DeKok and the Geese of Death

by A. C. Baantjer

  Vledder and DeKok climbed the staircase with the worn marble steps. A relatively young woman was waiting for them on the bench across from the detective room. As soon as she saw the inspectors, she rose and approached.

  “Mrs. Isolde Bildijk has introduced us,” she said. “Do you remember me, Irmgard Miller?”

  DeKok lifted his hat and made a courteous bow.

  “The charming mother of three charming children.”

  “An inexhaustible source of worry,” she smiled.

  DeKok led the way to the detective room and held the chair next to his desk for her. Meanwhile he studied her closely. At Happy Lake she had seemed mousy and nondescript, but there was a subtle change. She wore a tweed suit with a skirt that came to just below the knee. Her blonde hair curled in luxurious tresses around a clear-skinned face that was free of make-up. She crossed her legs and unbuttoned her coat. If he had not known better, DeKok would never have guessed that she was the mother of three children. Her figure was superb. She looked at the inspector with bright green eyes that did not hide underlying worry.

  “Strange things are happening at Happy Lake,” she began.

  Despite himself, DeKok grinned suddenly.

  “How can you say that?” he asked mockingly.

  She ignored the remark.

  “The poisoned geese … the death of the gardener … the murder of my brother Izaak. I’m afraid. This morning, shortly after breakfast, my husband left on business. I don’t want to desert Aunt Isolde, but I’m afraid to stay at the house at night.”

  DeKok nodded in agreement.

  “What does your husband do for a living?”

  “He’s in textiles.”

  “And business is good?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s well known,” shrugged DeKok, “that the textile business in the Netherlands is not very prosperous at the moment. In some countries …”

  Irmgard interrupted.

  “We’re doing very well,” she said sharply.

  DeKok rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “So, you’re not exactly desperate for your inheritance?”

  Irmgard’s eyes spat fire.

  “What are you driving at?” she asked, agitated. “When the gardener died, my husband wasn’t even in town and when Izaak was killed, my husband was in bed with me.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  Irmgard’s attempt to control her temper was transparent. She took a deep breath before she answered.

  “Yes,” she said, calmer. “I’m sure. I’m a very light sleeper and I would have noticed if he had gotten up.”

  DeKok smiled an ironic smile.

  “As a witness … a loving wife is not much value as a witness.”

  A brief look of despair appeared in her lovely green eyes. She shook her head, as if to clear it.

  “I’m telling you what I know,” said Irmgard with an emphasis she underscored with a definitive gesture. “My husband has nothing to do with what happened at Happy Lake.”

  “Who, then?”

  She pointed at DeKok.

  “That’s your concern and, I might add, your responsibility.”

  DeKok sighed and nodded to himself. He paused for a while and then resumed his questioning.

  “Did you hear Izaak come home, last night?”

  “No,” said Irmgard, shaking her head. “I told you I’m a light sleeper. I’ve tried all day to remember, but Izaak must have been careful to make no noise. If he had, I would undoubtedly have heard it.”

  “Any other noises?”

  “No.”

  “Where’s your bedroom?”

  “Downstairs, next to Aunt Isolde.”

  “And does it have a window that looks out over the garden?”

  “Indeed.”

  “No French doors, or any other kind of doors to the outside?”

  Irmgard shook her head.

  “Izaak’s room is the only room with doors to the outside. When Uncle Iwert was still alive, it was their room, his and Aunt Isolde’s.”

  “I see,” said DeKok. “And the children?”

  Irmgard Miller pointed at the ceiling.

  “They sleep upstairs, on the second floor.”

  “Together?”

  “No, each of them has a room.”

  “Even little Penny?”

  Irmgard did not answer at once. She gave the inspector a long, searching look. A suspicious light came in her eyes.

  “Have you ever talked to her?”

  “Oh, yes,” confirmed DeKok. “A very interesting conversation.”

  Irmgard reacted emphatically.

  “Penny’s a liar,” she said, as if trying to convince herself, as well as DeKok. “That child is always full of fantasies, silly nonsense. What kind of fairy tale did she tell you?”

  DeKok shook his head. A smile curled his lips.

  “It was certainly no childish fantasy. In any event, Penny and I made a solemn promise not to discuss it with anyone else.”

  “That’s ridiculous, I’m her mother.”

  DeKok raised his hands in defense.

  “That’s still no reason for me to break a promise.”

  Irmgard leaned forward.

  “She’s lying,” she almost hissed.

  DeKok made a nonchalant gesture.

  “I presume you draw your conclusions based on personal experience with your daughter. My experiences indicate the opposite.”

  Irmgard Miller gripped her head as if at wit’s end.

  “But it is a lie,” she exclaimed.

  “What?”

  “Aunt Isolde cannot walk.”

  Vledder looked a question at DeKok after Irmgard had left.

  “Does that mean that Penny has seen her invalid aunt walk about and told her mother?”

  “Yes,” agreed DeKok. “And the mother was afraid that Penny had told me the same.”

  Vledder grinned as he finished some final entries on his computer.

  “It was very amusing to listen to the two of you,” said Vledder after he had put the computer on stand-by. “You were thinking of unrelated matters. You had in mind the escapades of Izaak and a stick, while she was busy denying Isolde’s mobility.”

  DeKok also smiled as he gazed thoughtfully into the distance.

  “Still,” he said after a long pause, “the little girl kept her word. Apparently she did not tell her mother about seeing Izaak in the garden.” He paused again, a serious look on his face. “However, Irmgard’s defensive tone makes me believe her Aunt Isolde is mobile. Her ability to walk means we have a completely new dimension to consider in this case.”

  “I don’t agree,” said Vledder. “It does not change the facts. Isolde is not a participant. She’s merely a prospective victim.”

  “Ah … but whose victim?”

  Vledder gesticulated vehemently, angrily.

  “Who knows … niece Irmgard, nephew Ivo, maybe both. Anyway Irmgard’s fear of being murdered isn’t credible, either. She doesn’t seem too concerned about leaving Happy Lake … that is, not before this dirty business is finished. We have only to wait for that.”

  “Isolde’s obituary?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” shrugged DeKok.

  “Of course I’m right,” asserted Vledder. “Someone thinks we are so ignorant as to believe all this is the work of Igor Stablinsky.”

  “Who’s only guilty of indirectly having supplied the method; he lent them his m. o.?”

  “Right on, that’s exactly the way it fits together.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not satisfied we know all the facts. If we don’t get some positive results soon, we’ll have to call all the jurisdictions together. We’ll need Warmoes Street, Oldkerk, and the Twenty-third. By the way, how come we never heard anything more about that missing forensic team? We may even have to involve Bussum. I’ve not completely forgotten Uncle Immanuel, either. It’s a mess … too many cooks spoil the broth, you know.” He w
alked over to the peg to get his coat, then he added: “I wonder if geese make a good soup.” Then he turned to Vledder. “Are you coming?” he asked.

  “Where?”

  “Oldkerk.”

  “Oldkerk?”

  “Yes, I want to see the late Izaak Bildijk’s house.”

  Vledder parked the car on the even numbered side of Higher End, as Izaak’s street was named. The inspectors exited the car and crossed the street.

  “Do you have keys to the house?” asked DeKok.

  “Yes,” answered Vledder, noting that DeKok replaced his illegal instrument in his pocket. “There was a key ring in Izaak’s coat. I lifted it.”

  “Found anything else?”

  “A wallet with some money and a pocket agenda. I seems Izaak may have been homosexual. That is, I found the names and addresses of a few homosexual prostitutes in the agenda. But that was all. Anyway, I did not have the time to go over it in any detail. You’ll have to do that later, or tomorrow. I’ve got an autopsy.”

  DeKok grinned maliciously.

  “Izaak Bildijk will be an easy job for Dr. Rusteloos. He only has to copy the previous reports.”

  Vledder shook his head.

  “He’ll never do that. Every corpse gets the full treatment. He’s much too conscientious.” He pointed as they approached the door of Izaak’s house. “What about the answering machine … shall we just confiscate it and take it to Amsterdam for further study?”

  DeKok nodded agreement.

  They halted in front of number one hundred fifteen. It was an old brownstone from the middle of the previous century, with green shutters in front of the windows. The front door was recessed. Vledder took Izaak’s key ring from his pocket and selected a key. As he tried to put it in the keyhole, the door moved. He looked at DeKok.

  “The door isn’t locked.”

  “Evidently,” answered DeKok. He leaned forward, but could not detect signs of a forcible entry. He pressed his elbow against the door and opened it wider. He stepped inside, with Vledder right behind him.

  From a small foyer with a staircase leading up, they reached a main corridor with oaken wainscoting. The house smelled damp and stuffy.

  To the right, almost at the end of the corridor, a door was ajar. Silently DeKok passed the door and then turned. With a sudden movement he crashed open the door.

  A man could be seen in the room. He stood in front of a massive oaken chest. His face was pale and his puffy hands trembled.

  DeKok sneered tauntingly.

  “Well, well,” he said, “as I live and breathe … Nephew Ivo! How is it we just keep running into you?”

  15

  DeKok approached Bildijk and pushed him roughly into a nearby easy chair. Then he took a seat opposite the flustered man.

  “You do have a special knack of being the first on the scene of a crime, wouldn’t you agree? You also seem to have a talent for scavenging, for searching the belongings of the recently deceased.” His tone was sarcastic. “Perhaps you would enlighten us as to how you got in here and why?”

  Ivo Bildijk did not answer at once. He clearly paused to gather himself and regain his composure. Slowly the color came back in his cheeks. With a still shaking hand he put his hand in a pocket and produced a key. With an innocent gesture he raised the key to eye level.

  “Aunt Isolde remembered there’s a woman who comes and cleans for Izaak once a week. She had a key and I borrowed it.”

  “That sounds believable,” growled DeKok.

  Ivo Bildijk gave him a wan smile.

  “You can check it out,” he said. “Very simple. We’ll return the key together.” He took a deep breath “And as far as your second question is concerned … why am I here? That is your own fault.”

  “Me?” asked DeKok, apparently genuinely flabbergasted.

  “Yes, despite our producing the threatening letters with their postmarks, you did not arrest our gardener. Considering your reputation as a great detective, it made Aunt Isolde and I think twice. During our latest conversation you felt it was a remarkable coincidence Izaak lived in Oldkerk. We know Oldkerk was the postmark on the letters. Well, it was enough for Aunt Isolde to order me to investigate further in Izaak’s house. She wants me to look for stationery, envelopes. You understand … for my aunt, as well as for me … it would be a relief if we knew where those letters originated.”

  DeKok’s annoyance with the slippery, greasy man in the chair across from him was getting worse. It threatened to get the better of him. The man seemed to have a pat answer for every situation. Despite flawless preparation and smooth delivery, he failed to convince DeKok. The senior inspector found it difficult to decide what he disliked more, the man himself, or the way in which he delivered his lines in his unctuous voice.

  “Aunt Isolde says: Go to the house of the old gardener, and you go. Aunt Isolde says: Go to the house of dead Izaak, and you go.” DeKok gesticulated wildly, partly from anger and partly from frustration. “What are you—a lackey to the self-styled duchess of Happy Lake?”

  Bildijk came half out of his chair. He had a change of heart, letting himself fall back into the deep cushions.

  “I forbid you,” said Ivo evenly, “to speak in that manner about my aunt.”

  “You’re that close to her, are you?”

  Ivo Bildijk’s face assumed a sad expression.

  “I’m her oldest nephew,” he said resignedly. “Over the years we have established a sort of mutual trust. I have become her confidant. It’s no more than reasonable for her to discuss certain things with me. It is also reasonable for me to take care of certain matters for her. After all she is an invalid. I … I fail to see how that could possibly offend you.”

  DeKok took a deep breath.

  “I’m looking for a possible motive for two horrible murders … murders that happened in your immediate surroundings. One way or the other these ugly events are connected to you.” He paused for effect. “Mr. Bildijk, for once give me a straight forward answer: Are you afraid of being killed?”

  Ivo was shaken. For the first time he showed some weakness, a breach in the wall of his self-satisfied eloquence. He turned pale but kept silent.”

  DeKok looked his most intimidating.

  “I repeat: Are you afraid of being murdered?”

  Ivo sank deeper into the chair and with a quick gesture wiped his brow.

  “Yes,” he said, barely audible.

  “Why?”

  “I’m one of the heirs.”

  DeKok leaned forward and held Ivo’s eyes with his own.

  “Who?”

  Bildijk swallowed, flicked a tongue across dry lips and tried unsuccessfully to break DeKok’s stare. DeKok waited.

  “Ask Irmgard,” whispered Ivo Bildijk finally.

  Vledder was in a good mood. He took the corners with all the elan the old VW could muster. He whistled a song with a smile on his face. He accompanied himself by tapping the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel.

  DeKok watched him glumly.

  “What’s got into you? You’re sure you’re still playing with a full deck?”

  Vledder stopped whistling and turned briefly toward DeKok with a satisfied smile on his face.

  “I was right,” crowed Vledder.

  “That’ll be a first,” said DeKok sadly.

  The young inspector laughed out loud.

  “I told you … everything is tied to Isolde’s inheritance. Just think, there were three heirs: Ivo, Izaak, and Irmgard. And now Izaak is dead.”

  “And that leaves two,” mocked DeKok.

  “Yes, and both are afraid of being murdered.”

  “By whom?’

  “By the other,” said Vledder triumphantly.

  “Aha,” said DeKok, “then you’ve changed your opinion. Izaak’s murder was no mistake, but intentionally committed by Ivo, Irmgard, or both.”

  “Yes.”

  “You think brother and sister are now engaged in a game of “Last Man Standing.” Each
wants to murder the other – the last one takes it all.”

  Vledder playfully slapped his partner’s knee.

  “That’s the way it is,” he said elatedly.

  DeKok slid further down in the seat and pulled his hat down on his forehead.

  “You overlooked one tiny detail.”

  “And what’s that?” Vledder wanted to know.

  “The murder of old Willem still doesn’t fit. In the elimination contest for riches, it is just as we said, a senseless waste.”

  “No, not senseless. If Isolde hasn’t altered her husband’s testament ... and there is no basis to believe otherwise … the gardener would be richly rewarded. Weren’t those Willem’s own words?”

  “How would the other heirs know that?”

  “Not impossible,” shrugged Vledder. “They may have seen the testament. Then there’s the possibility old Willem told them himself. He told you.”

  DeKok made a vague gesture.

  “I don’t think ‘richly rewarded’ means a great deal. It’s probably some sort of settlement in kind or a monetary settlement, but hardly comparable to the shares of the other heirs.”

  “For someone who is bound and determined, it could still be a motive.”

  DeKok growled something inaudible, but did not react in any other way.

  The road from Oldkerk led past the Bildijk mansion. Vledder pointed at the closed gate.

  “Should we take another look?”

  DeKok slid even further down in the seat and shook his head.

  “If Irmgard went home and cracked Isolde’s head, we’ll get a news flash soon enough. He sounded completely disinterested.

  “Then where do you want to go?,” asked Vledder.

  DeKok looked at his watch. It was almost seven o’clock.

  “First let’s have a bite to eat, something Indonesian, I think. Then how about we return to Leiden Side Street. I’ve a sudden urge to see Inge … for another conversation, of course.”

  Vledder looked at his partner.

  “On one condition ... I don’t have to stay in the kitchen again.”

  “Any other wishes?”