DeKok and the Geese of Death

by A. C. Baantjer

  Bildijk nodded.

  “Yes, … eh, that’s been … I’ve been told, but …”

  “But what?”

  Ivo swallowed again. He was now sweating and big drops of perspiration and brilliantine rolled off his forehead.

  “Aunt ordered me to look, you understand, before you could get here.”

  DeKok sighed deeply. He had trouble hiding his disgust. He pointed at the door.

  “Get outside,” he ordered. “Go to the gate and make sure you receive the people from the technical services, the paramedics and the coroner. Point them in the right direction. Meanwhile, stay away from here unless you’re called.”

  Ivo Bildijk left like a dog with its tail between its legs. DeKok shook his head as he watched him leave. Then he turned.

  The old gardener was slumped sideways in his rattan chair, close to his pot-bellied stove. A dark rivulet of venous blood ran down the left side of his head and dripped into a growing pool on the floor. The eyes of the deceased were wide open, big and startled. He had not comprehended what was happening. Gently DeKok closed the man’s eyes with his thumb and forefinger. It was a devout, almost loving, gesture.

  Then DeKok leaned closer to the body. There was a gaping hole in his gray hair, just above his left ear. The inspector stepped back and took a wider view. He looked for discrepancies in the shrill harmonics of the violent death. It all seemed discouragingly straightforward. The old man had been resting quietly in his chair, when his attacker swiftly struck from behind. Willem died instantaneously from massive blunt instrument trauma.

  Suddenly DeKok noticed a short pipe, full of tobacco, on the floor. It had slipped from the hanging, powerless hand. The scene touched him deeply. He promised himself that he would find the killer.

  “By God,” he said aloud.

  9

  Vledder glanced aside.

  “Did you swear?” he asked incredulously. DeKok never used strong language and was known to disapprove of the use in his hearing.

  DeKok shook his head.

  “I was talking to Our Dear Lord. A heathen like you probably won’t understand that, but I can assure you there was no question of swearing. It was just an intense wish.”

  Vledder remained silent.

  Bram Weelen, the police photographer entered the room. He placed his heavy aluminum case on the floor and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He gave DeKok a pained look.

  “You are certainly all over the place. You’re almost in Oldkerk here. Surely this is a job for the Twenty-third? What are you doing here? I thought you belonged to Warmoes Street.”

  “We could ask you the same,” said Vledder. “You belong in the city.”

  “I came because the Twenty-third does not have a photographer available at the moment. I was next on the call list, so here I am. I thought everyone else was coming from the Twenty-third. You still haven’t answered my question.”

  DeKok grimaced.

  “We’re here to investigate the murders of the geese,” he said somberly. “Mrs. Bildijk’s is an influential woman. Her geese were murdered, so we’ve had to come out to the provinces.”

  Weelen nodded. He completely understood how DeKok would refer to the farthest suburb of Amsterdam as the ‘provinces.’ A real Amsterdammer considered Amsterdam the only city in the Netherlands. The rest of the country was ancillary, as well. Never mind that Rotterdam is the largest, busiest, harbor in the world and The Hague is the seat of the country’s government.

  “I saw those animals … on the lawn,” said Weelen. “I thought it very strange … maybe the result of parrot fever, or something.”

  DeKok shook his head, smiling.

  “They were probably poisoned.” He pointed at the corpse of the old gardener. “And now that they have also killed this poor, honest fellow, I’m in the middle of a real mess.”

  “Was he so decent?”

  “I think so.” DeKok indicated the dilapidated surroundings. “People who stay in service out of loyalty and remain poor usually are honest.”

  “Or not so bright,” grinned Weelen.

  He opened his aluminum case and extracted a Hasselblad camera. He mounted some additional gadgets and started to take his pictures. He photographed the surroundings, the corpse from several angles, and then lowered his camera.

  “Any particular requests?” he asked DeKok.

  “Yes, I want a few sharp close-ups of the wound.”

  Weelen looked closely at the wound and pursed his lips, considering.

  “I’ll give them to you in black and white and in color.” He bent down and exchanged cameras. “Black and white,” he explained as he snapped away. He then picked up the original camera and did something to the lens. He took more pictures.

  “Done,” he said after a while. “Is that it?”

  DeKok rubbed his chin.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, I would like you to come back during the day tomorrow. I’d like some pictures outside. Could I get both the big house and this coach house from all sides? It would be good to get a view from here to the gate and back, and the same from the other house.”

  “No problem, but I cannot get the finished pictures to you before tomorrow night.”

  “All right, thank you.”

  A man came into the room, followed by two paramedics with a stretcher.

  “Ah, doctor,” began DeKok. Then he paused, took a closer look at the man and said: “You’re not Dr. Koning.”

  “That’s right,” answered the man. “My name is Han, Jacob Han. I’m the coroner for Oldkerk and surroundings, which includes this part of Amsterdam.”

  “I see,” said DeKok. “But doctor I want the body transported to Amsterdam, for Dr. Rusteloos.”

  “No problem, my men will be happy to deliver it wherever you want.”

  At this point a boy of sixteen squeezed past the paramedics and stopped in front of DeKok.

  “Aunt asks you to hurry up … she wants you to start the interviews in the house. The family is getting tired.”

  Something seemed to snap inside DeKok. He felt the rage mounting inside him. He put his hands in his pockets and curled them into fists. With difficulty he managed to control the rage that threatened to make him do something rash.

  “You tell your aunt,” he began in a loud voice. Then he stopped, took a deep breath and continued in a more normal voice. “Tell your aunt this for me. Now that Willem is sleeping for all eternity, the family can stay awake a little longer.”

  The boy, Paul, disappeared.

  Dr. Han stretched out his hand to DeKok.

  “That was very good,” he laughed, as they shook hands. “Very good, Inspector. I will remember that. It’s a pleasure to finally work with you.”

  The coroner walked over to the man in the rattan chair. He carefully studied the wound and then looked up.

  “This man is dead,” he announced.

  “Thank you, doctor,” answered DeKok formally. Under Dutch law the person had only now officially become a corpse.

  The coroner motioned to the paramedics.

  “Wait outside,” he said. “The inspector will let you know when and where to take the body as soon as they have finished.”

  “Oh, they can take the body now,” said DeKok. “Vledder will tell them where to take it.”

  “Very well,” answered the doctor, nodding to his men. Then he turned to DeKok. “As you may know, Inspector, we coroners keep in close contact. We’re aware this is not the first elderly person to suffer a mortal wound to the head recently. There have been a number of cases.”

  Vledder overheard the remark. Weelen, who had just finished closing his suitcase, also listened. DeKok looked around and despite the sparse light, he clearly saw the grim faces of the men around him.

  “Igor,” murmured DeKok, “Igor Stablinsky.”

  Bram Weelen had left in his usual boisterous manner. The dispassionate paramedics had left with the body. Dr. Han had left with them. Except for the dactyloscopist, the
rest of the forensic team had not yet arrived, so DeKok sank down in one of the rattan chairs. He felt desolate and exhausted. He pulled up a sleeve and looked at his watch. It was just a little past midnight and he wondered where the forensic team could be. He knew that the Bildijk family was waiting for him in the big house. He felt reluctant to renew his confrontation with the slippery Ivo and his patronizing aunt. Idly he watched the fingerprint man work with his powders and brushes. He seemed competent enough, but DeKok longed for Kruger, his usual support in such cases. He also longed to return to his comfort zone in the familiar, inner city. It was the place he considered Amsterdam ‘proper.’

  “Everything here’s unusable,” grumbled Tees, the dactyloscopist from the Twenty-third Precinct. “The surfaces are either too rough, or too greasy. Some of it looks like it’s never been cleaned. I can’t find a decent print.”

  Gingerly DeKok rubbed his calves. Much to his surprise he found them pain-free, soft, and supple. He suffered hellish pain in his legs; the stress of the job exacerbated the condition. He noticed his pain worsen when he took a wrong turn, or despaired of finding answers. Vledder watched the gesture from across the room. He sighed a small sigh of relief as he realized DeKok’s legs were not hurting this time.

  DeKok stood up and turned to Vledder.

  “When he’s finished here,” he said pointing at Tees, “just seal everything up. If the rest of the team shows up, they’ll know what they have to do. If not, they can find us. Frankly, I think the rest of the team is as elusive as the people who were supposed to remove the geese.”

  Vledder shrugged. He was determined not to take responsibility for the performance, or non-performance, of any team from the suburbs.

  “All right,” said Vledder. “I already took the tape and seals out of the car.”

  DeKok nodded and waved a thumb over his shoulder.

  “I’ll start next door,” he said. He said a friendly goodbye to the fingerprint expert and left the room.

  One step at a time, he cautiously descended the dark staircase. He could hear the rats shuffling around the corners of the coach house. Old Willem, he thought cynically, really had needed the strychnine.

  He exited through the large doors. The pale moonlight threw long shadows behind the parked cars. Light was still streaming through all the windows in the mansion.

  Suddenly he heard a whisper.

  “Psst … psst.”

  DeKok’s immediate reaction was to lower his profile, then he concentrated his gaze in the direction of the sound.

  From the shadow thrown by a Volvo appeared a puny figure. It approached the inspector slowly.

  “Psst … I’m Penny … do you remember? I’m staying here with my two brothers.”

  With a sigh DeKok rose to his full height and sounded a relieved laugh.

  “Penny Miller?”

  The child nodded.

  “Yes, that’s me. My mother’s name is Irmgard and if Aunt Isolde dies, we’ll inherit a lot of money.”

  “That’s nice.”

  The child gave him a hard look.

  “You’re Inspector DeKok, a police officer. I’ve read about you … about murders and things … and I want to help you.”

  She shuffled closer. She wore a long coat over her pajamas and her small feet were stuck in slippers that were too large for her. DeKok looked at her feet.

  “Mother’s,” explained the child.

  A worried look came into DeKok’s eyes.

  “How long have you been waiting here?”

  She pulled the coat tighter around herself.

  “About half an hour, I think. I saw the others leave, the stretcher too. I thought it was very sad about Uncle Willem. I liked Uncle Willem; he was nice. He was always willing to play with us. He was good to me and my brothers, while we visited our aunt during summer vacations.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “Why did you not stay with the others in the living room?”

  She shook her head decisively.

  “Inside … where the others are … I wouldn’t dare say it.”

  “What?”

  She made a gesture, both childish and mature beyond her years.

  “I know who did it.”

  DeKok leaned closer, speaking very quietly.

  “And this you are certain you know?”

  She nodded with conviction.

  “Yes, Uncle Izaak … I saw him walking outside with a stick, and …”

  Despite his relaxed posture, DeKok was agitated. He glanced at the green light of the communication gear. The light cast eerie shadows on his face. With an exasperated sigh he pushed his lower lip forward.

  “What … and?” he asked, irritation in his voice.

  Vledder made a soothing gesture.

  “Did the interrogations help us at all?”

  DeKok shook his head slowly.

  “Apparently the death of Willem took them all by surprise. At least it stifled any criticism about my handling of the case. When I came in, old lady Bildijk stood, leaning on a stick, surrounded by her family. She said that she preferred to stand during our interview. Ivo had to support her, or she would have toppled over.”

  “Didn’t you find that strange?”

  “Yes, but I ignored it. She didn’t say a word about the threatening letters, not a word about my not arresting her gardener. Just a forceful demand to find the murderer in the shortest possible time with every means at my disposal.”

  Vledder barked a short laugh.

  “What about the others?”

  DeKok shrugged.

  “Nothing. Ivo stuck to his story. There was a heated discussion with the gardener. The letters and I were the main subjects. The conversation ended around ten o’clock, and everyone claims to have gone straight to bed at that rather early hour. Aunt Isolde had called Ivo to her room over the house phone around eleven thirty and ordered him to talk once more to Willem about the letters.”

  “Then what?”

  DeKok sighed a long-suffering sigh.

  “Ivo supposedly got dressed reluctantly, and went to the coach house. The light in Willem’s room was on. He went upstairs with no inkling of what he was about to find. Next, he saw Willem in his chair with his bashed-in skull. He ran back to Aunt Isolde’s room and told her what had happened. Together they decided to call the police. A little later Isolde became curious and ordered Ivo to search Willem’s room.”

  Vledder nodded to himself.

  “Where we found him and thwarted his search.”

  For a while they drove along in silence. There was no traffic on the road along the river. The houses were far apart and dark. In the distance, a long stream of headlights raced across the Amstel Bridge in the direction of Utrecht and points east.

  Vledder broke the silence.

  “But what about Penny’s tale?”

  DeKok hesitated, searched his pockets, and found a toffee. He unwrapped it and placed the wrapper in the ashtray. He inspected the sweet as if he had never seen anything like it. Then he popped it in his mouth. He chewed a few times before he answered.

  “I didn’t dare bring it up,” he said finally.

  Vledder showed amazement.

  “Why not?”

  DeKok rubbed the back of his neck.

  “As long as I don’t understand what’s happening … and I don’t understand a thing, least of all the motive. I don’t want to endanger the child needlessly. In fact, it would be best not to need her at all. She won’t say a word to anyone. We made a pact to keep the secret just between the two of us.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck again. “Of course,” he continued, “I asked them all, including Izaak, where they were between the time they went to bed and the time they were called out of their beds by the old lady.”

  “And?”

  “They claimed to be asleep.”

  “Izaak, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “But the little girl saw him behind the house?”

  “Yes, she had t
o go to the bathroom. As she passed the window in the hallway, she saw Izaak slinking through the garden.

  “Slinking?”

  “Her words. She’s pretty smart for a little girl. During the interrogations in the living room, she just said she had been asleep. Didn’t elaborate, so you wouldn’t have pursued it further. It made it easy for me to dismiss her almost immediately.”

  “Did she see any blood spots on Izaak?”

  DeKok shook his head wearily.

  “It would have been too dark to see that sort of detail, besides, there were no blood spots. Willem was hit once, though with great force. There would have been no splatter pattern. The pattern comes after the second, or repeated blows. And that didn’t happen. Perhaps there was blood on the weapon, but I couldn’t find that.”

  “So, a whole lot of nothing.”

  “Yes. You may find something tomorrow, in the daylight. Bram is going to be there anyway, to make some more pictures. Who knows, the technical service may have arrived by then. You can also look for footprints. It was pitch black, so I didn’t attempt to find prints with my flashlight.”

  DeKok remained silent, except for the noisy sucking on his toffee. They had already reached the inner city before he broke the silence.

  “Any fingerprints, or anything else useful?”

  Vledder merely shook his head. He looked tired.

  “It’s about time for me to find my bed,” he yawned as he pulled the car into the parking slot nearby. Shortly thereafter they entered the station house.

  The watch commander looked up from his register and yelled at DeKok in his usual loud voice.

  “That guy has been here again!”

  “What guy?” asked DeKok.

  “The fat drug dealer, “ said Meindert Post. “He waited for over an hour for you guys.”

  “Crazy Chris. What did he want?”

  “I asked him the same thing,” grinned Post. “He took his sweet time to finally give me a message.”

  “Well, what was the message?,” asked DeKok impatiently.

  Meindert Post fished a piece of paper from a pile on one side of his desk.

  “Here it is. The German whore is back, Inge.” He handed the paper to DeKok. “See, one nine seven Long Leiden Side Street.”