“Acting as a private investigator.”
Maurice smiled faintly.
“You could call it that. I went looking for Butterfly … whoever or whatever that might be. Among others I asked a friend who’s involved in theater, including the Municipal Theater. He told me he had heard of a female dancer called Butterfly. She performed, primarily, in variety. I started calling impresarios.”
“Peter Dongen among them.”
“Yes,” nodded Maurice. “Eventually I reached Peter Dongen. He gave me the phone number and address of the Butterfly he knew.” He leaned in and said, in a confidential tone, “Look, inspector, my father remembered a Butterfly and suddenly it appeared there was a Butterfly. From the moment Dongen confirmed the dancer’s stage name, I felt she had something to do with the robbery.”
“Her actual name was Martha Hagen. Your father did not recognize her body.”
Maurice Vlaanderen licked his dry lips.
“He told me. He told me over the phone. That’s also the reason I immediately came here.”
“You were in a hurry to get away?”
Maurice grimaced as he shook his head vehemently.
“No, it was not an attempt to flee. My absence from home overnight meant nothing. I was not about to disappear, and I beg you not to interpret my departure that way. I had no idea Butterfly, Martha Hagen, was dead. It was in the newspapers this morning.”
“Do you still maintain Butterfly had something to do with the robbery at your father’s house?”
“Pretty much—nothing has compelled me to change my mind,” confessed Maurice.
DeKok looked stern.
“A bad assumption for a policeman.”
Young Vlaanderen leaned back and gesticulated agitatedly with both hands.
“Look, I know I’m not a policeman. Honestly, I didn’t want to be. It was about wanting to recover my father’s jewelry.”
“You were willing to do anything to achieve that goal?”
“Yes.”
“Even murder?”
Maurice jumped up.
“If you accuse me once more of murder,” he roared, “I’ll leave.”
DeKok looked unimpressed.
“If I permit you to go.”
Maurice calmed down suddenly and sat down again.
“Are you arresting me?”
“If you give me cause, yes,” said DeKok.
Maurice Vlaanderen paled.
“You can’t arrest me for her murder, when I’m not guilty.”
DeKok shrugged nonchalantly.
“The Law gives me all sorts of options, besides suspicion of murder. I could hold you for domestic disturbance, threats of violence, or blackmail. Need I continue?”
“But I, I’m not guilty of any of those things.”
DeKok grinned.
“You must admit anyone could be justified in suspecting you. We could book you on suspicion. You see, I’m sure Butterfly did not allow you in her apartment because she trusted your face. During your first telephone call you threatened her with prison if she did not return the jewels.”
Maurice closed his eyes and sighed.
“There was nothing else to do. As we agree, I am not a police officer. He fell silent and raked his fingers through his hair. Then he changed his tone of voice. “You are correct. I did put pressure on Martha Hagen. I forced a personal interview.” There was pleading look in his eyes. “I could not afford to wait until all that gorgeous, antique jewelry had been melted down, perhaps moved across the border.”
DeKok disregarded the remarks.
“So, she granted you the interview?”
“Yes.”
“Under what kind of threat?”
Maurice lowered his head.
“I told her I would visit her with a few friends, and we’d destroy everything in the apartment.”
“Not nice.”
Young Vlaanderen shook his head.
“No, you’re right. In retrospect I’m very sorry about it. Had she refused I would not have made good. I certainly have no friends who would engage in such a despicable act.”
DeKok pulled out his lower lip and let it plop back. He repeated the offensive gesture several times. Maurice looked away.
“Eventually our little Butterfly capitulated.”
Maurice turned back to face DeKok.
“Yes,” he said. “She invited me to come and talk. We agreed on ten o’clock.” He unbuttoned his top shirt button and ran a hand inside his collar. “It was to be all or nothing. She received me coolly. The conversation didn’t go well. I told her about my father, his passion for jewelry. I told her he recalled only one word after the theft. It all meant nothing to her. She admitted to being called ‘Butterfly,’ but that was all. She knew nothing about any jewels and knew nothing about any theft.”
“Then what?”
Maurice covered his eyes.
“She made me so angry. I went to her dressing table and drew out all the drawers.” He took his hands away and stared into the distance. “All that time she remained seated on that hassock … then she suddenly stood up and said, ‘Your father will get the jewelry back.’”
DeKok’s mouth fell open and for a moment he was speechless.
“What!?”
Maurice Vlaanderen nodded. He looked exhausted.
“She said she would bring the collection to him at noon, today.”
17
DeKok needed a few moments to recover. He stood up and started to pace up and down the detective room. The revelations Maurice made were beyond his wildest imagination. This development was too much to absorb all at once. Ever since he had found her with a knife in her back, he had known Butterfly occupied a key position in the case. But he never dreamt she was that close.
His thoughts came to a standstill. He calmed himself, walked back to his desk, and resumed his seat. He leaned closer to Maurice.
“Did she explain?”
“Pardon me?”
DeKok gestured impatiently.
“How could she promise your father would get his jewelry back? How would she know exactly which jewels or which pieces of jewelry you were talking about?”
Maurice shook his head.
“I’m sorry to admit I didn’t ask, maybe because of my conviction she was involved in the robbery. I never, quite frankly, doubted her complicity. When she said, ‘Your father will get the jewelry,’ I took it at face value. Afterward my relief resulted in a sudden impulse to leave town; I just wanted to celebrate the outcome with some friends. You can imagine how shocked I was when I heard of her death.”
DeKok nodded his understanding.
“It was your strong belief she actually had the jewelry?”
“Definitely.”
DeKok rubbed his chin.
“Why the extra day? Why not promise to return the jewels the next day, rather than the day after?”
Vlaanderen looked dumbfounded.
“I never gave it a thought. Her promise was enough for me. Later I reasoned she might need the extra time to retrieve the jewels from some secret location.”
DeKok rubbed the back of his neck.
“You’re not much help,” he said sadly.
His visitor made a helpless gesture.
“I’m sorry, truly. Perhaps I’m too optimistic, or not bright enough, to get all the ramifications.”
DeKok held the younger man with his eyes.
“Did it ever occur to you that Butterfly’s promise might have meant nothing? Perhaps she was just trying to get rid of you and be done with your boorish behavior.”
For a moment the broker’s son looked deflated. But he quickly recovered. With a resolute gesture Vledder admired, he stretched out a finger to DeKok.
“The woman, Martha, Butterfly, had that jewelry.”
Maurice Vlaanderen left DeKok and Vledder in the room with only the single sound of a humming defective light fixture. From the street came the tuneless voice of a drunk singing a tearjerker about betr
ayed friendship. It all passed by DeKok. He searched mentally for an explanation of the dimension Butterfly’s demise added to both cases.
Vledder looked beat.
“Tell me what you think, DeKok,” he said after some contemplation. “There’s a common thread in these two murders.”
“Between what?” asked DeKok, roughly torn from his own thoughts.
“The two murders. Here’s a thought: Pierrot says he’s going to pay off gambling debts with the jewelry, then someone kills him. Butterfly promises to return the jewelry to Vlaanderen, then someone kills her.”
Vledder suddenly had all of DeKok’s attention.
“That is indeed an aspect I find remarkable. I hadn’t thought it through. You may have stumbled on the motives for the killings.” He frowned, he liked the idea. “Both,” he continued, “must have known the someone who had the jewels. Perhaps they’d known for some time. Simply knowing this secret didn’t make either a real threat. The secret only became deadly once—” He stopped talking suddenly. The drunk outside had reached the second verse of his song: “What a friend … what a friend you were to me.” With a shock he came back to reality. He ran to get his coat and started to leave the room. Vledder laughed, despite himself. DeKok revved to top speed was comical indeed.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, catching up with his older partner.
DeKok wrenched open the door. He talked as he ran down the stairs.
“The Garden. I need to see a friend on Daisy Street. Henri Jonkers was missing from Pieter Eikelbos’ funeral.”
Vledder lashed the few horses under the hood of the VW hard. Traffic was passable at this time of night. They quickly crossed the dam and passed behind the Royal Palace. Before long they reached Roses Canal. It was the edge of the Jordaan.
DeKok slapped his forehead.
“Man I’m getting old! What a stupid mistake—was a time when I’d have gotten it right away. Why would Henri Jonkers stay away from the funeral of his boyhood acquaintance? It would be unthinkable for him to stay away of his own free will.”
“What do you think happened to him?”
“Not the slightest idea.”
Vledder risked a glance at his passenger.
“A knife in the back?”
DeKok did not answer. He braced himself with arms and legs as Vledder took a turn on two, screaming tires.
“You know where it is?”
“Yes,” answered Vledder curtly. “Just behind Aster Street.”
He forced the car around some obstacles, braking hard in the middle of Daisy Street.
Both inspectors vaulted out of the car at a dead run toward number 317. Vledder sprinted ahead, but DeKok, despite his odd gait, was not far behind. One after the other they took the narrow stairs two at a time. They were both out of air by the time they reached the third floor.
DeKok looked around and silently approached a door. He turned the knob and found the door locked. He signaled Vledder. The young inspector took a few steps backward and kicked hard. The hinges snapped and the door fell with a bang onto the kitchen floor.
The small living room was turned inside out. Furniture was scattered around and all of the drawers and closets had been emptied on the floor.
They found Henri Jonkers in the small bedroom behind the living room. His hands and feet were tied to the bedposts with ropes. A piece of duct tape covered his mouth. His eyes expressed his gratitude and relief, as he recognized the inspectors.
DeKok quickly removed the duct tape, while Vledder cut the ropes with his pocketknife.
His face distorted with pain, Henri rubbed his chafed wrists and ankles. Suddenly he covered his eyes and burst into tears.
Vledder brought a glass of water from the kitchen. DeKok sat down on the edge of the bed.
Slowly Henri Jonkers regained his composure. He closed his eyes for a moment.
“Not knowing was the worst. To the end I didn’t know whether someone would find me.” He looked at DeKok. “How did you know?”
The gray sleuth shook his head regretfully.
“I’m sorry to say I didn’t know. I missed you this morning at Pieter’s funeral.” He glanced at his watch. “I didn’t put two and two together until about fifteen minutes ago.”
Henri Jonkers sighed deeply. He drank some more water.
“It was last night, around ten o’clock. I was watching television. Without warning two men wearing ski masks broke in. They rushed me, dragged me to the bedroom, and tied me to the bed. Once my mouth was taped they ransacked my place.”
“They were looking for jewels.”
Jonkers looked surprised.
“Whatever it was they didn’t find it,” he stammered. “I don’t have any jewels … what kind of jewelry would a man like me have?”
“We’re talking about a jewelry collection Pieter offered in payment of his gambling debts.”
Henri Jonkers rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. The traces of the duct tape were still visible.
“Pieter had this valuable collection?” he asked. “You’re certain he offered them to someone?”
DeKok nodded.
“Yes. And I’m convinced that’s the reason for your unwelcome guests. Freddie Wezel had to have known you and Pieter were close friends.”
Henri made a helpless gesture.
“Of course he knew. Sometimes I accompanied Pieter when he went gambling. He even introduced me to Freddie.” He thought for a while. “But Pieter had no jewels at all to offer anyone.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“Absolutely.”
DeKok shrugged.
“Then he must have thought he could lay his hands on enough jewelry to pay his debts.”
Jonkers grinned without mirth.
“By what means, I would like to know?” His question was genuine.
DeKok looked sideways at Henri.
“Have you heard the troupe’s dancer, Butterfly, was also murdered?”
“I read that.”
“Did you know her?”
Henri Jonkers shook his head.
“No, much to my regret, I never met her in person. I only knew of her through Pieter.”
“What did he tell you?”
Jonkers showed a melancholy smile.
“Ach, he shared small anecdotes from backstage. One time her plastic wings fell off—she had taken only a few steps. The stage manager refused to pull up on the cable, said she couldn’t fly without wings. So there she stood. It must have been embarrassing and comical.” He paused and took another sip of water. “I did get the impression Butterfly was well regarded by the company. Pieter always spoke about her with a certain tenderness.”
DeKok sighed deeply.
“Nonetheless, she is dead. Just like Pieter, she had one of Fantinelli’s throwing knives in her back.”
Henri Jonkers stared at the wall.
“Unbelievable.” There was a world of sorrow in his voice. “Incomprehensible. Where is the sense in it? It must be the work of some maniac.”
DeKok did not react to the observation. He narrowed his eyes. Then he spoke, as if thinking out loud.
“You know what I don’t understand? Butterfly was a soft, sweet, young woman. She had charm, natural beauty. Yet we’ve found nothing about any romantic affairs.”
Henri Jonkers gave DeKok a surprised look.
“She had a long-term love affair,” he said.
“An affair?” repeated DeKok.
Jonkers nodded emphatically.
“With a hypnotist.”
“What?”
Jonkers nodded again.
“They lived together for years.”
It was the second time within a few hours that DeKok’s mouth fell open and he was speechless.
18
Vledder looked serious.
“Little Lowee,” he said with determination, “will have to speak out. He’ll have to talk.”
“What about?”
Vledder waved his ar
ms.
“About his acquaintance with whoever searched that houseboat. We could let it slip by—I know you’d rather keep it under the official radar. But not in light of what they did to poor Henri. Now it’s gone beyond the pale. Who knows what would have happened had you not given him a second thought. He could have died a gruesome, slow death.”
DeKok nodded but he had not heard a thing. His thoughts were otherwise occupied. He mulled over Henri Jonkers’ story about Butterfly and her hypnotist lover. A door was, at least, ajar following the revelation. Suddenly there was a whole string of new perspectives. He contemplated his options for further opening of the door. What would he find, once he succeeded? The misery of being unable to connect it all remained. New perspectives, or not, he kept accumulating loose, unrelated, and extraneous facts. Where was the common thread? It had to be somewhere. He looked at Vledder.
“Find out whether Kuster is on duty. If so, ask him to come up for a moment.”
Vledder lifted the telephone. DeKok placed both elbows on the desk and rested his chin on folded hands. His face became very pensive as he stared into the distance. He stopped noticing his surroundings. He wondered how he could have neglected to think about the hypnotist. In retrospect it seemed so obvious. DeKok knew the hypnotist would be the last individual he would consider. He was in denial about hypnosis and those who practiced it. Personally he could not imagine anyone would be able to partially suspend his will and influence his behavior. He would choose otherwise.
What is hypnosis? He understood it as an extreme form of suggestion. Hypnotists, so far as he knew, wielded a psychic influence, capable of transporting a subject to a state of mind in which all critical judgment is suspended. The subject follows all instructions and orders from the hypnotist without question. Had that happened to Vlaanderen and the other robbery victims in The Hauge? Had they opened their own safes, compelled by instructions received during hypnotic states? Would they have literally opened the way for thieves to take whatever they wanted? He recalled there hadn’t been any need to fuss and bother with locks, codes, or what have you.
DeKok and the Death of a Clown Page 13