DeKok and the Dead Lovers (Inspector DeKok Investigates)

by A. C. Baantjer

  Marius grinned.

  "You people have a habit of searching my place from time to time. It wouldn't be cool for me to have a cop's handcuffs in my possession."

  DeKok took another long look at Marius Graaf. He realized why the face was familiar. Apparently Graaf kept the attention of a number of his fellow inspectors. Personally he had never had any contact with him.

  "Does it seem odd to you for your sister to chain a man to her radiator?"

  "What's so odd? You can expect anything from a woman.

  "From Antoinette, too?"

  Graaf gestured vehemently.

  "How should I know," he said emotionally. "Perhaps she was in love with him and didn't want him to get away." He looked at the inspector. "That's possible, isn't it?"

  DeKok nodded.

  "Maybe so," he agreed evenly.

  Marius Graaf leaned down to pick up his helmet and stood up.

  "I just wanted to know if you're keeping her. Maybe I can arrange something for her, you know, a lawyer."

  DeKok shook his head.

  "We're not keeping her."

  "So she has nothing to do with the murder?"

  DeKok looked up.

  "Who said anything about a murder?"

  Marius grinned, a bit embarrassed.

  "Somebody shot the guy through the head."

  "Who says so?"

  Marius hesitated.

  He swallowed hard.

  "The, eh, the neighbor. Can I take her? I mean, may I take Toni with me?"

  DeKok rubbed the corners of his eyes. It was a tired gesture.

  "Tomorrow. We must first consult the judgeadvocate."

  As Marius Graaf walked out of the detective room, DeKok looked at him with mixed feelings. It was the second trying, unsatisfactory interrogation of the evening. He turned to Vledder, who had been making copious notes on his computer during the conversation.

  "Take her to a cell and make sure she gets a good bed."

  The phone on lleKok's desk rang.

  Vledder reached over and lifted the receiver. He listened without a word and then replaced it.

  DeKok looked a question. Vledder did not look at him, but made some notes.

  "What's going on?" urged DeKok.

  "Lijnbaansgracht Station. Manfred Nettelhorst has just reported a crime."

  "What sort of cringe?"

  "Robbery. Last night a masked man broke into Arti et Amicitiae and escaped with a silver ewer."

  DeKok closed his eyes briefly.

  "The Paulus van Vianen?"

  Vledder nodded.

  "Estimated value, a million and a half."

  5

  It was well past nine o'clock the next morning when DeKok descended from the streetcar on Central Station Square. Surrounded by crowds of rushed commuters from the railroad station, he ambled past the Victoria Hotel toward the wide sidewalks of the Damrak at a leisurely pace. Although some hasty people actually bumped him, he made no attempt to increase his speed. He was facing a full day of grim responsibility. Why hurry?

  To the right, in a sunny shop window, a tall man with a long, flowing beard, a bishop's miter on his head, and a long, flowing red robe shifted his gold shepherd's crook from one hand to the other. DeKok smiled to himself as he thought about St. Nicholas and Father Christmas, two greybeards who brought happiness and light in the dark days of winter.

  The Dutch do not exchange presents on Christmas Day. Instead, they celebrate the Feast of St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children. On the evening of December 4, excited children all over the Netherlands fill wooden or everyday shoes with cookies and carrots, placing them on the family hearth. St. Nicholas rides across the rooftops on a white stallion and leaves presents in the shoes. He and his steed eat the treats the children have left for them. Later, St. Nicholas leaves a basket or bag on the doorstep of each household. The basket contains presents for everybody in the family.

  Christmas in the Netherlands is a religious holiday. On Christmas Eve, most people go to midnight church services, followed by Christmas breakfast. On Christmas Day, families get together for a traditional meal. The day after Christmas is devoted to visiting. Families visit elder relatives and extended family members to exchange small gifts.

  DeKok crossed the I)amrak and entered Old Bridge Alley, savoring his nostalgia. He turned the corner onto Warmoes Street. Softly whistling a Christmas carol, he entered the station house. He greeted the watch commander and climbed the stairs to the next floor. He entered the detective room and yelled a cheery "Good morning" to the room at large.

  Vledder was already behind his desk, plugging away at his computer. DeKok hung up his coat and hat, and strode toward Vledder's desk.

  "You look busy," he remarked.

  Vledder took his hands off the keyboard and looked up.

  "I've no choice," he said somberly. "The commissaris was waiting for me this morning. He looked like he had been up all night. He had a sour face to match his mood. He found our report about the murder too brief and growled about our leaving Arti et Amicitiae `prematurely.' He also let me know we are not justified in setting Antoinette free."

  DeKok looked surprised.

  "Why not?"

  Vledder pushed away the keyboard.

  "He believes she's an accomplice."

  DeKok grinned.

  "How does he figure that?"

  Vledder shrugged.

  "She facilitated the murder by chaining Robert to the radiator. She set up an execution."

  "What?"

  Vledder made a helpless gesture.

  "Yes, according to the commissaris, she set him up. Antoinette arranged to render the victim helpless and defenseless for the murderer she knew would come."

  Flabbergasted, DeKok shook his head.

  "What complete nonsense. Besides sheer speculation, what's the basis for his theory? The nian is cracked."

  Vledder scratched an ear.

  "You better tell him yourself. I'd just as soon not talk to him anymore today. His eyes burned through me until I felt reduced to ash."

  DeKok sank down in the chair behind his desk. He felt a rage building up within him. He knew he had to be careful. Like most Dutchmen, he was usually placid. He could, however, be provoked into a berserker rage. If he were to confront the commissaris in his present state of mind, he would lose control. DeKok knew very well the root of Commissaris Buitendam's anger. The commissaris took the robbery at Arti et Amicitiae as a personal affront. He had promised Nettelhorst there would be adequate protection. It reflected on his ability to keep his word.

  DeKok stood up. He regained his equilibrium and felt able to confront Buitendam. With a renewed twinkle in his eyes, he turned to Vledder and stretched his back.

  "Keeping your sound advice always in mind," he said, "I can now confront Commissaris Buitendam in a mild manner. I will tell myself the commissaris must be indulged. . .Abundant dulcibus vitiis."

  Vledder looked suspicious.

  "What does that mean?"

  DeKok grinned.

  "He's rich in friendly failings."

  With a smile on his face, DeKok turned and walked toward the door in his typical waddling gait.

  Commissaris Buitendam looked displeased when he saw DeKok. With a slender hand he motioned toward a squat man seated on a chair next to his desk.

  "Inspector DeKok," he said severely, "allow me to present my friend, Mr. Manfred Nettelhorst."

  The grey sleuth bowed stiffly. He was not pleased with Nettelhorst's presence in the office. It robbed him of the chance to openly discuss Antoinette Graaf's release.

  "I, ahem, I was able to observe Mr. Nettelhorst last night," he began carefully. "It was at Arti et Ainicitiae during a short, I may say, explosive speech aimed at a confused elderly lady."

  The commissaris glanced at Nettelhorst, then at DeKok, and back again.

  "You gentlemen have already met?" His voice seemed unsure.

  Nettelhorst nodded slowly.

  "I saw Insp
ector DeKok last night," he said in a condescending tone. "He was accompanied by a young man, perhaps a colleague. Much to my surprise, the inspector seemed captivated by my Monet."

  The commissaris coughed discreetly to regain their attention. He addressed DeKok.

  "I've tried to explain to Mr. Nettelhorst why you and Vledder abandoned the surveillance of his collection. I refer to the report of a murder on Beuning Street of a young man we have not yet identified."

  DeKok raised his chin.

  "Perhaps Vledder and I would have left, even without the report of the murder."

  Commissaris Buitendam seemed confused. For a few seconds he literally gaped at DeKok.

  "I don't understand what you are telling us."

  DeKok gestured in the direction of Nettelhorst.

  "We witnessed this gentleman raging at a fragile old lady in a denigrating manner. She only wanted to see one of the objects at a closer range. His invective inspired a strong desire to leave."

  Nettelhorst's face became deep red.

  "You saw for yourself," he yelled, uncontrolled. "You were there. That repulsive harpy took a precious antique off its pedestal."

  DeKok shrugged.

  " ~„ So.

  Nettelhorst shook with anger.

  "So?" he repeated enraged. "So she touched it with her filthy hands. An art exhibit is no flea market!"

  DeKok smiled.

  "I remember you making the same observations yesterday."

  Nettelhorst gesticulated wildly.

  "She had to keep her hands off. That's all. What's been in somebody else's hands, I no longer want." He swallowed. "It is contaminated-"

  "No longer unblemished," completed DeKok.

  Nettelhorst balled his fists until the knuckles showed white.

  "Who do you think you are? You...you," he stammered, "don't understand anything."

  DeKok nodded resignedly.

  "I must honestly tell you," he said with mock amiability, "it is extremely difficult to put myself in your place. Perhaps my understanding of the thought processes of, eh, a dedicated gatherer of unblemished beauty is limited." He smiled winningly. "Therefore I will not use your conduct of last night as an excuse for having left. Now that I think about it, the murder seems a more acceptable excuse."

  Nettelhorst raised both arms in the air.

  "No. You should have stayed. You left the job, the assignment you received from your superiors. We can certainly assume your presence and that of your colleague would have prevented the robbery."

  DeKok snorted. His antipathy toward the man grew.

  "In my opinion, the value of a human life far exceeds the value of an art collection, no matter how beautiful or impressive.

  Nettelhorst became more and more agitated. He came half out of the chair and yelled.

  "Human life?" he roared with contempt in his voice. "In comparison to a work of art, what is one human life? Nothing, absolutely nothing!"

  His voice became more conciliatory.

  "In a moment of divine inspiration, an artist creates a masterwork. Perhaps he creates only one in his lifetime. A true masterwork is the apex of an artist's achievement forever captured in a medium. Perhaps it is in stone or metal. Or it may be immortalized on a panel or canvas. It defies the ages." He grimaced, became more strident. "How many billions of people have lived and died through the ages? What do they leave? Bones and offal, barely distinguishable from animal waste?"

  The grey sleuth looked at the squat man as if he were viewing a particularly repulsive insect. In his mind's eye, Nettelhorst's face was satanic.

  "I don't think it serves any purpose to continue this discussion. It would compel me to say something unpleasant." DeKok turned away from the man and addressed the commissaris. "May I have a moment regarding Antoinette Graff's release?"

  "Certainly."

  "From Vledder I understand that you suspect her of complicity."

  "I do, yes."

  DeKok smiled.

  "I would not like to go that far. I think the term accomplice is bit far-fetched. We have nothing to indicate a relationship between her and the perpetrator."

  "You can also not prove that the relationship does not exist, particularly without the identity of the victim. Therefore I will advise the judge-advocate to keep her in custody for the time being."

  "Let me make sure I understand. You want to keep her in custody not because you have reasonable suspicion of her guilt, but because you do not have proof of her innocence?"

  "Yes."

  "But she does not have to prove her innocence. We have to prove her guilt. By that reasoning we might as well lock up the entire population of Amsterdam. I'm sure the majority will be innocent, but they probably can't prove it, not according to this twisted reasoning."

  "DeKok, my decision stands."

  Nettelhorst laughed.

  "Instead of worrying about an ordinary murder, you'd be well advised to use your time and energy to recover my valuable object."

  That remark nearly drove DeKok over the edge of his carefully husbanded equanimity. He looked at Nettelhorst with contempt and then turned back to the commissaris.

  "I hope," he said hoarsely, "in the future you'll be more careful in your choice of friends."

  It took a while, several long seconds. All the color drained from Buitendam's face. He rose behind his desk. With a gesture of barely controlled outrage, he pointed at the door.

  "OUT!"

  DeKok left.

  6

  When DeKok reentered the large detective room, his face was grim. Vledder watched him carefully as he walked toward his desk and sat down behind it.

  "More of the same?" asked Vledder, concerned.

  DeKok nodded.

  "The greasy art collector, Nettelhorst, was with him. He squatted on a chair and blamed the robbery on us for leaving prematurely. We left his precious collection exposed to the thief He holds us more or less responsible."

  Vledder looked surprised.

  "But there was a murder!"

  DeKok grinned.

  "A human life means nothing to Manfred Nettelhorst. Art is much more important. After he finished his tirade on the insignificance of human evolution, I told Buitendam he should be more careful in his choice of friends. Then he sent me packing."

  Vledder laughed.

  "A predictable reaction, don't you agree?"

  DeKok leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

  "But it does create problems," he said with a sigh. "I told Marius we would not keep his sister in custody. But without Buitendam's permission, I can't release her."

  "What did he say about that?"

  "He kept insisting she's an accomplice. He said he would advise the judge-advocate accordingly. Nothing I said swayed him." He took a deep breath. "As long as we don't know the identity of the victim, we cannot release her."

  Vledder seemed shocked.

  "And how long can that take?"

  "A long time, I'm afraid. I doubt Robert's fingerprints are in our files. Otherwise Ben Kruger would have called us by now."

  "So what do we do?"

  "I'm not all that certain just yet. As you know, we can hold her for twenty-four hours without charging her. The judge-advocate can extend that another seventy-two hours. If the cominissaris brings charges, she may remain in custody until trial. It's a mess." He sighed again. "What time is the autopsy?"

  Vledder consulted his wristwatch. "In about an hour."

  "I don't have to tell you, but be sure to check the clothes for labels and laundry tags. You never know." He sat up straight. "Also, stop by Lijnbaansgracht and ask for the details of the art robbery, the thief's methods. Find out whether they have made any progress with the investigation."

  Vledder nodded agreement.

  "What are you going to do?"

  DeKok leaned both elbows on the desk and rested his head in his cupped hands.

  "I think," he said pensively, "I'll have another little chat with Antoinette. Perha
ps I can scare her."

  "With what?"

  "Accomplice to murder."

  "Complicity?" Antoinette Graaf looked at DeKok with incomprehension. "What's that?"

  The grey sleuth looked somber.

  "Our commissaris thinks you knew the murderer was coming to kill Robert. He believes you cuffed Robert to the radiator in order to render him helpless."

  The young woman swallowed.

  "That's not true," she said, shaking her head. "It's nonsense. I would never let anybody be murdered. How..." she stammered, "how can anybody imagine this sort of thing?"

  DeKok rubbed the back of his head.

  "I told the commissaris I didn't believe in your complicity." He rubbed his eyes. "My opinion means nothing, however. Without permission I do not have the authority to release you. I'll have to convince him that you're innocent." He looked at her with a question in his eyes. "Because you are, aren't you?"

  Her eyes filled with tears. DeKok took a clean handkerchief from one of his pockets and handed it to her. While she dried her tears, he leaned a little closer.

  "You are innocent, aren't you?" he insisted.

  Antoinette sighed deeply.

  "I didn't want Robert dead. Surely you understand. Everything I did was to protect him."

  "You loved hint?"

  "Yes."

  "How much?"

  She snorted contemptuously.

  "Loving is not a matter of how much or how little. . .it's all or nothing."

  "And it was all?"

  "Exactly."

  "Who was Robert?"

  A defiant look came over her.

  "Robert was Robert. That's all I know."

  DeKok breathed deeply.

  "And Therese?" he asked tiredly. "What do you know about Therese?"

  She gave him back his handkerchief. Her eyes were bright again.

  "Only what Robert told me about her."

  "And what was that?"

  "He told me only that he had fled from her."

  DeKok stared at her.

  "Fled?" he asked.

  Antoinette nodded.

  "He said he became afraid."

  "Of her?"

  Antoinette reacted nervously.

  "Of her or because of her," she said, irked. "Robert didn't seem to know. Once he got to know her, strange things happened. In Central Station he was nearly pushed under an oncoming train. In other incidents an unknown person or persons shot at him in the street."