“More of the same?” asked Vledder, concerned.
DeKok nodded.
“The greasy art collector, Nettelhorst, was with him. He squatted on a chair and blamed the robbery on us for leaving prematurely. We left his precious collection exposed to the thief. He holds us more or less responsible.”
Vledder looked surprised.
“But there was a murder!”
DeKok grinned.
“A human life means nothing to Manfred Nettelhorst. Art is much more important. After he finished his tirade on the insignificance of human evolution, I told Buitendam he should be more careful in his choice of friends. Then he sent me packing.”
Vledder laughed.
“A predictable reaction, don’t you agree?”
DeKok leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.
“But it does create problems,” he said with a sigh. “I told Marius we would not keep his sister in custody. But without Buitendam’s permission, I can’t release her.”
“What did he say about that?”
“He kept insisting she’s an accomplice. He said he would advise the judge-advocate accordingly. Nothing I said swayed him.” He took a deep breath. “As long as we don’t know the identity of the victim, we cannot release her.”
Vledder seemed shocked.
“And how long can that take?”
“A long time, I’m afraid. I doubt Robert’s fingerprints are in our files. Otherwise Ben Kruger would have called us by now.”
“So what do we do?”
“I’m not all that certain just yet. As you know, we can hold her for twenty-four hours without charging her. The judge-advocate can extend that another seventy-two hours. If the commissaris brings charges, she may remain in custody until trial. It’s a mess.” He sighed again. “What time is the autopsy?”
Vledder consulted his wristwatch. “In about an hour.”
“I don’t have to tell you, but be sure to check the clothes for labels and laundry tags. You never know.” He sat up straight. “Also, stop by Lijnbaansgracht and ask for the details of the art robbery, the thief’s methods. Find out whether they have made any progress with the investigation.”
Vledder nodded agreement.
“What are you going to do?”
DeKok leaned both elbows on the desk and rested his head in his cupped hands.
“I think,” he said pensively, “I’ll have another little chat with Antoinette. Perhaps I can scare her.”
“With what?”
“Accomplice to murder.”
“Complicity?” Antoinette Graaf looked at DeKok with incomprehension. “What’s that?”
The grey sleuth looked somber.
“Our commissaris thinks you knew the murderer was coming to kill Robert. He believes you cuffed Robert to the radiator in order to render him helpless.”
The young woman swallowed.
“That’s not true,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s nonsense. I would never let anybody be murdered. How…” she stammered, “how can anybody imagine this sort of thing?”
DeKok rubbed the back of his head.
“I told the commissaris I didn’t believe in your complicity.” He rubbed his eyes. “My opinion means nothing, however. Without permission I do not have the authority to release you. I’ll have to convince him that you’re innocent.” He looked at her with a question in his eyes. “Because you are, aren’t you?”
Her eyes filled with tears. DeKok took a clean handkerchief from one of his pockets and handed it to her. While she dried her tears, he leaned a little closer.
“You are innocent, aren’t you?” he insisted.
Antoinette sighed deeply.
“I didn’t want Robert dead. Surely you understand. Everything I did was to protect him.”
“You loved him?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
She snorted contemptuously.
“Loving is not a matter of how much or how little…it’s all or nothing.”
“And it was all?”
“Exactly.”
“Who was Robert?”
A defiant look came over her.
“Robert was Robert. That’s all I know.”
DeKok breathed deeply.
“And Therese?” he asked tiredly. “What do you know about Therese?”
She gave him back his handkerchief. Her eyes were bright again.
“Only what Robert told me about her.”
“And what was that?”
“He told me only that he had fled from her.”
DeKok stared at her.
“Fled?” he asked.
Antoinette nodded.
“He said he became afraid.”
“Of her?”
Antoinette reacted nervously.
“Of her or because of her,” she said, irked. “Robert didn’t seem to know. Once he got to know her, strange things happened. In Central Station he was nearly pushed under an oncoming train. In other incidents an unknown person or persons shot at him in the street.”
She lowered her head.
“Robert had little faith in the police.”
DeKok closed his eyes for a moment.
“Neither do I, sometimes,” he sighed. He gave her a searching look. “When you picked Robert up that night, was he running away from something or somebody?”
“Yes.”
“From Therese?”
“Yes, or from his love for her. According to Robert, there was danger in that love. He wanted to escape.”
DeKok nodded to himself.
“And where can I find Therese?”
“She lives in a house along Emperor’s Canal.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“Yes.”
“To do what?”
“To tell her Robert was with me.”
“Did Robert know about that?”
“No.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“I wanted to see her.”
“What did Therese say?”
Antoinette shook her head.
“She said nothing. She never stopped crying.”
When Vledder returned from attending the autopsy, DeKok was waiting for him in the lobby of the station.
“Let’s go.”
“Where to now?”
DeKok produced a scrap of paper from the pocket of his old raincoat.
“1217 Emperor’s Canal. It’s the house of one Therese de la Fontaine.”
“Say that again.”
“Therese de la Fontaine. According to Antoinette, Therese is the woman who caused all of Robert’s problems. Directly or indirectly, she could be the cause of his death.”
“Therese de la Fontaine,” Vledder said, a thoughtful look on his face. “That name is familiar. Isn’t she a photographer’s model?”
DeKok shrugged.
“I don’t know much about that world.”
Vledder nodded.
“Yes, I remember now. A few years ago she competed for the title of miss-something-or-other. There was a scandal. The jury was supposed to have been bribed. In the end she withdrew from competition.”
DeKok gave him a hard look.
“Another snippet from the scandal sheets?”
The young inspector did not answer. Grinning, he exited the station. He unlocked the doors of the VW, which was illegally parked at the curb in front of the station. Vledder held open the passenger door for
his partner.
“So,” said Vledder, seating himself behind the wheel, “Antoinette talked after all. Did she or didn’t she know Robert’s identity?”
DeKok shook his head.
“She did not know, and I’m inclined to believe her.”
Vledder started the engine and pulled out.
“How could she have known Therese, then?” remarked Vledder with suspicion in his voice.
DeKok pushed his hat deeper over his eyes.
“Robert told her in detail of his love for There
se, his fears, attempts made on his life. He said bad things began to happen soon after he met Therese. Without telling Robert, Antoinette went to see Therese one day. Out of curiosity.”
“She got the address from Robert, I presume?”
“Obviously.”
“Did she talk with Therese?”
“There was no conversation.”
Vledder took one hand off the steering wheel and slapped his own forehead.
“She must have asked for an explanation, at the very least.”
DeKok nodded slowly.
“She asked, but did not receive. According to Antoinette, Therese was crying—there was no way of exchanging a sensible word with her.”
Vledder shook his head.
“Something is wrong,” he exclaimed, irritated. “It is all just too vague. Aren’t you dissatisfied? Were you being too soft on Antoinette, too circumspect? Why don’t you let me interrogate her?”
“What would you do differently? Give her the third degree?”
Vledder gave his partner a sidelong glance but did not respond. He maneuvered carefully through the busy inner city.
DeKok stared out the window. Downtown was bustling. People carried parcels and shopping bags. It was cheerful to see people able to spend money; the economy was strong. He wondered what kind of St. Nicholas surprise he should get for his wife.
Vledder broke in on his musings.
“What are we going to do with Therese?”
“What do you mean?”
“If she keeps crying.”
DeKok smiled.
“We’ll wait until she’s finished.”
1217 Emperor’s Canal was one of Amsterdam’s historic canal houses. It had been beautifully restored. The crowning outside feature was a slender ornamental neck-gable façade. Bluestone steps led from two sides to the imposing front door. On either side of the steps were half windows built at the level of the sous-terrain, or “below the ground.” In earlier centuries, the servants of wealthy Amsterdam households lived in basement quarters. In most houses there was also direct access to the canals, either in the front or the back of the home. The buildings actually extend below the waterline. Boats with produce would deliver wares directly to the kitchens. It was one of the features that gave Amsterdam the title “Venice of the North.” Real Amsterdammers, however, refer to Venice as the “Amsterdam of the South,” since Amsterdam has nearly twice as many canals and bridges as does Venice.
Vledder parked the car and the two inspectors climbed the steps to the front door. In the center of the door was an engraved copper plate. Etched in black raised letters the name Therese de la Fontaine formed. DeKok examined the name as he pulled on the iron bellpull. He and Vledder heard tinkling silver bells somewhere in the depths of the house.
It took too long for DeKok. His right hand felt in his pocket for the ingenious instrument made for him by the ex-burglar Handie Henkie. It could open any lock designed by man.
Vledder saw the gesture and anxiously shook his head.
“Don’t do it,” he urged. “Just don’t. You know how much trouble it caused when we broke into that man Vreeden’s villa a few years ago.”
DeKok grinned.
“I don’t break in, I simply open a door in a professional manner. That’s something entirely different.”
“You missed a career in burglary.”
A boyish smile transformed DeKok’s craggy face.
“Perhaps I did.” The thought seemed to amuse him. He leaned over and with confident expertise selected a special setting on the instrument. “But one thing is for sure.”
“And what’s that?”
“If I’d become a burglar, I would have more money in the bank.”
To Vledder’s great relief, they heard the sound of footsteps in the hall behind the door.
A slender, rather handsome man answered the door. DeKok estimated his age to be late forties. The man’s face was a pale tawny color. The features were sharply delineated. His hair was jet black, wavy and thick. He was greying at the temples, but it became him. He raised his eyebrows, questioning.
The grey sleuth lifted his hat.
“My name is DeKok,” he said politely, “with a kay-oh-kay.” He moved his head sideways. “And this is my colleague Vledder. We’re inspectors attached to Warmoes Street Station.”
“Police?”
DeKok nodded emphatically and replaced his hat. He pointed to the name on the door.
“We expected to have an interview with Therese de la Fontaine.”
The man shook his head.
“I’m sorry to say Therese is not here.”
“When will she be back?”
The man shrugged his shoulders.
“I do not know.”
DeKok smiled.
“But this is her residence?”
“Certainly. Therese lives here. But last night she packed some bags and left.”
“Where did she go?”
The man spread his arms wide.
“God knows.”
7
A deep sigh escaped DeKok’s broad chest. He spoke listlessly, with slow movements of the head.
“You’re right…God knows.” He gestured forward. “Shall we continue the interview inside?”
The man hesitated.
“Does that make any sense with Therese away?”
DeKok nodded with emphasis.
“Certainly. Perhaps you can help us.”
The man stepped aside and allowed the inspectors to enter. After he had closed the door behind them, he led the way down a wide corridor tiled in pink marble. The hollow sound of their footsteps echoed through the space.
At the end of the corridor, the man led them into a spacious, high-ceilinged room. The pearl-grey carpeting was luxurious. There were easy chairs arranged in a square. A group of rococo angels looked down from the ceiling, lascivious looks in their eyes.
The man waved an invitation.
“Please have a seat.”
DeKok and Vledder selected seats and sank down. The sensation of the springy cushions gave DeKok a queasy feeling. He placed his hat on the floor next to the chair and looked at the man, who had taken a seat across from him.
“By now you know who we are,” he started amicably, “but who are you?”
The man sat up a bit straighter.
“Heusden, Matthias Heusden.”
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
“And what is your relationship to Therese?”
“I’m her stepfather.”
DeKok wrinkled his nose.
“Stepfather?”
Heusden laughed.
“It sounds worse than it is.” He shook his head. “Really, stepfathers don’t have such a bad reputation. I mean, not nearly as bad as stepmothers.”
DeKok gave him a searching look. Heusden had winning manners and his voice had a pleasant sound.
“You are the second husband of Therese’s mother?”
He nodded.
“Therese was about five years old when we married. Even as a child, she was already beautiful.”
“You mean she’s still beautiful?”
“Therese grew up to be an exceptionally lovely young woman. She has an elfin, almost ethereal beauty. A true goddess.”
DeKok savored the tone of voice.
“She’s a photographic model?”
Heusden clicked his tongue.
“And such a model—she has a golden future.”
DeKok looked around the room.
“Does your wife live here as well?”
Heusden shook his head. His face became somber.
“Maria and I,” he said sadly, “have been apart for years. We had marital troubles, too many to overcome. We decided to separate.”
“And Therese elected to stay with you?”
“Indeed, she chose me. She preferred not to stay with her mother, who, eh, soon reverted to her former profession.”
DeKok leaned his head
to one side.
“What is her profession?” he asked.
Therese’s stepfather nodded slowly.
“It’s the oldest profession, if you follow.”
“Is she here in Amsterdam?”
“Yes.”
DeKok paused to organize his thoughts.
“Do you remember,” he said carefully, feeling his way, “a young woman visiting here a few days ago?”
Heusden narrowed his eyes.
“A rude, rather common child, I thought.”
DeKok pursed his lips in disapproval.
He said with some asperity, “I would not exactly describe her as common.” He shook his head. “But we may be talking about the same young woman.”
Heusden nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes, she was here briefly. She talked with Therese for a short time.”
“What about?”
Heusden spread his arms.
“That, I don’t know. I was not present. The young woman indicated she wanted to speak to Therese privately.”
“You let her in?”
“Yes.”
“And after the conversation you led her back to the door?”
“Indeed.”
“How did Therese react after the conversation?”
Heusden shrugged.
“Therese has a very tranquil composure. She appeared calm.”
“You didn’t think to ask Therese why such a common creature came to visit?”
For the first time a hint of irritation showed through Heusden’s urbanity.
“Therese,” he said sharply, “lives her own life. I’m not her guardian.”
DeKok grinned.
“Yet she’s fled.”
“Are you calling it a flight?”
“An escape, yes,” DeKok sounded patient. “A young woman packs her bags in the middle of the night and sneaks out of the house. Wouldn’t you call it
an escape?”
Heusden closed his eyes for a moment.
“I don’t know,” he said wearily, “what’s the matter with her.”
“She left no note…a message?”
“No, nothing.”
“Have you any idea where she might be?”
Matthias Heusden shook his head.
“As I said, God only knows. I can’t even guess where she might be. Perhaps she went after that Robert.”
DeKok and the Dead Lovers Page 5