must have seen Pierrot’s act hundreds of times. She must have absorbed every movement, every gesture.”
Suddenly Vledder’s eyes widened.
“But if ...” he said, stumbling over his words in haste, “if she, Butterfly, performed that night in Groningen … then … then she must have known the murderer and his plans.”
“That seems a reasonable assumption.”
Vledder became more excited.
“He had plans—she acquiesced. She knew what was about to happen and agreed. That’s why she traveled to Groningen while …”
“ … Pierrot was being killed,” completed DeKok.
“Yes.”
Abruptly DeKok stood up, an exasperated look on his face.
“No, Dick. There’s something wrong with our reasoning. I said it before; the victim did not need an alibi. The murderer needed an alibi. To turn it around is absurd.” He pointed at Vledder. “What did Butterfly achieve with her performance in Groningen?”
“Eh, the impression … she made us believe Pierrot was still alive.”
“Very good. And what is the purpose of that, now that we know he’s dead?”
Vledder swallowed when he saw the implication.
“To obscure the time of death.”
“Right. What about the corpse?”
“Someone has to hide it, so it isn’t found right away.”
DeKok grinned evilly.
“And what does our murderer do? At almost the same time Butterfly appears onstage in Groningen as the living, breathing Pierrot … the murderer dresses Pieter Eikelbos in his distinctive clown’s costume. He places the body at the foot of Criers’ Tower, in plain view. You see, and that’s what I don’t understand.” DeKok paused for a moment and then continued in a milder tone of voice. “What happened with that speedboat?”
<
br /> Vledder had to gather his thoughts to adjust to the new twist the conversation had taken.
“The Water Police,” he began, “at this time of the year, they’re inundated. Sorry, no pun intended … I mean they are swamped … oops, never mind. There are a lot of reports about stolen boats of all types, mostly small boats. It seems to be a trend. Anyway, they had not yet searched for the owner of the speedboat. I took a good look at it and asked around Inner Side Canal. The boat almost certainly belonged to Pieter Eikelbos. According to the neighbors, a speedboat like that was usually moored alongside the deck outside his bedroom.”
“So we know how they transported the corpse. It must be why the windows were opened from the inside, leaving no indication of forced entry.”
The phone rang. Vledder picked it up and listened. After a few seconds he looked up at DeKok.
“Guess who’s waiting for us downstairs?”
“Maurice Vlaanderen,” answered DeKok without hesitation.
“How did you know?”
DeKok flashed a secretive smile.
“Weren’t we going to send out an APB for his arrest?”
DeKok’s expression did not change.
“Why go to all the trouble of searching for someone … if they’re going to report, anyway.”
“No,” screamed Maurice Vlaanderen. “You think I’m crazy? I didn’t kill her. When I left, she was still alive.”
“When was that?”
“Day before yesterday, the night before she was found murdered.”
“What time?”
“About eleven o’clock. Yes, it was almost eleven o’clock when I left. Altogether I spent, maybe, an hour there.”
“To do what?”
“To talk.”
“What about?”
“Jewelry, what else?”
“Did she have the jewels?”
“She denied it.”
DeKok leaned back in his chair and nodded at Maurice with an amiable smile on his face.
“Let’s start at the beginning. How did you find out about Butterfly?”
Maurice closed his eyes while he thought.
“You know,” he said slowly, “my father could only remember the word, or concept, Butterfly after the disappearance of his collection. Over Father’s protest I told you about it.” He lowered his head in shame. “By now you must know I was once arrested for the theft of some jewelry. When it comes to jewelry, I’m my father’s son. I have the same fascination, the same love of stones. Even though my conviction dates back more than ten years, I did not want to be a suspect. So I was ready to do anything possible to resolve this matter for my father. On reflection I couldn’t sit on the sidelines. I had to do something proactive.”
DeKok and the Death of a Clown Page 12