DeKok smiled tenderly.
“Very well,” he picked up his narrative. “When Isolde’s debts kept increasing, she thought of her uncle Immanuel and the share of her inheritance. Before anything else, she wanted to hold on to Happy Lake and restore the estate to its former glory. She realized that Immanuel’s inheritance, if it had to be shared, would be insufficient.”
“And that’s when she decided to wipe out the competition,” grinned Brink.
“It’s no laughing matter,” answered DeKok. “It’s rather sad. In order to remove the other heirs, she needed them nearby. Her disability left her no other option. She shrewdly badgered the Twenty-third Precinct with tales of terror. She demanded protection. She drew the family in by telling them she was being threatened. As proof she wrote threatening letters to herself and asked Willem to mail them from Oldkerk.”
“What,” exclaimed Vledder, “Willem knew all the time?”
“Yes, Willem knew a lot. He knew all about her debts. He knew there were times she could get around very well without her wheelchair. Isolde realized the danger Willem posed. He would see through her plan as no one else would. He knew the background and the issues involved. At first she wanted to kill him, but then thought of a better idea. She poisoned the geese and then tried to have me arrest Willem for destruction of property, as well as for writing the threatening letters she had sent herself.”
“She was ruthless,” remarked Mrs. DeKok, condemnation in her voice.
“Indeed,” agreed DeKok with his wife. “To resume … when I refused to arrest the gardener, she grew desperate. The gardener had to disappear from the scene before she could start killing her family. The cousins had already arrived after her alarming pleas for assistance. The very first night they were all in the house, she sneaked up to the coach house and killed the old man with her cane. It was reinforced with lead, as you’ll remember.”
“In retrospect,” mused Vledder, “we should have arrested him. He might still be alive.” He shrugged apologetically. “But who could know the evil that was to come.”
“Yes,” said DeKok with regret in his voice. “I did not arrest him because I was convinced of his innocence. There is no consolation in being right; the death of that old man touched me deeply. I liked him and I admired his loyalty, however misplaced, to Isolde. Early on, my instinct was that there were a lot of secrets to be discovered between those two.”
Brink was getting impatient.
“What else happened? Surely, that’s not all.”
“No,” admitted DeKok. “As formidable as Isolde was, she couldn’t control everything. Imagine her dread when she discovered Igor had escaped from custody. She knew his arrest was for at least one murder. She’d counted on his being out of circulation for some time to come. Igor contacted her immediately after his release, demanding money to escape from the Netherlands. Isolde told him once again she had no money and was unable to help him … until Uncle Immanuel had died. But she convinced Igor to wait with that job, until the task at Happy Lake had been completed.”
Vledder explained to Elsberg and Brink.
“That’s how it happened. Someone spotted Igor in Bussum. His uncle saw Igor around the neighborhood. He must have been casing the joint.”
“Yes, yes,” said DeKok, now apparently impatient to finish up. “But something else unexpected happened. Izaak, the nephew, or cousin, depending on your point of view, was richly endowed with the Bildijk flaws of avarice and viciousness. He was looking to hire a killer, a person who could, and would, murder his Aunt Isolde. He stumbled into Igor. It was pure coincidence. He had read about Igor in the newspapers. The combination was too tempting. After Izaak phoned Igor to plan his aunt’s demise, Igor immediately called his mother and told her about Izaak’s plan. Isolde took no half measures. She waited for Izaak to come home and killed him.”
“So, that was her second murder,” counted Elsberg.
“And her last,” replied DeKok. “Igor assured her he was better equipped to take care of the other victims. It was a desperation move on his part. It was matter of all or nothing. He was being hunted for at least one murder already. A few more or less made no difference to him. Also, he promised Isolde he would confess to the murders of Willem and Izaak, in the event of his arrest. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree—she copied his style. Isolde accepted her son’s plan. The next night she let him into the house.”
“And Igor killed Ivo,” said Elsberg.
DeKok paused and looked at the bottle. This time his wife relented and handed the bottle to her husband. With a grateful smile he poured himself another glass and then passed the bottle around. Only Vledder had another helping.
“Finish your tale, please,” said Mrs. DeKok. “I’ll go make coffee.” She pointed at the buffet. “And I would be disappointed if all that food went to waste. The three young men and her husband assured her that would be unlikely. Mrs. DeKok disappeared in the kitchen.
“There’s not much left to tell,” said DeKok. “During our crazy drive from Bussum to Happy Lake, it started to come together. It was too late for Ivo, but I knew that Irmgard would be the next victim. I contacted her and explained the situation. She moved into the room with her eldest son. Later that night she let Vledder and me into the house via the French doors in what had been Izaak’s room. We brought a wig and a store dummy’s head, to set the scene. We propped the head in the chair and draped one of Irmgard’s nightgowns around the chair. Next we waited underneath the bed.” DeKok spread his arms wide. “The rest all of you know already.”
There was long silence while they nibbled the food and sipped from their drinks. Mrs. DeKok returned with the coffee. Vledder hastened to help her with the tray.
“Is Isolde going to recover?” asked DeKok’s wife.
“Her injuries are relatively slight. A lot of bruises, but no internal damage.”
“And then what”
DeKok smiled sadly.
“That’s up to the judge.” He poured himself another glass of cognac, while the young men accepted cups of coffee and refilled their plates. The conversation became more general and slowly the horrors of Happy Lake retreated into the background.
Late that night, when the younger men had left, DeKok sank back in his chair. His wife handed him a cup of coffee.
“This time I almost lost you,” she said.
Her husband smiled.
“All weeds grow apace,” he joked complacently.
He took an envelope from his pocket.
“I received a letter,” he said, as he pulled a sheet out of the crumpled envelope. He read aloud:
Dear Mr. DeKok:
I’m sorry it’s all over. I thought it was rather exciting at Happy Lake. I also hope you never turn your back on me. But if you do, don’t be afraid, I’m a Miller, not a Bildijk.
—Penny
DeKok and The Grinning Strangler
Inspector DeKok (Homicide) held forth in the old, renowned police station at Warmoes Street in the older, more renowned city of Amsterdam. The senior inspector pulled a report from his desk drawer. He looked at the report, annoyance on his face. Then he tossed it back into the drawer, slamming the drawer back in the closed position. He rose from his chair and walked over to the window of the long, narrow detective room. He paused at the window, hands behind his back. Softly he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Dick Vledder, his young colleague and friend, came to stand next to the old man. He eyed DeKok from the side.
“What’s the matter, don’t feel up to it, or just bored with it?”
“Both,” growled DeKok. “Mostly I feel you spend too much time on that computer, writing reports I don’t want to read. Once I do read them, they just end up in some file.”
“Do you want to change the law?”
DeKok shook his head.
“No, but every inspector should have a secretary.”
“Right,” laughed Vledder happily. “I’m ready to interview. I�
�d like a good-looking, leggy female.”
DeKok ignored the remark.
“What we need is more freedom to act. We should not be forced to write down every little thing that happens. Bah, I can’t even blow my own nose without having to write a report about it. The lawyers are always talking about illegally obtained evidence and more of that nonsense. Evidence is evidence, no more, no less … as long as we don’t obtain it by torture.”
The gray sleuth waved a hand toward the rooftops of Amsterdam.
“Out there,” he continued, “at the end of the alley is Ons Lieve Heer op Solder (Our Dear Lord in the Attic), by all accounts the most beautiful and sweetest museum in Amsterdam. I can get there from here, but only by means of an alley named for Heintje Hook. Hook was a savage pirate of his day, greatly feared because of his brutality.” He spread his arms wide. “There’s some kind of symbolic meaning in all that.”
“What sort of symbolic meaning?”
“It is an allegory relating to our job,” DeKok responded. “If our goal is to catch criminals we must be free to follow strange paths, if and when it becomes necessary.”
“I don’t get your meaning.”
“Years ago, before your time,” sighed DeKok, “I was in charge of a burglary case. It involved breaking and entering the warehouse of a furrier. The job was beautiful, perfectly executed. There was no vandalism, no violence, just attention to detail and efficiency. In those days there was a dying breed of burglars, men who took pride in their work. They were masters of their craft and of their domain.”
“So?”
“I found out from the furrier only the most expensive furs had been stolen. The thief had lifted just the sables, the finest minks. This was a very selective burglar. The furrier’s inventory included hundreds of gorgeous, less valuable furs. Those had been left untouched.”
“So the perpetrator must have been another furrier?” guessed Vledder.
“No. After some thought, I knew of only one local man. This was someone who had the necessary skills and knowledge to make a quick, clean entry. It was his trademark. Another trademark was his acquisition of knowledge. He would either have the expertise or would acquire it to make an exquisite, informed selection. The man was Handy Henkie. I decided to call on him and propose he just return the furs to me. Of course the confrontation didn’t go so smoothly. He laughed in my face and demanded evidence.”
“And you did not have it.”
“No, I did not have a shred of evidence. But I took him to the station with me for an interrogation. It was useless. Henkie kept demanding I prove my case. Eventually I returned him to the cell and thought long and hard.”
“What did you come up with?”
“I had an idea. I called the owner of the warehouse and asked him to deliver a selection of fur coats, in the same quantity and of the same quality as those he had lost. He delivered them the same afternoon. Right here in this room, I shoved a couple of tables together and tossed the furs in a heap on the tables. Then I took Handy Henkie out of his cell and showed him the furs. ‘Well, what do you have to say for yourself?’ I asked. ‘Holy shit,’ said Henkie, ‘you found them.’”
Vledder laughed heartily.
DeKok nodded with quiet satisfaction.
“But in Court,” DeKok continued, with a tinge of bitterness, “Henkie’s lawyer exploded, mostly for the benefit of the jury. He ranted on about my use of what he termed ‘illegal and unauthorized means’ in getting the confession.”
“What did Henkie say?”
DeKok smiled.
“Henkie thought is was a good joke, although the joke was on him. We became friends. When he had done his time, he said he wanted to make an honest living. I helped him get a job as a tool-and-dye maker. He still works for the same employer, his boss and co-workers value him for the high quality of his work. Apparently he never lost his attention to detail.”
The phone on DeKok’s desk rang. Vledder reached over and lifted the receiver. DeKok watched as Vledder’s face became grave.
“What’s the matter?” asked DeKok as Vledder replaced the receiver.
“They found a young prostitute.”
“Dead?”
Vledder nodded.
“That’s why they called us. It seems she’s been strangled.”
Black Annie was naked and supine on the bed in her room. Her left leg was partly pulled up. Her brown eyes in her slightly swollen face were wide open. A man’s silk necktie was around her neck … red and with a unique design.
DeKok leaned over the dead body and studied the clearly visible strangulation striations. The old sleuth had seen a lot of strangulations in his long career. He had attended the autopsies and he knew that the cartilage in the young neck was crushed.
He straightened out and pointed at a used condom next to the bed. He beckoned Vledder.
“Make sure we get pictures of everything and make sure that they take this condom to the lab. It could yield more than DNA evidence. Perhaps they’ll discover some pubic hair, and forensics can give a rapid turnaround on blood type.”
He turned toward the corpse.
“And make sure they’re careful with that tie. I don’t want it touched by anyone. Tell the crime scene people to use tweezers, or a surgical clamp, to remove it. I want it bagged, separate from everything. We might have to use a dog to sniff out the owner.”
“You’re leaving?” asked Vledder.
DeKok pointed upstairs.
“I’m going to have a chat with Limburger Lena. She owns the place.”
He took a last look around the room and a pitying look came into his eyes as he looked at the dead face. Then he walked out.
Limburger Lena was distressed. Her face was pale and her eyes were rimmed in red when DeKok entered her room. When she saw him she stood up and put away a small handkerchief.
“It must have been that rich guy,” she blurted out. “Today is Friday. And he comes every Friday around the same time to visit Annie.”
“Who is he?”
“A john … wants you to know he’s rich; he flashes the designer labels and big jewelry. Drives a big, late-model car. He’s one of Annie’s regulars. He’s been here every Friday for several weeks.”
“What about today?”
She shook her head.
“No, not today … that is,” she hesitated, “I didn’t notice. I had other things on my mind.”
“What kind of car does this rich john drive?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell them apart.” She shuffled over to the mantelpiece. “But I do have his tag number. Here it is, I wrote it down a few weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“Something just wasn’t right about him. I never liked him.”
DeKok took the piece of paper. It was a blank strip torn from a newspaper. He looked at the number.
“May I use your phone?” he asked.
By the time DeKok came back downstairs, two morgue attendants were carrying the young woman’s body down the steep stairs. They shoved the stretcher into the back of their van, closed the doors, and drove away.
DeKok walked over to Vledder.
“Have they all been here?”
“And gone,” confirmed Vledder. “Here’s the necktie.” He handed DeKok a plastic bag.
From Limburger Lena’s establishment, they retraced their steps to the station house. A small army of those in need of sexual release, or who thought they were, paraded along the lighted windows. As usual, it was busy in front of the windows of the sex shops. There were always long rows of men waiting for the peep shows. The loss of one of their own never even slowed business in the Quarter. If anyone missed or mourned Black Annie, their grief wouldn’t interfere with profits.
When they arrived at the station, DeKok stopped near the desk sergeant. He handed a piece of paper to Vledder.
“Arrest that man.”
Vledder read out loud.
“Gerardus Aardenburg.” He looked at DeKok.
&n
bsp; “Is that the killer?”
“For now he’s a person of interest.”
Limburger Lena had been right. Gerardus Aardenburg had been left to cool his heels in the cells for several hours, but he still made a bold, flashy impression. DeKok observed him closely. He saw a round face, gleaming with sweat and oil. His green eyes were almost hidden behind red, round cheeks. “Pig eyes,” thought DeKok.
“Yeah,” gestured Aardenburg. “I knew the whore. So what? You have no right to detain me. I’m innocent. I didn’t kill her.”
“But you went there every Friday?”
“Sure, for a few weeks.” Again he shrugged his shoulders, as if to profess his innocence. “But I didn’t go there today. Besides, I have an alibi.”
DeKok rubbed the bridge of his nose with his little finger. Then he looked at his finger for a long moment as if he had never seen it before.
“Anyone can buy an alibi,” he said finally, thoughtfully. “All it takes is cash. You aren’t keeping a low profile—it seems to me you have the resources.”
Aardenburg shook his head.
“I’m not saying another word, not until my lawyer is here.”
DeKok nodded resignedly. He tried a few more times to elicit a response. When Aardenburg refused to say anything, other than to repeat his request for a lawyer, he had the man taken back to his cell. DeKok remained staring into the distance. Then he beckoned Vledder.
“I had hoped for a ready confession,” he said. “But I don’t see that confession forthcoming. We don’t really have a legal leg to stand on. Call the watch commander and have him get evidence to return Aardenburg’s personal effects. As soon as processing is complete, we’ll have to release him.”
DeKok waited for Vledder to complete the call and then he asked the young man to follow him. The two hustled down the stairs and out of the station. They stopped on the corner of the alley.
“What are we doing here?” Vledder wanted to know.
“We wait for Aardenburg to come out of the station.”
DeKok and the Geese of Death Page 16