DeKok darted a quick tongue over his dry lips. Tension made the tips of his fingers tingle. He loosened his tie and looked at the large clock on the wall. It was almost nine o’clock. Almost an hour and a half separated him from decisive action.
He reflected. If anything went wrong this time he would loose his last chance to shed some light on the mysterious disappearance of Paul Vreeden. Simultaneously he would fail in making the connection between what had befallen Vreeden and the murders of Marlies van Haesbergen and Dr. Haanstra. He shivered, painfully aware of the risks he ran.
DeKok looked around the detective room. All the regular desks were empty, but a small group was seated around his desk. To his left was Vledder, looking wan. Sitting on the edge of Vledder’s desk were Fred Prins and Els Rijpke. The two were young, capable, and committed. Prins was tall and brunette, a muscular Indonesian. Rijpke was tall, as well, but lithe and blonde. DeKok had requested the assistance of the two sergeant inspectors, who had enthusiastically offered to help.
DeKok had pled his case with Buitendam and Schaap with humility and candor. He had explained in careful detail the results of his investigations and his plans for obtaining incontrovertible evidence.
His quiet gravity caught their attention and kept it. At least for now, they had abandoned the interruptions and non-sequiturs. After an exhausting debate, they had approved his plans. Mr. Schaap had even gone so far as to state that, in the event of a complete failure, he would assume total responsibility for DeKok’s actions.
Commissaris Buitendam had committed a number of very fast cars to the operation. With a sigh of relief, DeKok had left the company of his commanding officer.
He’d have liked to surprise Vledder. After some consideration, he decided to give his partner all the details of his plan. He also wanted Vledder to share his ultimate goal. After the briefing, young Vledder stared at his old friend with utter amazement. He called him a “Crony of the Devil.” Giving credit where it was due he admitted he’d never have come up with an idea this brilliant.
DeKok looked up and turned to Appie Keizer, an older colleague, who was leaning against a wall, sipping a cup of coffee.
“Why don’t you go down to dispatch,” he said. “I don’t expect anything to happen before quarter after ten, but you never know. I also have a car on standby with Klaver and Kuip. As soon as they report in, let me know at once.”
Inspector Keizer drained his cup of coffee, placed the empty mug on a nearby desk, and walked out of the room.
DeKok looked at the others.
“Let’s take our posts.” His voice trembled just a bit. “Waiting up here is making me nervous.”
Prins and Rijpke stood up and followed Keizer out of the room.
Vledder approached DeKok.
“What if they know it’s a set-up?”
The older man shrugged.
“I’m counting on their greed.”
DeKok caressed the interior of the car with his eyes. The car had been confiscated as part of a drug bust. His hands stroked the luxurious upholstery. He wasn’t used to this kind of comfort in police cars. He leaned back and nestled himself comfortably into the passenger seat. It was a cozy feeling. He peered out of the windshield and saw the silhouette of Haarlem Gate.
Vledder glanced aside.
“Is this a good place?”
DeKok shrugged.
“We could have positioned ourselves just about anywhere. I’ve no idea where they’ll lead. Haarlem Square seemed best. What’s the time?”
Vledder pointedly studied the digital clock on the dashboard.
“About ten past ten,” he said.
DeKok sighed impatiently.
“Things should develop shortly. The APB must have been sent out at least ten minutes ago.”
“What if our target audience didn’t watch?”
“I’ve been assured that the ten o’clock news is the most watched program in Holland. The APB must have been the first item on the menu. And these people are sure to watch the news.”
The radio hummed slightly and then the voice of Keizer came on the net.
“Base to Alpha: Car Beta reports a black Cadillac sedan approaching the Coen Tunnel. It is proceeding at a high speed.”
Vledder looked at his partner.
“That’s Klaver and Kuip,” said DeKok. “Ask if they can keep up.” Vledder lifted the microphone and made the call. The answer took several seconds.
“Base to Alpha: Out of contact with Beta. They’re probably inside the tunnel.”
They waited. Then Keizer’s voice came back on the air.
“Base to all Units: Cadillac has left harbor area and is passing Telegraph Building in direction of Canal F for Fox.”
DeKok looked at Vledder. The map of Amsterdam was clearly imprinted in his mind.
“He’s going in the direction of Velsen,” he murmured. Then, without waiting for Vledder, DeKok grabbed the microphone.
“Any news about Prins and Rijpke?” he asked, ignoring all radio procedures. Keizer came back after a few seconds.
“Base to Alpha: A red BMW just left Zaan Street in the direction of Haarlem Road. Delta in pursuit.”
DeKok nudged Vledder in the ribs.
“Start her up,” he growled, “Head straight for Haarlem Road.”
The young inspector reacted at once. He laid rubber as he pulled the powerful Peugeot away from the curb. He narrowly missed a taxicab and entered the approaches to Nassau Bridge on two wheels. They had barely reached Nassau Square when a fire-engine-red BMW came from the right and took the corner to Haarlem Road on screeching tires. A blue Citroen followed at some distance. DeKok pointed at it.
“Is that Prins and Rijpke?”
“Yes,” said Vledder. He reached for the microphone.
“Alpha to Base: Have Delta and pursued vehicle in sight on Nassau Square—in pursuit.”
“Keep your distance,” cautioned DeKok, “so they don’t spot us. If Prins and Rijpke have to leave off, we can take up the pursuit ourselves.”
Vledder did not bother to answer. He considered it a superfluous suggestion. DeKok must be tense, he thought.
They raced along narrow Haarlem Road at speeds exceeding 100 kilometers per hour. As they crossed Sloter Dike, the red BMW and the blue Citroen slipped through a yellow light. Vledder stopped on the red, cursing.
“You’d better get to confession,” suggested DeKok. “Such language.”
Vledder did not answer. As soon as the light switched to green, he floored the accelerator. The car tore away from the intersection. Within seconds they were at maximum speed. Before they reached the little town of Halfway, so called because it is exactly half way between Amsterdam and Haarlem, they had the blue Citroen in sight.
For long minutes they drove in silence. Then the radio gave its warning hum.
“Base to Alpha: Beta reports losing suspect vehicle. Base reports reception is getting weaker because of distance. Beta indicates pursued vehicle left highway in direction Bloemendaal. Delta reports they have you in sight.”
DeKok slammed his fist on the dashboard.
“So,” he exclaimed, “it’s the Kemner Dunes, after all.”
“I thought it was what you expected.”
DeKok shook his head, but did not offer an explanation.
The blue Citroen’s speed had leveled off. Vledder kept it in sight. They raced through the streets of Haarlem. When they took the turn to Bloemendaal, the Citroen sped up. DeKok only got only glimpses of the two vehicles.
“I hope our boys are careful,” muttered DeKok, gripping the overhead strap tightly in his fist. “If those guys notice they’re being followed, we can scrap the whole thing.”
The Citroen was climbing a slight slope in the road. Just before the crest of the hill, the brake lights flashed on.
Vledder stopped as well. They had a clear view of the Kemner Dunes. They watched the red BMW, as it progressed slowly along the sandy edge of the foothills at the base of the dunes
. The BMW flashed its headlights several times. The signal was answered by the flashing taillights of a black Cadillac. The BMW stopped close behind the larger car. A man left the BMW and walked over to the Cadillac. He opened the passenger door and climbed into the car. After a few seconds the Cadillac moved on down Sea Path.
DeKok motioned to Vledder. He drove to the blue Citroen and parked beside it. DeKok opened his window and looked at Fred Prins behind the wheel of the other car.
“Radios don’t work, eh?”
“No, it’s these damned city radios. We should have installed state police radios,” said Prins.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to follow them. It’s safer anyway. I don’t think they have spotted us, but follow at a distance. Anything can happen.”
Prins nodded.
“Any news of Klaver and Kuip?”
“No, last we heard they were losing contact with the Caddie. Their radios don’t work, this far from the city, either.”
“Very well, here we go.”
Vledder switched off the lights and pressed the accelerator. The Peugeot followed the Cadillac. The white strip of sand made it fairly easy to navigate. The Cadillac moved slowly, as the driver searched the landscape. He pulled over within a mile or so. Vledder stopped at a discreet distance.
Both front doors of the Cadillac opened almost simultaneously. Two men alighted, slammed the doors behind them, and walked to the back of the car. They opened the trunk lid. As they walked toward the dunes each carried a shovel on his shoulders.
DeKok and Vledder got out of their car, leaving the doors open so as not to make a sound. Vledder had disabled the interior lights. Carefully bent over, they crept in the direction of the two men. Small bushes provided just enough cover. When they could see clearly, the two detectives fell flat on their stomachs in the sand. They observed.
The two men stopped as soon as they were out of sight of the road.
DeKok stared, but the darkness and the distance did not allow him to make a positive identification of either man.
Meanwhile the men discussed something. Then they started to dig. It was a macabre sight in the light of a pale moon.
Vledder started to get impatient. DeKok noticed and placed a calming hand on the young man’s shoulder. “The more they dig,” he whispered, “the less we have to do.”
Vledder relaxed.
For a long time the men worked steadily. It grew harder as they dug deeper. Their laborious breathing was clearly audible. No wonder, thought Vledder, the sand gets wetter and denser as you go deeper.
Suddenly something unforeseen happened. One of the men crawled out of the hole and pulled a pistol. Holding the weapon with both hands, he fired once, twice, three times at the man in the hole. The victim collapsed soundlessly.
Suddenly there was a lot of noise. Vledder jumped up. Shadows appeared from all directions.
Alarmed, the man next to the hole in the ground looked around. The pistol fell from his grasp. Frightened, he raised both hands in the air.
“Don’t shoot …. don’t shoot,” he yelled.
DeKok scrambled upright. He had recognized the voice of Johan, Paul Vreeden’s butler.
20
Vledder stood in front of the door and rang the bell. DeKok came out of his easy chair. He shuffled across the foyer in his slippers. After he had opened the door, he looked surprised.
“You’re by yourself?”
Vledder nodded.
“The others couldn’t come. They were snared by Narcotics for a raid.”
DeKok shook his head in commiseration and led the young inspector to the cozily furnished living room.
Mrs. DeKok came out of the kitchen and greeted Vledder heartily.
The young inspector made an apologetic gesture.
“I regret I was unable to bring you flowers. By the time I woke up, all the shops were closed.”
DeKok had a questioning look.
“What time did you finish?”
“It was already late in the afternoon before I got any sleep. The digging took a long time. It looked like archaeologists were unearthing some priceless artifact. At one point they even used brushes at the dig, if that’s what you can call it.”
“And, what did they eventually find?”
“They rested together, side by side, Paul Vreeden and Archie Benson, in an eerie peace. Archie was shot execution style.”
“What about Vreeden?”
Vledder spread his hands.
“He died of natural causes. Of course, there will be an official autopsy, but the Haarlem coroner was almost positive Vreeden died of a heart attack.” He looked at DeKok. “What is Handsome Karl’s status?”
The old man hung his head.
“He died this morning in the hospital.”
“Did you talk to him?”
DeKok nodded slowly.
“He saw me inside the ambulance. Shortly before he died, he asked for me. Without any prompting, he told me that he had shot Archie and buried him next to Vreeden. He also confessed to the murder of Marlies van Haesbergen. When I mentioned Dr. Haanstra, he denied having had a hand in that. He claimed his brother was the killer.”
Vledder swallowed in surprise.
“He had a brother, who was a murderer?” he asked.
DeKok did not answer, but pointed at one of the easy chairs across from his own.
“Let’s sit down,” he said wearily. “I haven’t had more than a couple of hours sleep, myself.”
He fell into the chair. He lifted a snifter of cognac from the little table next to his chair. He raised the glass.
“Cognac and a cold shower can work wonders.”
Vledder was still bemused.
“Brother?” he wondered out loud.
“Yes,” said DeKok. “First, before I explain, let me pour you a drink.” He walked over to the sideboard and returned with another snifter and a bottle of cognac. Still standing he poured a generous measure in the glass and handed it to Vledder. Then he sat down again and refilled his own glass. He kept the bottle nearby.
Both men took small, appreciative sips.
“Yes,” said DeKok after Vledder had lowered his glass. “Did you notice a resemblance? Johan the butler and Handsome Karl were brothers. I did not know until this afternoon, when I had a chance to look at the family records you brought me. I was floored to find out Mathilde had a second husband, a Cornelis Mindere, and a son out of that union, Johan Mindere.”
Vledder still looked bewildered.
“I don’t get it.”
“Here’s how I figured it out,” said DeKok. When Commissaris Buitendam told me about the complaints against us for illegal entry by Meturovski, he spoke of a witness, Johan Mindere, the butler who had found us in Vreeden’s place.”
“Johan the butler … don’t tell me the butler did it.”
DeKok raked his fingers through his gray hair.
“From the moment I knew Karl had not been in jail, but had spent some time in Ireland, I was intrigued to know how he had managed to get the job as caretaker. That was important, you understand? Whoever referred him connected Paul Vreeden, Handsome Karl, and Black Archie, setting the wheels in motion for a kidnapping. That individual, man or woman, was central in the ensuing events.”
Mrs. DeKok entered the room with a large plate of delicacies.
“You know what I don’t understand,” she said sweetly, “is why those men went to dig up the two corpses. Otherwise there would have been no way for them to be discovered.”
DeKok looked scandalized.
“Corpses belong in a cemetery, not in the sand dunes.”
Mrs. DeKok ignored her husband, but looked at Vledder.
“My husband did not answer my question—why unbury the bodies?”
“The corpses didn’t interest them at all,” laughed Vledder. “They were on a kind of treasure hunt.”
“Buried treasure?”
Vledder pointed at DeKok.
“It was your husband�
��s idea, a trick. He got the judge advocate, Mr. Schaap, to agree to broadcast an APB. They showed Vreeden’s passport, with photo, and a very unique shirt with pockets. It was suggested Mr. Vreeden customarily carried approximately a million dollars in diverse currencies.”
Mrs. DeKok looked down on her husband.
“So the two men were actually unburying the million?”
“Yes.”
“And it wasn’t true?”
Her husband smiled.
“It had a basis in truth. Paul Vreeden actually used undershirts with pockets sewn into them to carry large amounts of cash. He took cash with him when he traveled for his firm. There’s no doubt it was bribe money.”
“You mislead them in a kind of confidence game?”
DeKok bowed his head.
“I did.”
Mrs. DeKok looked disapproving.
“Jurriaan DeKok, you’re a—”
“He’s a Crony of the Devil,” Vledder interjected.
DeKok looked confused.
“Didn’t you see the APB?”
Mrs. DeKok shook her head, as she placed the platter of food on the sideboard.
“No, I usually find the news depressing—crime, war, and disasters. I prefer to scan the headlines in the paper. Then I decide what I want to know.”
She arranged some plates and cutlery on the sideboard, next to the food.
“You two should eat something with all that liquor,” she advised. “Come Dick, see if there’s anything you like.”
Vledder stood up and made a selection. Mrs. DeKok heaped a plate for her husband. Soon she had gathered up some croquettes, some satays, an assortment of cheeses, and some celery sticks. She handed the plate to her husband, who greedily bit into a croquette. Vledder returned to his seat with a plate full of food.
DeKok finished his croquette, while Vledder placed the plate with food on his own side table and took another sip of cognac. When he replaced his glass on the table, his face grew serious.
“I was right there on the Kemner Dunes and saw everything happen, but I still don’t understand the connections.”
DeKok and Variations on Murder Page 15