DeKok and Variations on Murder

by A. C. Baantjer

  “To be sure, however, you have not mentioned the disappearance of Mr. Vreeden,” asked DeKok evenly. Behind him he heard the soft clicking of Vledder’s keyboard.

  Henri Middelkoop worried his necktie with stubby, fat fingers. He was visibly nervous.

  “I understand you have some theories concerning that?”

  “What is it you understand?”

  “You think Mr. Vreeden is deceased.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Mr. Schaap.”

  DeKok was genuinely surprised and showed it.

  “Our Mr. Schaap, the judge advocate?”

  “Yes,” nodded Middelkoop. “I’ve known Mr. Schaap for some time. I contacted him in connection with the brutal murder of Mrs. van Haesbergen. I insist this horrible crime be solved.”

  DeKok tried hard to suppress his anger.

  “And Mr. Schaap told you I was handling the case. In passing he shared my obsession with the crazy theory Mr. Vreeden also had passed away.” The sarcasm dripped off his every word.

  Middelkoop took a deep breath.

  “Yes, that is about the way it went.” He added, “Grauw also spoke with me. He said you rejected his assurances Mr. Vreeden was on vacation. He said you absolutely did not believe it.”

  DeKok nodded emphatically.

  “Mr. Grauw understood perfectly.”

  Middelkoop leaned closer.

  “Inspector,” he almost whispered, “reliable sources inform me you’re a very experienced police officer with a distinguished record of service. You seem unlikely to jump to irresponsible conclusions. Would you be able to share with me the basis of your doubts?”

  DeKok leered at the rotund director. Middelkoop’s tone was an affront and irked him.

  DeKok responded slowly, and as evenly as he could. “It would be ill-advised for me to go any further.”

  Middelkoop made a submissive gesture.

  “I’m a director of a large firm. I have responsibilities. Therefore I want to know what happens around me. Surely, you can understand that?”

  “I understand completely,” said DeKok. “However as long as my investigations are in progress, I don’t issue bulletins, progress reports, or information.”

  Middelkoop took out his handkerchief again and acted like a desperate man.

  “But you can surely take me into your confidence,” he beseeched. “Perhaps we could help each other. I’ve been with the firm for more than twenty-five years. Perhaps I could help with the investigation.”

  DeKok looked impassively at the man. He wondered whether Middelkoop was sincere, or just a very good actor. “Oh, what tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive,” he quoted to himself.

  “And how long has Mr. Grauw been a director?”

  “About three years.”

  “Did he also come up through the ranks?”

  Middelkoop shook his head.

  “No, Mr. Vreeden introduced him. He felt Grauw would infuse some fresh blood.”

  “Was there a need—was the business in a slump?”

  “No, I should say not. We continue to fill contracts worldwide.”

  DeKok smiled mischievously.

  “In other words Mr. Vreeden generates business.”

  “Yes, of course. Paul has numerous contacts, especially in the Near East.”

  “Who would benefit from his death?”

  Middelkoop looked confused.

  “Yes, who would profit from his death?”

  The director’s bulging eyes protruded even more.

  “Xaveria,” he swallowed. “Xaveria Breerode inherits his entire fortune.”

  16

  Middelkoop’s answer was predictable. DeKok had already surmised money played an important role in the affair. For several seconds he merely stared at the sweating director. Meanwhile his brain worked at full capacity.

  “So Xaveria Breerode is the sole beneficiary under Mr. Vreeden’s will,” he said in a detached way. “She inherits everything?” The question was intended to gain time.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Mr. Grauw and I received a copy of the will from the notary.”

  “Who is Mr. Vreeden’s notary?”

  “The name is Sugtelen.”

  “When, exactly, did the notary provide the copy to the two of you?”

  “It was about a month ago.”

  “And before that time Mr. Vreeden gave no indication of his intent?”

  Middelkoop shook his head.

  “The subject never arose. The will came as a thunderclap on a clear day. We never saw it coming.”

  “What was your expectation?”

  Middelkoop did not answer. He appeared not to have heard DeKok’s question. He picked at the lapels of his jacket nervously. There was a pained look on his face.

  DeKok leaned forward.

  “What did the two of you expect?” he repeated.

  Middelkoop swallowed.

  “I believed Mr. Vreeden would, at the very least, guarantee the continued survival of the firm.”

  “This was not the case?”

  “There are no specific provisions for the company in the will. Xaveria Breerode is both executrix and sole, universal, beneficiary. Although the firm carries his name it is not included as a beneficiary. In fact the only mention of it is as part of the list of assets to be inherited. There is some wording to the effect, ‘including, but not limited to the assets listed herein.’ The instrument lists some of the major assets, such as ‘house with contents’ and ‘all shares.’ Miss Breerode can do whatever she wishes with the stock. If she decides to put the shares on the market after his death, it will be catastrophic for the firm.”

  “And would she do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “No.”

  “Does Mr. Grauw know her?”

  Middelkoop took a deep breath.

  “I’m not interested in Grauw’s private life.”

  DeKok shook his head in disapproval.

  “But the private behavior of Mr. Grauw certainly interests me,” he said sharply. “Does Mr. Grauw or does he not know Xaveria Breerode?”

  Middelkoop again sought refuge with his large handkerchief. Wiping his forehead and neck. DeKok’s very pointed questioning made him uneasy. He tried in vain to avoid DeKok’s eyes.

  “I presume so,” he said finally, softly.

  “Why?”

  Middelkoop moved uneasily in his chair, twisting the crumpled handkerchief.

  “Eh, when Grauw was reading the copy of Vreeden’s will, he suddenly threw it down. He screamed angrily, ‘That Bitch.’”

  “He referred to her as a bitch?”

  “Yes.”

  DeKok rubbed the bridge of his nose with his little finger.

  “Bitch—was that a character analysis?”

  “Yes, you could say so. He was basing the epithet on … personal experience.”

  DeKok remained silent for a long time. He took pity on the corpulent, sweating man. He wanted him to relax, regain his composure. When he finally spoke his voice was less harsh. There was even a little smile around his lips.

  “How was your vacation in the south of France?” he asked. “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Excellent, I had a very good time.”

  This time DeKok smirked maliciously.

  “I don’t know whether you will be due more vacation time this year, but I can recommend an excellent hotel—Hotel Out Island Inn … in Georgetown on Grand Exuma.”

  Middelkoop left, breathing deeply and still sweating profusely. DeKok turned his chair around and looked at Vledder.

  “You got it all?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Vledder. “But I don’t understand why you recommended that hotel in the Bahamas to him.”

  “Don’t worry,” DeKok said. Under his breath he muttered, “Our Mr. Henri Middelkoop understood me.”

  “There’s something
else.”

  “What?”

  “Why did Grauw visit that bitch this morning?”

  DeKok stood up. Laughingly he placed a hand on Vledder’s shoulder.

  “You’re a phenomenon. You manage to switch from moments of total darkness to brilliant insight in the blink of an eye.”

  Vledder’s face revealed his irritation. He knew DeKok was having fun at his expense.

  “You wanted to make sure Middelkoop understood,” he said with great irritation, “you don’t believe, for a moment, he vacationed in the south of France.”

  DeKok was genuinely pleased.

  “Excellent,” he said with admiration in his voice. “Forgive my remark about moments of darkness.”

  Vledder raised his eyebrows, but he did not smile.

  “Darkness, light, whatever,” he snapped. “What I got out of it is this: Middelkoop is up to his buggy eyes in this nasty business.”

  DeKok did not answer, but walked over to get his coat and hat. Vledder followed hastily.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To Gentleman’s Canal,” DeKok tossed over his shoulder. “I want a word with Mr. Vreeden’ s notary, Sugtelen. I want to know why …” He could not finish the sentence. With a sigh he placed his hat on the peg. One of the detectives

  near the door was directing a visitor in his direction. When he recognized her, the expression on DeKok’s face changed to one of warm welcome. He walked toward the visitor.

  “Fat Nellie,” he said, “come, sit down.”

  He led her to his desk and seated her with old-world elegance.

  “You chanced it after all?” he asked.

  “What?” she asked, still a bit flustered.

  “You’ve come to the station. I thought you didn’t like the idea of coming here.”

  “Nobody needs these idlers around here gossiping. They see you here, they assume you’re a snitch. Lowee couldn’t find anybody to fill in for him, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Understandable,” said DeKok soothingly. “Thank you for coming.”

  Nell blushed and mumbled something inaudible.

  “So, Lowee asked you to stop by?” asked DeKok brightly, trying to put her at ease.

  “Yes.”

  “You have news?”

  Nell leaned forward. Her heavy bosom rested on the edge of the desk. Her face was sad; her tone, fearful.

  “DeKok,” she pleaded, “do you know anything about my Archie?”

  DeKok lowered his head in commiseration. He sighed and looked at her with pity in his eyes.

  “Not yet, Nell—it has been slow going,” he said hoarsely. “It doesn’t look good.”

  “You mean?”

  “We should have heard from him some time ago.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “You don’t think Archie—”

  DeKok did not let her finish. He nodded slowly.

  “We want to know what happened to the boy, too. We’ll keep working on it, as long as we can. I promise. But I tell you honestly, at the moment I have no idea where to look.”

  Fat Nellie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The tears had destroyed her makeup. Suddenly there was a hard look in her eyes. Her lips formed a narrow line.

  “If that piece of garbage had a hand in it,” she hissed, “if he’s dared to lay a finger on my boy, I’ll kill him. I swear, DeKok. If you catch him, I need five minutes alone. Otherwise some bleeding heart judge will give him a couple of months in jail and a slap on the wrist.”

  DeKok let her get it out of her system.

  “Who are you talking about, Nell?”

  She snorted her disdain.

  “Handsome Karl.”

  DeKok was confused.

  “How do you figure Karl has anything to do with Archie’s disappearance?”

  “DeKok, he does. He is Buck Jones.”

  “What?”

  Fat Nellie nodded, a grim look on her face.

  “He’s the older guy Archie has been hanging around with. I told you he looked familiar.”

  DeKok reacted sharply.

  “How can you be certain?”

  She made a movement with her head in the direction of the window.

  “Lowee has been to see Tattoo Peter.”

  DeKok closed his eyes for a moment.

  “The tattooed sword,” he groaned.

  Nell’s bosom swayed dangerously.

  “Handsome Karl took advantage of Archie by posing as someone he was not.”

  DeKok took a grieving and distressed Fat Nellie to the watch commander. He arranged to have a police car take her home. When he returned to the detective room, Vledder gaped at him with open mouth.

  “You know what this means, DeKok,” he blurted out. “Handsome Karl is our mystery guy.”

  “You are surprised?”

  “Then Handsome Karl is also involved with the planned kidnapping.”

  DeKok nodded agreement.

  “You’re absolutely right. Based on what Nell told us, we can be sure that Karl was aware of Archie’s every move. Archie was rather submissive, because of his disability or his nature. Karl appears to have been more a spiritual leader than merely an older role model. He was able to maneuver Archie into everything. Karl got him to buy the boat, remodel it to include the hiding place.”

  Vledder bit his lower lip.

  “Would Handsome Karl be the brains you felt were behind the kidnap plans?” There was disbelief in his voice. “I’ve only seen him once, but he seemed more brawn than brain.” He sniggered. “I also don’t get the ‘handsome’ in Handsome Karl. I’ve seen no handsome qualities in that rough face.”

  DeKok smiled.

  “His mother was an old-fashioned brothel keeper. That is, she kept a bar. She provided rooms upstairs for the girls. I remember her well. She had a house on Rear Fort Canal, near Old Acquaintance Alley. The ground floor was the bar. Her living quarters were upstairs, where she kept the girls. Her real name was Mathilde Koperman, but everyone called her Polish Mappie. Why, I don’t know. She had children by a number of men. Sometimes she was married, mostly not. As far as Mappie was concerned, there was only one child, her little Karl. She absolutely adored him, attended to his every whim. Although the boy was as ugly as the night, she always called him ‘my handsome boy.’”

  Vledder understood.

  “So it was, he became known in the neighborhood as Handsome Karl.”

  “Exactly. Maybe it was the equivalent of a tall man being nicknamed Shorty. Who can say?”

  Vledder abandoned the subject. He looked pensive.

  “But there’s still something else I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Out with it,” invited DeKok.

  “Why did Handsome Karl tell us he’d been in jail? That wasn’t very smart. It would be so easy to check.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “I think that Karl was a bit confused when I told him I had missed him for awhile. The excuse about jail time in The Hague was the first thing to pop into his mind. If he had told us he had been caretaking on an estate in Ireland, he knew we would discover his relation to Vreeden quickly.”

  “One more thing checked off,” nodded Vledder with satisfaction. He moved in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck with a pained expression on his face as he wrestled with his questions. “Why would Archie Benson have to disappear? His fate is so senseless.”

  “You believe he’s dead, then?” asked DeKok.

  “Yes, I think so. Little Lowee thinks the same. Otherwise he would not have made so much noise. But what bothers me more than anything else is why.”

  “He knew too much.”

  Vledder shook his head.

  “What fatal knowledge could he have? They never executed the plan. The cabin cruiser sits, unused, moored in the Amstel. DeKok, look at the facts. Not only was there no reason to murder Archie, he was handy to have around.”

  “How do you mean, handy?”

  Vledder made a nonchal
ant gesture.

  “Any number of things—he could run errands, move the boat. If there was a hostage, he could keep an eye on the victim, get food—”

  “But those are tasks,” said DeKok softly, “to do when there is an actual hostage. You said it yourself. There was no hostage, because there was no kidnapping.”

  Vledder was peeved.

  “It could still happen,” he exclaimed, nettled. “The plans were in place. The execution hadn’t quite happened. And during the execution of the kidnapping, Archie would have been very useful, you’ll admit that.”

  DeKok sighed.

  “I think you’re staring yourself dead with this.”

  Vledder looked up in surprise.

  “What else is there? I’d gladly shift my focus.”

  “Think about a funeral.”

  “What funeral?”

  His partner’s lack of insight made DeKok close his eyes momentarily.

  “What was Archie’s big problem, just before he died?” he reminded, patiently. “Think about Archie’s conversation with a couple of gangsters in Lowee’s bar.”

  It took awhile, but then Vledder’s face suddenly lit up.

  “He was consumed with getting rid of a body.”

  DeKok looked at him for a few seconds.

  “Are you with me, now?” he asked sarcastically. He stood up and ambled over to get his coat and hat. “Keep the thought for a little while longer.”

  His hand was reaching for his hat, when the phone on his desk rang.

  Vledder, who had started to follow DeKok, picked up the phone and listened.

  DeKok watched from a distance. He saw Vledder’s face become grave. Slowly the old man walked back to his desk.

  When Vledder had replaced the receiver, DeKok looked at him.

  “What was it?”

  “A notification,” said Vledder dully. “We’re needed.”

  “Yes,” urged DeKok impatiently.

  “Dr. Haanstra is dead.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Yes,” said Vledder, “strangled with a scarf.”

  17

  Vledder ran headlong down the stairs, three steps at a time. DeKok tightened the belt of his raincoat and followed at a more sedate pace. Downstairs Vledder waited impatiently for his partner to catch up. As they crossed the lobby, the watch commander beckoned them with a crooked finger.