The painter stopped talking, rubbed his hands over his face, his beard. Sweat poured out of him.
“On the sofa, on the sofa in the living room I thought about a way to get rid of her.”
“That’s when you thought about the garbage chute?”
He nodded slowly in reply.
“A strange calm came over me. I was resigned. Never before in my life do I remember ever having been that calm. I undressed her carefully. When she was naked, I carried her to the bathroom and lowered her into the shower stall.”
“That’s where it happened?”
“Yes, that’s where it happened,” he answered with a sigh.
DeKok fell back against the support of the chair. He felt torpid. The interrogation of the painter had sucked the air out of him.
He thought about the conversation, allowing every word to pass in review. He had an uncanny knack for total recall. It was as if a tape recorder played back the entire conversation. He reexamined every word, intonation, and expression in detail. He checked to be certain he had everything. Was it sufficient to satisfy the district attorney, the judge advocate, the courts? He even considered the defense’s potential reaction.
He looked at his watch. More than half an hour had passed. The constables had not yet returned. He wondered idly where they had gone.
Suddenly he remembered something vital. There was one question he had not yet asked. He looked at the painter.
“But what was the motive? I mean, what was the immediate cause that triggered you to kill her?”
Popko’s eyes opened wide. His face showed nothing but utter amazement.
“Kill her?”
“Yes.”
“But I just got rid of the body. I didn’t kill her.”
“What!?”
“I didn’t kill her. Nanette was already dead when I found her.”
DeKok swallowed in total astonishment. Never before in his long career had an answer shocked him so. It was as if the room started to spin around him. The floor was disappearing underneath his chair. He pressed his eyes closed to shut himself off from the turmoil. From a distance he heard Vledder move.
The door of the room opened. Both constables were visible in the opening.
“Sorry,” said the younger of the two, “it took a little longer than expected. When we finally found the kitchen, the coffee wasn’t ready.”
DeKok rose weakly.
“Never mind,” he said groggily.
He picked up his felt hat from the bed, murmured a hasty farewell, and shuffled into the corridor.
Vledder looked after him from the door opening. His face was serious, not to say distraught. He felt instinctively it would be better not to follow his partner, not this time. Vledder would have to step back and let DeKok take the next step by himself. It became his mission, his duty.
The belt had been twisted so often that it resembled a rope. DeKok pulled it a little tighter around his old raincoat and pressed his fists deeper into the pockets. Slowly he strolled away from the hospital across a number of bridges, along canals, oblivious to his surroundings. A surly, gruff look clouded his face. Every once in a while he used a handkerchief to wipe the rain from his face. It did not slow him down. In his typical rolling gait he walked on, past the ferries, across the Dam. There were times when he hated his profession, when he would rather be anything else except a detective. At those times he hated the law, hated the justice system. This was one of those moments.
He walked the length of a number of streets and then turned the corner of Duke Street. In front of Ye Three Roses he halted and looked up at the old cast-iron sign over the door. It was decorated with a shield, a coat of arms. He noticed it for the first time. Three red roses on a white field.
He looked at it for a long time, contemplated leaving. But he knew that would be useless, senseless.
He placed a finger on the buzzer and pushed.
20
Vledder had not forgotten the invitation from his mentor, partner, and friend. A week later on a Sunday, he and Celine had come visiting. Mrs. DeKok had, as promised, made a special effort to make it a festive occasion. A small, intimate party. Later that evening they were comfortably gathered in the living room.
Celine was a darling of a girl, that is, a young woman, DeKok corrected himself in silence. He admired the good sense and taste of his pupil. At first Celine had been a bit withdrawn, shy. Eventually she participated cheerfully in the conversation.
When there was a gap in the conversation, Celine said unexpectedly, “So, did Kristel van Daalen kill Nanette?”
“Why the sudden interest?” asked DeKok, perplexed.
She laughed, a bit shyly.
“I lived through that time with you, in a sense. When we were together, I helped Dick think. Didn’t I, Dick?”
Vledder grinned, a bit embarrassed.
“Yes,” he swallowed, “she helped me think.”
“Well, what was the result?”
She smiled a sunny smile.
“I would never have thought of Kristel. Actually, she was the one I least suspected.”
The grey sleuth pushed his lower lip forward.
“Did Dick tell you everything? How we surprised Brother Laurens at the funeral? How we arrested him? How—”
“Yes,” interrupted Celine, “I know all that, but you dealt with Kristel on your own.”
DeKok sighed.
“Kristel, yes…”
He paused to order his thoughts.
“After Pierre Popko,” he began hesitatingly, “told me in the hospital he hadn’t killed Nanette but had found her already dead, I suddenly realized the true chain of events. Kristel was responsible for Nanette’s death. To clinch the case, her fingerprints were found in the flat later by the experts.”
He took a sip from his cognac.
“Kristel,” he continued, “knew about the flat in Wood’s Edge. She had known for some time. She and Pierre met there, long before Nanette came to spoil the idyll. Just like Nanette, she had a key to the apartment. That Thursday, just after Nanette left, Pierre stopped by Ye Three Roses to tell Nanette that he would be at the flat a little later than usual. He was working on something in his studio and he wanted to finish it. He asked Kristel to pass the message to Nanette. Kristel promised to do so. She didn’t tell him Nanette had already left. It seemed like a unique opportunity. She closed up shop, then went to the apartment. She used her key to enter. After a short but intense exchange of words, she strangled Nanette. Kristel has strong hands. She’s been playing tennis for years, at least three to four times a week.”
“But why?” asked Celine, making an impatient gesture.
DeKok sighed a deep sigh and took another sip from his drink.
“Well, you see, despite everything, I feel a deep sympathy for Kristel. And it’s not just because she is an extremely beautiful woman. Kristel loved Pierre Popko. She had been in love with him for a long time. When Nanette appeared, she relinquished her love. She reluctantly let go of her lover. It was a constant source of sorrow and regret. But she couldn’t fight Nanette. Nanette had an almost hypnotic influence over men. She could have any man she wanted, just by snapping her fingers. Kristel could only hope Pierre would get over his infatuation. She must have held on to the hope he would wake up and come back to her.”
They listened to him with bated breath. After a short hesitation, he went on.
“When Nanette revealed her plans to marry Staaten, Pierre lost his head. He confided in Kristel and told her about Nanette’s plans and aspirations. Kristel was furious. More than anything else this was so contrary to her own sense of morality, so she called Nanette to account.” He remained silent for a moment. “That’s when Nanette threatened her.”
Celine looked at DeKok with wide eyes. “Nanette threatened her?”
“Yes, Nanette threatened Kristel. It became her death sentence. If Kristel were to interfere in any way at all, if she so much as tried to stop her, Nanette said she would
get Pierre hooked on drugs. She would turn Pierre into a vegetable, just as she had Frank.”
“Morphine!” panted Celine.
“Yes, morphine.”
Celine’s eyes flashed in anger.
“What a snake,” she hissed. A blush of complete indignation colored her cheeks.
DeKok smiled sadly.
“Yes,” he said, “a snake in the shape of an angel.”
About the Author
A. C. Baantjer is the most widely read author in the Netherlands. A former detective inspector of the Amsterdam police, his fictional characters reflect the depth and personality of individuals encountered during his nearly forty-year career in law enforcement.
Baantjer was honored with the first-ever Master Prize of the Society of Dutch-language Crime Writers. He was also recently knighted by the Dutch monarchy for his lifetime achievements.
The sixty crime novels featuring Inspector Detective DeKok written by Baantjer have achieved a large following among readers in the Netherlands. A television series based on these novels reaches an even wider Dutch audience. Launched nearly a decade ago, the 100th episode of the “Baantjer” series recently aired on Dutch channel RTL4.
In large part due to the popularity of the televised “Baantjer” series, sales of Baantjer’s novels have increased significantly over the past several years. In 2001, the five millionth copy of his books was sold—a number never before reached by a Dutch author.
Known as the “Dutch Conan Doyle,” Baantjer’s following continues to grow and conquer new territory.
The DeKok series has been published in China, Russia, Korea, and throughout Europe. Speck Press is pleased to bring you clear and invigorating translations to the English language.
DeKok and the Geese of Death
Renowned Amsterdam mystery author Baantjer brings to life Inspector DeKok in another stirring potboiler full of suspenseful twists and unusual conclusions.
ISBN13: 978-0-9725776-6-3
DeKok and Murder by Melody
“Death is entitled to our respect,” says Inspector DeKok, who finds himself once again amidst dark dealings. A triple murder in the Amsterdam Concert Gebouw has him unveiling the truth behind two dead ex-junkies and their housekeeper.
ISBN13: 978-0-9725776-9-4
DeKok and the Death of a Clown
A high-stakes jewel theft and a dead clown blend into a single riddle for Inspector DeKok to solve. The connection of the crimes at first eludes him
ISBN13: 978-1-933108-03-2
DeKok and Variations on Murder
During one of her nightly rounds, housekeeper Mrs. van Hasbergen finds a company president dead in his boardroom. She rushes up to her apartment to call someone, but who? Deciding it better to return to the boardroom, she finds the dead man gone.
ISBN13: 978-1-933108-04-9
DeKok and Murder by Installment
Although at first it seemed to be a case for the narcotics division, this latest investigation soon evolves into a series of sinister murders involving drug smuggling and child prostitution
ISBN13: 978-1-933108-07-0
DeKok and Murder on Blood Mountain
The trail of a recent crime leads Inspector DeKok to Bloedberg (Blood Mountain), Belgium, a neighborhood in Antwerp. Seems a man was fished from the Scheldt River, and DeKok has
been summoned to help with the investigation.
ISBN13: 978-1-933108-13-1
DeKok and the Dead Lovers
Inspector DeKok and his partner Vledder are ordered to protect the art treasures of a millionaire. During their watch, they are called away to help prevent the execution of a young man. That same night a priceless silver jug is stolen from the exhibition. Although at first faced with a jigsaw puzzle of more than usual difficulty, the reader is slowly made aware of a course of events that, in passing, destroys a pipeline of child pornography to America.
ISBN13: 978-1-933108-22-3
For a complete catalog of our books please contact us at:
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Golden, Colorado 80403
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Our books are available through your local bookseller.
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