“Oh, yes. Nanette Bogaard. Here it is.” He waved a copy of the APB in the air. “What’s the situation? Are you making progress?”
“It is rather a confusing story. I honestly have to confess that I don’t understand it at all. The how and the why of her disappearance is still a complete mystery.”
“Clues?”
Shyly embarrassed, DeKok scratched the back of his neck.
“Too many, far too many. That’s the difficulty. The further I get, the more I have the feeling I’m being led astray, or at least I am getting further away from the solution. It may sound contradictory, but that’s the case.”
The commissaris nodded his understanding.
“What about a release to the press, the radio or even TV?”
DeKok waved away the suggestion.
“No, I’d rather not, at least not yet. You know how it goes. One such release breaks all floodgates. We’ll be following up on a veritable avalanche of tips, most if not all false or misleading. One person saw her in the north, another in the south, some saw her in Paris, or Lord knows where. There is no end to it. Only if I’ve really reached a dead end, if there’s no progress to be made any other way, then and only then should we consider that approach.”
Slowly Buitendam nodded agreement.
“Have you any idea where she could be?”
“Not the slightest.”
“How much longer do you think you’ll need to find her? I mean, if the judge advocate asks me…”
DeKok shrugged.
“If she’s still alive.”
The commissaris gave him a searching look.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I’m saying. If she’s still alive. I cannot rule out the possibility that Nanette Bogaard is no more. I’m almost certain she has been murdered.”
“Murdered?”
DeKok rubbed his face with both hands. It was a profoundly weary gesture.
“Yes, murdered. It’s really the only reasonable explanation for her sudden disappearance.”
Thoughtfully the commissaris looked at his subordinate.
“Murder,” he said finally, “requires a motive.”
DeKok nodded.
“A motive and a body. But as long as we haven’t found Nanette Bogaard, dead or alive, we can’t be positive. For the time being it seems best to continue to follow all clues, expand the investigation. We’ll find out soon enough where it will lead us.”
“All right, keep me informed.”
“But of course.”
Both stood up and walked toward the door.
“Was, eh, is Nanette a good-looking girl?”
DeKok made an awkward gesture.
“Yes, according to our modern ideal, she’s beautiful. Rubens would not exactly have laid awake nights over her.”
The telephone rang. Smiling, the commissaris turned, picked it up, and listened.
“It’s for you.”
DeKok accepted the receiver and recognized the voice of the antiques dealer, Grevelen. There was an excited voice in the background. He was talking, trying to calm someone.
“Hello?”
“Inspector DeKok?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. DeKok, I request you come here immediately. At once! I’m in the shop on Mirror’s Canal.”
“Why at once? What’s the matter?”
Grevelen swallowed hard.
“There’s a man here who demands the painting.”
“What?”
“Yes, he claims that the painting is his property. Somebody must have stolen it from his house a few days ago, complete with frame and all.”
DeKok thought quickly.
“Don’t let him go. Keep him there.”
DeKok threw the receiver down and ran from the office. The commissaris looked after him, astonished. DeKok waved goodbye.
In the corridor nearing the stairs he started to call for Vledder.
“Vledder, Vledder, Vledder!”
His deep bass voice echoed through the building.
The old antiques dealer was waiting on the stoop in front of his shop, wringing his hands. Small red spots of excitement colored his lean, hollow cheeks.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, relieved. “The man is furious.” He laughed nervously. “He wanted to take the painting with him. Just like that. He cursed like all the devils from hell when I told him he had to wait for you.”
“Where is he?”
“Still inside. I kept him for you. One of my staff is guarding the door.”
DeKok nodded approvingly.
“Excellent, very excellent. We’ll see what he has to say for himself.”
Followed by Vledder and the scared antiquarian, DeKok entered the shop. The old sleuth appeared big, broad, and imposing. Fleetingly Vledder thought about the proverbial bull in the china shop.
An older man was standing toward the back of the shop. Next to him was an alert young man in the traditional grey coat of a warehouse worker. DeKok took another look at the older man. A well-preserved fifty or so, he estimated. His face was tan, his hair grey at the temples. The man was elegantly dressed, perhaps a little too youthfully, in a light blue suit of a particular modern cut with an excess of trim. He wore a small white rose as a boutonniere.
“This is an outrage—ridiculous!”
DeKok halted in front of the man. He stood in a particularly insolent manner: legs apart, shoulders square, head slightly cocked. A faint smile appeared on his face, almost mockingly.
“My name is DeKok. That’s DeKok with, eh, a kay-oh-kay. This is my colleague, Vledder. I think you have already had the pleasure of Mr. Grevelen’s acquaintance?”
The man murmured something that could be taken as a greeting. Then he pointed toward the wall.
“My painting,” he blurted out excitedly. “Stolen!”
DeKok ignored the remark. Somewhat surprised, he looked at the man.
“I do not believe,” he said with sweet sarcasm, “I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
The man sighed.
“Staaten. Stockbroker.”
DeKok made him the recipient of his sunniest smile.
“My pleasure, Mr. Staaten. So you’re the man who claims that the painting over there is your property?”
“Indeed, yes. It is my property, stolen from my house.”
“Stolen?”
“Yes.”
“And have you reported the theft?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Simply because I had not yet discovered the theft. You see, the painting was in my house on Emperor’s Canal. Due to certain circumstances, I have not been there for the last few days.”
DeKok nodded understandingly.
“Burglary?”
“No, no burglary. Only the painting was gone. When I came home late last night, I immediately noticed the empty spot in my living room. I missed it at once. I am very attached to the painting.”
DeKok looked up past the antique pistols and rested his gaze on the painting.
“It is exceptionally beautiful,” he said. Then, after a short pause, he continued, “How did you know so quickly the painting was here in this shop?”
Staaten hesitated momentarily.
“Somebody called me,” he said finally.
“Who?”
“That, eh, that I don’t know.”
DeKok looked at him with sharpened interest.
“Strange, don’t you think?”
The man shrugged his shoulders.
“I didn’t really give it much thought. No, it didn’t sound so strange. Shortly after I discovered the disappearance of the painting, a man phoned. He wanted to know if I had sold my Nanette.”
“Your ‘Nanette’?”
“The girl who modeled for the painting; her name is Nanette.”
DeKok rubbed his flat hand over his face. He felt instinctively he should not keep asking questions much longer. The environmen
t, the place, it was not conducive to a proper interrogation. He thought it especially ill-advised to elicit any confession from the broker in the presence of the dealer and his assistant.
“You understand, Mr. Staaten,” he continued with a winning smile, “we cannot hand the painting over to you just like that. That’s simply impossible. First, at the very least, we’ll have to investigate this rather mysterious theft.”
The detective turned to the antiques dealer.
“I assume, sir, you bought the painting in the normal legal manner, with the purchase registered in your books?”
Grevelen looked strangely at DeKok and then nodded.
“Oh, of course. Certainly,” he said with emphasis. “My records contain the name of the seller, including the number of the passport he used as identification. I bought the painting myself.”
“May I see the register for a moment, please?”
“But of course, I’ll fetch it at once.”
The old man walked toward the back of the store to his office and returned within seconds with a large book. He handed it to DeKok with a meaningful glance in his eyes.
“Please look on page seventeen,” he said.
DeKok opened the book and turned pages. It was an exceptionally neat record. He had seen few like it. The purchases and sales were all noted, dated, and recorded in a minuscule but legible handwriting. The dealer seemed to be very detail oriented.
DeKok ran his finger along the entries on page seventeen. Almost at the bottom of the page he found it: Painting, measuring 40 x 32 inches in gilded frame with scrollwork and arabesques, female figure, nude, on red brocade sofa, purchased from—
Surprised, DeKok looked up.
“Who,” he asked the sharp-dressed gentleman, “is Ronald Staaten?”
The broker’s mouth fell open.
“Ronald Staaten?” he asked.
DeKok nodded.
With the back of his hand the broker wiped along his dry lips, looking suspiciously at DeKok. Finally he said, “Ronald is my son.”
10
DeKok leaned both elbows on his desk. He looked at the stockbroker, his head resting on folded hands. He noticed a worried look on the tanned face.
“Please don’t consider this a formal arrest, Mr. Staaten. On the contrary, I have merely asked you to the station in order to help the department with its inquiries. I want to know a little more about you and the painting. Also, you have to admit, the strange behavior of your son in regard to you and the painting requires a certain amount of explanation.”
Staaten nodded slowly.
“I understand. However I don’t think that I’m the one to give you much clarification.”
DeKok gave him a winning smile.
“At least we can try. Together we’ll see how far we can get. That is, if you’re prepared to cooperate.”
“Cooperate? To what end?”
“Well we can reasonably assume your son, Ronald, is responsible for the theft of the painting from your house on Emperor’s Canal. The proof for this, you’ll agree, is virtually incontrovertible. There are no signs of breaking and entering. The antiques dealer recorded the details of the sale. It is all rather straightforward. We could also assume you are not prepared to file a formal complaint against your son for the theft. You’re not prepared to request formal prosecution, are you?”
Staaten shook his head vehemently.
“I should say not! That would be out of the question. Ronald is my only child. After the death of my dear wife, he’s all I have left.”
DeKok nodded his understanding.
“Exactly. As far as that is concerned, there is nothing for you to worry about, at least from me. If you don’t file a complaint, we can’t touch your son. Officially no crime has then been committed. Nevertheless I’m very interested in the motive. I assume that you, Ronald’s father, are as intrigued as I am. Why would your son steal the painting and then sell it to an antiques dealer? Was he experiencing financial difficulty?”
The broker shrugged his shoulders.
“Ronald enjoys a generous allowance. And if he does need something extra, he has only to ask. I’ve never refused him anything.”
“An enviable position for a son,” smiled DeKok.
Staaten attempted a weary smile.
“I can afford it.”
The grey sleuth pushed his chair back a little and stretched his legs. He would have loved to place them on the desk, as he sometimes did. But in the presence of a third person he resisted the urge.
“You like paintings?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m a collector and a connoisseur,” nodded Staaten. “I own,” he continued, “a considerable collection.”
“Most are at Emperor’s Canal?”
“Yes, it is my primary residence.”
DeKok pushed his chair forward again. He leaned toward the broker. His sharp gaze was alert to every reaction.
“Why do you think Ronald would take that particular painting?”
Staaten stretched his neck and placed two fingers inside his collar, as if trying to get some extra air.
“That, eh, that I don’t know.”
DeKok stared at him searchingly.
“Really, Mr. Staaten,” he said gently, “you really don’t know why Ronald selected just Nanette of all your paintings?”
Staaten placed a hand in front of his eyes and rubbed their corners with a thumb and index finger.
“You’re forcing me to say something I’d rather not.”
DeKok shook his head.
“I am not forcing you to do anything. You’re just afraid to face the truth. That’s all. Your son picked the exact painting you valued most, am I right?”
The stockbroker sighed.
“You’re absolutely right,” he said finally, almost toneless and expressionless. “Ronald wanted to hurt me, punish me.”
He paused, lost in thought.
“He’s not a bad boy, Mr. DeKok, not at all. He’s rather sentimental, sensitive like his mother. He was very much attached to her. They had such a strong bond, you understand. He was always more her son than mine. I didn’t mind so much, although I would have liked to see him a bit more independent, more manly.” Again he paused, then continued, “After my wife’s death I feared Ronald would grow further and further away from me. Fortunately that did not happen. On the contrary, over the years we grew very close. We had a bond, too, based on mutual friendship and respect. We had almost an ideal father-son relationship. I could not have asked for more.”
He sighed again, a weary sigh.
“But recently there have been some difficulties.”
“Recently?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Staaten did not answer.
DeKok rose slowly and came from behind his desk. He felt a certain pity for this man in his designer blue suit, a playful rose in the buttonhole.
“Why,” he pressed, “were there difficulties between you and your son?”
Staaten bent his head.
“I, eh, I was planning to marry again,” he whispered.
“Remarry?”
“Yes.”
“And Ronald was against it? He disapproved?”
The man responded violently. With an abrupt movement he turned and looked DeKok full in the face. His cheeks turned red and his eyes spat fire.
“It’s not up to Ronald to approve or disapprove,” he said sharply. “I’m a free man! He’s neither my guardian nor my conscience. I’m my own boss and fully competent to evaluate the consequences of my own actions. I’m not exactly senile!”
His tone changed.
“Listen, Mr. DeKok,” he continued, calmer, “I have very dear and fond memories of my wife, but she’s dead. The dead cannot consume the lives of the living. I’m fifty-five years old, healthy and virile. At least I am virile enough to be able to count on a number of happy years with Nanette.”
DeKok arched his eyebrows in his own inimitable manner.
&
nbsp; “Nanette…Nanette Bogaard?”
“Yes.”
“The girl who modeled for the nude?”
“Indeed.” Staaten moved restlessly in his chair.
“Do you know her?”
DeKok wiped his hand over his mouth.
“That’s difficult to say,” he said hesitantly. “I’ve never met her in person.”
“I don’t understand,” said the broker, looking intently at the detective.
DeKok did not answer at once. He paced up and down the detective room for a while and thought about his answer. It was difficult to come up with the correct phrasing.
DeKok halted in front of the window. He assessed the man from a distance, a cool evaluation. In his own way Staaten was a handsome man, he thought. Certainly the type who would be attractive to a young girl. Nanette and the charming, debonair stockbroker probably met in Ye Three Roses while he was replenishing his boutonniere. It was on his way—the stock exchange is near the shop. One thing could have led to another… DeKok raked his fingers through his grey hair. Was this man responsible for Nanette’s disappearance? Or perhaps the son?
DeKok came closer.
“How old is your son?” he asked.
Bristling, Staaten rose from his chair. His eyes narrowed and his lips were pressed together until they formed a thin line across the bottom part of his angry face.
“Ronald,” he said, almost venomously, “is twenty-five years old. I know exactly where this is going. You’re thinking as far as age is concerned, Nanette could have been my daughter.”
Reproachfully DeKok shook his head.
“Please sit down, Mr. Staaten,” he said calmly, soothingly. “Why are you so excited? I don’t condemn you at all. On the contrary, I congratulate you and wish you all possible happiness. That’s why I hope we will be able to find Nanette for you, as soon as possible.”
The broker’s eyes blinked. His face assumed an expression of genuine amazement.
“Find Nanette, you said?”
“Indeed, yes. Nanette Bogaard, you should know, seems to have disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“Since Thursday. She left the flower shop around three in the afternoon and nobody has seen her since.”
A silence followed this statement.
DeKok and the Somber Nude Page 8
