As they entered the station, Sergeant Kusters, the current watch commander, motioned toward DeKok.
“Just about fifteen minutes ago, I had a woman on the phone. She was beside herself and kept asking for you.”
“You have a name?”
Kusters checked his notes.
“Oh, yes, of course. The name was Bildijk, Isolde Bildijk. She kept going on about geese.”
DeKok waited for more information.
“What else,” he prompted finally.
“Her geese are all dead,” said Kusters.
5
Commissaris Buitendam, the tall, stately Chief of Warmoes Street Station gestured with an elegant hand toward the chair in front of his desk.
“Sit down, DeKok,” he said in his usual, affected voice. “I need to consult with you.”
Reluctantly, DeKok took a seat. He was always suspicious when the commissaris invited him to his office. He certainly didn’t dislike his chief. As long as the commissaris left him alone to do his work, DeKok was perfectly content. Under those circumstances the relationship could even be described as cordial. Conflict didn’t arise until the commissaris (heavily influenced by the judge advocate) corrected DeKok for some behavior or other. Then he became obstreperous, even illogical. He cherished the freedom to handle his cases according to his own ideas and methods. Any infringement on that he considered as an invasion of his privacy and an insult to both his person and his professionalism.
“What about?” asked DeKok.
Commissaris Buitendam gave his subordinate a winning smile.
“We need to talk about geese.”
“What kind of geese”
“Mrs. Bildijk’s geese.”
DeKok half closed his eyes and leaned his head to one side.
“Just so I understand … this is about some geese?”
“They are dead.”
DeKok grinned.
“I know that. Kusters told me late last night.”
The commissaris did not react. He shuffled some papers on his desk and separated a report. Then he looked up.
“The geese were poisoned.”
DeKok shrugged his shoulders disinterestedly.
“No doubt,” he said resignedly. “They could hardly all have died at once of natural causes.” He grimaced. “It would be highly unusual to run across a gaggle or two of carcasses.”
The commissaris was not amused.
“I want you,” Buitendam said in an official voice, “to investigate the death of those geese.”
DeKok could not believe his ears. He stared at his chief, incredulous.
“Me?” he exclaimed finally. “You want me to investigate? I have nothing to do with those geese nor do I wish to have anything to do with them. Mrs. Bildijk lives along the Amstel, in the Twenty-third Precinct. Let them handle it.”
Buitendam held up a hand as if to stem the flow of words.
“Didn’t you investigate these geese only yesterday?”
DeKok shook his head.
“I’ve no interest in those geese, or any other geese,” he said in a bantering tone of voice. “Anybody with enough space can keep geese as far as I’m concerned. Personally … I wouldn’t. I don’t particularly like geese. I think they’re nasty animals. I woul—”
Again the commissaris stemmed the flow of words. This time he slapped the top of his desk with a flat hand.
“Let’s end the discussion, DeKok,” he said sharply. “You and Vledder visited Mrs. Bildijk yesterday in connection with those geese.”
DeKok sighed elaborately.
“I went there,” he said patiently, “because Mrs. Bildijk’s name was written down in Igor Stablinsky’s agenda. There was no other reason.” He spread wide his arms. “The lady has a sort of love-hate relationship with her gardener. I’m afraid her geese have become the victims of a grudge match.”
Commissaris Buitendam rose from his chair and pointed a finger at DeKok.
“I want you to investigate this matter.”
DeKok grinned without mirth and without respect.
“Geese … dead geese.” he snorted. “It’s a mockery … what a ridiculous waste, looking into the demise of some eccentric’s attack birds.”
The chief pressed his lips together. He took a deep breath.
“You heard what I said,” Buitendam said with a distant voice, as if the conversation had already been concluded. “The decision stands,” he added.
Slowly DeKok came to his feet. He leaned toward the commissaris. His friendly boxer face was expressionless.
“Igor Stablinsky has escaped,” hissed DeKok. “Did you know that, or don’t you read reports unless prompted by influential people.”
Beginning at his neckline, the chief turned pink and then distinctly red. A tic developed along his jaw line. He pointed an outstretched arm at the door.
“OUT!”
DeKok left.
“Well, how did it go?”
DeKok made a helpless gesture. “That went well,” he said under his breath.
“The commissaris became angry … again and sent me from the room.”
Vledder shook his head in disapproval.
“You’re going too far. You drive the man to the brink …
at this rate he’ll soon be ready for the men in the white coats.” He smiled. “What did you fight about this time?”
DeKok waved vaguely in the direction of the office he had just left.
“The commissaris, in his infinite wisdom, wishes me to investigate the death of the widow’s blighted geese.”
Vledder sank back in his chair, mouth agape.
“But … but that’s none of our business. It’s a case for the Twenty-third. Besides, it isn’t exactly homicide, now, is it?”
DeKok nodded.
“That’s what I tried to tell the commissaris. I couldn’t care less about those pests. It is critical to locate Igor Stablinsky. As long as that psychopath is on the loose, there’s always the danger he’ll find more prey.” He paused and sighed. “The commissaris is of a different opinion.” He uttered a short, derisive laugh. “Dead geese!” There was a world of exasperation in the last two words.
Vledder moved to a chair in front of DeKok’s desk. He straddled the chair and rested his arms across the back. He lowered his head and rested it on his folded arms and looked at DeKok. Then he shook his head.
“I just can’t understand the chief’s motives.”
DeKok lifted the Stablinsky file from his desk drawer and placed it on top of the desk.
“Oh,” he said, “that’s easy. I’m certain that the rich Mrs. Bildijk has a number of influential acquaintances. Some “friends,” via the judge advocate, have put pressure on the commissaris.”
Vledder snorted.
“In that case, what’s her motive?”
“Protection.”
Vledder could no longer remain seated. He stood up and towered over DeKok.
“She can afford a protective service … a bodyguard. She can hardly expect public servants to—”
DeKok’s look interrupted the beginning tirade.
“It must be terrifying,” said DeKok, “to have such a deadly fear of some unknown, unidentified danger while you’re confined to a wheelchair. You understand … without help she can never escape that fear … that feeling of doom. I think that’s what Mrs. Bildijk really wants from us, is to remove the source of her fear.”
“And if there’s no such source?”
DeKok seemed to consider the question for a moment.
“Then … then she might very well be ready … how did you put that … ready for the men in white coats.”
There was a knock on the door to the detective room. One of the detectives nearer the door yelled something and the door opened. A medium tall, slightly corpulent man entered and spoke a few words to the detective near the door. The detective pointed and the man slowly approached DeKok’s desk. He halted in front of the desk and made an awkward bow.
&n
bsp; “You … eh, you’re Inspector DeKok?”
DeKok nodded.
“With kay-oh-kay … at your service.”
The man smiled briefly.
“My name is Ivo … Ivo Bildijk. I arrived this morning from Antwerp after an alarming telephone conversation about poisoned geese. I would like to talk with you about my aunt … Aunt Isolde.”
DeKok gave the man a searching look. He estimated his visitor to be in the early thirties. He had a fleshy, reddish face that looked like it had a continuous blush. His flaxen hair stuck to his head with too much hair oil. Under a small, bulbous nose he sported a narrow moustache that drooped around the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes were watery and myopic.
With a polite gesture, DeKok pointed at a chair next to his desk.
“Have a seat,” he said. “Why do you suppose I would be interested?”
The remark seemed to confuse the younger man.
“I … I understood from Aunt Isolde that … that you are in charge of the case.” He seated himself and pulled up his pants legs to preserve the creases. His face was mild with the expression of a concerned relative. “She feels you’re the only inspector able enough to stand by her.”
“Stand by her for what?”
Ivo seemed surprised at the question.
“But I thought you knew that as well.” He was upset as well as confused. “My aunt is being threatened.”
“How?”
Ivo Bildijk shrugged his shoulders.
“We don’t know that. My brother and sister are as much in the dark as we are.”
DeKok looked a question.
“Who are your brother and sister?” he asked after a long pause.
Ivo smiled apologetically.
“Sorry, I mean my brother Izaak and my sister Irmgard. They feel close to this case as well. You see, we’re Aunt Isolde’s only heirs. We … eh … we inherit everything if she …
eh … if …” He did not complete the sentence, but made a vague gesture.
DeKok looked at him evenly.
“Is she planning to die?” he asked brutally.
Bildijk seemed stunned.
“How … how do you mean?”
“Is Aunt Isolde planning to die in the near future?” he asked impatiently.
Ivo Bildijk scratched the back of his ear, obviously embarrassed.
“No … no,” he stammered, “n-no, I … I don’t think so. Of course she isn’t. But in the letters it says that she’ll be murdered.”
“Murdered?
Bildijk nodded vehemently.
“Aunt Isolde has received several letters, all saying she will die soon.” He swallowed. “Aunt Isolde takes these letters very much to heart. She grows more and more distressed, and she has holed up in her house. She’s terrified. Although she doesn’t say so in so many words, I think from her attitude, she suspects one of us.”
“You, your brother, or your sister?”
Bildijk waved his hands in a gesture that suggested both puzzlement and ambivalence.
“She feels we’re the only ones that can profit by her death.”
“And is that so?”
Ivo Bildijk reflected.
“We’re not rich, of course,” he said carefully. “Aunt Isolde’s inheritance would be most welcome to all three of us. One must be realistic, after all. But that’s no reason to wish her dead.” He paused and placed his hands on his knees. “Besides, Aunt Isolde isn’t the only one from whom we inherit. Our Uncle Immanuel is also very well off … he has no children and is older than Aunt Isolde.”
“So he may die sooner.”
“Indeed.”
DeKok pulled his lower lip out and then let it plop back. He repeated the unpleasant activity several times.
“Has your uncle received threatening letters?”
“I don’t know,” answered Ivo, sighing. “If he has, I haven’t heard anything about it. He lives in a villa near Bussum. He lives with an old housekeeper who is also mentioned in the will. We visit a few times per year. Uncle Immanuel has the beginnings of arteriosclerosis and is slightly demented. That can give startling reactions. Sometimes he doesn’t even recognize us.” A tender smile fled across his face. “I imagine Uncle Immanuel would not even bother to open any threatening letters. He would either throw them away, or put them in a drawer somewhere.”
DeKok nodded his understanding.
“You see how relative everything is … unopened threatening letters have no effect.”
Ivo studied DeKok’s bland face.
“You mean that Aunt Isolde should not have read the threatening letters?”
DeKok smiled.
“Who can control human curiosity?” Then he looked closer at Ivo Bildijk. “But you, too, think Aunt Isolde’s letters are the real thing.” It was not a question.
The young man shook his head uncertainly.
“I’ve read them. And I can tell you that the content is truly menacing. I can well understand why Aunt Isolde fears for her life. And now the affair with the poisoned geese … she could have died from sheer panic.”
For several seconds DeKok looked at the younger man. The old sleuth’s face had become expressionless.
“Perhaps, Mr. Bildijk, someone intended your aunt to die of fright.”
Ivo Bildijk left, announcing that he, a loving nephew, considered it his duty to move in with his aunt for the time being. Vledder moved over and occupied the recently vacated chair. All during the interview he had made copious notes and at the same time had surreptitiously entered certain data in his computer. DeKok was certain a fresh report was nearly ready to emerge from the printer.
“While we were there,” said Vledder, “she said her fears were non-specific. Strangely enough, she never mentioned any threatening letters.”
“Perhaps she didn’t think the timing was right.” DeKok paused for a moment in deep thought. “Even so,” he continued finally, “those letters must have started to come some time ago. Her fear increased, causing her to order her gardener to destroy his dogs and get the geese. Next she began to pester officers of the Twenty-third constantly. Those are clear indicators she was becoming desperate.”
“Then why did she not share the information with us? Now she has a nephew come all the way from Antwerp to tell us that she’s been receiving threatening letters.”
DeKok nodded in agreement.
“The death of her geese must have shaken her considerably. She will have recognized it as a direct threat to her safety. This morning, after the dead geese were discovered, she clearly decided to launch some sort of counter-offensive. Through whatever relations she has, she put pressure on our own commissaris and sent her nephew to reinforce the demand for action. I think she must feel that her situation is precarious.”
Vledder looked surprised.
“Do you really think that she’s about to be murdered?”
DeKok did not answer. He stared in the distance, preoccupied. Then he shook his head, as if to clear it. A smile spread around his lips.
“You know, my boy, I’m starting to get interested in those geese.”
“The commissaris will be so happy,” grinned Vledder.
The old sleuth stood up. He pointed at Vledder’s computer.
“Find out all you can about Ivo. We need to know what he does for a living, where he lives in Antwerp, etc. I also would like some information about nephew Izaak and niece Irmgard. Put your little magic box to work and let me know what you find.”
Vledder stood up.
“So you think those three are involved?”
DeKok grinned.
“When there’s a fortune at stake, a person can get some twisted ideas.”
He moved in the direction of his raincoat, as the phone on DeKok’s desk started to ring. Vledder leaned over and lifted the receiver. DeKok turned and waited.
After a brief conversation Vledder replaced the receiver.
“Well?” asked DeKok.
“My magic box will have
to wait a while. Someone spotted Igor Stablinsky.”
“Where?”
“He’s driving a stolen BMW through Bussum.”
“And Uncle Immanuel lives nearby there.”
Vledder nodded.
6
They drove from Damrak to Rokin. A shy sun peeked through a layer of racing clouds, backlighting up the Royal Palace. Then a thick, black cloud obscured the sun and unloaded a new supply of heavy rain. DeKok relished the quickly changing scene. He loved Amsterdam, no matter the weather. Unlike Rome or Paris, Amsterdam did not need sunshine. Amsterdam’s beauty was made for soft, rainy days and nights.
He looked aside at Vledder whose capable hands guided the old VW through the heavy traffic on the slick streets. He felt a bond with the younger man. How many perplexing cases had they solved together? He could recall seventeen, maybe more. He often had trouble remembering the details, but he always remembered the first time he had worked with Vledder. Warmoes Street was still under the previous commissaris. Vledder had been instrumental in having DeKok recalled from his vacation to solve the murder of a prostitute. Afterward they became inseparable as a team. Vledder was also the one who had started to name their cases. DeKok smiled as he thought of some of the names. There was the case of ‘The Somber Nude.’ DeKok still experienced a pang of regret when he remembered the beautiful Kristel. The cases started to run together in his mind— ‘The Dead Harlequin,’ ‘The Romantic Murder,’ ‘The Dancing Death.’ Vledder would probably label the current case something like ‘The Deadly Geese,’ or ‘The Geese of Death.’ He smiled and pushed the memories to the back of his mind.
“Do you know where the car originated?”
“The BMW?”
“Whatever, the car Igor was driving.”
It was Vledder’s turn to smile. DeKok looked on identifying car make, model, and year like any other trivia; he did not think of cars in those terms. He identified cars by colors. If they were big, he thought they were probably American. If they were square, DeKok would label them Rolls Royces. Other than that he identified them as small, fast, dirty, or whatever.
“Yes, the car was stolen in Amsterdam. It disappeared from Amstel Road within hours after he escaped from jail. Looks as though he kept on using the same car.”
DeKok and the Geese of Death Page 5
