The young woman approached him with a friendly smile and offered her hand. Her long, almost sinewy fingers closed around his hand. DeKok was surprised at the unfeminine strength of her grip, which was so in contrast with the rest of her appearance.
“Well, Mr. DeKok,” she asked, “have you found a trace of Nanette?” Her voice sounded gaily hopeful.
Sadly DeKok shook his head.
“No,” he said apologetically, “I don’t know a thing yet. Of course we’re trying, you understand. But so far we’ve had very little luck.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
DeKok removed his hat and unbuttoned his coat.
“Do you have any suggestions?”
“Not one.”
She shrugged her shoulders in a helpless gesture.
DeKok pointed at the wet storefront.
“I could imagine,” he said, “that this kind of weather might make somebody suddenly long for another land, a different climate, a southern location full of warmth and sun-drenched beaches.”
She disciplined a rebellious lock of blonde hair with the back of her hand.
“Surely you don’t think Nanette—”
“It’s only a suggestion.”
“Do you find it plausible?” Doubt shone in her eyes.
“Actually I am applying my own feelings, longings if you like, to the situation. Whenever I see the window of a travel agency, full of posters with white sand, blue water, and people laughing in the sun, it has a profound effect. I always have the urge to just walk away from it all just to be there.” He grinned self-consciously. “But at my age you always think about the consequences of such a bold step. The consequences are always far too many.”
“And if you were younger?” She looked at him with interest.
DeKok grinned.
“How young? Nanette’s age?”
Kristel did not answer. She glanced away and looked at the electric clock on the wall. She stared at it without seeing anything for a while. It was three minutes to six.
“I’ll close up for the day,” she decided. “It’s almost that time anyway. I don’t expect any more customers.” She gave him a friendly smile.
“Perhaps you’d like to come in for a while?” she asked.
“Yes,” nodded DeKok, “I’d like to see her room.”
“What would you gain by seeing her room?”
“Perhaps there are letters or other papers that can help give us a starting point. Some young women keep a diary.”
She was visibly upset at the thought.
“People still keep diaries these days?”
DeKok nodded. His face was serious.
“Not so often anymore. But some still do. Dreamy girls, those with romantic inclinations, sometimes feel the need to entrust their intimate thoughts to the pages of a diary. Some consider it a sort of confession.”
“Confession?”
“Yes, a written declaration. It’s very interesting literature. Sometimes it reveals the most surprising thoughts and disclosures.”
DeKok made a tired gesture. He continued, “Most women are secretive about these writings. I mean, they’re not easy to find. They’re sometimes hidden in the strangest places.”
She wrinkled her nose and snorted audibly.
“Silly,” she said. “Childish.”
The irritated tone did not escape DeKok.
“You never kept a diary?” he asked.
It was a superfluous question, and DeKok knew it.
She looked at him with animosity.
“I never,” her voice sounded irked, “had time for such foolishness.”
“And Nanette?”
She walked to the front door.
“I don’t know,” she remarked in passing, “I never paid any attention.”
Carefully she closed the door. Two bolts and a Yale lock. Then she shut off a number of hidden light sources. Suddenly it was dark in the store. All color had disappeared.
“Are you coming?” she asked.
She disappeared behind the counter and through the bamboo curtain. Almost reluctantly DeKok followed the scent of her perfume. The scent excited him for a moment, a very brief moment.
She led him to a short, narrow corridor. A few brass hooks were attached to one wall, serving as clothing hooks.
“You can hang your coat here,” she said and disappeared.
DeKok found a place for his old, much-loved hat and took off his raincoat. He quickly moved his hand over the shoulders and back of his jacket. It felt wet. He cursed quietly to himself. His raincoat had soaked through again. It was his own fault. His wife had told him time and again to get rid of the old coat and buy a new one. But DeKok did not like new things. He was attached to this raincoat almost as much as he was to his hat.
An oval mirror in a frame of Scottish plaid hung next to the brass hooks. He bent forward and looked at his reflection in the mirror. It seemed to cheer him up. He always felt that his face was a bit ridiculous and could never comprehend why others took him seriously. After all, with such a face…. He smiled at himself, adjusted his tie, and walked toward the door of the room. He stopped short in the door opening. It was as if everything had become hazy. There seemed to be a fog in front of his eyes, a magical veil of whispering taffeta and lace.
He rubbed the back of his hands over his eyes and tried to focus. She stood in the middle of the room, smiling. She was alluring in a fitted dress. The garment left little to the imagination and served as a witness to her beauty.
DeKok took a deep breath and succeeded in dispelling the enchantment. He wondered how she’d tricked him, what had veiled his clear observation. He analyzed: It had been her smile, he decided, and her look full of sweet promise. It had been the cause of a slightly increased heartbeat and flow of blood to the head. Embarrassed, he scratched the back of his neck and banished his foolishness with a grin. Then he entered the room.
She motioned to a wide bench near the wall.
“Please sit down,” she said warmly, making him feel at home. “I’ll make some coffee.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
DeKok sat down and looked around. The room was tastefully furnished. Old, new, antique, and modern balanced in a near perfect harmony. A spiral cast-iron stairway with teak treads had been cunningly made part of the interior. The room could not be imagined in any other way.
A small Swedish desk in one corner of the room displayed the picture of a girl in a nurse’s uniform. The desk was shaded by an unlit floor lamp. DeKok could not make out the figure in the photo.
Kristel returned from the kitchen with a set of transparent glass balls and a complicated-looking contraption. Somewhere near the bottom a flame caused the coffee to percolate through the system. The smell was heavenly. With an elegant leg she pushed a small table closer, and then placed the contraption on it along with cups and other ingredients.
“Cream and sugar?”
DeKok nodded.
She sat down next to him and poured.
“I’m glad you came,” she said softly, “it was quite a relief. You see, all day I’ve been dreading this hour. Nanette and I always drank coffee together around this time. It was sort of a ritual—close the shop, make coffee.”
“I understand completely,” nodded DeKok.
She stirred her cup.
“We only had each other. We were dependent on each other.”
DeKok looked at her from the side.
“You don’t have visitors?”
“We have no girlfriends.”
“What about male visitors?”
A blush appeared on her cheeks.
“I have always categorically discouraged male visitors.”
“Why?”
She sighed.
“I didn’t want any loose talk in the neighborhood.”
“This is Amsterdam, not Aalsmeer,” grinned DeKok.
“You think this place is so different?” She looked at him sharply.
DeKok did not answer. Then he aske
d, “What does Nanette think?”
She took a hasty swallow of her coffee.
“Nanette? Nanette accepted it.”
“So she doesn’t agree?”
Her face became hard.
“She accepted it.”
DeKok sighed.
“I wonder,” he thought aloud, “what Nanette’s reaction would be if she were to suddenly come in and see us together?”
Kristel turned her face toward the door. Her eyes were large and scared. “Nanette? No, that’s impossible,” she said.
She took DeKok by the arm.
She almost screamed, “That just couldn’t be!” There was terror in her voice. “Mr. DeKok, please tell me it would be impossible for her to just come in unexpected without my noticing.”
DeKok shook his head.
“Don’t worry,” he said calmly, “with two bolts on the front door that would be quite a trick.”
His sarcasm escaped her.
“I’m afraid, Mr. DeKok.”
He looked at her searchingly, trying to penetrate to the thoughts beyond the enchanting exterior.
“What, or whom, do you fear? Surely it’s not Nanette. You think she’s dead, correct?”
“Yes, yes, she’s dead,” she panted.
DeKok rubbed his face with his hand. This had come full circle—this was reminiscent of Vledder’s heavy-handed interrogation earlier in the day when he dismissed Kristel’s emotional state. But DeKok was looking for a calm interview, with time and opportunity for confidences. He doubted he would succeed, however. There was something wrong with Kristel van Daalen, something he did not understand. She seemed so…schizoid, so unstable. She would appear infinitely desirable and enchanting, then without warning she would change into a threatened madwoman. Was Nanette’s disappearance the only reason for the mood swings?
He looked at the lovely woman next to him. Right here, he thought, but unattainable, enigmatic. He looked at her pale face. She was still overwrought. Calmly he drank his coffee and waited for her to calm herself.
“Could I see her room now?”
She rose and pointed at the spiral staircase.
“Just go upstairs and push the trapdoor at the top of the stairs, it’s counterbalanced. I’ll follow.”
DeKok nodded. He did not know what he was looking for in Nanette’s room, he just wanted to know what the room looked like, the color of the curtains, the fabric of her nightgown. DeKok felt that these things were important. They would help him to form a mental picture of the missing girl.
Upstairs Kristel showed him around.
In the back there was an additional workroom. Red earthenware flowerpots were spread all over the floor. The walls were covered with racks and shelves loaded with beads, glasswork, straw, and raffia in various lengths and sizes. It was a riot of colors. There were spools of green wire and plastic ribbons in many colors and widths. The air smelled of earth and rotting moss.
Nanette’s room was a disappointment. It was a functional bedroom, without frills and sparsely furnished. A single bed without cover was set along one wall next to a small makeup table. There was an extensive collection of makeup articles schematically arranged. A large wardrobe stood against the opposite wall. DeKok opened the doors. To the left was quite a wardrobe of coats, suits, and dresses. To the right on shelves were sweaters, shirts, and a stack of underwear. The top pair was green. DeKok read the word “Thursday” in embroidered letters. He lifted it up and discovered a pink pair of underwear with “Friday,” a sky blue set with “Saturday,” and yellow ones with “Sunday.”
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were missing.
Softly DeKok closed the large chest doors. He looked around one more time and left the room. He had seen enough, and unfortunately there were no letters, personal papers, or a diary.
Kristel led the way along the corridor. Along the way she stopped in front of another door.
“And this is my room,” she said.
DeKok looked at her. Her face had regained the warm expression of happy generosity. Her blue eyes mirrored a sea of promises.
“Would you like to see it?”
“Please.”
Suddenly shy she slowly opened the door as if reluctant to reveal a part of herself, to reveal a secret. There was a comfortable aura of feminine intimacy about the room. It reminded him of the closeness of a boudoir from centuries past. In striking contrast the night table held a photo in a very modern frame. It showed an athletic girl in shorts carrying a tennis racket. She noticed DeKok’s glance and smiled.
“That’s history. I almost never play anymore.”
“Why not?”
“No time. The business takes all my spare time.”
DeKok nodded.
“Does Nanette practice any sports?” he asked. “Does she have any hobbies?”
She shook her head.
“No, Nanette was just beautiful.”
DeKok looked at her searchingly. There was something in her voice that he did not like.
“Have you,” he began with some hesitation, “eh, ever been in love?”
Annoyed, she looked at him.
“In love?”
“Yes, in love.”
He noticed the blue in her eyes change to a steely grey. Her eyes flashed.
“What does that have to do with Nanette’s disappearance?”
DeKok made a tired gesture.
“That’s exactly what I’m wondering.”
5
DeKok held a lonely vigil behind his desk in the deserted detective room. It was hot. The temperature resembled the oppressive heat inside a kiln. DeKok had lit one of the giant gas radiators near the window and draped his raincoat nearby. He was determined to dry it, along with his hat. He had promised himself dry clothes and, by Jove, he was going to have dry clothes. He was not going to leave the room until his immediate goals had been achieved—even if he received information that half the city had been murdered. Dry clothes first, next a long period of nothing, and then, only then, everything else. The annoyed look on his face was emphasized by a stubborn set to his jaw.
DeKok was not in good humor. The interview with Kristel van Daalen had not gone according to plan. He would have liked to have cracked that hard shell, but she kept evading him. As long as he remained under the influence of her physical beauty, as long as he seemed spellbound, she was all sweetness and light. Then he would struggle free of her captivating spell. Once he returned to asking questions, examining facts, she became manic. It was a strange situation. He thought, Kristel asks for help from the police regarding the disappearance of Cousin Nanette, but as soon as the police start to ask questions, the same Kristel clams up like an oyster.
He loosened the top button of his shirt and looked pensively at the heat shimmering above the radiator. He thought about withdrawing from the case. Just issue an APB and let the consequences be the consequences. If the interested parties were not going to cooperate, then why should he worry his head about it? After all, it was possible that Nanette had just taken off. “I have always categorically discouraged male visitors.” He grinned to himself. Did Kristel really expect to keep love at bay with that attitude? It was rather silly. He took a blank text form and thought about what he wanted to write. After some deliberation he decided on a blanket APB, including the border posts.
He wrote: The Commissaris of Police, Chief 2nd Division, Post Warmoes Street in Amsterdam, requests to be informed of the whereabouts of Nanette Bogaard, age nineteen. Description: Approximately 5 feet 6 inches, slender, long blonde hair with natural wave. Last seen dressed in a dark blue suit and—
He put the pen down. Suddenly he remembered what he had seen in Nanette’s room—the underwear with the days of the week. He pursed his lips together and shook his head. Something was out of place. According to Kristel, Nanette had disappeared yesterday, a Thursday. But the underwear with “Thursday” were still in the wardrobe. If Nanette really was in the habit—and it seemed she was—of wearing them i
n order according to the day of the week, Kristel had been lying. Nanette had not disappeared Thursday; she was already gone by Wednesday.
Suddenly DeKok began to laugh. He laughed loudly. It was high time that he took a long, sober look at Nanette’s case. He was getting upset over nothing, starting to see suspects around every corner. Never mind the pondering over underwear. That was ridiculous, of course it was. After all, what woman was going to be dictated by the days written on a pair of underwear—one in a thousand? It was probably fewer. In that moment he could visualize himself in front of the judge: “And then, Your Honor, underwear in her closet, eh, ladies’ garments, Your Honor, and…eh, embroidered thereupon…” The defense (and the press) would have a field day. The telephone on his desk started to ring. He lifted the receiver; it was Vledder.
“I’m back from Aalsmeer.”
“All right. Where are you now?”
“At the post near the stadium. I just called to see if you were still there.”
“Why?”
“Well, if you had gone home then I would have gone home as well. I have a date tonight, you see, with a girl.”
“So?”
“Yes, well, but if you had planned anything for tonight, you see…”
“Have you known her for some time?”
“Who?”
“The girl.”
“About three months.”
DeKok thought for a while.
“Does she wear underwear with the days on them?”
“What!?”
“You know, panties with the days embroidered—one pair for each day of the week.”
He heard Vledder sputter.
“It’s never gone that…eh, I mean, eh, it’s rather an intimate piece of apparel.”
“Right, that’s what this is all about. It was just a shot in the dark. Apparently the sexual revolution of today is less a reality than it would appear. You just keep your date.”
There was silence on the line for a while.
“DeKok, are you going to be in the office much longer?”
“Oh, maybe another half hour or so.”
DeKok and the Somber Nude Page 4