“Busy?” he asked as he hung up his coat and hat.
The young inspector rested his fingers.
“I’ve no choice. If I don’t get everything in the computer, who will?” he asked rhetorically. “You don’t even make notes anymore, not that I would be able to read them.”
DeKok smiled.
“Why don’t you recover my old Olivetti and I’ll do better.”
“That relic,” snorted Vledder. “It’s long since been melted down and recycled.”
“Oh, well,” sighed DeKok, and sat down behind his desk.
Vledder spoke up before he could settle in.
“The commissaris wants to see you as soon as possible.”
DeKok looked at the clock on the wall to verify the time.
“It’s not ten o’clock yet,” he protested.
His colleague shrugged.
“He said he wanted to talk to you before Nettelhorst came in.”
DeKok nodded, hoisted himself out of his chair, and pointed at the paper bag.
“Keep an eye on it, will you?”
“What is it?”
“The silver ewer.”
Vledder grinned.
“Couldn’t you find more appropriate packaging?”
DeKok did not react. He shuffled out of the room toward the end of the corridor. He reached the office of the commissaris, stopping at the door to take a deep breath. He knocked and entered without waiting for an answer.
Buitendam rose from his chair. His narrow, ascetic face had a mild expression. He pointed to a chair with a long, slender hand.
“Please, sit down, DeKok,” he said in an almost friendly voice. “I’ve followed up on your request. I presume you have a compelling reason to summon Manfred Nettelhorst.”
DeKok sat down.
“I have,” he said.
The commissaris sat down in turn and spread out both hands.
“And don’t you find it necessary to acquaint us with the reason? I asked Vledder, but he said he did not know the reason for your request.”
“Because he doesn’t know,” lied DeKok.
Commissaris Buitendam coughed discreetly.
“I do not want,” he said, changing the subject, “the interview with Mr. Nettelhorst to become, eh, as spontaneous as the last one. First I would like to clear up some misunderstandings. I’ve known Manfred Nettelhorst a long time and I assure you he’s not an ogre. His unpleasant behavior the night of the exhibition was not typical. Manfred is a serious, sometimes fanatical collector of art. He allows nothing to stand in the way of acquiring a piece he desires. He has a special bond with his possessions. They hold some incomprehensible significance. I sometimes feel his treasures become a part of him, of his soul. In the eyes of honest, serious police inspectors like us, it is incomprehensible. It is difficult to imagine a material object inspiring such an affinity.”
DeKok smiled.
“Would we understand if living objects were to become part of his inner self, his soul?”
Buitendam looked baffled.
“I don’t understand.”
The aged inspector grinned evilly.
“Manfred Nettelhorst has purchased a truly beautiful young woman, a Therese de la Fontaine. Oh yes, she is a real flesh-and-blood acquisition.”
Buitendam frowned.
“Purchased?” he asked, disbelief in his voice.
DeKok nodded.
“In light of the fact Nettelhorst is a homosexual, I was wondering how to assess this particular acquisition. Perhaps Nettelhorst views her as he does his other possessions, with an affinity, an involvement deeper than the bare possession?”
His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Buitendam actually blushed.
“Who is Therese de la Fontaine?”
“A young photographer’s model, apparently extremely attractive.” He paused a moment for effect. “She may also be the direct cause of Robert Achterberg’s death.”
Buitendam narrowed his eyes.
“Are you insinuating,” he said with a hint of menace in his voice, “that Manfred Nettelhorst has something to do with that murder?”
DeKok shook his head.
“It’s not an insinuation,” he said calmly. “It is an official notice. I am obliged to consider it a possibility, especially in light of the noxious behavior I witnessed at Arti et Amicitiae. You were good enough to summarize the values underlying the behavior.”
The face of the commissaris turned a deep red. His nostrils quivered. With a gesture of barely controlled rage he pointed at the door.
DeKok stood up, looking resigned. Before Buitendam could say anything, there was a knock on the door. The grey sleuth turned away from the commissaris to see Manfred Nettelhorst standing in the door opening.
The squat art collector approached the commissaris with short, decisive steps and shook him by the hand. He allowed only a condescending nod in the direction of DeKok.
“You have news?” he asked of Buitendam.
The anger was still visible on Buitendam’s face. A bit wild, he gestured in DeKok’s direction.
“My inspector has news,” he said bitingly. “At least that’s what he claims. You’re here at his request.”
Nettelhorst turned toward DeKok.
“You have news?” he asked coolly, with just a hint of skepticism in his voice.
The grey sleuth nodded.
“Robert Achterberg is dead.”
It was just a mad impulse.
Manfred Nettelhorst looked from DeKok to Buitendam and back again.
“And?”
DeKok noticed no reactions. He gave a bit of an embarrassed smile.
“I just wanted to tell you.” He made an awkward bow. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
He left the room and ambled toward Vledder’s desk. Calmly he retrieved the silver ewer from among the crumpled newspapers. Then, holding the ewer by its handle, he ambled back to Buitendam’s office. With a glow of triumph in his eyes, he reentered the room and, holding the ewer in front of him, approached the desk.
Utterly astonished, the commissaris sank back in his chair.
Nettelhorst’s mouth flopped open. Confused, he stared at the ewer. His eyes were wide, but they seemed to shrink behind his rounded cheeks. With small, pudgy hands he made defensive gestures.
“No…no,” he stammered. “That, why, that’s impossible. That’s impossible. It is…it cannot be. That…”
He repeated himself like an echo.
Vledder pushed away his keyboard.
“Was Nettelhorst happy?”
DeKok did not answer at once. He picked up the paper bag, crumpled it and the newspapers into a ball, and threw it in the trash.
“Happy with the return of his ewer, you mean?”
“Of course.”
DeKok grimaced.
“For a moment I thought Nettelhorst would have a myocardial infarction. Finally I just put the ewer on Buitendam’s desk. I was afraid to put it in Manfred’s hands. He might have dropped it.”
Vledder was amazed.
“No compliment? No thanks?”
DeKok shook his head.
“Nothing, neither from Buitendam nor from Nettelhorst. They did not ask any questions. Neither asked who came by the object. For that matter, they didn’t even ask when or how we found it. They sat silent, too bowled over to say anything.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I stayed to look at them for a while, then I left.”
“Strange.”
DeKok nodded.
“Indeed. Nettelhorst’s initial reaction was singular. When I entered the room, he looked as if I had something monstrous in my hands, something he feared.”
“You think so?”
DeKok made a vague gesture.
“We don’t know the background of the piece. Perhaps it is a magic ewer, an Aladdin’s lamp.” He grinned. “Maybe there’s a curse on it.” The grin faded from his countenance. “One thing is certain. Nettelhorst never expected to see his ewe
r again.”
Vledder looked startled.
“Why not?”
DeKok reacted with irritation.
“Something reeks at Arti et Amicitiae. Something is not right about the burglary; someone contrived the whole thing. Believe me, if I can get the slightest opening, I’ll…” He did not complete the sentence but looked at Vledder. “Have you contacted vice this morning?”
“Sure.”
“And?”
Vledder pulled up the report on his computer.
“Robert Achterberg,” he read from the screen. “Age twenty-five, unmarried, photographer by profession, last known address 1418 Laurel Street, his mother’s house. Father deceased. Robert Achterberg has never been in contact with the police/justice. We have approximately two anonymous tips alleging he produced pornography, not for local consumption but for export, primarily to the United States. Vice has tried to collect evidence of wrongdoing but has been unsuccessful. He protected himself well, kept changing studios.”
“A shrewd bird.”
Vledder raised a hand and continued reading.
“That’s not all. FBI agents arrived two weeks ago from the US. They brought a load of evidence. The American authorities closed up the porn pipeline from the other side. In short, they were about to arrest Robert Achterberg.”
12
DeKok sprang up from his chair in one remarkably agile movement. He strode purposefully to the peg where he kept his coat and hat. Vledder followed him.
“Where are you going?” he asked, perplexed. “It’s way too early to visit Lowee’s place.”
The old man had obvious difficulties with one of the sleeves of his raincoat.
“Nothing to do with Lowee,” he growled. “I’m going to offer my condolences to a mother for the sad loss of her son.”
“Robert Achterberg’s mother?”
DeKok nodded, finally getting into the reluctant sleeve.
“I just recalled,” he said somberly, “that we’ve known his identity since last night and we still have not notified that woman. That’s reprehensible.”
“We’ve hardly had the time,” grumbled Vledder.
DeKok airily waved the excuse away.
“There is always time to pay our respects.” He placed his hat square on his head and waved in the direction of the exit. “Glance through the photos we have and find a reasonable likeness…something that doesn’t look too horrible.”
“For identification?”
“Yes. We wouldn’t want to accidentally bury the wrong person.”
Vledder walked back to his desk.
“There’s nothing reasonable here. They’re all pretty gruesome.”
DeKok held out his hand.
“Just give them to me. I’ll find something suitable. Do you have a lot of writing left to do?”
“Yes, including a falsified report regarding the supposed recovery of a certain silver ewer from a locked building.”
“Some people,” joked DeKok, “are so careless!” He put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you stay and finish the, eh, the administrative bit. I’ll go by myself. Please contact Lijnbaansgracht Station and ask them to issue an APB for Marius Graaf. After all, the art theft is really their case.”
“Which you couldn’t keep your nose out of.”
“Tut, tut, a dangling preposition, my boy. That’s something up with which I’ll not put.”
Vledder laughed and DeKok winked.
“Maybe you can take some time to figure out why Nettelhorst wasn’t at all happy with the recovery of his artifact and what it is I smell!”
Mrs. Achterberg looked at her visitor with a drawn, ashen face. Her legs were slightly parted and her small hands were folded in her lap.
“Perhaps you think,” she said softly, almost whispering, “I’m an unfeeling woman, but no tears will come. I feel drained of emotion, empty hearted.”
DeKok nodded.
“I understand,” he said.
She sighed deeply.
“This may sound strange. I’ve been waiting for someone, anyone, for days. I hoped somebody would come and tell me what happened.”
DeKok did not react at once. He leaned back a little and studied the woman in the armchair across from him. Despite her pallor, she was not unattractive. She was a svelte woman in her late forties. Her hair was thick and blond. Clear blue eyes punctuated the round face. The mouth and chin were soft, maybe a bit weak, mirroring her son’s facial features.
“You expected it?”
She nodded slowly.
“He expected it. A few days before he died, he was very depressed. He said it wouldn’t be much longer before they caught him.”
“Who are they?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know,” she said, irritated. “It’s all too strange and vague.”
DeKok reflected that he had used almost the same words himself.
“Are you certain he believed ‘they’ would kill him?”
Mrs. Achterberg nodded.
“Trust me, he had reason to believe it. There were prior attempts on his life. Once he was almost pushed under an oncoming train. Other times someone shot at him.”
“Why did he not inform the police?”
She shook her head.
“He seriously thought for a while about leaving the country. But he wanted nothing to do with the police.”
“Did Robert know he was about to be arrested?”
A tearful grimace contorted her face.
“For producing pornography? The two detectives of the vice squad who came here made it clear they saw Robert as a contemptible, vile child predator.” She shook her head. “They painted an ugly, distorted picture. Robert wasn’t like that. Sure he photographed children, usually nude and in certain positions. The parents were often present during the photo sessions. They permitted it. Parents were always calling him or coming to the studio.”
“Oh? Do you recall the names of any of these people?”
She lifted a hand and let it sink back into her lap.
“No. The children came here sometimes, with the entire family. Robert paid a good hourly wage for the models. Cash. That was well known. None of the parents ever complained.” She looked at DeKok as though pleading her son’s case. “Otherwise Robert couldn’t have lasted as long as he did. Nobody ever betrayed him. People weren’t bothered by it because the pictures went to America. None of the children could ever be recognized or pointed out in the streets of Amsterdam.”
DeKok rubbed his face with a flat hand.
“The American authorities are very bothered. They seriously fight pornography, especially child pornography.”
“I know that. Some FBI agents came all the way over here for Robert.”
DeKok made an apologetic gesture.
“I’ve never seen the pictures your son made.” His tone of voice was noncommittal. “I cannot cast judgment.” He paused and gave her a searching look. “The threat Robert mentioned, was it related to the pornography?”
She shook her head hesitantly.
“According to Robert, the threats had nothing to do with his photographic work. Not even the special children’s photos. No, he thought the danger was connected to a young woman.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Therese de la Fontaine, a truly beautiful model. Robert had met her in the normal course of his work as a photographer.”
DeKok tilted his head to one side.
“Do you know her?”
Mrs. Achterberg nodded vaguely, as if to herself.
“She’s been here a few times with Robert. He introduced her to me.”
“As what did he introduce her?”
“An acquaintance, a friend.”
“That’s all?”
She seemed confused.
“What do you mean?”
“Was she possibly more than an acquaintance?”
Robert’s mother lifted her hands and held them next to
her head in a gesture of surrender.
“I did get the impression that Robert liked her very much. She is, after all, exceptionally beautiful. Maybe he was in love with her.” She fell silent and stared pensively at the floor. “He was in love with her, I realize it now.”
“And Therese?”
Mrs. Achterberg shook her head.
“She was certainly nice, but she did not encourage Robert. On the contrary, she kept him at a distance, so to speak. I also had the distinct impression she had a relationship with someone else.”
“Did Robert know that?”
Again she shook her head.
“No, I don’t think so. It was my personal impression. Call it an intuition. We never discussed it.”
“You weren’t curious?”
“It wasn’t a subject I felt I could raise. I thought it might be too painful for her, as well as for Robert.”
DeKok nodded his understanding.
“The possible friend, therefore, remains a shadowy figure.”
The woman breathed deeply.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said passively.
DeKok leaned closer.
“Why did Robert go to live with her?”
The mother did not answer at once. She looked vague, as if she had not heard the question.
“You’re talking about the beautiful house on Emperor’s Canal?” The mother still responded ambiguously.
“Her house, yes,” confirmed DeKok.
She straightened in her chair and took a deep breath.
“Robert feared being arrested, so he asked Therese to take him in for a while. It was temporary, until the attention of the police waned a little.”
It was DeKok’s turn to get irritated.
“If your son Robert realized,” he exclaimed, “that Therese was a threat to him, apparently a deadly threat, why would he do that?”
Mrs. Achterberg lowered her head.
“Who can account for the actions of a person in love?” she sighed. “Perhaps he wanted to live with her, under the same roof.”
“With his life at stake?”
She looked devastated.
“What could I do? What could I say? He refused to listen to me. In fact he did not believe Therese. Despite the attempts on his life, he refused to take her warnings seriously.”
DeKok and the Dead Lovers Page 9