DeKok did not react. He looked pensively at his colleague for several seconds. Then he turned around and went to get his coat.
Vledder shook himself and followed.
“Now where are you going?”
DeKok yawned widely.
“Home. I need sleep. Pick me up at nine o’clock with a car.”
“Where are we going tomorrow?”
“Amersfoort.”
Vledder stood still and wrinkled his forehead as he thought. He apparently had forgotten his oath not to think anymore.
“What do you want to do there?”
DeKok’s face was hard and pitiless.
“Get to the bottom of things.”
Although the rush hour was supposed to be over, the four-lane Beltway around Amsterdam was still congested. Vledder kept the VW at a sedate pace in the curb lane. He watched placidly as other traffic switched lanes and rushed past. Accustomed to Vledder’s heavy foot, DeKok couldn’t help remarking on the sedate pace.
“Why are you going so slow?” he asked.
“I’m not going slow,” answered Vledder. “I’m doing the speed limit. I could step on it and get into the middle of the melee, but I would have to step on my brakes as often as I use the gas pedal, just to pass.” He pointed at a sleek Jaguar that passed them in the next lane. “See, this is the third time that Jag has passed me. Within half a kilometer I’ll pass him again without accelerating or using my brakes.”
“Isn’t this a big change in your technique?”
“Not really. This isn’t the city and I’m not using my siren or lights. I’m keeping an eye on that truck,” he pointed out the windshield. “That’s a professional driver, who probably runs this route frequently. Notice how he stays in the curb lane? As long as I’ve been behind him, he hasn’t used his brakes and hasn’t changed speed. People naturally assume a truck is slow and do anything to get past him. As a result he, and his truck-driving buddies, take the curb lane for themselves. They are zipping right along.” He paused.
“And so are we,” he added with a satisfied smirk.
They reached their turn-off for Amersfoort and Utrecht. The traffic thinned out. After Vledder’s explanation, DeKok almost regretted that the truck they had been following continued on past the exit.
Vledder glanced to one side. DeKok was still sitting upright. He had not yet sunk down in the seat in his usual slumped attitude.
“By the way,” said Vledder, “I had to go by the station to get the car and fuel.”
“Eh?”
“In the lobby, after I had signed out on the log, I almost ran smack into our commissaris. He immediately wanted to know your whereabouts. The second strangulation has him and the judge advocate seriously worried.”
“Is that what he said?”
Vledder nodded. He checked his mirrors and glanced at the dashboard.
“Yes,” he said. “Also,” he went on, “Mr. Meturovski is stirring up trouble again. Although he has withdrawn his complaint against us, he has expressed his genuine reluctance to approve of our behavior. Apparently you made unfounded statements to poor Mr. Middelkoop. He was extremely upset by your veiled accusations.”
“Ah, so,” said DeKok. “No surprise there.”
Vledder looked serious.
“There’s more. Urged on by Messrs. Grauw and Middelkoop, Meturovski beseeched the commissaris and Mr. Schaap to assign the Vreeden case to other inspectors in the precinct. According to Mr. Meturovski, our integrity is suspect, at the very least. The primary omission appears to have objectivity—we displayed a certain prejudice.”
DeKok narrowed his eyes.
“That’s interesting. Meturovski admits there is indeed a Vreeden case.”
“Apparently.”
DeKok laughed out loud.
“That is priceless! Until now the attitude in the firm was, ‘Mr., Vreeden is on vacation in the Bahamas.’ This is the first time they have wavered. I have the warm feeling they are getting a teeny wee bit worried.”
Vledder snorted.
“Of course … with all that rooting around you’re doing.”
DeKok’s face fell.
“I’m afraid that my rooting around has cost two lives, so far.”
Vledder shook his head.
“That’s absolute nonsense,” he cried out. “None of it is on your head. You didn’t get a scarf and strangle two people. Someone else chose to forever silence them.”
DeKok stared out of the window. He imagined the frightening visage of the dead Dr. Haanstra in his mind’s eye. With an effort he pushed the image away.
“When we get back to Amsterdam,” he said slowly, “I want you to go have a look at the city register.”
“In person?”
“Yes, that seems safer and more discrete than calling. I’d like you to check out Karl Koperman’s family, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews, nieces, … the works.”
“What do you plan to do with the data?”
DeKok sighed.
“I want to know who got him the caretaker job at Thundering Heights in Ireland. According to Lowee, Handsome Karl has connections in high places.”
“And that’s what you want me to find?”
“In a round about way,” said DeKok.
They remained silent for a long time. Past Bussum, visibility became worse. Patches of thick fog dressed the world in a gray blanket. Vledder cursed to himself, engaged the fog lights, and slowed down.
“Is she home?” he asked gruffly.
“Who?”
“Xaveria, of course. Isn’t that why we’re going to Amersfoort?”
DeKok nodded.
“I called her this morning. I asked her to stay at home because we had an important message for her.”
“We do?”
“Yes.”
Vledder did not persist. Suddenly he put his hand in the inside pocket of his coat.
“I almost forgot,” he said sheepishly. “There was an envelope for you at the watch commander’s desk. It was delivered during the night.”
DeKok looked at the much-folded envelope and studied the address: “To Inspector DeKok, Warmoes Street Police Station,” written in neat, copperplate script. He tore open the envelope and produced a sheet of notepaper.
Dear DeKok,
It took a while, but now I know for sure. Handsome Karl has not left the city. He’s hiding out in a renovated townhouse in Zaan Street, next to the old swimming pool building. In front is a fire-engine-red BMW he owns. He almost never shows himself in the street. It seems he is a bit nervous. If you want to catch him, you should hurry, or he may be gone.
Yours, Louis
DeKok smiled tenderly and put the note and the envelope into one of his pockets.
“Good news?” asked Vledder.
“Yes, it’s from Lowee.”
“What, with that handwriting?”
“Oh, yes. And the note is in the same perfect copperplate script and in perfect Dutch, not a misspelling either.”
“So, he doesn’t write the way he speaks?”
“No, and if he wanted he could give elocution lessons to radio announcers. As we discussed, it would never be a good idea to underestimate the man.”
She wore the same, almost transparent, dressing gown she had worn during their first visit to Amersfoort. Again DeKok realized how attractive she was, how exciting. Everytime he encountered her he understood more of the spellbinding enchantment Vreeden must have experienced.
Xaveria Breerode gave him a haughty look.
“It seems I’m to enjoy your frequent interest,” she mocked.
DeKok smiled a winning smile.
“Believe me, if I didn’t have a real reason for my visit, I’d invent a motive to visit you.”
“Is that a compliment?” she asked, flattered.
DeKok nodded with conviction.
“A compliment to your beauty. I admire your candor rather less.”
Suddenly there was an alert look in her eyes
.
“I am unaware of having withheld anything. If so it was completely inadvertent.”
DeKok pointed an accusing finger at her.
“Why did you not tell us, during our last visit, that you’re Paul Vreeden’s sole beneficiary and his executrix? That is no small omission.”
She feigned innocence.
“You did not ask.”
DeKok pursed his lips before speaking.
“Surely you understood how important it was for us to know. It was key to our investigation.”
She shook her head.
“No, it simply did not seem relevant. My only concern, really, was, and is, Paul’s disappearance. I did not realize that. Our financial arrangements have no bearing.”
“Oh, no?” It was DeKok’s turn to sound mocking.
Her face became hard.
“Listen carefully, Inspector,” she said bitingly, “all I want or need is Mr. Vreeden to be safe and whole. But you know that—it is your job.”
The gray sleuth ignored the remark.
“What sort of relationship do you have with Gerard Grauw?”
“None whatsoever.”
DeKok grinned, but only with his mouth. His gaze was one of unflattering assessment.
“Yesterday morning we saw him leave your house.”
“He was here,” she admitted calmly. “Shortly before you came, he appeared in front of my door.”
“You invited him in?”
“No, I permitted him to enter. There is a difference.”
“What did he want?”
Xaveria Breerode lowered her head slightly, her poise was slipping.
“Grauw told me he had received a copy of Paul’s will. He wanted to discuss the contents with me.”
“And?”
“I made it clear I did not intend to discuss the contents with him, as the will was Mr. Vreeden’s last testament, not mine. If Grauw wanted changes made to the will, for whatever reason, I said he should direct his desires to Paul.”
DeKok was amused. He thoroughly enjoyed her recollection of thwarting Grauw, whom he considered a cold fish.
“What was his response?”
“He gave me the feeling he was severely upset. He had difficulty keeping his composure—shut his briefcase with a smack, stood up, and left without saying goodbye.”
DeKok rubbed his chin thoughtfully. There was something here, if he could only put his finger on it. He searched Xaveria’s face for inspiration.
“During our last visit,” he began after a long pause, “you … gave us a character sketch of Mr. Vreeden. You told us about his giving away 1,000 Euro notes in conjunction with overseas negotiations.”
“You remembered that?” laughed Xaveria.
“Yes,” nodded DeKok. “You also spoke of a unique shirt with pockets in which he transported currency. You have an example of that?”
Xaveria stood up and walked over to a tall chest.
“The night before he left for the Near East,” she said, “Paul spent the night with me. He joked about it giving him resistance against the wiles of the Houris. Shortly before he left for the airport, he would transform himself into a slightly rounder gentleman.”
“He became so because of all the currency on his body?”
She grinned as she opened a drawer.
“It looked quite natural, but I found it a bit comical. I always had to laugh when I saw him like that.” She took a piece of clothing out of the drawer and held it up. It was a rather long T-shirt with pockets stitched all around in three rows, one under the other. DeKok reached out for it.
“Do you mind if I show this to my commissaris?” he asked.
She hesitated for a moment.
“As long as I get it back.”
“Absolutely.”
She handed the odd garment to the inspector, and closed the drawer. Then she reseated herself on a hassock.
“When Paul comes back, he’ll need it,” she said.
DeKok nodded soothingly. He folded the garment neatly and stuck into his raincoat, over the belt. Laboriously he stood up. But he did not leave.
“Would you share with me,” he asked, “how you met Mr. Vreeden for the first time?”
“We were introduced by friends.”
“What friends?”
“I … I don’t recall. It was a long time ago.”
DeKok made an inviting gesture in her direction, as if to solicit a further answer. She did not respond.
“Presumably you still remember the happy day?” he asked.
She swallowed. Her tongue darted out and licked dry lips.
“Not really, I don’t remember details.”
DeKok held her eyes with his own.
“Did you know Mr. Grauw before he came to work with Mr. Vreeden as a co-director in the firm?”
Xaveria did not answer. She closed her eyes and sighed.
DeKok leaned closer to her.
“I know you heard me and understood me. But let me repeat myself. Did you know Mr. Grauw before he came to work with Mr. Vreeden as a co-director in the firm?”
“Yes.”
“Was Grauw the man who introduced you to Vreeden?”
She stood up. There was a hunted look in her eyes.
“That has nothing to do with anything,” she declared, emotionally. “Regardless of who introduced us, I love
Paul … believe me … I love him.” She fell silent. She appeared to be drained of all emotion. Dully she looked up at DeKok. “I know what you think,” she whispered.
There was no expression on DeKok’s face.
“We cannot always control our thoughts,” he said. Slowly he walked away. At the door he turned around.
“Do you have mourning clothes?”
“No.”
“Buy some.”
19
They left Amersfoort from the familiar parking lot on Precious Lady Square. The visibility on the highway had improved. The sun had climbed high in the sky and had burned off the last of the fog.
DeKok slid down in the seat and almost dozed off. Sleepily he reviewed the conversation with Xaveria. It had progressed more or less along the lines he had expected. No real surprises there. The first time he observed Grauw leaving her street he knew there must be some bond between him and Xaveria.
He was still puzzled by the sequence of events. Had the love affair between Xaveria and Paul led to a directorship for Grauw? Or had the directorship of Grauw led to the intimate relationship between Paul and the enticing Xaveria Breerode? Which was cause and which was effect? During his questioning, Xaveria admitted it was Grauw who had introduced her to Vreeden. In that case the initiative would have been Grauw’s. DeKok wondered what prompted the writing and publishing of Paul Vreeden’s recent last will and testament. He thought about Vreeden’s instructions to his solicitor.
Vledder nudged him with an elbow.
“Are you asleep?”
DeKok pushed himself more upright.
“No, I was thinking with my eyes closed.”
“Well, at least you weren’t snoring.” He pointed at the bulge under DeKok’s raincoat. “What do you want with that shirt?”
“As I said, I have it to show to the commissaris.”
Vledder snorted.
“And you really think he’ll be interested?”
DeKok jutted his chin forward.
“It will arouse his interest.” It sounded hard and inflexible.
“Why?”
The gray sleuth turned in the seat, almost facing Vledder.
“You’ve been a part of the entire investigation,” he said tiredly. “From the start, you’ve been involved with all the facets of the case. Now, what do you think I want with this shirt?”
Vledder shoulders rose momentarily.
“I have no clue. Perhaps you want to use it in a training lecture for Her Majesty’s customs.”
Disappointed, DeKok shook his head. With a sad expression on his face he sank back in the seat and closed his
eyes. This time he did nod off. They were back in Amsterdam before he woke up.
“When we get to Town Hall, leave the car with me,” he ordered. “Do you have the correct information about Karl Koperman and his mother for the registry?”
“Yes … but you, eh, you’re going to drive?”
“Of course,” said DeKok in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. He knew he’d distinguished himself as the worst driver in the Netherlands, maybe all of Europe. He also knew that Vledder thought the same. He behaved as though he had a flawless driving record. “I’ll see you at the station,” he added.
“You’re just going to drive to the station?”
“Well, no, I think I’ll pay a little visit to the notary, Sugtelen.”
“You’re going to park along Gentlemen’s Canal?”
“Yes, why not?” he said, blandly. “That’s where his office is located.”
“Alright, try not to park it in the canal.”
They reached Town Hall and Vledder prepared to get out of the car.
“Why are you going to see the notary?”
“I want to have a look at the report the detective in Amersfoort prepared.”
“And if he refuses to show it to you?”
“Why should he refuse?”
“Notaries can be very secretive.”
DeKok waved that away.
“It’s not all that important. Besides, I have another, more enjoyable job.”
“What kind of job?”
A malicious grin played across DeKok’s face.
“I’m simply going to issue a polite invitation to our commissaris. I’m going to ask him and his superior, Judge Advocate Schaap, to a discussion at the Warmoes Street Station. They’re certain to accept because of my newfound subservient attitude.”
“You’re leading this discussion?”
“Yes, I need his help.”
Vledder almost fell out of the half-open door of the car.
“You,” he exclaimed in bewilderment, “you are going to ask the judge advocate for help?”
“It’s just encouraging him to do his job; after all he’ll gladly take credit.”
Vledder shook his head and left the car. He stood on the sidewalk and watched DeKok leave. The VW lurched forward, clutch slipping, gears grinding, engine whining. After a second lurch it roared off. He shook his head again as he turned around to enter Town Hall.
DeKok and Variations on Murder Page 14