DeKok and the Dead Lovers

by A. C. Baantjer

  “I don’t work that way. It would be meaningless. I must see the reactions of the people I interview. It’s important for my work. I often experience and retain unspoken answers.”

  Henri Tombs smiled again, a friendly, winning smile. The strange contradictory fanaticism had disappeared completely.

  “I do understand your point if view,” he said pleasantly. “My business involves negotiation; it is much the same process.” He paused a moment. “Therese needs peace of mind. For the time being, she should not have to confront more unpleasant facts of life.”

  DeKok nodded his understanding.

  “So I’m such an unpleasant fact of life?”

  Henri Tombs shook his head.

  “No, it is what you represent.”

  “Justice?”

  “Do you really feel,” asked the broker, “you represent justice?”

  DeKok did not answer. Pensively he rubbed a flat hand over his face. It made little sense, he thought, to insist on an interview with Therese.

  “Why have you hidden her?”

  Tombs gestured vaguely.

  “Because she asked me to.”

  “When?”

  “Last night. It was about two o’ clock in the morning when the bell rang. I have a surveillance system in my house and saw Therese in front of the door with a suitcase in her hand. I put on a robe and hurried downstairs. Therese was very distressed. She was crying. She asked if she could stay with me. I took her into the living room and we talked. I told her it would be better if she did not stay with me at Emperor’s Canal. I pointed out we both have our reputations to consider. She understood. I

  dressed, and we left in my car. As a real estate broker

  I often manage several vacant properties.”

  DeKok nodded slowly.

  “Why was she so upset?”

  “She was afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “She fears she will be murdered.”

  10

  A few minutes after the broker left, Vledder returned to the detective room. His young face lit up with pleasure.

  “She’s gone,” he said cheerfully.

  DeKok was momentarily at a loss.

  “Who?”

  “Antoinette Graaf.”

  The news elicited a smile.

  “Buitendam gave permission?”

  Vledder nodded.

  “The commissaris was very friendly. He came close to gushing. He behaved as if he had to make up for something, as if he regretted his actions. He said the two of you would discuss Nettelhorst tomorrow.”

  DeKok did not look impressed.

  “Antoinette released,” he said with a deep sigh. “What a relief.” He looked up at Vledder. “Did she say anything?”

  Vledder shook his head.

  “Nothing about the murder, nothing we did not already know. She did say she’d had time to think while she was locked up. She came to the conclusion that her Robert was a dear boy.”

  DeKok gave him a penetrating look.

  “Did you tell her about the pornography?”

  “No, I thought about it. But it didn’t seem prudent, in light of her perception. She has only sweet memories of her Robert.”

  DeKok smiled.

  “You could have been my son,” he praised.

  Vledder shrugged shyly at the compliment.

  “You have given me a compassionate role model. That’s why I personally drove her home. The quarter is no place for a defenseless Antoinette at this time of night.”

  “You took her to Beuning Street?”

  Vledder nodded.

  “To our mutual surprise there was a new lock on the door.”

  “Squatters?”

  The young inspector laughed.

  “No, not yet, anyway. Upon investigation it turned out the neighbor had arranged for a new lock to be installed.”

  “The same neighbor who discovered the body?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Antoinette’s room could no longer be adequately locked. The neighbor had seen strange people walking in and out. While he was investigating, he ran into Antoinette’s brother. The brother, Marius, claimed he only came by to see whether Antoinette had been released. The neighbor did not like the looks of Marius.”

  DeKok grinned.

  “So he put a new lock on the door?”

  “He gave the key to Antoinette when we got there,” nodded Vledder. “The first thing she did was clean up the traces of blood on the radiator. And she complained about the mess Kruger made with his powder.” He fell silent and, yawning, he looked at the clock on the wall. It was close to two o’clock in the morning. “What do you think, DeKok, should we go home?”

  To his surprise the older man did not respond, he seemed not to hear him. He stared into the distance, many miles away.

  “Are we going home?” repeated Vledder.

  DeKok looked at him, glassy eyed.

  “Did you check with Lijnbaansgracht Station about the theft at Arti et Amicitiae? Did you find out how it was accomplished?”

  Vledder nodded.

  “Toward the end of the exposition, just before closing time, a masked man entered the main hall. He walked in a straight line to the ewer, lifted it from the pedestal, and disappeared.”

  “Nobody stopped him?”

  Vledder shook his head.

  “The exhibition was closing down; only a few people remained. Most were on their way home.”

  DeKok’s eyebrows rippled briefly.

  “But there were guards. I distinctly remember the one who tried to stop us in the lobby.”

  “He was there, but someone struck him with a blunt instrument, perhaps a lead pipe. Despite the blow he was back on his feet in seconds. He managed to stagger to the front door in time to see two individuals get away. From his account, the two fled the scene on a motorcycle. The bike roared off in the direction of the Rokin.”

  “What about the other guards?”

  “They were spread out over the building, checking doors and windows, preparatory to locking up.”

  “The perpetrators left no trace behind?”

  Vledder shook his head.

  “No. The word is out to the authorities and the press. The insurance company is offering a large reward for the recovery of the ewer.”

  DeKok looked pensively at the tips of his fingers.

  “We’re looking for a motorcyclist?”

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly the old man sprang into action. He stood up, snatched his coat and hat off the floor, and ran for the exit. Vledder laughed. DeKok at speed was a comical sight, putting on his coat at a gallop.

  Vledder caught up with him in the corridor.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Marnix Quay.”

  “Why?”

  “Marius Graaf lives there.”

  “And?”

  DeKok did not answer. He ran down the stairs.

  Vledder ran after him.

  Amsterdam was draped in a mantle of grey. The late afternoon drizzle had become a thick, nearly impenetrable fog. It was difficult to see more than a few paces ahead. Vledder felt his way carefully, with a flashing blue light on the roof and big yellow fog lights in front of the car. The wall of fog constricted around the ancient VW.

  DeKok was slumped down in the seat, totally at ease, unaffected by Vledder’s tension. He relaxed and thought. He had not spoken a word since they left the station. He had a theory, the result of a wild set of associations, and he hoped to prove his hypothesis.

  Vledder parked up against the bushes near the Marnix Garden. He walked with DeKok toward the houses along the quay. It was quiet. The vapors from the canal added density to the fog. Great rolling cloud banks drifted across the road from Inner Singel Canal, silently colliding with the houses.

  The two inspectors looked at house numbers with a flashlight. They progressed slowly. DeKok ambled along and Vledder marched. The farther they progressed, the quieter i
t became. The grey murk even muffled the sounds of their footsteps.

  DeKok stopped in front of number 859. On the doorjam a confusing jumble of bell pushes had been installed. Both inspectors were familiar with the phenomenon. Many individuals and multiple families lived in these large old houses. Occupants would rent a floor, part of a floor, even a single room. Each rented space had its own bell. There were no name cards next to the bells, just a few cryptic scribbles or symbols.

  DeKok took a few steps back and looked up at the building. He could barely see the sills of the windows on the second floor.

  “It’s worse than London,” he growled.

  Vledder came to stand next to him.

  “Is this it?”

  DeKok nodded.

  “As far as I know, he has his rooms on the third floor, but I cannot see a light.”

  “Then we ring the bell.”

  DeKok grinned.

  “Which bell? We could wake up the entire building. Besides, I like surprises. I doubt Marius will welcome our visit.”

  He took Handie Henkie’s ingenious instrument from his pocket and approached the front door. Within seconds the lock succumbed. With a flashlight in his right hand, he began to climb the stairs. The wooden stairs creaked under the two-hundred-pound DeKok as he laboriously climbed them.

  Vledder followed meekly. His annoyance with DeKok’s secretive behavior was replaced by curiosity. Experience spanning many years had taught him genuine respect for his partner’s resourcefulness. DeKok always seemed to keep a quiver of arrows in reserve. He could shoot them at the most unexpected moments with uncanny accuracy.

  When they reached the corridor on the second floor, DeKok halted and took a number of deep breaths. He shook his head as if to dismiss his fatigue and tackled the next staircase. He looked up. It was as if he were advancing into a black canyon. Elongated ovals of light from his flashlight danced in front of him.

  When they reached the third floor, he placed his ear against a door. He could not hear anything. He quickly let his flashlight roam along the corridor. Satisfied he had the right door, he again produced Henkie’s instrument. By the light of the flashlight he studied the lock and adjusted the settings on the small brass instrument. The old door lock offered no resistance. DeKok had perfected his professional skills over many years.

  He quietly popped the lock and looked over his shoulder. Much to his surprise, Vledder wasn’t objecting to his breaking and entering.

  DeKok pressed down on the knob, opening the door carefully. He and Vledder stepped into a small kitchen. A tap dripped slowly into a small tub of dirty laundry.

  They reached a sparsely furnished living room. There was an old sofa and a round table. The veneer had peeled, leaving bare wood.

  A small room in the rear of the unit contained two dirty mattresses on a bare floor. Blankets and dirty sheets were heaped in a corner.

  Nobody was at home.

  DeKok walked back into the living room. Behind the dilapidated sofa there was a tall wardrobe.

  He walked over and opened up one of the cabinet doors. DeKok saw what he had hoped to find. It stood between some beer glasses and rough earthenware mugs. He steadied the beam of his flashlight, focusing on the object.

  Vledder inhaled sharply behind him.

  “The silver ewer.”

  Finally settled back in at the station house, Vledder looked at his colleague with admiration.

  “How did you know?”

  DeKok leaned back in his desk chair with an expression of complete satisfaction. He stared at the magnificently crafted silver ewer on the desk in front of him.

  “How did you know?” repeated Vledder impatiently.

  DeKok shook his head.

  “I had a suspicion,” he explained. “Other factors, such as timing, played a role. It occurred to me the time of the theft at Arti et Amicitiae corresponded closely to Marius’ visit with Antoinette. Both occurred the same night. Later Marius came to the station to find out whether we had his sister in custody. During our conversation he admitted to stealing a set of handcuffs. He said he’d stolen things before and had temporarily stashed stolen items with his sister.”

  “But that’s just coincidence.”

  “Certainly. Sometimes coincidence can lead to intuition.”

  “Oh, very well, go on.”

  “Marius was dressed in motorcycle gear that night. I tried to reach him the next day to let him know I could not keep my word to release his sister. The constable who tried to make the call for me discovered Marius did not have a telephone.”

  Vledder smiled. DeKok would do anything to avoid using a telephone.

  “So how did you find his address?”

  “I went into the attic and started to search for previous warrants issued against him.”

  “I could have found his arrests and warrants for you instantly, using the computer,” objected Vledder.

  DeKok did not welcome the interruption.

  “Never mind, I found everything I needed. He favored and was accused of using a motorcycle in his robberies.”

  Vledder’s eyes glistened.

  “And when I told you the thief at Arti et Amicitiae got away on a motorcycle, you immediately made the connection. As far as you were concerned, the case was solved.”

  DeKok made a deprecating gesture.

  “I was not all that sure of my facts. Whether or not Marius intended to store the ewer with his sister, he could not. Once Antoinette was in custody for Robert’s murder, he had to look for another hiding place. He could have found a secure hiding place for the object anywhere. His accomplice might have kept the article somewhere safe.”

  “The masked man!”

  “Exactly.”

  Vledder looked at the ewer with satisfaction. His countenance soon changed.

  “How do we explain our illegal presence in Graaf’s rooms?”

  DeKok pulled out his lower lip and let it plop back. He repeated the unattractive gesture several times. Then he grinned suddenly.

  “We’ll have to put our efforts into convincing everybody how careless our young man Marius is.” He laughed boyishly. “He’s so careless, he constantly forgets to lock his doors.”

  Vledder laughed. He leaned forward and admired the artistic depictions on the side of the ewer. After a while, he looked up.

  “Do we get the reward promised by the insurance company?”

  DeKok shook his head.

  “That kind of reward,” he said sternly, “does not apply to the police. After all, it’s our job to recover stolen items. We get paid to do it.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Vledder pointed at the ewer.

  “What do we do with the thing? I don’t think we want to display it in the detective room. Anyone could walk in there tonight.”

  DeKok looked thoughtful.

  “My inclination is to lock it in the safe at headquarters. Lately, though, some items have mysteriously disappeared from that safe.” He paused. “I think for tonight I’ll just take it home and keep it on my bedside table.”

  “Should we call the commissaris out of bed?” asked Vledder in gleeful anticipation. “After all, he will want to share this triumph of police work. I’m sure he would like to be woken up.”

  DeKok gave his young colleague a disapproving look.

  “You have a sadistic streak. No, what I would like you to do is to call the commissaris in the morning. Ask him if he would be so kind as to summon Nettelhorst to his office around ten o’clock. That’s all. Say nothing else.”

  Vledder grinned.

  “You want to surprise Nettelhorst?”

  The grey sleuth nodded slowly. His face changed to a cool, expressionless mask. He pointed a hand at Vledder.

  “Yes. I have a surprise…bigger than he thinks.”

  11

  When DeKok arrived at home, he found his wife in a nightgown, reading by an open fire in the living room.

  “You’re late
,” she said, closing her book. “I’ll get you a cup of tea. It will help you sleep.”

  DeKok nodded languidly. He had a disinterested look. His wife turned to see him place the silver ewer on the table. Mrs. DeKok looked at it in wonderment.

  “Is this my surprise?”

  Her husband looked a bit glassy eyed.

  “Surprise?” he exclaimed.

  She nodded.

  “My St. Nicholas surprise.”

  It took several long seconds. Then DeKok slapped both hands in front of his face. His tiredness fell away. He fell backward into an easy chair and laughed out loud.

  “A surprise,” he roared. “This St. Nicholas surprise cost a million and a half. It isn’t the usual present from an underpaid public servant without prospects.”

  She looked at him with a puzzled look. Her right hand pointed hesitantly at the ewer.

  “You brought home a vase worth one and a half million guilders? I mean, euros?”

  DeKok nodded. His face was still highly amused.

  “Yes. It is a valuable object d’art.”

  Silently she put her book on the table and went to the kitchen. Within a short time she returned with a cup of steaming tea and placed it in front of her husband.

  “It’s not worth one and a half million to me.”

  DeKok gave her a tender look.

  “You are worth that to me…and more.”

  After a few hours of sleep and a solid breakfast, DeKok ambled his way from the streetcar toward the station house. A paper bag from a supermarket dangled from one hand. Inside the bag, protected by crumpled newspapers, was the ewer. It was an exquisite example of the silversmith’s art crafted in the glorious seventeenth century by one Paulus van Vianen.

  The grey sleuth looked around at the other people in the streets. With a certain irony he wondered how they would react if they knew he carried a fortune around in a paper shopping bag.

  It was just nine-thirty when he entered the station house. If Nettelhorst was on time, he had about half an hour to fill. He wondered whether he should walk around a little longer. But with the treasure in his hand, he decided to go straight to his office.

  As he entered the detective room, he saw a red-faced Vledder behind his computer.