“And?”
“Mr. Vreeden said it was impossible for him to come to Amsterdam. He was in his house in Bergen, unwilling to leave. His exact words were, ‘I am afraid to leave the house.’”
“And he did not tell you why?”
DeKok shook his head, a regretful look on his face.
“No, Commissaris.” The old sleuth released a deep sigh. “Although his remarks were a bit vague, I became alarmed enough to immediately drive to Bergen. Vledder drove, of course.”
The commissaris nodded with a faint smile. He knew all about DeKok’s driving abilities.
“Go on,” he urged.
“When we arrived at the villa, it appeared strangely deserted. There were no lights visible anywhere. This, in addition to the fact we found the front door unlocked, aroused our suspicions. We felt obliged to investigate further.” He smiled apologetically. “We had barely closed the door behind us when the butler showed up.”
Commissaris Buitendam frowned as he looked for several seconds at his old, experienced subordinate. Then two red spots appeared on his cheeks.
“DeKok,” he said in a shaking voice, “that story is a lie from beginning to end.”
DeKok shrugged.
“My old mother always said, ‘Child, I cannot make you believe anything.’ She meant she could not give me faith. But the principle is the same, I think.”
The commissaris was becoming angrier by the moment.
“I’m not remotely interested in what your mother said, or meant.”
DeKok looked innocent.
Buitendam swallowed in an obvious attempt to regain some sense of control. His Adams’ apple whipped up and down. It took some time for him to regain some composure.
“Listen, DeKok,” he said finally, trying to be reasonable, “Mr. Vreeden is on vacation in the Bahamas as we speak. Therefore your story is more than farfetched, it is ludicrous. Next, the butler swears under oath that he had locked the front door himself. To make matters worse Messrs. Grauw and Middelkoop, Mr. Vreeden’s co-directors, testified. They deny difficulties of any sort at the offices of the company at Emperor’s Canal, let alone criminal misdeeds.”
DeKok grinned broadly.
“In that case, why would I go to Bergen?”
Commissaris Buitendam’s reaction was unusually sharp.
“That is precisely why I am demanding an explanation.”
DeKok pushed his chin forward. There was a pugnacious expression on his face. Fire burned in the back of his eyes.
“You don’t seriously expect me,” he said cynically, “to acquiesce to false accusations against me and my partner.” He shook his head. “You can forget self-incrimination. I will gladly offer a full explanation of my actions in answer to a complaint signed and delivered by Mr. Vreeden in person. You can tell that to the judge advocate.”
Commissaris Buitendam stood up behind his desk. He was crimson, down to his chest. His nostrils quivered. Shaking with anger he pointed at the door.
“OUT!” he screamed.
DeKok left quickly.
6
Vledder looked numb for a moment.
“We’re named in a complaint,” he repeated, shocked, “for illegal entry and trespass?”
“Yes.”
Vledder put his head on his desk in despair.
“We’ve had it coming. How many times have we talked about Handie Henkie’s little gadget getting us into trouble? Now we’re the subject of an uproar.”
DeKok dismissed the criticism.
“The uproar would be legitimate, if I had ever picked a lock for personal reasons. I have only used it to serve the purposes of justice … and truth.”
Vledder snorted.
“Great. How will that help us in the courts?”
Again DeKok shrugged nonchalantly.
“Dick, I’m not all that worried about the courts. I told the commissaris I would respond to the complaint, but only when it is executed and presented, personally, by Mr. Vreeden.”
Vledder didn’t know whether to be relieved. “How is that possible?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can we just ignore the complaint filed by that Meturovski guy?”
DeKok nodded.
“I think so. We are within our rights to file an objection to the complaint. We have several legitimate reasons. Undoubtedly Meturovski has been delegated to appear for the company in judicial matters. I don’t really know whether he’s an in-house attorney or outside counsel. Regardless he can act legally only with regard to company matters. Illegal entry, just to name the beast, did not occur on company property. With regard to alleged illegal entry, or trespass, the owner of the premises has to file the complaint himself. Mr. Vreeden is the owner of the home. He has to declare that the entry was illegal, ergo, against his will and without his invitation. He can authorize a lawyer to act for him. But the lawyer would have to have been engaged to address this specific matter. We do not have to acknowledge or accept this as valid from a general power-of-attorney from a corporation.” He smiled briefly. It had been a long speech for DeKok. “Please understand,” he continued, “my actions were countering, challenging the opposition to produce a live Mr. Vreeden.”
Vledder looked worried.
“High stakes,” he said looking troubled.
“How’s that?”
“If Mr. Vreeden is enjoying good health and good times in the Bahamas, comes home and files a complaint …
then what?”
DeKok laughed carelessly.
“In that case, the famous detective duo of Vledder and DeKok will cease to exist.” He grimaced. “We could always start a private detective business.”
Vledder looked as if he had smelled something distasteful.
“Oh, good—we’ll be testifying in divorce cases about who is going to bed with whom.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Something like that.”
Vledder shook his head.
“No thanks, DeKok! I went into police work for a reason—civil cases bore me to death.”
DeKok understood his young colleague’s apprehension. He smiled reassuringly.
“First we have nothing to prove. The complainants must prove Mr. Vreeden did not call me to discuss serious difficulties at the firm’s offices. Then they’ll have to prove the front door of Vreeden’ villa was locked.” There was a twinkle in his eyes. “That may be rather difficult without producing Vreeden.”
“They can check phone records.”
“Come on. An intelligent man such as Mr. Vreeden would contact me from a phone booth or by wireless, directly to a dedicated line.”
“What if he’s alive?”
DeKok shook his head.
“He simply is not alive. This complaint only strengthens my conviction.”
“I don’t get you.”
DeKok spread both arms.
“My intimation to the butler regarding Mr. Vreeden’s apparent death precipitated the complaint. Our opposition, the people who want us to believe Mr. Vreeden is alive, became nervous. They needed a way to block the investigation.”
“They took their best shot,” Vledder continued, “a formal complaint against us on the grounds the butler gave them illegal entry and trespass. Whether or not the charges would stick they hoped our superiors would take us off the case.”
DeKok gave Vledder an admiring look.
“You’re right on target. Keep this up and I’ll be able to take early retirement.”
“Stuff it,” said Vledder.
DeKok grinned and turned around. He picked his hat up off the floor. Vledder eyed his movements with suspicion.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
DeKok, already on his way to the door, looked over his shoulder.
“It’s time to have a talk with Fat Nellie Benson. Maybe she knows something about Black Archie’s whereabouts.”
They waved goodbye to the watch commander as they left the building. They walked down
Warmoes Street, turning off into the Red Light District. Warmoes Street was just on the edge of the infamous district. It formed an informal border between the respectable and tawdry. The seamier of the two neighborhoods was the one sought by millions of tourists and sailors.
At this early hour the neighborhood offered a different look from the evening, when the streets were crowded almost beyond capacity. The owners of sex shops were washing their windows. A butcher in wooden shoes and bloody apron scrubbed the street in front of his shop. Even here the Dutch kept their reputation for cleanliness. Windows had to be cleaned and pavements had to be scrubbed. People deposited their trash neatly in the municipal containers.
Only a few prostitutes were behind their windows. Most busied themselves vacuuming, dusting, or washing windows. Vledder stopped involuntarily, as a semi-nude, young woman climbed a ladder to dust the top of the curtain rod inside the window. Since the curtain was opened and closed dozens of times during the night to signal the need for privacy or the availability of the lady behind the glass, he wondered how dust would gather.
DeKok had outdistanced his partner in long strides. Vledder hastened to catch up.
“Are you also investigating Archie’s disappearance?” asked Vledder when he had caught up with his partner.
DeKok lifted his head to greet a prostitute with a shopping bag. She daintily tripped into the butcher shop. The woman smiled at DeKok, who was probably the most recognizable figure in the district.
DeKok watched the woman disappear into the shop before he answered.
“That’s Blonde Josie, daughter of Pale Goldie. You remember? Goldie’s murder was the first case we handled together. Too bad she followed in her mother’s footsteps. Let’s hope she’ll be able to retire in good health and not be killed like her mom.”
Vledder turned around, but the young woman had disappeared from view.
“What about Archie?” he repeated his question.
“Little Lowee asked me to look into the disappearance,” DeKok answered. “I owe him one.”
Vledder grinned hesitantly.
“Aren’t we going to be stretching ourselves a bit thin? I’d have thought Vreeden’s disappearance would be enough to keep us busy.”
DeKok suddenly stopped.
“Have you not wondered what sort of body Archie was talking about?” he demanded.
Vledder was irked.
“You asked that before.”
“I ask you again. What kind of body would someone be looking to hide?”
Vledder stared at his partner momentarily. Suddenly his face cleared and his mouth fell open.
“A murder victim, of course—you’re surely not thinking it could have been Vreeden’s body?” He thought a while. “It may be farfetched, but not impossible,” he conceded.
DeKok pushed his hat back on his head and strolled toward Old Church Square, taking the bridge across to Old Acquaintance Alley. DeKok could find his way through Old Amsterdam blindfolded. He knew all the shortcuts, ancient bridges, and narrow, obscure alleys. Even a city planner would have had to consult old maps and drawings to find the way through this maze. This was DeKok’s turf; he knew every step, house, and almost every prostitute behind each window.
Eventually they reached Mill Alley. Vledder followed, his head bent in thought. New perspectives began to occur to him.
“If we could just get Archie Benson to talk,” he thought suddenly out loud.
DeKok ignored the remark.
He stopped again at Mill Alley, just a few houses away from Seadike. His eyes traveled from the brightly painted door, up the façade, to a window. There was a spy mirror attached to the outside of the window. When he saw movement reflected there, he pressed open the door and hoisted his two hundred pounds up the narrow staircase. Vledder waited a moment before following, two steps at a time.
At the top of the stairs there was a short corridor. DeKok rested a moment. When his breathing was back to normal, he knocked on a door and entered.
A corpulent woman was seated at the table. There was a steaming bowl in front of her and she had a tea towel over her head. She took the tea towel away and looked up.
The old inspector smiled.
“What are you doing, Nell?”
The woman pointed at the bowl.
“Chamomile,” she explained. A stubby finger tapped her forehead. “I’m all plugged up here. I think I have a cold.”
“No good comes from standing in front of a drafty door in the middle of the night.”
Her face became hard.
“You have career advice for me?”
DeKok sidestepped the question.
“What do you hear from Archie?” he asked with concern.
She shook her head. Her face began to lose its angry flush.
She answered, dejectedly, “My boy has been missing for five days now. My first thought was the cops had him in custody for one thing or another. That’s why I asked Lowee to check with you.”
“You could have come yourself.”
“I don’t like going to the station.”
DeKok shook his head with a sigh.
“We’re not holding your son anywhere. We also checked the hospitals—he hasn’t been hospitalized, either.” He paused. “Does he have a new girlfriend?”
She leaned back and buttoned her blouse.
“Plenty of girls,” she said carelessly. “But not one who would keep him from stopping by to see his mother every day.”
“How about work—was he doing a job for anyone?”
“I don’t know, don’t think so.”
DeKok scrutinized her closely.
“Maybe he has a new partner?”
She did not answer at once, but stared at the bowl of steaming water.
“Archie,” she said finally, “Archie has never had a father. About twenty years ago I got to know an Englishman. He was a dark, good-looking guy with plenty of money. He said he had taken part in a, now famous, train robbery in England. He had fled to Holland. Well, you could guess the rest. He was going to get me out of the business, marry me. I became pregnant with Archie and he slunk away into the night, never to be seen again.” She paused. Her right hand searched for a pack of cigarettes on the table. “For the last few weeks Archie has been obsessed with a new acquaintance. He met an older man, around forty-five …. . Maybe he’s some sort of substitute father.”
“What’s the name of this new acquaintance?”
Nellie spread her plump hands.
“I don’t know.”
DeKok did not believe her.
“But Archie obviously discussed him with you.”
Fat Nellie nodded vaguely.
“Archie calls him Buck Jones. Of course, it’s an alias or a street name. I don’t even know, for sure, he’s in the business, you know. It’s just a suspicion. Archie has been very close mouthed about it. It’s almost as if the guy has some sort of power over Archie. Normally Archie doesn’t keep things that close to his chest.”
“Has he ever been here?”
Nell shook her head.
“I wanted to invite him, but Archie wasn’t having any of it.”
“You have never seen him?”
She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then extinguished it immediately in an ashtray.
She exhaled some smoke. “I caught a glimpse of him at a distance. He waited at the corner of Seadike, while Archie stopped to see me for a moment.” She stared again at the bowl of now cooling water. “And you know what’s so strange?”
“Well?”
“There was something strangely familiar about him.”
“You’d seen him before?”
Fat Nellie shrugged.
“I don’t know. I might have met him sometime ago, maybe as a john.”
“Can you give a description?”
Nell smiled sadly.
“I told you. I just saw him for a moment. I can’t remember what he looked like.”
DeKok sighed deeply.
> “You must have gotten something,” he said patiently. “Where does he live? Where did he go with Archie? Were there other friends … accomplices?”
She looked up at him.
“He has a tattoo on his left arm.”
“How did you find that out?”
“One day Archie showed me his left arm. He had a sword tattooed on his arm in blue and red. It was like a knight’s sword, with a long handle and a knob at the end. I didn’t approve—thought it was ugly. When I asked Archie why he got the tattoo, he told me Buck has one just like it.”
DeKok glanced at Vledder, who was busily scribbling in his notebook.
“Could this man, Buck, have had anything to do with Archie’s disappearance?”
Fat Nellie made a helpless gesture. Her lower lip started to tremble. Suddenly she took the old man’s hand.
“I don’t know,” she said in a shaky voice. “Mr. DeKok, I’m so afraid … I’m so afraid something bad has happened to Archie.” She moved in her chair and pointed at a telephone on the sideboard. By now she was blubbering. “Last night someone called here, a man. He asked whether I had a life insurance policy for Archie. I said, ‘Since the day he was born.’” She took a deep breath. Big tears rolled over her cheeks. “Then the man said …” She did not finish the sentence and burst out in heartrending sobbing.
DeKok put a consoling hand on her shoulder.
“What did the man say?” he asked in a soft voice.
Nell’s teary face looked at him.
“He said, ‘You can tear up that policy.’ Then he hung up.”
7
They left the narrow Mill Alley and turned the corner on Seadike. Seadike is not a dike at all, but the name of a street. Hundreds of years ago, it was a dike. It also marked the city limits of Amsterdam. Through the years ongoing land reclamation and growth pushed the dike to the middle of the city. As houses and shops were built on either side the dike became another thoroughfare.
There was an angry snarl around Vledder’s mouth. “What a dirty, heartless act,” he said with genuine anger. “What kind of person makes that kind of a call to a worried mother?” He looked at his partner. “What sort of low-life does that?”
DeKok and Variations on Murder Page 5