DeKok and Murder by Melody

by A. C. Baantjer

  “And you took his declaration of innocence at face value?”

  The over-sized attorney calmed down a little. He sighed.

  “Ramon tells me the truth. Aside from my fiduciary responsibility, our relationship is based on mutual trust.”

  DeKok rubbed a little finger on the bridge of his nose. It was one of his characteristic gestures when he felt in control of a situation.

  “I always had a very good relationship with my mother. It was a relationship based on mutual trust and love. Yet I lied to her a number of times in my younger years … simply because I felt she didn’t need to know everything.”

  The lawyer shook his head.

  “That … that … eh,” he protested, “is something else altogether. The relationship between a client and a defense attorney must be completely open—he knows I cannot function as his legal counsel otherwise.”

  DeKok nodded agreement.

  “I understand your position completely,” he said soothingly. “You say Ramon swears he knows nothing. You believe him innocent of the boardinghouse murders. I understand that you take that position as your own. After all, you have never had a client who lied to you.”

  Van Mechelen bridled.

  “It is not a position … it’s the truth.”

  DeKok again made a soothing gesture.

  “A truth,” he repeated. “A truth in which you believe.”

  “Without reservation.”

  “In that case I know you will not object to my interrogating Ramon in your presence. I’ll even allow you to determine the place … in the Netherlands.”

  Van Mechelen knew DeKok had him by the short hairs. His round, gleaming face was devoid of expression. Long minutes passed in silence, then he pointed at DeKok.

  “You’ll hear from me.”

  Without ceremony, he turned on his heels and left.

  Commissaris Buitendam came from behind his desk and looked at DeKok with a hint of admiration in his eyes.

  “You did well, DeKok. I think I should tell you that.”

  The old sleuth smiled. He looked at the pale face. There was a sheen of perspiration on the forehead.

  “You best get better, soon,” he advised kindly.

  Vledder was interested when his colleague returned to the detective room.

  “And, were you decent to the commissaris?”

  “Very, I even wished him good health.”

  “You’re making progress,” laughed Vledder.

  DeKok nodded sagely.

  “He is, too,” he said.

  “Did you discuss Santen’s proposal?”

  “Not yet. I’ll keep it up my sleeve as a last resort. Personally, I’d rather not. That kind of bargain takes up a lot of time. We’d have to convince both the Belgian and the Dutch authorities. Once we do we have no way of knowing whether Santen can deliver.” He grinned ruefully. “It is investing in the word of a criminal trying to deal his way out of hard time.”

  “You don’t think he knows the murderer?”

  “Given his connections and background, he probably knows something. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were involved with the murders. The question is are we buying what he’s selling. I won’t be manipulated, especially not by a character like Long Jack.” He looked into the distance for a while. “You know,” he went on, “I’ve seen smart, seasoned cops go nuts chasing fictitious people, places, and events. These jokers count on us to be conscientious. I’ll bet you Santen is as opportunistic as a vulture. We’d be making a bargain with the Devil, if we delay our investigation to sweeten his ‘deal.’ It isn’t happening on my watch. We could never reverse any deal we make with the Belgians. We cannot propose to take him into custody here and reserve the right to give him back, if things don’t work out.”

  Vledder looked abashed.

  “He sounded so convincing,” said the younger man. “He appeared to know what he was talking about and he meant what he said.”

  DeKok smiled an encouraging smile.

  “You could be quite right. Just know the pitfalls of this sort of proposal. It can be a quagmire for police officers who are sincerely interested in clearing their cases.” He smiled again. “Anyway,” he continued cheerfully, “I’ve made a proposal of my own.”

  “To whom?”

  “To Mr. Gerard Van Mechelen, Esquire, himself.”

  “Oh, was he in the office with the boss?”

  “He wanted a guarantee we would not arrest Ramon for the murders … should he happen to return home.”

  “You didn’t give him a guarantee!”

  DeKok shook his head.

  “No, I said that I wanted to interrogate Ramon in the presence of his lawyer in a place of his choosing.”

  “And the fat cat lawyer agreed?”

  DeKok looked at the clock on the wall.

  “He’ll be in earnest conversation with his client at this time.”

  “If they agree, and Ramon comes back to Holland, will you arrest him?”

  Neither DeKok nor Vledder heard the knock on the door, but both saw the shape of a large figure against the frosted glass of the door. They watched as one of the detectives yelled for the visitor to enter. The door opened slowly to reveal the figure of Alex Waardenburg. He approached DeKok’s desk with a vague smile on his face.

  DeKok met him halfway.

  “Mr. Waardenburg,” said DeKok heartily. “What a surprise.” He led the visitor to his desk and pulled out a chair. “Please, have a seat.”

  With a theatrical gesture, Waardenburg swept his cape over one shoulder and took a seat.

  “Curiosity compelled me to come,” said the musician. “I have not read anything further in the newspapers. Do you have the perpetrator in your sights?”

  DeKok shook his head, a sad look on his face.

  “The investigation is not progressing as I had hoped,” he admitted. “But we’re by no means defeated.”

  “Do you have an inkling … a prime suspect?”

  DeKok again shook his head, this time with a wan smile.

  “Hardly. In fact I’m at a dead end unlike any in my career, especially considering the amount of time we have worked on this.”

  Alex Waardenburg stared at the inspector for a moment with a sympathetic, but searching expression on his face.

  “You look tired.” It sounded concerned. “You need some amusement, some relaxation.” He felt in an inner pocket. “I want to invite you and your colleague to a concert.” He handed over two tickets. “My son, Kiliaan, will be performing some of his own piano compositions, accompanied by the Municipal Symphony Orchestra.”

  “Where?”

  “Here in Amsterdam, of course. In the Concert Gebouw, one of the few concert halls with perfect acoustics. Kiliaan received a number of offers through our impresario. We rejected them—they were for smaller venues. Only after the Concert Gebouw became available, did we accept. We’re thrilled to have the opportunity.”

  DeKok did not react at once. He studied the round, fleshy face, the red, veined cheeks, the dark moustache.”

  “Who,” he asked softly, “is your impresario?”

  Waardenburg seemed to be surprised by the question, but he answered readily.

  “He’s actually my son’s impresario, of course. I’m a member of the orchestra. But it is Haarveld … Willy Haarveld.”

  18

  Vledder shook his head as he looked at the two tickets Waardenburg had left behind.

  “The longer I live the less I understand about people,” he sighed. “Alex Waardenburg and his son know Willy Haarveld has a sleazy reputation. The man is a swindler … and, yet, he’s representing them as their agent.” He paused, studied the tickets. “Did you know anything about a connection between Haarveld and the Waardenburgs?”

  “No.”

  Vledder shivered visibly.

  “Everybody knows everybody and everything seems to mesh. It’s a small, suffocating mud puddle in which we have landed.” He looked directly at DeKok. “You
think maybe that the Waardenburgs are part of Haarveld’s distribution system?”

  “Not the drugs again.”

  “Sure,” said Vledder. “Why not? Waardenburg has a bunch of rich kids whose mommies and daddies pay him to develop their talent—they’d be like low-hanging fruit for a dealer.”

  DeKok picked up the tickets and studied them.

  “Not much time,” he said pensively. “It’s scheduled for next week.”

  “The concert?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you plan to go?”

  DeKok pulled on his lower lip and let it plop back. He did that several times. Vledder became restless.

  “Come on,” urged the young man.

  “Alex Waardenburg,” said DeKok slowly, “wasn’t all that curious. He’s perfectly aware we’re stuck. He may not know what we have, but he knows it isn’t enough” DeKok tapped the tickets with his fingers. “He isn’t all that generous, either, giving two tireless public servants a chance for much-needed recreation. He has his own agenda.”

  “Probably, but what is it?”

  Before DeKok could answer, Commissaris Buitendam entered the detective room. His appearance caused all conversation to stop. All eyes followed him as he made his way to DeKok’s desk. DeKok stood up as the commissaris approached. Buitendam threw a note on DeKok’s desk.

  “I just got off the telephone with Mr. Van Mechelen. He agrees to your proposal. You may interrogate Ramon Bavel. His attorney expects you at that address—three o’clock sharp.”

  DeKok picked up the note.

  “Winterswijk,” he read out loud. “That’s practically on the German border.

  Commissaris Buitendam nodded.

  “Mr. Van Mechelen has everything arranged. At three o’clock Ramon will also be in that neighborhood.” He pointed at the note. “That’s not the place for the interrogation. You will only meet the lawyer there. He will lead you the rest of the way.” The commissaris gave DeKok a long look. “Therefore it will not be necessary to alert the local police.”

  DeKok grimaced.

  “That Van Mechelen … he thinks of everything.”

  Because one of the lawyer’s conditions had been for DeKok to go alone, he went by train. He took the InterCity to Apeldoorn, transferring to a local connector that eventually deposited him in Winterswijk.

  He asked the way to the modern Town Hall and in front of the monument to those fallen in WWII he found Mr. Van Mechelen. DeKok approached and shook hands.

  “Where’s Ramon?”

  The lawyer smiled.

  “You’ll have to be patient a little longer.”

  Carefully checking whether or not they were being tailed, the lawyer led DeKok to a small side street. A long, black, chauffeured limousine was waiting. Van Mechelen directed DeKok to the back seat. The heavy-set lawyer followed and the car immediately started moving.

  Suddenly DeKok discovered that the windows in the back of the limo were blacked out. He gave the lawyer a mocking look.

  “Isn’t this a bit melodramatic? It’s like an old-fashioned ride you read about in gangster novels. Or is this a kidnapping?”

  Van Mechelen shook his head.

  “Everything I do,” he said pedantically, “is for the protection of my client. I will bring you in a round-a-bout away to an open place in the woods. You’ll never know whether you’re in Holland, or in Germany.” There was a self-satisfied grin on his face. “You see,” he continued smugly, “you’ll never be sure, as required by law, whether you are bound by the protocols prescribed for interrogation by Holland or by Germany. You have no search warrant in Germany, nor can you make an arrest in that country.”

  “We agreed I would meet Ramon on Dutch soil.”

  “You’ll have to guess whether I’m keeping my word.”

  DeKok gazed at the conceited expression on the lawyer’s face and decided to let it rest. He nodded to himself and remained silent for the rest of the trip.

  After about half an hour the car stopped. Van Mechelen asked DeKok to get out. They found themselves on a wide sand path, surrounded by old forest. DeKok looked for any signs of his exact whereabouts, but found none.

  The corpulent lawyer puffed toward a side road, no more than a narrow footpath. They reached an open spot in the woods. It was a picnic area. A few tables were scattered about and a large trashcan was chained to a post in the center. A young man was seated at one of the tables. As DeKok approached he recognized a similarity between the young man’s face and that of the elder Bavel.

  The young man rose and gave a formal bow.

  “Inspector DeKok,” he greeted.

  “With a kay-oh-kay,” reacted DeKok almost automatically. “I made a long, clandestine, journey to meet you,” he added calmly.

  The young man smiled.

  “The arrangements are those of Mr. Van Mechelen. He’s always very discreet.”

  They took a seat at the table across from each other. DeKok studied Ramon’s face. He looked exactly like his father, just younger and dressed in running attire. Ramon nervously fumbled with his jacket zipper.

  “I’m innocent.”

  He sounded passionate.

  “Then, why did you run away?”

  Ramon hesitated.

  “You won’t like the answer,” he replied. “Frankly I have little faith in the Dutch justice system and even less faith in the law, as it is practiced in Amsterdam. I’ve studied law for a few years and I know what I’m talking about.” He paused, looking for the right words. “Long ago we had class justice. Notable or wealthy people were handled in a different, milder way. The full weight of the law would only be applied to the poor, people who were powerless in the society. Not any more. Now we have what people like you call classless justice, but with an important difference. Sociopaths—criminals, drug addicts—have nothing to fear from Lady Justitia. In that scenario I could rely on her compassion, even mildness.” For the first time he looked DeKok full in the face. “But,” he went on, “I’m no sociopath. I have no criminal record … I’m not substance addicted. Oh, but I have one severe handicap, a wealthy, prominent father. The full weight of the law will fall on me at the slightest provocation. The media will pick up on even the smallest misdemeanor. That’s why I fled when Kiliaan Waardenburg told me that you suspect me.”

  DeKok made a resigned gesture. He had heard the argument before—it was so tiresome. It was not true, but he was not here to debate Ramon Bavel’s skewed opinion of Dutch jurisprudence.

  “You’re entitled to your opinion of the law,” he said. “Just one thing—how would a poor youth manage to withdraw in luxurious exile? Where would he find an anxious parent with deep pockets? How would he come by a well-heeled lawyer, complete with chauffeured limousine?”

  Ramon shrugged his shoulders.

  “I told you that you wouldn’t like my answer … but it is the motivation behind my flight, as an innocent person.” He paused and then gave DeKok a pensive look. “You can’t really suspect me of the stranglings?”

  DeKok looked at the trees and listened to the birds. He looked back at Ramon. There was intelligence there, he thought, warped intelligence, maybe. But Ramon obviously possessed a strong character.

  “Your behavior after the deaths of your brothers, Erik and Ricky, didn’t reveal much sensitivity.”

  Ramon smiled sadly.

  “That depends on who you ask. You’ve obviously been influenced by their mother.”

  “Their mother?”

  DeKok was annoyed. He had not taken that into account.

  “Sure. My own mother died before I was two. She died in a traffic accident. Father re-married—Erik and Ricky are my half-brothers. Whatever you heard from my stepmother the boys started taking drugs, all on their own. Both became addicts, all on their own. When I confronted them for their lack of will power, they challenged me to a test. For a while I would use the same amount of drugs as they did. It was childish and dangerous, but it would prove me strong enough to tak
e the heroin or leave it. They were furious because I passed the test with flying colors. Whether out of revenge or to manipulate their mother, Erik and Ricky turned it around. Suddenly I was the one who challenged them to a test, getting them addicted. It was a filthy lie, but their mother believed it and perpetuated it. The so-called party after Ricky’s death is just one more fairy tale.”

  DeKok was at a loss.

  “But why?” he demanded.

  Ramon sighed.

  “There was no love lost—what child wouldn’t resist accepting a new mother. She saw me as a threat to her and her relationship with my father. The woman has her own demons. She blamed herself for Ricky’s death … and with reason.”

  “How is that?”

  The young man nervously bit his lower lip and gave his lawyer a helpless look. The lawyer was seated at the same table but had not entered the conversation. Now he spoke for the first time.

  “Mrs. Bavel,” said Van Mechelen brusquely, “is a long time addict. She supplied Erik and Ricky early in their drug use.”

  DeKok rubbed his face with a flat hand. Then he shook his head.

  “She was an addict herself?”

  The lawyer nodded gravely.

  “It was the reason Mr. Bavel distanced himself from her and her sons.”

  DeKok returned to the young man.

  “Where did she get her drugs?”

  “I don’t know exactly … Laren, I think.”

  When DeKok returned late in the evening to the Warmoes Street Station, he was surprised to find Vledder still working. The young inspector was busy on his computer. Vledder pushed the keyboard away. With a smile he looked at his old partner.

  “I knew you’d stop by here before going home. How did it go? Did you arrest Ramon?”

  DeKok shook his weary head.

  “Mr. Van Mechelen played a nice little trick on me.”

  “On you?”

  “Yes,” DeKok told Vledder how he had been tricked.

  “So,” concluded Vledder, “although the agreement was to have the meeting in Holland, you could not be sure?”

  “That’s right. I could not know if I was on firm legal ground, or not. Van Mechelen made sure I knew that as well. So, there was no way for me to possibly exceed my authority in front of three witnesses.”