Matthias Heusden shook his head vehemently.
“No, no, certainly not,” he exclaimed anxiously. “He would never have permitted it.”
DeKok leaned closer.
“We understand Robert Achterberg left his refuge one evening in great haste. It was a few days before his murder. He was inadequately dressed for the weather and, apparently, both agitated and depressed. What had happened?”
Heusden raised both arms in the air.
“I don’t know,” he complained. “Really, I have no idea.” He swallowed. “At approximately ten o’clock that night I discovered the hall light on and the front door wide open. At first I thought that Therese had come home and had not shut the door properly. Later, when Therese came home, I checked Robert’s room.”
“And?”
“He was gone.”
“How did Therese react?”
Heusden loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.
“She asked me if I had scared him.”
“What did she mean by that?”
Heusden reacted, confused. His face was pale and he stretched out a trembling hand.
“I asked her that,” he said in a voice trembling with despair. “I asked her why she thought I would scare the boy…and how?”
“And what did Therese say to that?”
“She did not pursue the subject.”
“And you did not urge her to explain herself?”
“Sure. I took her by the arms. I wanted to force her to tell me what she meant. She had been acting strangely toward me for days. She was avoiding me. I felt she had been keeping deliberately out of my way.”
“Was there a reason for that?”
“Not as far as I knew.”
“Did Therese finally explain?”
Heusden shook his head.
“I let her go, dropped the subject. I did not want to escalate the tension on either side. It was the first time there was any unpleasantness between us.”
DeKok rubbed his nose.
“A few days later,” he mused, “in the middle of the night, Therese fled, apparently very upset. Both young people ran from the same house on Emperor’s Canal.” The old inspector paused and looked sharply at his visitor. “Did you scare her, too?”
Vledder grinned.
“When you asked if he had scared Therese, I thought he was going to grab you by the throat. Man, oh man, he was really angry.”
DeKok smiled.
“Doesn’t it seem strangely coincidental for Robert and Therese to flee the house in the same condition? Both were overwrought, agitated, almost hysterical. Robert fled and was subsequently murdered. Therese fled because she was afraid of murder. And you know what I noticed? Heusden never asked how I knew that Therese was upset that night.”
“You also did not tell him that she went to seek help from Henri Tombs.”
DeKok shook his head.
“I didn’t think it would serve any purpose.”
Vledder wrinkled his nose in a gesture of disgust.
“You think Heusden knows more than he’s telling?”
DeKok shrugged.
“We do not have a trace of evidence,” he said tiredly. “We don’t even have a clear motive for Robert’s murder.”
“Matthias was under orders to keep lovers away from Therese.”
DeKok pulled out his lower lip and let it plop back several times. Vledder was just about to tell him to stop that disgusting habit when the old man spoke.
“Was Robert a lover?” he asked.
“Nettelhorst could have considered him her lover.”
“But Nettelhorst did not know that Robert lived in the house.”
Vledder raised a finger.
“That’s what Heusden tells us. What if he was wrong? What if Nettelhorst knew? If somebody tipped him off, Heusden was in hot water. After all, he insisted upon being the guardian of Therese’s unblemished beauty.”
DeKok gave his young colleague an encouraging look.
“That is a correct conclusion. It might be a motive for Heusden to chase Robert out of the house. But is it also a motive for murder?”
Vledder came out from behind his desk. He took a chair and placed it next to DeKok’s desk. Then he sat down backward, leaning his arms on the back of the chair. His young face was aglow with enthusiasm.
“Just think about what Mother Goose told us. Robert Achterberg was in grave danger. All the while he was spinning a tale about a golden future, about connections in America who could raise Therese to the top of her profession. Had Robert convinced Therese to go, Heusden would have lost the house, the money…”
DeKok leaned back in his chair.
“Dick Vledder,” he said pensively, “you might just have something there.”
The two inspectors left the station house and walked toward Rear Fort Canal at a leisurely pace.
DeKok glanced aside.
“How do we prove your theory?”
“You mean how do we prove Therese’s stepfather murdered Robert Achterberg?”
“Yes.”
Vledder shrugged his shoulders.
“I think it’s about time that we interrogate Therese de la Fontaine. Perhaps she knows something key to finding the evidence we need. Keep in mind there were just a few hours between Robert’s murder and Therese’s flight from home. It’s just possible she saw Heusden return to the house. Perhaps she observed something in his demeanor or on his person. There could have been a confrontation or an admission. Who knows?”
DeKok nodded to himself, digesting the theories.
“A workable theory,” he agreed. “You speculate Therese suspected or knew her stepfather killed Achterberg, so she fled into the night.”
Vledder grimaced.
“All this hearsay makes me sick! It’s all he said/she said. Bah! Nevertheless Henri Tombs sincerely believed Therese was afraid she could be the next murder victim.”
DeKok smiled.
“You’re very sharp tonight.”
“Sure,” answered Vledder. “It’s about time to apply your methods.”
On the corner of Barn Alley they entered Little Lowee’s establishment. They took comfort in the warmth. The place was welcoming, intimate, and sparsely lit by red and pink lights.
DeKok greeted a number of prostitutes in passing. They were acquaintances of long standing. They were a jovial bunch, sipping their sweet drinks.
With a satisfied sigh, DeKok hoisted himself onto his favorite bar stool. Lowee moved hastily behind the bar.
“Howsda murder business?” he asked cheerily.
DeKok’s face fell.
“Bad.”
“Youse still ain’t gotta clue who shotta porno guy?”
DeKok shook his head.
“We hope,” he joked, “your cognac will give us some much-needed inspiration.”
The small barkeeper could take a hint. With eel-like agility he reached under the bar and produced the special bottle they had sampled before. With a routine gesture he lined up three snifters.
“Youse talked to Maria Goose?” he asked.
The grey sleuth nodded and watched with greedy eyes as Lowee poured the cognac into the glasses.
“Remember last time we were here? She was waiting for us when we returned to the station house,” offered Vledder.
Lowee ignored him. He tolerated Vledder because he was DeKok’s partner, but that did not mean Vledder could talk anytime he felt like it. Lowee pushed a glass in front of DeKok and Vledder and raised his own.
They sipped and remained reverently silent as the first taste of the exquisite liquor lingered.
With a deep sigh of satisfaction, DeKok replaced his glass on the counter.
“Did you send her? Maria Goose, I mean.”
“Na.”
DeKok nodded and took another sip. Cognac like that was rare and should not be hurried.
Lowee drained his glass and leaned closer.
“Youse lookin’ for Marius Graaf?”
<
br /> DeKok looked surprised.
“How do you know that?”
Lowee gestured vaguely.
“I got ways. I got ears. Some cop from da Lijnbaansgracht bin askin’ onna street.”
DeKok looked a question at Vledder, who nodded.
“I called Lijnbaansgracht and asked them to run down Marius.”
The small barkeep grinned.
“Youse ain’t gonna find ’em anytime soon.”
DeKok looked at him over his glass.
“Why?”
“Dose guys took off outta here. Left town.”
“Who are those guys?”
“Marius and DeBeau.”
DeKok grimaced.
“Who is DeBeau?”
Lowee waved his hands around.
“Marius and DeBeau is gabbers, eh, I means partners.” He corrected himself for the benefit of Vledder, whose knowledge of Amsterdam’s thieves’ language was rudimentary at best.
“Partners in evil,” opined DeKok.
Lowee grinned mischievously.
“You goddit. DeBeau bin ’ere coupla years. He’s a good-lookin’ Frenchy…atletish, long, blond hair, tan, anna mustache. Inna quarter they calls ’im ‘DeBeau.’” He
grinned. “Maybe ’cause of the way ’e looks, geddit?”
He turned toward Vledder, continuing the didactic portion of his description in perfect Dutch. “Beau means ‘beautiful’ in French, you see.”
Vledder, who spoke fluent French, acted as if Lowee had just given him valuable information.
DeKok ignored the banter.
“When did those two leave?” he asked.
“Bin one, two days.”
“So before the search warrant was issued?”
Lowee looked serious.
“They was scared, scared to get offed.”
“Both?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
The barkeeper sighed.
“Them two gypped some rich guy. Now he owes ’em.”
“Revenge?”
“True.”
DeKok held his head to one side.
“And do you know the name of this rich guy?”
Lowee nodded, lowering his voice.
“Manfred Nettelhorst.”
15
Slightly depressed and deep in thought, they walked back to Warmoes Street.
They ignored the crowds of lechers peering through windows behind which prostitutes displayed their wares. DeKok recalled painfully that it was Little Lowee who, once again, gave new impetus to his investigation. Over the years he had received many tips from the small barkeeper. He owed him a lot. The realization was not a burden. It was a simple acceptance.
He knew Little Lowee was a thief and a fence. Over a lifetime Lowee had undoubtedly broken every commandment and most articles of the criminal law. DeKok, however, considered Lowee more brother than friend. It takes a thief to catch a thief. The saying certainly applied to his relationship with Little Lowee. DeKok grinned.
“If a puppy steals a sausage,” he said suddenly, “it will grow up to be an excellent police dog.”
Vledder looked at him.
“What did you say?”
DeKok laughed.
“If a puppy steals a sausage,” he repeated, “it will grow up to be an excellent police dog. I read that in some book.”
“And what made you think of that?” Vledder shook his head with disapproval. “For days we have been immersed in a murder,” he said. “If we’re not careful, there will be more victims. But you’re thinking about dogs.”
DeKok nodded slowly.
“You’re thinking about Marius and DeBeau?”
“Yes. Those two aren’t the type to scare easily. There must be a real threat emanating from Manfred Nettelhorst.”
DeKok took a deep breath.
“We had a perfect opportunity to observe his rage at Arti et Amicitiae,” he sighed. “Nettelhorst has the ability and the means to hire people for dirty jobs. It isn’t hard to find people who will do just about anything for cash, no questions asked.”
“You think he wouldn’t have a hard time arranging the executions of Marius and DeBeau?”
“Precisely.”
“How do you suppose they cheated him?”
DeKok gestured with a hand.
“Easy. It was the silver ewer.”
“How?”
DeKok grinned.
“Either they stole the work of art without his knowledge—in other words, the robbery was real, not staged, and our favorite collector discovered the identity of the perpetrators—or the two stole the ewer with his knowledge. In that case, it had to look like a real robbery.” He paused and grimaced. “Personally, I bet on the second possibility.”
“That it had to look like a robbery?”
“Yes,” nodded DeKok. “From the onset I never trusted the robbery account. There is something wrong about it.”
“You said it stank.”
“It does. How strange for a single object, the ewer, to be stolen. There were many objects of incalculable value at the exhibition. Just think about the Monet for a moment. The thieves, however, restricted themselves to the ewer. I keep asking myself why. I believe Manfred Nettelhorst no longer wanted to keep the ewer. In his twisted perception, the old woman had touched it and—”
“She contaminated it, rendering the object blemished,” completed Vledder.
DeKok nodded with emphasis.
“Very good. Of course he could have sold the ewer. He could have given it as a gift to somebody. But that does not fit into the thinking of this man, who sees himself as a dedicated gatherer of unblemished beauty. In fact, he is so obsessive he just cannot stomach the idea of anyone else owning one of his prized possessions.”
Vledder frowned.
“But why would he allow the ewer to be stolen? Wouldn’t it wind up contaminated by hands other than his own?”
DeKok shook his head.
“Not necessarily.”
“I don’t understand that.”
The grey sleuth smiled.
“Manfred Nettelhorst is not just an eccentric, fanatical art collector. He’s also an extremely shrewd man. He wanted to get rid of the ewer because possessing it disturbed him. But more importantly he wanted money for new acquisitions. The staged robbery provided an ideal solution. The insurance company would cough up a million and a half. Nettelhorst undoubtedly paid the thieves to destroy the object.”
Vledder looked aghast.
“Destroy something so exquisite?”
DeKok nodded with conviction.
“It was a way to guarantee the unique object would never resurface. Nettelhorst would not lose a dime, nor would he have to imagine his object in other hands.” He grinned. “Who could say whether the ewer was insured for much more than its real value?”
“Aha,” said Vledder. “Now I understand why he wasn’t at all pleased when you returned his ewer.”
DeKok grinned.
“You should have seen his face. Believe me, it was a triumphal moment for me. I’ve never seen anybody so dumbfounded.” The old inspector raised a finger in the air. “There is more. His astonishment built to anger,” he continued, “as he realized the thieves had broken their promise; they had not destroyed the beautiful ewer.”
Vledder narrowed his eyes.
“Marius Graaf and DeBeau have reason to be afraid. It isn’t hard to imagine him vengeful.”
“Another singular reaction while we were in Buitendam’s office was this: Nettelhorst never asked me how I had gotten his ewer. He wasn’t the least bit curious how we’d found it. Of course, we know now he didn’t have to ask. When I entered the office with his ewer in my hand, he immediately grasped what had happened! Marius and DeBeau had double-crossed him.”
Vledder laughed.
“It was a double whammy. Now that he had the art object back, he hadn’t a prayer of an insurance settlement.”
DeKok snorted.
; “As police inspectors, we should never be influenced by our personal feelings. To be brutally honest, though, my first impression of Manfred Nettelhorst stuck. From the beginning I found him repulsive.”
Vledder thought it over.
“Do we have any proof?” he asked after a while.
“What?”
“Can we prove the fraud?”
DeKok had a doubtful look on his face.
“Assuming Nettelhorst was involved, we’d need corroborative statements from Graaf and DeBeau. Without their testimony it would be difficult to build a case. We interrupted Nettelhorst’s fraudulent scheme, so those two are the only witnesses.” He paused a moment. “That is another reason for Nettelhorst to—”
“Make them permanently unavailable,” concluded Vledder.
DeKok nodded. His face was stern.
“The case is extremely serious,” he said pensively. “One good idea would be to research Nettelhorst’s sales and acquisitions. It would be interesting to know whether he has previously disposed of blemished works of art…and, if so, how.”
Vledder stopped suddenly in the middle of the street. His facial expression was frightened and bewildered.
“What, eh, what happens to Therese de la Fontaine,” he asked with a quaver in his voice, “if Nettelhorst decides she too is no longer unblemished?”
“You mean, is she also to be destroyed?”
They entered the station house and in the lobby DeKok signaled Vledder to wait. He walked through the gate in the low wall that separated the public part of the lobby from the police operations. He addressed the watch commander.
“Which detectives are available tonight?”
Kusters consulted his schedule.
“Fred Prins and Appie Keizer,” he said.
DeKok nodded and walked over to a glass-topped table where a large map of the precinct resided. He picked up the phone next to the table and spoke for a few minutes. Then he returned to Vledder.
“Where did you park the car?”
“Behind the station.”
“Very well, let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“Emperor’s Canal.”
They walked to the back of the station house and climbed into the battered VW. Vledder started the engine.
DeKok and the Dead Lovers Page 11