“I did, you’re right. I loved Nanette. Her secret visits to the District intrigued me. But they remain unexplained.”
DeKok grinned. His craggy face was transformed into a picture of boyish mischief.
“And thus you thought, ‘This is an excellent opportunity. If I give the police a hint, then they’ll solve the problem for me.’ Isn’t that right?”
Wielen sighed, a mixture of regret and a guilty conscience.
“It could have been a lead,” he said apologetically. “It could have had something to do with her disappearance.”
“Come now, you didn’t believe that yourself,” challenged DeKok.
“No, not really. I’m not that naïve. It seemed more of a joke, one of Nanette’s bag of tricks…to get rid of Old Mealymouth.”
DeKok’s eyebrows were poised for one of their remarkable performances.
“Old Mealymouth?”
“That’s what she called Staaten, the stockbroker.”
“Why?”
“He pursued her day and night with proposals of marriage. Staaten is a rich man. He kept repeating what he could offer her, in addition to his own sweet, charming self.”
“And?”
Irritated, Wielen looked up.
“What do you mean and?” he asked.
“What was Nanette’s response?”
“Of course she didn’t want anything to do with the old goat. After all, he was almost three times as old as she. He persisted. At wit’s end, she finally made an appointment with Ronald. She wanted to ask him to ask his father to stop pestering her. You understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” nodded DeKok. “And she made the date for the day she disappeared.”
“Exactly. I saw her that day at Ye Three Roses. As you astutely noticed, I bought a bouquet of wildflowers. That’s when she told me about her meeting with Ronald.”
“Therefore you concluded that Ronald killed Nanette?”
“Yes, that’s obvious. He was the last person to see Nanette alive. He must have killed her.”
“And what about the motive?”
Wielen shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps,” he said hesitatingly, “he was afraid his father would marry Nanette anyway.”
“Against her will?”
A painful expression came over the reporter’s face.
“You never know,” he admitted reluctantly. “Money…money is a powerful inducement, after all.”
DeKok smiled.
“Your faith in her left room for doubt?”
Wielen made a sad gesture.
“Nanette was, after all, a woman.” He seemed to think it explained everything.
DeKok took a closer look at the young man. In his heart he felt a mild affection, a bit of empathy. It was as if he discovered something of himself in the journalist, a similar way of looking at things. After a while he said, “Tell me about the painting.” His voice was friendly.
“The nude?”
“Indeed, the nude on the red sofa,” he nodded.
“Nanette,” Wielen answered lazily, “used to work as a model. It was a way for her to earn extra pocket money. I was against it.” He made a helpless gesture. “But what could I do? After all, I had no authority over her. As far as friendly influence is concerned, she was someone who simply could not be told what to do.” He sighed deeply. “She did what she wanted,” he continued. “Pierre Popko, her favorite artist, painted her nude. It was an extremely good painting, striking. I saw it just after it was finished.”
“Where?”
“We were in his studio on Prince’s Island. I used to pick Nanette up from time to time when she was modeling.”
“And?”
“I think Nanette raised the subject with old Staaten somehow. In any case he bought the painting from Popko and gave it a home in his living room. Personally it made me furious when I heard about it. What the hell did Mealymouth want with a nude Nanette on his wall? One day, in a rash mood, I went to Staaten. I’d had a few, and bluntly made him an offer for the painting. I didn’t have all that much money, but believe me, I would have spent every last cent to get that painting.”
A faint smile was visible behind the moustache.
“Staaten gave me a cold look, like a dead cod. He laughed in my face. He called me a poor local hack. He showed me all his paintings, rubbing my nose in his wealth. I wanted to punch him in his fat, rich face…but I missed. I think I must have had more to drink than I thought.”
He paused again.
“Last night, rather late,” he continued, “I was hanging around in the Emperor’s Canal neighborhood.”
“Near the Staaten residence?”
“Yes. I knew she, Nanette, had a date with Ronald the night before. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of her, to discover her whereabouts. It would have made a nice headline for the paper, ‘Reporter Finds Missing Girl.’”
“But there was no headline,” grinned DeKok.
“No,” he sighed again. “No, it didn’t result in anything. I didn’t see Nanette. All I saw was the elder Staaten coming home around eleven thirty. At last I gave up and went home to sleep. I thought Nanette would undoubtedly resurface. On the way home I walked along the quiet side of Mirror’s Canal. I go there often. I like antiques, and I like to hunt around the old stores.”
“That’s when you discovered the painting?”
“Yes, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It didn’t make sense. My first thought was I had to have that painting. This was my chance, you see. I went to the nearest phone, rang the owner, and asked him to keep the painting for me. He asked for my name, and I gave it to him.”
He paused, searched for a cigarette, but did not light it.
“As I walked back along Mirror’s Canal to take a good look at the painting once more, I thought how strange it was for Staaten to have suddenly sold the painting. Something must have happened to change his mind. Maybe he felt he had to get rid of the painting, get her memory out of the house.”
He played with the cigarette, picking at it absentmindedly.
“After a while I figured the best thing to do was to ask him. Why not? I went back to the phone booth, called him, and asked why he had sold Nanette.”
He dropped the demolished cigarette in an ashtray.
“Staaten wasn’t even surprised,” he continued. “He told me the painting had been stolen from his house. He had discovered the theft only ten minutes earlier. So I told him where he could find it.”
DeKok nodded slowly.
“And,” he said grinning somberly, “after you had told everybody, contacted everyone you could think to alert, you decided to give the vaguest possible hint to the police. It was a sort of afterthought, just a little puzzle piece to keep the boys occupied.”
Wielen bowed his head.
16
“Do you think Wielen will keep his word? Will he withhold the news of Nanette’s murder? What about his paper? It is, after all, news,” remarked Vledder.
They were walking through the inner city on their way back from Wielen’s house to Warmoes Street. It was still raining. The wet asphalt mirrored the garish lights of neon advertising.
DeKok pulled up the collar of his raincoat a little higher and shoved his hat a little deeper down over his ears.
“In exchange,” he growled, “I promised him the exclusive. As soon as we unveil who killed Nanette, he’ll be the first to know.”
“But why are you so insistent that the report of her death be kept out of the papers? After all, there are already enough people who know.”
“Brother Laurens?”
Vledder shrugged his shoulders. “If he’s the killer, he doesn’t need to read it in the papers.”
“Exactly. I’m interested in what Laurens does and doesn’t know. Does he already know about her death? If so, how?”
“Do you consider him a suspect?”
DeKok sighed, avoiding a puddle.
“Well, not more or less than anyone else with
a reasonable motive.”
“Such as?”
“Broker Staaten.”
He spoke the name so lightly, almost as an afterthought, that Vledder slowed his step.
“Staaten Senior?”
Slowly DeKok nodded agreement.
Suddenly it started to rain harder, a veritable downpour. They were in the middle of the Dam. Vledder ran from the open square to the nearest shelter. On the corner of one of the streets he fled into The Red Lion. He stood panting in the lobby. DeKok approached at speed using his strange waddling gait. Vledder laughed. DeKok at top speed was always a comic sight.
They stood in the lobby for a while and watched the rain fall. Everybody seemed to have been swept from the streets by the sudden torrents of water.
DeKok shook his hat more or less dry and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Then he took Vledder by the arm.
“Come, my boy,” he said shakily, “I need something against the chill in my bones. I’ll treat you to coffee and cognac.”
Together they entered through the revolving door.
There were only few people in the bar. The detectives hung their wet coats on a peg and found a free table near the window.
A waiter delivered their order silently.
When the man disappeared, Vledder said, “You didn’t really mean it, did you, when you said that old man Staaten had a motive for killing Nanette?”
DeKok did not answer. With obvious pleasure he sipped his coffee laced with cognac.
“Have a drink first,” he said jovially, “it’ll do you good. People in our job need a bracer like this now and then.”
“But Staaten wanted to marry her. Why would he kill the woman he was planning to marry?”
DeKok took a big swallow from his coffee.
“Maybe it was revenge; she injured his vanity. If you listened carefully to Wielen’s story, you’ll recall Nanette wasn’t too flattering when she spoke about Staaten. She ridiculed him, called him ‘Old Mealymouth.’ That shows a remarkable lack of respect for one’s future husband.”
DeKok remained silent for a while, contemplating the weather outside.
“Just imagine,” he then said pontifically, “Nanette had indeed agreed to marry Staaten. Later he found out, one way or another, the girl didn’t care for him at all. It wasn’t enough she ran around and cheated on him, she ridiculed him to others. It’s certainly motive for a crime of passion.”
Vledder looked at his mentor with admiration. “Indeed, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that possibility.” He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. “But let’s say your reasoning is correct. With whom did Nanette cheat? Wielen? From the conversations we’ve had so far, that seems hardly a viable relationship.”
DeKok shook his head.
“Not Wielen, but Pierre Popko.”
Vledder looked surprised.
“Who’s Pierre Popko?”
“He is the artist who painted the ‘Somber Nude.’ Ronald told me about him. He also told me his father used to check up on Nanette.”
“Check up on her? Why?”
Again DeKok shook his head.
“You see, as soon as the broker decided that he was going to marry Nanette, he didn’t want her to model any longer. Specifically he didn’t want her to model for Popko. He didn’t trust the painter.”
Vledder’s eyes sparkled.
“But that’s beautiful,” he exclaimed, “just beautiful. Then we have solved the case after all. Broker Staaten found out that Nanette was cheating on him. He became angry and killed her.”
DeKok raised his hands in a repudiating gesture.
“Ho, ho,” he said laughing, “it’s not that simple. You’re much too hasty. You neglect, undoubtedly due to youthful exuberance, a few facts. Just think—”
Suddenly he stopped in mid-sentence. His grey eyes filled with a strange expression, a bit jumpy. He looked past Vledder.
“Don’t turn around,” he said hoarsely. “Kristel van Daalen is behind you. She’s just coming through the door. She’s with a man, a tall guy with a beard.”
They were outside on the Dam, walking again. It was still raining, but the heavy rain had stopped. People passed by toting umbrellas.
Vledder pulled an injured face.
“Was that really necessary?” he asked moodily. “Was it? Dammit! Even if she had seen us, so what? It’s Saturday night, you know. Look around, people do go out. There’s certainly nothing strange about Kristel going out with a friend, even a tall friend with a beard. So what?” He snorted audibly, displaying utter contempt. Then, unable to leave it alone, he continued, “You’re always looking for a hidden motive. You’re being ridiculous, suspicious of everything. Here we are slinking away like thieves in the night, just because you don’t want Kristel to see us. How idiotic—I’m surprised you took the time to pay the check.”
DeKok whistled a Christmas song through his teeth. He always whistled Christmas songs when he whistled, regardless of the season. Vledder’s protests rolled off his back. He knew exactly what bothered his pupil. The boy was thinking of Celine, of course, his girlfriend. It was Saturday night, and he was missing his girl. But as long as the Nanette case was unresolved…
Suddenly he stopped in the middle of the street and looked at his watch. It was past nine o’clock.
“I think you should go see her, my boy,” he said in a fatherly tone. “I bet she’s waiting for you, am I right?”
Vledder looked suspiciously at the face of his mentor. It seemed DeKok could read his thoughts. It was downright spooky.
He swallowed. “I, um, I…think so, yes.”
DeKok nodded his encouragement.
“The autopsy has been scheduled for tomorrow at ten. Please make sure that, at the very least, you’re there in time to meet Doctor Rusteloos. I’ll see you at the station afterward.” He gestured. “If I’m not there, the desk sergeant will know how to reach me.”
He patted his pupil on the shoulder.
“Give her my best,” he said in farewell.
Hesitating, Vledder stood his ground.
“And you,” he asked dubiously, “what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try to get ahold of Ronald Staaten before the night is out.”
“Ronald Staaten?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
DeKok smiled gently.
“Very simple. To ask him how his Thursday evening date with Nanette went.”
“Are you home alone?”
“No, Father is home too. Come in.”
Ronald Staaten led the way. DeKok followed him along the long marble corridor. Their footsteps sounded hollow echoing against the high walls. A wide staircase at the end of the corridor led upstairs.
“Father will be surprised.”
“How’s that?”
“I don’t think he expected visitors.”
“Ah, but my visit has to do with you, not your father.”
“With me?” Surprised, Ronald turned around.
“But if your father is home anyway,” nodded DeKok, “it might be a good idea for him to be present when we have our little talk. Perhaps we can eliminate a number of misunderstandings.”
They climbed the wide marble stairs. At the top, mounted on a black granite pedestal, DeKok saw a bronze statue of Mercury. This was a scaled-down replica of Mercury, the god of trade, from atop the stock exchange.
Ronald stopped in front of a high carved door. He hesitated. It was as if he had to steel himself against something. It lasted only an instant. Composed, he opened the door and entered.
“Father,” he announced, “here’s Inspector DeKok.”
The broker rose from a large easy chair with a high back. He looked at ease and relaxed, half-glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was dressed in a wrinkled robe, with felt slippers on his feet. He looked the opposite of the dapper man-about-town.
“With a kay-oh-kay,” Staaten smiled.
DeKok nodded.
�
��Indeed, you remembered.”
Again Staaten smiled politely.
“Please sit down,” he said with an expansive gesture. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit? Would you like something to drink? A sherry, or would you prefer something else?”
“Cognac, please.”
“Ronald,” the voice sounded dominating, authoritative.
“Yes, Father.”
Young Staaten complied immediately. He went to an intricately carved oak buffet and returned with a sparkling cognac glass and a bottle of old French cognac.
DeKok recognized the label.
Ronald looked a question at him.
“Would you like me to warm the glass?”
DeKok shook his head.
“No need, it’ll warm in my hand.”
“As you like.”
It sounded shy, almost scared.
DeKok’s eyebrows contracted, rippled briefly. This was a far cry from the Ronald Staaten he knew, not at all the young man who had reacted with such spontaneous passion. The arrogant attitude had vanished. Under the penetrating eyes of his father he behaved in a nervous manner. He was as humble as a servant in his father’s household. DeKok closed his eyes and saw Ronald as a marionette doll. A thousand invisible strings held him under the stern will of the man in felt slippers.
Ronald poured.
DeKok rocked the glass in his hand and inhaled the stimulating aroma of the drink. Meanwhile his gaze roamed the room. It was tastefully decorated. Although the room was large, almost a small ballroom, it was sparingly furnished. There was a certain atmosphere of intimacy, warmth. It was quite comfortable.
The walls were almost completely covered with paintings of different sizes. Most were portraits, figurative paintings. As a sort of concession to the strict figurative realism of most of the paintings, he discovered two smaller works by Renoir and a number of canvasses by lesser-known French impressionists.
There were no gaps apparent. The place that had once been occupied by the ‘Somber Nude’ had been filled again.
The elder Staaten watched DeKok closely.
“You’re interested in paintings?”
DeKok sipped from his cognac.
“In general no, paintings in general do not interest me. Only sometimes, if a painting is able to awaken certain emotions. If it appeals to my sense of life, then and only then will I be tempted to take a closer look, to study it.”
DeKok and the Somber Nude Page 13