Further, DeKok had concluded that anybody—no matter who—was capable of murder. Perhaps, he mused, it was no more than a game of chance consisting of facts, circumstances, and emotions. If fate stacked the deck in a certain way, murder could result. It did not matter who the players were. It was only a matter of degree.
DeKok pressed his lips together. What were the murder factors for Ronald Staaten? Thoughtfully he let them pass in review. Ronald is the only son of wealthy parents. His mother and sole anchor dies early. His father, a man with a somewhat checkered sexual past and an inflated ego, wants to remarry. The boy’s intense emotional bond with his mother develops into hatred toward his father. The father poses his very young love, Nanette, on the family sofa for a nude portrait. DeKok rubbed his face. It was all there.
He placed his hand on the head of the sobbing young man.
“Come,” he said in a compelling, fatherly tone, “let’s talk about it some more, earnestly, man to man. Murder is worth discussing.”
Slowly Staaten lifted his head.
DeKok looked in the teary face. Strangely enough he felt no pity, no compassion. The sorrow, the regret of the young man left him untouched. He did not care for crying men. They irked him. He took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and tossed it at Ronald.
“Here,” he said gruffly, “clean your face.”
He watched while the younger man wiped the tears from his eyes. DeKok left the interrogation room and returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of coffee. He placed one mug in front of Staaten and started to slurp comfortably himself. Slowly the young man brought himself under control. He became calmer.
“What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why you didn’t protest against the use of the sofa before the painting was done.”
Staaten sipped his coffee carefully.
“I did not know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
“I had no idea what kind of painting it was going to be. One day Pierre Popko came to get the sofa—”
“Who’s Pierre Popko?” interrupted DeKok.
“Popko is the artist who painted the portrait.”
“Right. Go on.”
“I said, ‘Pierre, what do you want with Mother’s sofa?’ and he told me it was for a painting commissioned by my father. He did not tell me any more, and I did not ask. You see, I did not know Pierre planned to pose Nanette naked on it.”
“Did you know Nanette at that time?”
“Yes, I did. She had come to our house several times by then. It was about a month after Pierre introduced us to her.”
Surprised, DeKok stared at him.
“Nanette was introduced to you and your father by this Pierre Popko?”
Ronald nodded.
“In addition to his other activities,” he said with a down-turned mouth, “Father is also a self-proclaimed Maecenas, a guardian angel of art and artists. Pierre Popko is a protégé. My father gave him commissions, introduced him to the right people. Pierre visited us often while Mother was still alive. And one evening Nanette accompanied him.”
“I thought,” said DeKok, “that your father had made the acquaintance of the lady through his interest in, eh, botanical subjects.”
“Oh, you must have seen the rose in his lapel.”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
The young man shook his head.
“You don’t know Father,” he said, grinning broadly. “If today he meets a young woman who cannot stand alcohol, my father will be on the wagon before the day is out. He did not start the flower routine until after he discovered Nanette worked in a flower shop.”
DeKok laughed.
“Yet Nanette seemed to have made an impression on him. His marriage plans seemed in earnest.”
“Father was very taken with her. Charmed is the word, I think. Certainly he had started to live in a sort of dream. The fact that a beautiful young girl was interested in him flattered his vanity, if nothing else. What would you expect?”
Staaten paused briefly, shook his head, and sighed deeply.
“Pierre Popko encouraged it. He showed my father sketches he had made of Nanette. He would praise her beauty, calling her a goddess, a reincarnated Venus, perfection personified. And the old goat listened with glowing cheeks and bated breath.”
“What kind of sketches were they?”
“Just sketches. Charcoal sketches. Nude studies, of course. Nude studies of Nanette.”
“Were they good? I mean, did you like them? Were they done, well, realistically?”
“They were so realistic,” he grinned with disgust, “my father bought them all. Once he decided that he would marry her, he didn’t want Pierre to make any more sketches of her. He did not want anybody else to have images of her. He also prohibited Nanette to pose again.”
“Did Nanette obey him?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t check up on her.”
DeKok looked up with sudden interest. He had detected a certain intonation in the young man’s voice, a certain emphasis.
“If you didn’t,” he asked sharply, “who did?”
Staaten did not answer at once. He moved restlessly in his chair. Apparently he was a bit embarrassed by the question.
“Well,” pressed DeKok, “who did check up on her?”
Ronald swallowed.
“Father, he, eh…he did not trust Pierre.”
DeKok was sitting behind his desk staring soberly into the abyss of nothing. He was stuck. His progress had been slow to begin. Now there was no movement at all in the case. So far all the people he had contacted in connection with Nanette were difficult liars, or told half-truths at best. For example, Kristel must have known something about Nanette’s intention to marry. Why had she not mentioned it? Barry Wielen. Without a doubt he was the mysterious tipster who led them to the painting. How and exactly what did he know about the painting? Undoubtedly Wielen knew more than he was telling.
DeKok rubbed his chin; he was thinking hard. The sheet on which he had been doodling was still on his desk. The line he had written was still there: HOW OR WHY OR THROUGH WHOM DID NANETTE DISAPPEAR? He had written that only yesterday. Really he should not be too dissatisfied with the results so far. Now, only a day later, he was able to answer part of the question. Nanette disappeared because she had been killed. Her murderer was someone who, for one reason or another, had found it necessary to mutilate the corpse in a most abhorrent manner. The last bit seemed especially important to him. Why the disfigurement? What had been the purpose?
Vledder entered the detective room. He seemed hurried and excited. He hung his wet raincoat from a peg and pushed a chair closer to DeKok’s desk. His face beamed.
“Did you know,” he whispered, “Nanette used to be a nurse?”
DeKok nodded slowly.
“I suspected as much,” he said resignedly.
“Well, it’s true. When I went to Aalsmeer to ask some questions, that’s one of the things I heard. I suddenly remembered it while you were talking to Ronald Staaten. Before Nanette and Kristel started their flower shop, Nanette was a nurse, or a student nurse. I hadn’t told you yet. You see, at first I didn’t think it too important.”
Laughing, DeKok looked at him.
“And then you thought about Brother Laurens?”
“Exactly,” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “Brother Laurens! You understand, the morphine. Of course, Nanette must have gotten to know this Brother Laurens during her stint as a nurse. That seems reasonable. Somehow she got a hold over him. She coerced him into delivering drugs to her. That’s the way it went, don’t you think?”
“It’s possible,” answered the grey sleuth carefully.
Vledder’s face became disappointed.
“Now what?” he asked, irked. “It is possible. Absolutely. It’s simply obvious. As soon as we catch Brother Laurens, you’ll see I’m right.”
“And how do you propose to catch Brother Laurens?”
Vledder made a nonchal
ant gesture, suggesting that these were mere details.
“Simple. If we trace Nanette’s history, her career as a nurse, then we can’t help but find Brother Laurens. I’ve been working on it.”
“And…”
“Yes, I just came from Ye Three Roses. Kristel van Daalen even has a picture of Nanette in a nurse’s uniform.”
Shocked, DeKok looked up.
“Did you tell her?”
“What?”
“About finding Nanette.”
“No, eh, I…no, I told her nothing.”
“She didn’t ask?”
“No, she didn’t ask anything. She just told me all about how Nanette had become a nurse, how she was interested in surgery…Kristel was really nice. So friendly she asked me to convey her regards to you.”
DeKok snorted.
“How charming.”
Startled, Vledder looked at him, surprised by the tone of voice.
“Is, eh, is something the matter?”
DeKok bent his head slightly and used a thumb and index finger to rub along the side of his nose toward the corners of his eyes.
“No, nothing,” he said wearily. “It’s all right. Go ahead. Follow the trail of Nanette’s nursing career. Perhaps it will lead to Brother Laurens.” He raised a cautioning finger. “But no further. I mean, as long as we know where to find him, that’ll be enough for the moment.”
“No arrest?”
“Not yet, my boy. Not yet. We still do not know enough about his activities. He’s still a rather vague figure. Even the suspicion he had anything to do with Nanette or the drugs is only supposition, not fact. Just think about it.”
He paused and chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip.
“Just one thing,” he said pensively, “interests me to no end…”
“What?”
DeKok stared in front of him.
“Did Brother Laurens share Nanette’s interest in surgery?”
The phone rang at that moment.
Vledder picked it up and listened.
“It’s for you,” he said, and handed the receiver to DeKok.
“Yes, DeKok here.”
“You let him go,” charged a familiar voice. “You let him go!” There was despair and disbelief in the voice. “DeKok, why? You had him, you had him in your hands. All you had to do was turn the key in the lock.”
“Lock up whom?”
“Young Staaten.”
“And why should I do that?”
“He’s the murderer. He killed Nanette Bogaard!”
DeKok sat up straight.
“What?”
“Yes. On the day Nanette disappeared, he had a date with her.”
Furious, DeKok threw the receiver back on the phone.
“Who was it?” asked Vledder.
“Wielen,” he answered tersely. “He came right out and stated young Staaten murdered Nanette.”
“What?”
“Yes, he said he simply couldn’t understand why we didn’t keep Ronald. According to Wielen, the young man had a date with Nanette on the day she disappeared. He’s supposed to have killed her at that time.”
Vledder frowned.
“How does he know about the date?”
Dejected, DeKok shrugged his shoulders.
“He knows a lot of things. For instance, he was the one who called us about the painting at Mirror’s Canal.”
Vledder nodded agreement.
“Yes, and he was the man who wanted to buy the ‘Somber Nude,’ regardless of price.”
“Exactly. Wielen is up to his neck in this case. And his interest is much more than just professional curiosity. He’s personally involved. He loved Nanette. Love can be the cause of the strangest situations.”
DeKok narrowed his eyes to mere slits.
“But what I find so strange, what I don’t understand at all is this: how does Wielen know Nanette was murdered? You see, our find at the municipal dump is not yet public knowledge. Apart from the men there and the paramedics, only the police know about the mutilated corpse.”
Vledder looked at him with admiration.
“You’re right. Wielen does know more than he should. That’s suspicious, very suspicious.”
DeKok nodded. He stood up and shuffled over to the peg above the puddle created by his dripping raincoat. He was revitalized. He started to enjoy his job again. There was progress in the case. He placed his old, ridiculous hat firmly on top of his head and struggled with the still-wet, leaky raincoat.
“Come on, my boy,” he said jovially. “It’s about time we present Wielen with a very apt proverb.”
“A proverb?” Vledder looked dumbfounded.
“Never heard of it?” asked the old detective, grinning. “Very well known, I assure you: ‘The more you know, the more you have to answer for.’” He moved toward the door.
Vledder’s entire face was transformed by a wide grin.
Barry Wielen looked exhausted, as if he had not slept for days on end. His grey eyes looked dull. His face was grey. Even his remarkable mustache drooped. He stared at DeKok with a melancholy gaze.
“I expected you,” he said with a deep sigh. “To tell you the truth, that’s why I stayed home.”
“Uncommonly accommodating.”
“Nothing to do with accommodating you,” answered Wielen, shaking his head. “You owe me an explanation. That’s what I’m waiting for. Why did you let Ronald Staaten go? Why didn’t you arrest him?” His voice sounded demanding. “You let him go,” he continued, “without checking the facts or the background. That’s unforgivable. You let a murderer go free.”
DeKok looked at him without emotion and did not react.
Wielen became excited. He raised his voice.
“If you don’t arrest Nanette’s killer within twenty-four hours,” he yelled, “I’ll write a piece about you that will destroy your reputation forever. You hear me? You’ll be ruined as a policeman. Forever! I won’t leave a piece of you intact.”
Not the least impressed, DeKok waited patiently until he was through. Then he rose slowly from the easy chair in which he sat. His broad face looked serious. Carefully he extended a hand toward the reporter.
“My sincere condolences,” he said soberly. “I sympathize with your loss. Nanette Bogaard was the object of your love and devotion. The news of her death must have been a shock for you.”
Wielen hesitated momentarily. He searched DeKok’s face. He was trying to find a trace of mockery, of insincerity. He could not find it, so he took the extended hand.
“Thank you,” he said hoarsely.
“I would have liked to have softened the shock for you. For instance, I would have preferred to be the one to bring you the news. But from your phone call, I understand that you had already heard.”
It was both a statement and a question. Wielen nodded.
“Somebody called me.”
“Who?”
The reporter made a vague gesture.
“I, eh, I’ve acquaintances with the police. They keep me informed of interesting case developments.”
The sad, somewhat mild expression on DeKok’s face changed. It turned cold, an icy mask.
“Interesting case developments?” he said biting, sardonic. “Yes, such as the discovery of the dismembered corpse of a lively young woman. A woman you knew, cared for, loved. Interesting, no doubt, especially for the press.”
Wielen covered his face with his hands.
“Stop it!” he screamed. “Stop it.”
DeKok snorted. His nostrils trembled.
“Nanette Bogaard. What did you call her again? Oh, yes, the ‘wild daisy from Ye Three Roses.’ She was a treasure! Wow-wow-wow, what a broad. And you had not seen her for at least two weeks.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Wielen groaned. DeKok’s words struck like punches. They hurt him to the quick, to the most hidden part of his soul. He dropped into a low chair. With difficulty he managed to swallow his tears.
DeKok too sat down
again. His anger had receded. He had wounded the young man on purpose. It had been premeditated, to break through Wielen’s resistant exterior. Comfortably he stretched his legs and looked around the room. A small porcelain vase of wildflowers stood on a bookshelf. The stems were already wilting.
“If,” he said calmly, “you had been a bit more forthright with me from the beginning, if you had answered all my questions honestly, perhaps I’d know now who killed her.” His tone changed, it became sharper. “All right,” he continued, “you’ve been playing your cat-and-mouse game long enough. The time has come to lay the facts on the table.” He leaned forward threateningly. “And believe me,” he said harshly, “if you try to hide the smallest detail, I won’t leave a piece of you intact.”
The hint of a smile started underneath the reporter’s heavy mustache.
“You’re right,” he sighed. “At first I didn’t think it was all that serious. I was thinking in terms of an exclusive for the paper, more concerned about breaking a story than about Nanette. My thinking was wrong. You see, as I saw it, Nanette was not at all the type of girl to get into trouble. She was so independent, and stayed too…removed. Nanette was mercurial. She couldn’t be pinned down by any man. She constantly slipped through one’s fingers. She was not at all the type to fall into seven canals at the same time, as we say in Holland.”
“You only need one canal to drown,” observed DeKok.
Wielen nodded slowly.
“Indeed,” he agreed somberly. “That’s obvious, after the fact. She wasn’t as untouchable as I thought. Somebody got ahold of her.”
They remained silent for a long time. DeKok was the first to break the silence.
“But your conduct in this whole affair is not at all clear. Tell us about Nanette’s visit to the Red Light District two weeks ago, and anything you know about the date she had with Ronald Staaten. It seems to me you deliberately tried to mislead the police by not telling us everything.”
DeKok and the Somber Nude Page 12