“Together living apart?”
DeKok shrugged.
“You heard her. Xaveria’s and Paul’s relationship works for them.”
“And what about her story of the threatened kidnapping?”
Again DeKok shrugged. Something was nagging at him, but he could not quite grasp it.
“We have had a few widely publicized, high-profile kidnap cases. It wouldn’t be so farfetched for the renowned, wealthy Mr. Vreeden to be a potential victim.”
Vledder consulted his screen again, while he made a few entries in his notebook.
“According to Xaveria,” he said with emphasis, “Vreeden was actually warned. The caller said the plan to kidnap him was almost complete.”
DeKok merely nodded.
Vledder continued, “The so-called warning doesn’t ring true, unless it could have been a sick joke or a red herring.”
DeKok hesitated before he answered.
“It’s a stretch. But we can’t rule out the possibility there was a plan to kidnap Vreeden. His mystery caller could have been someone with an axe to grind, someone who knew about a conspiracy. If it was someone who had a lot to loose it would explain why he also warned Vreeden not to talk.”
Vledder swallowed
“‘They may kill me if you say anything,’” he read from his notes on the screen.
The words echoed through the room.
The two inspectors fell silent, each immersed in his own thoughts. Vledder stood up and walked over to DeKok’s desk. It was just a few steps. Then he turned around and went back to his own desk. But he did not sit down. Suddenly he turned and faced DeKok.
“In spite of Xaveria’s story we can dismiss the kidnapping theory. Vreeden was not kidnapped. He was found dead in his chair.” Then he hesitated and looked at DeKok with doubt on his face. “Or … not?” he asked, as an afterthought.
DeKok did not answer. He thought about the two of them sitting, exchanging theories, and asking questions. How much police work was done in this manner? He smiled, thinking about Lowee’s cop coop joke. The little barkeep had a point. He and Vledder did resemble brooding chickens; they brooded over questions of life and death.
Before he had formulated an answer for Vledder, there was a knock on the door of the detective room. One of the detectives near the door yelled, “Come in.” A young man opened the door. He took a moment to speak with the detective who had called for him to come in. The officer pointed in the direction of DeKok and Vledder. The young man thanked him and approached DeKok’s desk.
DeKok estimated his age at around twenty-five years. He was dressed in a pair of stained, corduroy pants and a leather jacket with a torn sleeve. He stood still in front of DeKok’s desk.
“Are you in charge of the Archie Benson case?” he asked.
DeKok nodded.
“With whom do I have the pleasure?”
The young man smiled. His open face under the disordered blond hair revealed a sunny disposition.
“My name is Kees … Kees Wallen,” he said cheerfully. “I think Little Lowee must have alerted every gangster in Amsterdam. You can’t go anywhere without having some goon asking you what you know about Archie.”
DeKok looked up at the standing man.
“And … what do you know about Archie?”
Without waiting for an invitation, Kees Wallen sat down and pushed a packet out of a breast pocket. He selected a cigarette and lit it.
“About two months ago, I sold him a boat,” he said through a cloud of cigarette smoke.
A recent ordinance prohibited smoking in the police station, but DeKok said nothing to his guest. In response to a silent signal, Vledder opened one of the windows, disapproval written on his face.
“What kind of boat?” asked DeKok.
“It was a small cabin cruiser. She was old, all wood, but in excellent condition. She had a 40HP Kromhout engine with a glow-head.”
Vledder looked surprised.
“That model of engine hasn’t been in use for a long time,” he remarked.
“Yes,” DeKok added without a moment’s hesitation. “Aren’t those rather old fashioned?”
Vledder looked in surprise at his partner. Usually DeKok avoided all technical discussions. Vledder could have sworn DeKok wouldn’t know an antiquated boat engine from today’s equivalent. Cars, engines, computers …
it was all “modern” stuff to DeKok.
Wallen didn’t notice. He just grinned.
“You might call it a real museum piece.”
“And Archie bought it from you?”
The young man nodded.
“I do a little business in boats,” he explained.
“And Archie knew that?”
“Sure. He’d bought a boat from me before. It was a little runabout, strictly for fun. He ended up reselling it.”
“You don’t think he bought the cabin cruiser to resell it?”
Kees Wallen moved uneasily in his chair. The sunny expression left his face.
“I didn’t understand,” he said somberly. “I just couldn’t figure why Archie would be interested in that cabin cruiser. If you wanted to use it for anything but show, it would need a lot of remodeling. An old Kromhout engine like that, for instance, you would have to replace.”
DeKok pulled out his lower lip and let it plop back. As usual, he repeated the annoying gesture several times.
“Did Archie say what he planned to do with the boat?”
Kees Wallen shook his head.
“I met him near the canal the day he bought her. He just asked if I had a boat for sale. I said yes and took him to the Old Waal. That’s where I kept that cabin cruiser, near the stone bridge. As soon as we got aboard, Archie checked out the cabin and said he’d take it.”
“He didn’t ask the price?”
Kees grinned slyly.
“No, he never asked.” The sun came back on his face. “So, I quickly added a few hundred.”
DeKok nodded.
“And he paid?”
“He patted his chest. Archie had a big roll of cash. He paid on the spot.”
“Where did he plan to anchor the boat?”
“That I don’t know. He must have had it towed. A few days later it was gone.”
“Do you know where it wound up?”
“Yes,” Wallen nodded slowly. “I found out by chance. About a week ago I met an old friend. He’d sold me the boat in the first place. He asked me if I still owned it. I told him I didn’t and he told me he had seen it.”
“Where?”
Kees Wallen grinned apologetically.
“On the Amstel … across from Sorrow Field, the cemetery.”
9
They left the station in the battered VW and drove in the direction of the Damrak. The car groaned and protested as Vledder floored the gas pedal to make the green light at the crossing to the dam. DeKok reacted annoyed. He did not like driving and despised sudden accelerations.
“What’s the matter?” he growled. “Are we in a hurry to get to hell or the next stoplight?”
Vledder grinned broadly. He enjoyed getting a rush of speed out of the anemic, underpowered vehicle.
“Me?” he wondered. “I’ll never go to hell. Just for hanging out with you for so long, I’m guaranteed a seat in heaven.”
DeKok shook his head.
“I shouldn’t count on it, if I were you. I’ve been told they refuse all cops at the Pearly Gates.”
Vledder laughed.
“Sure. They undoubtedly have ex-police enforcing it.”
DeKok grumbled, “Just take it easy. I’m in no rush to go to either place.”
“What’s this sudden interest in boats,” asked Vledder, getting back to business.
“I’m interested in it because Archie bought it, that’s all.”
“That’s it?”
The gray sleuth sank deeper in the seat and pushed back his hat.
“Doesn’t the sale of a cabin cruiser to a guy like Archie give y
ou pause,” he asked, patiently. For instance, how did Black Archie, whose mother supported him in his adulthood, suddenly come by a big roll of money? If he didn’t keep a tiny, pleasure boat, why would he want the cruiser? The timing of the boat deal is interesting, as well. Archie was already under the influence of a stranger, Buck Jones. It makes me wonder whether this Jones character financed the purchase and why.
Vledder was skeptical.
“What do you expect to learn by looking at the boat?”
DeKok spread his hands.
“Maybe nothing,” he grimaced. “Or maybe we can lift the tip of the veil surrounding Archie’s mysterious disappearance.”
Meanwhile Vledder was making good time. He passed the mint, turning right just before Rembrandt Square. They were already approaching the bridge across Gentlemen’s Canal.
“Archie’s disappearance certainly seems to interest Little Lowee. He sends us everybody who has a little tidbit to offer.”
DeKok smiled.
“This is not the first time. I’ve seen it happen before. When that little nondescript barkeeper uses his influence, things happen. I can assure you it doesn’t pay to underestimate Lowee’s power.”
“Power?” questioned Vledder.
DeKok nodded emphatically.
“Power, yes. Little Lowee knows everybody in the underworld and his knowledge is power. Lowee knows which skeletons are in whose closets.”
“Are we talking blackmail?”
That shocked DeKok. He pursed his lips judicially.
“No,” he said slowly. “He just knows how to encourage certain shady characters to do and say the right things … to serve justice.”
This time Vledder laughed out loud.
“DeKok,” he said chuckling, “you’d make a perfect politician. You can put a spin on anything. Of course those crumbs do what Lowee demands. They fear what he knows and they fear his relationship with you.”
DeKok shook his head. His face was serious.
“That’s not the way it is, at all. My friendship with Lowee is not a factor. I have arrested him more than once. Lowee has done several stretches in jail because of me. Actually guys like Handsome Karl and Kees Wallen already believe one hand washes the other. Don’t forget, when they get in trouble, they know Lowee is the first one to help.”
They approached the Amstel Dike and drove under the Utrecht Bridge. As they drove along the Amstel River, DeKok pushed himself into an upright position. The view of the beautiful river was spoiled by a collection of derelict barges and neglected houseboats.
“A beautiful city,” he sighed, “but that is disgraceful, such disregard for …” He did not complete the sentence.
Vledder smiled to himself. He knew his old friend was dismayed by the blight of neglect. This landscape would otherwise be one of the most idyllic riverfronts anywhere. The laissez-fair attitude of the city council regarding houseboats rankled.
“Do you have some idea what our cabin cruiser looks like?” asked Vledder.
“From Wallen’s description I imagine something like a cut-down tourist boat, only shorter. It would be more narrow, and with a cabin running almost from the bow to the stern. However I do know what a Kromhout glow-head engine looks like.”
Vledder was surprised.
“I thought you knew nothing about engines. How did you come by this rather technical knowledge?”
DeKok smiled.
“My grandfather was a fisherman. The first real engine I saw in my life was a Kromhout glow-head in his fishing shack. I often watched the burner heat the head of the engine until it was red hot. Only then could Grandfather start the motor.”
They slowed down. Just past the cemetery they saw an old cabin cruiser. The wood was weathered, the brass work was tarnished. The iron railing and bollards were rusted. Even the ropes with which it was moored looked black with age.
“That must be it,” pointed Vledder.
DeKok nodded. Vledder parked the VW against the cemetery fence and they stepped out of the car. For a moment they just stood next to the car. Dusk was falling. The stretch of Amstel looked deserted. A balmy breeze rustled through the high poplars behind them.
Slowly they crossed the road to the grassy berm. They inspected the spikes that had been driven into the ground to receive the mooring lines. Then they took a closer look at the boat.
Two brand new, shiny brass padlocks glowed amidst all the tarnish, catching their attention. One locked the doors. The other secured the hatch to the steps that appeared to lead into the boat from the tiny aft deck.
There was no gangway. With difficulty DeKok scrambled from the shore onto the deck of the freeboard around the superstructure. The freeboard ran on both sides of the boat, connecting the narrow aft deck with an even tinier deck over the bow.
DeKok shuffled along the freeboard to a hatch amid ships. He lifted it and looked down into the boat. With a grin he came upright and closed the hatch.
“It’s an old Kromhout glow-head. There’s no mistaking it.”
He came astern and looked at the padlocks.
“And these,” he said casually, “are easy as pie.”
Vledder looked worried.
“You’re not going inside,” he whispered in a rasp. “We’ve got one complaint against us already.”
DeKok ignored him. He took out Handie Henkie’s instrument and made a few adjustments. Within seconds both locks were open. Vledder watched with a worried expression, but said nothing more.
DeKok pocketed the locks and smiled at his young colleague.
“It’s not my fault the law constrains us so,” he said, apologetically. He raised a finger in the air. “It isn’t like we’re creating our own odds; the law is designed more to protect the criminal than to take him out of circulation.”
Vledder’s face was disapproving.
“That’s why you ignore the law?” he said harshly.
“No, Dick,” answered DeKok jovially, “I don’t. I honor the law and serve justice to the best of my ability.” He chuckled. “ I admit, sometimes, I’m a bit unconventional.”
He turned around and slid back the hasp. He reached down and opened the bolt on the inside of the doors. He pushed the doors wide open to descend the steps into the interior. Right at the bottom of the steps he almost walked into a recently installed partition. In the middle of the partition was a heavy, securely bolted door. He pushed aside the well-oiled bolts and pushed open the door. It was pitch black in the space.
Vledder handed him a flashlight,
DeKok flashed the beam through the space. It was small, about six by nine feet. There were no windows, no portholes, and the walls were covered with a thick layer of foam rubber. To the left, next to an army cot, was a chemical toilet.
Vledder looked over DeKok’s shoulder.
“Someone was kept here.”
“Yes,” nodded DeKok, “a kidnap victim.”
They left the boat and walked back to the car. After some deliberation, DeKok had decided to remove all traces of their presence. He had replaced the padlocks exactly as he found them.
Vledder held open the passenger door. DeKok lowered himself into the seat. He had a grim expression on his face. He felt more obstreperous than confused. The mysterious disappearances of Vreeden and Benson had pushed him into making a number of dubious decisions within a very short timeframe. Throughout his long career he had always had the courage of his convictions. An independent thinker, he was not afraid to take risks. He deviated from orthodox detective methods. He was hardest on himself and had never had occasion to question his personal or professional ethics, until now. He didn’t feel so self-assured. The very vagueness surrounding the disappearances made him hesitate to plan new approaches.
When Vledder sat down behind the wheel, DeKok indicated that he should wait before starting the engine.
“I want to talk to you for a moment,” he said, somberly. “This concerns you as well.”
Vledder looked startled. DeKok’s som
ber tone touched him.
“Go ahead.”
DeKok hesitated, looking for the right words.
“Well, first of all, I may have been a bit too casual about the complaint Vreeden’s colleague filed. I regret making rash decisions that include you. Your career is ahead of you and I may have put it at risk.”
“You mean, besides the allegations in the complaint?”
“I’m referring to what we did on the boat. We just violated police regulations. We threw away the rule book.”
“What are you telling me?”
DeKok sighed deeply.
“Kidnapping is a serious crime. One of the worst I can think of. It’s right up there with rape and crimes against children … . By quietly putting everything back in order and leaving we are pretending not to have discovered the place where a kidnap victim may have been imprisoned.”
Vledder shrugged.
“We don’t know there has been a kidnapping.”
“Not yet.”
The young inspector smiled condescendingly.
“Well, if we hear about a kidnapping tomorrow, we’ll know where to look.”
DeKok looked at him through the rearview mirror.
“Oh, yes—where?”
“Right here on this boat.”
DeKok closed his eyes momentarily. He couldn’t believe his junior’s obtuseness.
“A boat in a land surrounded by waterways is movable,” he said, chidingly. “There must be thousands of hiding places for a boat in Holland. It could be hidden in plain sight. A few pots of paint can make a huge difference. It isn’t even that unique.”
Vledder looked abashed.
“You’re right—what do we do next?”
DeKok put his head down for a moment.
“The simplest, most obvious thing would be to have it towed to a safe place by the Water Police. We had probable cause to look for Archie and it would be no problem to have it examined as a crime scene.”
“Well, sounds like a plan.”
DeKok rubbed his chin.
“I can see the headlines: ‘Secret Hiding Place for Kidnap Victim Discovered,’ and ‘Youthful Criminal Disappears Under Mysterious Circumstances.’” A good journalist, like Bram Brakel of The Telegraph, can connect the dots and turn this into front-page news.”
DeKok and Variations on Murder Page 7