DeKok and the Dead Lovers

by A. C. Baantjer

  DeKok freed himself from her embrace with some difficulty.

  “Where is Therese?”

  Maria Goose thumbed over her shoulder.

  “I put her to bed with a few sleeping pills. The child was almost hysterical.”

  DeKok nodded his understanding. Then he looked at her sharply.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Therese called me. ‘Mother, please come at once. They killed DeBeau,’ she said.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Almost two hours ago. I drove here at once.”

  “You knew she was here?”

  She nodded.

  “Once Henri Tombs settled her here, Therese called me.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “A hysterical Therese and a dead DeBeau.”

  “Then what?”

  “I called you.”

  “Nobody else?”

  “No.”

  DeKok walked down the corridor.

  “Where is DeBeau?”

  Maria led the inspectors to a spacious room dominated by a high hearth. There was an imposing leather chair to the left of the hearth. The young man’s body rested in the deep upholstery, slumping to one side. DeKok recognized DeBeau immediately from Lowee’s description. The large brown eyes stared lifeless.

  DeKok approached the body. A single glance convinced him the man was dead. There was considerable blood loss. The stains on the shirt indicated the victim had taken three bullets in the chest.

  DeKok looked at Maria.

  “Has a doctor seen him?”

  Maria shook her head.

  “DeBeau did not want Therese to warn anybody.”

  DeKok looked up with surprise.

  “He was still alive?”

  Maria nodded.

  “During the day, DeBeau never left the house. Tonight he wanted to take a walk before going to bed. As he stepped outside, a man came from behind the trees across the street. He walked closer and shot. DeBeau got to the house and fell into this chair. He must have known it was the end for him. He begged Therese to stay with him. She did. Only minutes later he died in her arms.”

  DeKok bit his lower lip.

  “Internal bleeding,” he murmured. “He was beyond saving.” He made a hesitant gesture in the direction of the body. “Was, eh, was DeBeau a friend of Therese? Her boyfriend?”

  Maria nodded.

  “We managed to keep it a secret from everyone.”

  A sad smile fled across DeKok’s face.

  “Even from me?”

  “It was an agreement between Therese and me. I couldn’t violate her trust. She didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Why?”

  Maria gestured angrily.

  “Therese was afraid to lose him, afraid something would happen to him.”

  “She thought he could suffer the same fate as Robert and Everet Tombs?”

  Mother Goose swallowed.

  “No man could be close to Therese. Something bad always happened.”

  “How did she get to know DeBeau?”

  She smiled sadly.

  “After Matthias sold Therese to Manfred Nettelhorst, the rich pig sent a couple of bodyguards to Emperor’s Canal to guard Therese.”

  DeKok took a deep breath.

  “Marius and DeBeau.”

  “Yes, Therese was immediately besotted with DeBeau. She loved him deeply, but didn’t dare show it. She confided in me.” She looked up at DeKok with a sad face. “I am her mother. What would a mother not do for her child’s well-being? I brought them together.”

  “You risked a great deal.”

  Maria Goose shook her head in desperation.

  “I never thought of that,” she cried frantically. “They were both so happy with each other. DeBeau told me he planned to go back to France because he feared Nettelhorst. I personally brought him to Therese.”

  “Here in Baarn?”

  “Yes. I thought it was a safe hideout for him as well.”

  “Clearly it was not.” It sounded like an accusation.

  Maria’s eyes filled with tears. She stretched out an arm toward the corpse.

  “This is the act of a maniac. Who else would be crazy enough, demented enough to shoot a child…he was such a handsome boy.” Shaking, she took the old inspector by the lapels of his raincoat. “You’ve got to find him quickly, DeKok. People say you have a gift. Don’t do it for me, but for my child. My Therese can’t live like this any longer.”

  DeKok detached her hands from his coat.

  “Go to the kitchen,” he said sternly, “and make us a cup of coffee.”

  When Mother Goose had left the room, DeKok leaned over the victim. Carefully he pushed the body forward and looked at the back. Then he replaced the corpse in its original position.

  DeKok shook his head.

  “Nothing to see. There’s no penetration of the back. The bullets must still be in the body.”

  Vledder looked at him gravely.

  “He wasn’t shot at close range, then. The shooter was farther away than Robert’s was.”

  DeKok nodded agreement. He leaned over the victim once more. He took a thick black wallet from inside the jacket. He handed it to Vledder.

  “See if you can find a name.”

  Vledder shook out the contents on the seat of another chair and sorted carefully through the papers.

  “I have here a French identity card in the name of Charles Montagne, twenty-eight years old, residing in Lyon. He was a baker by profession.”

  “Is the document genuine?”

  Vledder pursed his lips. He examined the document closely.

  “I think so,” he said. “I see nothing to indicate it was altered. The photo is a good likeness.”

  “The name DeBeau is not mentioned?”

  “I couldn’t find anything with that name.”

  DeKok grinned.

  “Little Lowee was right again. DeBeau is a nickname.” He pointed at the wallet. “Any money?”

  Vledder nodded his head.

  “About two hundred euros and a bundle of euro-checks.” He pointed at the corpse. “Should I replace the wallet? The Baarn police will also want to know who he is.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “Be sure you note the information from the identity card, though.”

  Vledder took out his notebook and made entries. He returned the contents to the wallet and placed it in the inside pocket. For a moment he looked at the face of the victim.

  “You know who he looks like? Harold Buis.”

  DeKok looked up with a question in his eyes.

  “Who is Harold Buis?”

  “A colleague. I’m sure you would recognize him. We attended the course for inspectors together at the academy. He had been a shooting instructor. Now he’s with the immigration police.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “Of course. He wore a moustache. He always told me I would never learn to shoot. Now that you mention it, Buis and DeBeau look like brothers.”

  Vledder pointed at a telephone on a low table on the other side of the hearth.

  “You want me to call the Baarn police? We’re about through here, aren’t we?”

  DeKok shook his head.

  “Let’s wait. Let’s have a cup of coffee first.”

  He approached the victim and closed the staring eyes. Then he followed Vledder out of the room.

  It was dark in the corridor, but at the end a light came from under a door. The inspectors approached the light and opened the door.

  Maria Goose leaned with both arms on the kitchen table. Next to her was Therese, who sat with her knees up, arms around her legs.

  DeKok’s mouth fell open. He was momentarily flustered by the radiant beauty.

  “Therese de la Fontaine,” he stammered, “there have been moments I doubted your existence.”

  18

  Maria Goose stood up to pour coffee. Vledder helped with sugar and cream.

  DeKok took a chair and sat n
ext to Therese at the table. He was close enough to see the traces of grief and sadness on her beautiful face.

  “You couldn’t sleep?” he asked gently.

  She shook her head.

  “The pills didn’t work. I just tossed and turned. Finally I got up.”

  DeKok nodded quietly.

  “Grief takes time to fade.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “A long time, I think.”

  DeKok’s face mirrored her sadness.

  “You called him DeBeau?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did DeBeau say anything before he died?”

  Therese reached for the coffee but then pulled her shaking hands close to her body.

  “I heard loud noises outside. DeBeau stumbled toward the house. His eyes were so scared. He said he’d been shot. I didn’t know the noises were shots. He fell into the chair. Then I saw the blood on his shirt.”

  “Did he mention a name?”

  “No.”

  DeKok held his head to one side.

  “But DeBeau saw his killer?”

  She nodded.

  “He said a man suddenly came from behind a tree and shot him.”

  DeKok bit his lower lip.

  “Did DeBeau describe the man?”

  She sighed deeply.

  “He didn’t have time. ‘Stay with me,’ he said. He kept repeating it.” Tears filled her eyes. “Inspector DeKok, DeBeau was a kind man, gentle and understanding.”

  DeKok let her be for a moment. He remained silent, frozen to his chair. He ignored the coffee in front of him. He understood fully the need to proceed very carefully. Therese’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. An inadvertent word could cause her to lose control. He needed a few more intelligent answers, needed her to stay with him.

  “Did Matthias Heusden know that you were in love with DeBeau?”

  “I never told him.”

  “Why not?”

  Therese looked in her mother’s direction.

  “I didn’t trust Matthias. He did everything possible to stay on Manfred Nettelhorst’s good side. Manfred allowed no other men near me.”

  “That was part of the contract?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you agreed to that?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “I didn’t have much to say about it. Matthias made all the arrangements. He thought he’d achieved something grand, but the arrangement was ludicrous. It kept me from competing in any beauty contest. It was out of the question to attend a party, even to be visible. Manfred expected me to live a cloistered life. Every once in a while I had to show myself to him. That was it.” She gestured nervously. “In return I got the house at Emperor’s Canal, a lot of money, and fine clothes.” She fell silent and rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “There were so many silly conditions, it was impossible to take it all seriously.”

  She stared into the distance.

  DeKok took a cautious sip from his coffee. He placed a finger over his mouth, cautioning Maria and Vledder to stay silent. After a while, Therese began to speak again.

  “Manfred and I met every couple of months for a so-called audition. I couldn’t wear nail polish or makeup. He insisted upon seeing see me au natural, to guarantee my unblemished condition.” She gave a harsh, joyless laugh. “I even had to take a bath before he would consent to view me. God forbid there should be marks on my skin from tight clothing.” She rubbed her arms and looked at them. “Did you know that I was asked to remove all body hair? Look at my arms, as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

  DeKok nodded, but did not want to interrupt her stream of consciousness with the slightest sound.

  “Manfred Nettelhorst, the great collector, cannot see. His ability to perceive beauty is one-dimensional. He was a joke, as was his agenda of keeping men out of my life. What was he looking for…fingerprints? My arrangement with Manfred became less and less amusing.” She swallowed away a sob. “Everything changed,” she continued after a short pause. “Strange things started happening around me.” She looked at DeKok, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. “It was as if there was a curse on me. Men who showed an interest got into strange accidents. Some were the targets of murder attempts.”

  She stopped talking. DeKok respected her silence. When it appeared she was not going to say anything else, he spoke cautiously.

  “There were attempts on Robert Achterberg’s life?” he asked softly.

  “Yes.”

  “And who do you think was responsible?”

  An angry, determined look came over her face.

  “Manfred Nettelhorst,” she said with venom in her voice.

  “Do you have any proof of that?”

  Therese took a deep breath.

  “Proof? No, I don’t have any proof,” she said bitterly. “I couldn’t draw any other conclusion. After all, I broke the rules, the contract.”

  DeKok made a small gesture in her direction.

  “Why would he not punish you…chastise you? After all, you were responsible for breaking the agreement.”

  Therese grinned with hardened eyes.

  “You simply have no idea how Manfred thinks. In his eyes I am an idol, a goddess who may not be touched, who may not be sullied by common people.”

  “He merely supervised?”

  Therese de la Fontaine nodded vehemently.

  “Of course. It wasn’t difficult for him. Manfred is very, very wealthy. He isn’t just any eccentric. The man has influence. It’s whispered he even has highly placed police officials in the palm of his hand.”

  DeKok remained silent and drank his coffee. He was glad to see Therese reach for her cup. When she replaced the cup on the table, he did the same and continued the interrogation.

  “Why did you flee from the house that night with your suitcase?”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Wasn’t that sudden?”

  Therese closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Not so sudden,” she said softly. “I hadn’t been at ease for months. A certain threat surrounded me. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought about running. In the end the decision was made for me. I had to leave because of the telephone call.”

  “What kind of call?”

  “It was from DeBeau.”

  “It was that upsetting?”

  She lowered her head.

  “A few days before the phone call, a young woman had come to Emperor’s Canal asking to see me. She didn’t want to tell me her name. It was a one-sided conversation and weird. She told me Robert was at her house. She said she planned to keep him there, even if she had to chain him to the wall.”

  Therese sighed with closed eyes.

  “DeBeau called the same night. He let the phone ring until it woke me. He told me Marius’ sister had been arrested for the murder of a boy, a boy she chained to the radiator with handcuffs.”

  DeKok nodded understandingly.

  “You knew immediately what had happened.”

  Therese clapped her hands over her face.

  “I was overcome by panic. I didn’t want to stay another second in that horrible house…it never gave me anything but grief. I packed a bag and ran away.”

  “To Henri Tombs.”

  “I trusted Henri. He brought me here, to Baarn.”

  DeKok looked at her evenly.

  “You believed Robert was dead because of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You also knew we had arrested the wrong person?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was not Antoinette, Marius’ sister.”

  Therese de la Fontaine shook her head slowly.

  “The killer was Matthias Heusden, my stepfather.”

  DeKok alerted the Baarn police, greeted them, and observed while they worked. He managed a credible explanation of his presence at the murder scene. He employed moral certitude and considerable tact to negotiate the immediate release of Therese and her mother. The women left for Amsterdam. De
Kok’s sense of duty kept him at the villa until the local police arranged for DeBeau’s corpse to be moved to the morgue. After a very long night, he and Vledder said their farewells and departed for Amsterdam.

  Vledder urged the police VW through the night. His face was ashen and his eyes rimmed in red. Sleep deprivation was getting to be a factor.

  DeKok sat in the passenger seat, his dilapidated hat pushed down over his eyes. Now he wondered whether he should feel responsible for DeBeau’s death. He quickly pushed that thought away into the recesses of his mind. He had only recently known DeBeau existed. He had been completely unaware of the young Frenchman’s relationship with Therese.

  He dwelt on one question exclusively: How could he unmask the killer? The horrors inflicted on Therese and the murdered men had to come to an end. First he’d have to expose a killer. DeKok sighed deeply, thinking about the obvious contradictions in the case. Robert Achterberg could hardly be described as one of Therese’s lovers. Whatever the motive, the murderer had gone to considerable lengths to kill the young photographer.

  Vledder broke in on his thoughts.

  “When are we going to arrest Heusden?”

  DeKok glanced aside.

  “Why should we arrest him?”

  Vledder reacted, surprised.

  “You heard what Therese said. She’s convinced he killed Robert Achterberg. He was not home the night of the murder.”

  DeKok pushed his hat back.

  “Was he also the man who shot DeBeau?”

  Vledder shrugged.

  “Who knows? Who cares?”

  The grey sleuth shook is head.

  “No. The man who shot DeBeau was not Matthias Heusden.”

  “How do you know that?”

  DeKok moved in his seat.

  “DeBeau lived in the same house with Therese. He and Marius were assigned to be her bodyguards. Heusden knew both men well and vice versa. DeBeau would have recognized Matthias Heusden as his killer. DeBeau mentioned no name, he did not know who shot him.”

  Vledder grunted.

  “I see, you assume that DeBeau and Achterberg were killed by the same person.”

  “I don’t just assume it, I’m convinced of it.”

  “But,” said Vledder, instinctively letting up on the gas, “if that’s true, we’re just as far from a solution as before.”

  DeKok grunted and sank back down in the seat.