DeKok and the Geese of Death

by A. C. Baantjer

  “You know that?”

  DeKok nodded.

  “I was outside. I saw Izaak come and leave.”

  “Why were you outside … watching?”

  “I wanted to know if you had come back.”

  Inge shook her head.

  “Please, spare me. You weren’t there to see if I was back. I went to the station house myself. The missing person report had been cancelled for hours.” She waved her cigarette around. “You were there to catch Igor, or you were following Izaak.”

  DeKok felt a hint of embarrassment. Inge had answered all his questions readily enough and she was not dumb. He should not have underestimated her by being untruthful.

  “You’re right, Inge,” he said. “I was hoping to catch Igor and I was dumbfounded when you received Izaak Bildijk.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Is … eh, is Izaak one of your johns?”

  “No.”

  “Not a client? I’m surprised. Then why was he here? What did he do?”

  She stood up from the bed and walked away. She stopped a few yards away from DeKok. Her back was turned.

  The inspector did not press her. He waited a while and then repeated his question in a friendly tone of voice.

  “What did he do?”

  “He waited.”

  “What for?”

  “For Igor to phone.”

  DeKok could hardly hide his astonishment. He came out of his chair and walked over to the girl. His brain was working at full speed.

  “Izaak talked to Igor?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about?”

  Suddenly she turned around. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Ask Izaak,” she answered.

  “Izaak is dead,” said DeKok bluntly.

  Inge stiffened. Her eyes were big and frightened.

  “Dead?” she whispered in a low tone.

  DeKok nodded in confirmation.

  “Somebody broke his skull.” His tone was harsh and brutal.

  For a moment it seemed as if the girl would faint. She swayed, but recovered herself. She hid her face in her hands.

  “No … NO … NO!” she screamed.

  Vledder entered the room. He was pale.

  “What’s happening,” he asked.

  DeKok shooed him away without an answer. He took Inge by the shoulders and shook her gently.

  “What did Igor and Izaak talk about?”

  She screamed again, louder.

  “NO … NO!!”

  DeKok shook her more forcefully. Then he took her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. He looked at her with a friendly face.

  “It’s important, Inge,” he whispered. “Very important.”

  She was reduced to a quiet sobbing. DeKok took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and patted her teary face. Then he put his arms around her and guided her back to the bed. Gently he seated her. She leaned against him.

  “You heard the conversation, didn’t you?”

  She nodded vaguely.

  “Tell me.”

  “It was all about an inheritance …”

  “Yes.”

  “It was Izaak’s inheritance. Igor was to get a share of it.”

  “When?”

  The girl swallowed.

  “As soon, as soon as … as soon as Igor killed his rich aunt.”

  13

  DeKok had tired feet. That is what he called the ailment. But it was more than just tired feet. The pain started in his toes, shot past his ankles, and settled in his calves. It felt like a thousand devils were poking his legs with little, red-hot pitchforks. He understood the pain was psychosomatic, but that did not make it any less real or debilitating. He knew what the pain meant. The investigation was going badly. He still had a feeling he’d lost his sense of direction. As ever, the solution seemed farther and farther away. His feet were reminding him. The maddening thing was no doctor had ever been able to diagnose a physical cause. Nothing DeKok did to alleviate the pain ever worked. As far as his body was concerned, the pain was simply not there. It was all in his mind.

  His face contorted, he carefully lifted his legs and placed his feet gently on the edge of his desk. A sigh of temporary relief escaped him.

  Vledder looked worried. He knew all about his partner’s remarkable affliction and what it meant. Over the years the young man had suggested numerous remedies. By now he knew the only cure was a drastic change in the progress of whatever case they happened to be working on.

  “You got it again?” Vledder asked sympathetically.

  DeKok answered with a single nod, while he rubbed his calves. It seemed to help a little, because after a while he leaned back with a sigh.

  “I felt sorry for Inge,” DeKok said after a long silence. “I liked her. It was too bad I had to treat her harshly. She was very upset. Once she finally calmed down she became fearful all over again. She is legitimately worried what Igor will do, if he finds out she talked to me.”

  “Knowing Igor,” agreed Vledder, “she could very well be in danger.”

  DeKok nodded thoughtfully.

  “I made her solemn promise that her statements would never be a part of any official report.”

  “Sometimes I can’t comprehend you. You obtained the statement legally. It’s evidence.”

  “It isn’t evidence of murder.”

  “ Igor did conspire with Izaak to murder Isolde Bildijk.”

  “First of all, I’m not so sure about the legality of it all. Have you forgotten how we gained entry? Besides, it’s only hearsay and … Izaak is dead.”

  “Igor is alive.”

  “But he did not kill Isolde Bildijk.”

  “You mean he hasn’t accepted Izaak’s invitation?”

  “Exactly.”

  A stubborn look came over Vledder’s face and he shook his head in disgust.

  “But that’s not what happened,” he said angrily. “I told you, it’s a mistake; the wrong person was killed. That’s all. Believe me, the Bildijk niece and nephews are keen for the inheritance. That’s the central core … the motive for it all. You found out that Izaak was even prepared to give up a part of his inheritance in order to reach that goal … he hired himself an executioner.”

  “Igor Stablinsky?”

  “That’s it,” said Vledder. “That’s all there’s to it. But something went wrong. Igor Stablinsky made a mistake and killed the wrong person.”

  “Not too smart.”

  “How’s that?”

  DeKok spread his hands in an eloquent gesture.

  “According to you, Izaak hired Igor. So, Izaak would have been the man to pay him, after the killing.” DeKok shook his head. “No, Igor isn’t that stupid.”

  Vledder looked flustered.

  “You tell me. How, exactly did this mess happen?”

  “If I knew that,” sighed DeKok, “my feet wouldn’t hurt anymore.” He leaned back in his chair a little farther. “I do not believe there was a mistake. Not only did someone murder Izaak in cold blood, it was deliberate.” He paused and leaned forward with a groan and rearranged his feet on the desk. “Too many things in the error theory don’t add up. We can’t lose track of the anomalies when we draw conclusions.”

  “Anomalies such as …”

  “First there was no sign of forced entry. Next, Izaak pinned a note to the door, asking not to be disturbed for breakfast. But he didn’t sleep in the bed and he was still dressed.”

  “Granted, but what does it mean?”

  “The neat, tidy bed and the attire lead me to believe the murderer struck shortly after Izaak returned home. Bearing in mind there were no signs of a break-in, only two scenarios work. He either admitted the killer to his room, or the killer waited to ambush him inside the room.” DeKok rubbed a finger along the side of his nose before he went on. “And another thing,” he continued, “Izaak was not some old man nodding off in his chair. Quite the contrary, Izaak was still young, virile, and wide awake. If somebody had tried to enter his room s
urreptitiously, he would have noticed.”

  “So, the killer did appear suddenly.” Vledder sounded skeptical.

  “No.”

  “But Izaak was killed nevertheless.”

  “Yes. The killer, however, was somebody who did not frighten him. He trusted the individual, at least the extent he did not expect an attack.”

  “A member of the family!” exclaimed Vledder.

  DeKok did not answer. Carefully he stood up and waddled to the peg where his coat was kept. Vledder stood up as well.

  “Where are you going?”

  DeKok turned half way.

  “To Lowee … maybe a cognac will relieve the pain in my feet.”

  DeKok ambled sedately through the Quarter. Despite the early hour, it was busy. The chilled wind and rain had temporarily let up. A mild spring sun coaxed people outside. But the sex cinemas were playing to full houses and the porno shops attracted a lot of window shoppers.

  Vledder walked a few paces ahead. He was partly breaking a path for DeKok and partly struggling to match even DeKok’s more leisurely pace.

  In passing, DeKok lifted his hat for Aunt Mary, a semi-retired madam of a small brothel. He had known her for as long as he had been stationed at Warmoes Street. She’s getting old, he thought. The dyed hair seemed to make her older. He thought sadly about the early days. Back in the day, Mary was the most gorgeous woman on the street. She was fiery, full of temperament. Nobody dreamt of calling her ‘aunt.’

  DeKok glanced at his own reflection in a shop window and grinned ruefully. The years had not passed him by without leaving their mark. He noted it with a resigned sort of acquiescence. It did not make him somber or sad. He accepted it. He had become more massive and more compact. Everything seemed to have sunk down to his hips. It was a long time since he had seen any hair on his head that was not gray. These were superficial changes; his heart was still strong. The desire to keep fighting crime his way had not abated at all.

  Lowee greeted the two inspectors in his usual exuberant way. He quickly wiped his hands on his stained vest.

  “Well, well,” he chirped. “Good to see youse.” He gave DeKok a keen look. His narrow ferret face gleamed with good will. “Everything honkeedoree?”

  DeKok grinned.

  “Your concern overwhelms me, Lowee. Sometimes you remind me of my mother.”

  The little barkeeper cocked his hat.

  “Nah, but you gotta deal wit’lottsa nuts. They’ll stick anyboddy inna ribs for a coupla bucks. Seem like they’se aroun’ in … incre … allatime there’s more of ‘em.”

  DeKok hoisted himself on a barstool.

  “We will all have to learn to live with it. The times when a judge still considered a knife wielder as a dangerous individual are long since past.” He grinned sadly. “Everybody is carrying a weapon these days.”

  Lowee nodded in agreement.

  “Same recipe?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he reached under the bar and produced a bottle of Napoleon cognac. With the other hand he lined up three large snifters. With a routine gesture he filled the glasses and replaced the bottle. He lifted one of the glasses.

  “Proost … to a better world.”

  DeKok winked.

  “A world without crime, Lowee?”

  The barkeeper grinned.

  “Well, sorta,” he said. “Lookit, DeKok, you gotta face it, no sin, no job.”

  “I have a house, a wife, a dog, and, since recently, a parakeet.”

  “And that gonna fill youse days?”

  DeKok raised his head and pushed his chin forward.

  “I could write my memoirs. It’s the fashion nowadays, you know.”

  Lowee looked gleeful.

  “You gonna write about me, too?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Wadda ye gonna write about me then?”

  “What do you think?”

  Lowee’s face became expressionless.

  “You shoulda write about me as Holy Lowee … the Saint ya know, witta ariool over ma head.”

  DeKok laughed heartily. He picked up his glass, rocked it carefully in his hand, and then let the golden liquid run down his throat.

  “Ahh,” he said with complete satisfaction.

  Lowee put his glass back on the counter.

  “You seen Crazy Chris?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  DeKok took another sip of cognac.

  “We found Igor’s girl.” He looked at Lowee. “But we haven’t found Igor.”

  “He was here,” said Lowee, making a vague gesture around the room.

  “Who … Igor?”

  “Yessir.”

  “When?”

  “Yestiday.”

  DeKok looked stunned.

  “Why did you not warn me?” He swallowed. “You know how dangerous that guy is. Every hour he’s on the loose, he …”

  DeKok did not finish the sentence.

  Lowee raised both arms. His face was a picture of innocence.

  “Hey, I hadda full house, DeKok. Packed. I couldna just up and leave. I couldna gettat da phone. Too busy. Nobody to take over for me. Anyways, he was gone in no time. I give him da phone number, he takes a beer and go.”

  DeKok gave him a long, thoughtful look. He understood Lowee very well. There had been too many people around who could have overheard Lowee talking to DeKok on the phone. In all conscience he could not blame Lowee.

  “A phone number?” Asked DeKok after a long pause.

  “Yessir.”

  “What kind of phone number?”

  Lowee separated the glasses and leaned confidentially across the bar, closer to DeKok.

  “Yestiday mornin,’” he whispered. “This guy comes in here. A real toff. He axed me how he’s gonna reach Igor. I says that’s sorta hard, the cops is lookin’ for ‘em. He says never mind, I gotta talk to ‘im and what were I gonna do about it? He gives me a hunnert bucks.”

  DeKok listened intently.

  “Then what?”

  Lowee shrugged his shoulders.

  “I says to the guy it ain’t easy, but I woulda look out for ‘im. Then he gives me da card widda phone number. You tells Igor to call me, he says.”

  DeKok sighed.

  “And you gave that number to Igor.”

  “Of course, small job for a hunnert bucks, ain’t it? It waz just lucky datta shows up here da same day. He ain’t here that much.”

  “Do you remember the number?”

  Lowee gave DeKok a secretive smile.

  “Yep. I done wrote it down. I thinks dadda would be nice for youse.”

  He turned to the back of the bar and retrieved a piece of paper from between some bottles. DeKok accepted it.

  “Zero, twenty-nine, sixty-three,” he read aloud. “Fifteen, seventy-four, eighty.”

  Vledder read over his shoulder.

  “That’s the area code for Oldkerk.”

  DeKok nodded slowly.

  “Yes, and Izaak Bildijk’s number.”

  14

  From Lowee’s bar they crossed Rear Fort Canal toward Old Church Square. Both Vledder and DeKok were lost in thought.

  Vledder finally broke the silence.

  “Igor’s reputation as a crook who preys on elderly people must somehow have reached Izaak.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “It wouldn’t have been difficult for Izaak to get the word. Igor’s arrest for the murder of Sam Lion and his subsequent escape have been in all the papers.”

  “I just don’t understand how they established contact with each other.”

  “Once Izaak made contact, Igor undoubtedly directed Izaak to Inge’s residence, figuring it would be a safe venue. The conspiracy was the easy part; it wouldn’t have taken long to work out a plan.”

  “But that contact was already in place. Little Lowee gave Igor Izaak’s number. So Igor must have called him to give him Inge’s address.”

  DeKok shook his head.

  “You d
on’t have enough imagination. Just think. Izaak Bildijk spent most of his time at Happy Lake, with his aunt. Izaak could hardly give Lowee the number of his aunt. Izaak could not be certain to answer that phone when someone called. If you call Izaak’s number, I bet you’ll get an answering machine.”

  “Of course, Igor left a message. There never was any direct contact, until Izaak answered Inge’s phone.”

  DeKok nodded wisely.

  “Very good, you’ll make a real police officer, someday.”

  For a while they walked on; Vledder in wounded silence.

  On the corner of Narrow Church Alley and Warmoes Street, he stopped suddenly.

  “You think that message is still on the answering machine?”

  “Possibly. The Oldkerk police may have found it. This case is so confusing with overlapping territories, I don’t know anymore who is doing what.” DeKok sounded annoyed. “All because of those bedeviled geese,” he added.

  “But,” replied Vledder, “maybe Igor said something we can use.”

  “Fine, go ahead and track down that answering machine. But let’s stop by the station first, and find out if there’s anything new.”

  “See, that’s why we should have radios,” protested Vledder. He knew it was a useless argument. DeKok still resisted the radio in the police car. Had always resisted the walkie-talkies that had been issued. Every police officer in Holland now had the latest technology, a very compact, more powerful new radio. To Vledder’s dismay, DeKok was the last hold out. “If they want me,” was DeKok’s catch phrase, “they can find me.”

  Not surprisingly therefore, DeKok ignored Vledder’s protest and led the way to the station house.

  As soon as they entered, Meindert Post hailed them.

  “Where have you guys been?” he yelled. “I know DeKok can’t be bothered with a radio, but I thought better of you,” he added, pointing an accusing finger at Vledder.

  DeKok did not apologize.

  “A cop has to go out. As an old fisherman you should know that. Nobody catches fish on land.”

  Meindert Post ignored the remark and pointed to the ceiling.

  “There’s a woman waiting for you. She refuses to leave. She insists on speaking with you. It’s very important, she said.” Post grimaced and then added: “She’s afraid she’ll be murdered.”