Vledder nodded.
“This time we’ll just ring the doorbell.”
“My, we’re getting to be demanding.”
“It’s also the first time I’m right,” laughed Vledder.
German Inge looked surprised when she answered the door.
“Are you here again? I was just about to leave. At this time it’s easy to pick up an early customer. I call it overtime.”
“Overtime?” asked Vledder.
She gave Vledder a quick look, but smiled naughtily at DeKok.
“Men tell their wives they have to work overtime. Can they help it if it is more tempting to take a little trip in the car with me.”
“With the necessary stop,” commented DeKok.
“I’m in ‘the life’—it’s how I make a little extra,” she shrugged. Then she looked him up and down. “Did you guys stop by for business advice or just girl talk?”
“Neither,” said DeKok, “I could not help wondering whether Igor phoned to tell you he bashed in the wrong skull last night.”
Inge took a step back and they moved into her room. Inge sat down on the bed and the inspectors found chairs.
“Igor didn’t call,” said Inge. She produced a cigarette paper and some tobacco. Slowly she started to roll a cigarette. “I told you before,” she continued, her attention on the cigarette she was forming in her hands. “Igor only calls at night. He’s nocturnal. He’s afraid of the daylight.”
DeKok nodded.
“A nocturnal predator,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, “I called him a night owl once. He became angry. He gets angry easily.”
She had finished the cigarette and rummaged on the bedside table for some matches.
“Igor’s parents—are they still alive?,” asked DeKok as she lit the cigarette. Both inspectors were immediately aware she was not smoking tobacco. Neither mentioned it. Drug trafficking is illegal in the Netherlands, not drug use. “Does he have any brothers … sisters?” continued DeKok. “Have you ever discussed his family?” he added.
Inge took a deep drag before she answered.
“Something always made me reluctant to raise the subject of family,” she said.
DeKok told her what he knew about Igor.
“Igor is a Pole. He was born in Gdansk, according to his Dutch passport. He’s a fairly recent émigré, who became a Dutch citizen at twenty-three.” DeKok rubbed the back of his neck. “The records don’t say much more. We investigated on our own. The family records in Gdansk were destroyed in a bombardment. We can only speculate whether they were destroyed for political reasons.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“What language do you speak when you are together?”
“Dutch.”
DeKok leaned forward.
“Is Igor …” he began hesitantly, “Is Igor sexually dependent on you?”
“You mean, am I his addiction?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“No,” she said softly, “It’s more the other way around. There’s something mysterious, something wild about Igor. Maybe untouchable wildness attracts a woman. I can’t put it in words, but there’s a certain charm about Igor, a charm that does something to me.”
DeKok listened carefully to the tone and the passion of her words.
“What do you really know about him?”
“Nothing … not much,” she admitted.
“Are you aware he’s suspected of the murders of at least two elderly people?”
Inge nodded slowly, taking another drag from her cigarette.
“Yes, I’ve heard something like that.”
“And?”
The young woman looked at DeKok and there was something in her glance that warned DeKok.
“What … and?” she almost screamed. “Why should I care if Igor killed a few old people? He’d leave me flat, rather than stop doing whatever he does.” She snorted contemptuously. “But do you really think I think about that when we’re together?”
DeKok sighed.
“It’s obvious I will not get much cooperation from you.”
“To catch Igor?” she sneered.
“For instance.”
German Inge shook her head decisively.
“Never,” she said with bowed head. “I know,” she continued, softer, more gently, “he’s going to be arrested one of these days. Nothing lasts forever. It is easy to imagine he’ll go to prison … for longer than any woman could wait for him.” She looked resigned as she met DeKok’s eyes. “If or when that happens, I’ll go back to Hanover. Perhaps I’ll meet another man … a man like Igor.”
16
Vledder still had a smile on and DeKok still looked stern, as they drove back to the station house. The young inspector could not contain himself any longer. He took a perverse, malicious pleasure in DeKok’s chagrin.
“This case is not going at all well, DeKok,” said Vledder. “It just isn’t your day. Inge will not cooperate.”
“Too bad,” answered DeKok sedately. He seemed unruffled.
“Ha!”
“Yes,” continued DeKok as if Vledder had not interrupted at all. “She’s actually the only link we have to Igor, at this moment. We can hardly keep her under twenty-four hour surveillance in the hope Igor will show up … though it may have to come to that.”
“Ha,” said Vledder again. “In that case you better ask the commissaris to break open another crate of cops. You know we don’t have the personnel.”
“What makes me saddest of all … what really bothers me, is her motive for refusing to help us … her philosophy.” DeKok was just continuing a monologue. He probably had not heard Vledder at all. But Vledder had heard DeKok and wanted to know more.
“What do you mean?”
“Narcissism … just narcissism. Wild, sensual Igor sometimes gives me a few hours of pleasure. No matter if he brutalizes and murders the elderly for profit … I’m not interested.”
“What can you do … she loves the guy.”
“I did not hear the word love mentioned even once.”
Vledder shook his head.
“You’re behind the times. Your ideas and opinions are old fashioned. What do you expect from a girl like that … morals, ethics?”
“Humanity.”
“Humanity … from a whore?”
“Correct … from a whore.”
Vledder could not agree.
“When she finds another …” he exclaimed full of emotion, “another guy who’ll give her the same sort of pleasure … she’ll drop Igor like a hot potato.” He grinned. “Your trouble, DeKok, is that you don’t belong in this time period. You’re descended from a generation of romantics … a dying breed. You’re probably the only remnant of the Age of Chivalry.”
Suddenly DeKok sat up straight.
“Descended … descend … generation … descendant … offspring … family,” he said to himself.
He looked through the windshield.
“Where are you going,” he demanded.
“To the station, of course,” answered Vledder. “It’s late, I want to go home.”
“Nix on that,” said DeKok in a tone that did not allow any argument. “We’re going to Bussum. I promised myself an interview with Uncle Immanuel.
It was around midnight when they entered the town of Bussum. DeKok looked at his watch. He was shocked by the time.
“It’s really too late to visit this frail old man,” he winced.
“Well you just had to come here,” growled Vledder. “Uncle Immanuel has no doubt gone to his bed.”
They parked the car on Bredius Way, exited, and locked the car. DeKok pointed at a villa across the way.
“That is a well kept, free-standing single family dwelling, near a luscious lake, surrounded by a prize winning garden. Includes all appliances, large two-car garage, central heating, and alarm system.”
“Where did that come from,” asked Vledder, nonplussed.
“From an ad
vertisement in the paper,” said DeKok complacently. “That villa is for sale.”
“Uncle Immanuel is selling?”
“Apparently,” confirmed DeKok, “I checked it out with the realtor. Immanuel is selling his house. Perhaps he doesn’t feel safe in Bussum any longer.”
Vledder frowned.
“You may be right,” he admitted. “As soon as Aunt Isolde has been removed, it may very well be his turn.”
They walked toward the house. An entire side of the house was covered in ivy. The impenetrable black vines provided a gothic look, especially after dark. There was a large bay window to one side and a large double door with a small, barred window in each panel. A brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head was mounted on the right leaf of the double door. More like a gargoyle’s face than a lion’s, it lent itself to the gothic mood.
DeKok looked at the surroundings. The dense vegetation around the house gave him a claustrophobic feeling. He shook his head in disapproval.
“This may be a prize-winning garden,” he murmured, “but there are too many shadows where an intruder could hide.”
He took the knocker in his hand, hammering three times rather hard. The mahogany door acted as a perfect sounding board. They could hear the reverberations from inside.
In a few minutes the two inspectors suddenly stood in the harsh light from a number of spotlights. The little, barred window opened. Behind the bars, in the reflected light from the spotlights, they could see a wizened face. There was a look of suspicion and astonishment in the old gentleman’s eyes.
DeKok politely took off his hat and showed his full face.
“My name is DeKok,” he said with a friendly smile. “DeKok with kay-oh-kay.” He moved aside. “And this is my colleague Vledder. We are Police Inspectors.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you the ones in charge of that mess at Happy Lake?”
DeKok nodded.
“Yes, we are. And you are Immanuel Bildijk?”
“Indeed.”
The face disappeared and the small window closed. A few moments later the right half of the double door opened. The old man beckoned.
“Come in quickly, so I can lock the door again. Everything changes—all sorts of scum in the streets these days.” He laughed loud and chirping. “But why am I telling you? You have a working knowledge.”
Shuffling, in a robe and a pair of too large leather slippers, he led the way to a comfortably furnished den. The room was lit with the muted light from a number of lamps with green glass shades. With a courtly gesture the old man waved toward a circle of deep, comfortable leather chairs.
“Please, sit down, gentlemen. Adele, my housekeeper has already gone to bed, She suffers from migraines. I can only offer you a glass of Burgundy.” His voice was high and rasped just a little. “That’s a good habit … a glass of good Burgundy before retiring. The British aristocracy has done it for generations … but they call it claret … never knew why.”
He took a finely cut decanter from a side table and filled three glasses. He took one of them, urging Vledder and DeKok to do the same. He raised his glass to them.
“Proost … to my and your health.”
DeKok took a sip and then a large swallow. The wine was indeed excellent. From behind his glass he looked at the old man.
“That’s the reason for our visit … generations.”
Uncle Immanuel nodded, as in confirmation of an unspoken revelation.
“I had expected you sooner.”
DeKok carefully placed his glass on a small side table next to his chair.
“We planned to come sooner, but the death of your nephew Izaak prevented it.”
The old man looked surprised.
“What … Izaak is dead, too?”
“Murdered.”
Immanuel shook his head sadly.
“One should never turn one’s back on a Bildijk.”
Both Vledder and DeKok sat up straight.
“Is the murderer a Bildijk?,” asked DeKok.
The old man smiled.
“I’m almost sure of it.” There was resignation in his voice. “They all have a flaw … the Bildijk flaw.”
“And that is?”
“Intellectually gifted and … larcenous.”
“A dangerous combination.”
“Unfortunately it works like a curse for some; the clever, ruthless ones have a fatal flaw.”
“How so?”
Immanuel sighed deeply and placed his glass on the table next to his own chair.
“They have no scruples. They keep going until they destroy themselves.”
DeKok favored him with an admiring look.
“But you’re still around … exceptional … and at a ripe age. And you’re in no way as demented as your nephew Ivo would have us believe.”
The old man scratched behind his ear; thought about his answer.
“Perhaps...” he began, “Or else I’ve been able to hide the Bildijk flaw a little better. Anyway I’m more intellectual than criminal. Besides, my name is Immanuel, which means ‘God with you.’”
DeKok nodded with a serious, reflective face.
“God with you,” he repeated. “Yes, there is something in a name. He paused in thought. “All Christian names,” he continued, “in the Bildijk family start with the letter ‘I’ … isn’t that a bit unusual?”
The old man laughed.
“My father was an exceptional kind of man. He gathered a fortune in a very short time, which allowed him to buy the Happy Lake estate. It’s much more than just the house and garden, you know. Once he settled down, he had four sons. Because he fancied the ‘I’ was the most pleasing sound in the alphabet, he called his sons Ignatius, Iwert, Immanuel, and Ilja.”
“But only Immanuel is left.”
“Yes, Ignatius inherited Happy Lake with all that was attached. He was the eldest so it was his right. Iwert and I went into business … trading mostly. I wound up in the diamond trade. I knew little about it, especially in the beginning. But I had an intuition for picking the right people … people who did know.”
“And what about Ilja?”
“He was my youngest brother. He died first. The children, Ivo, Izaak, and Irmgard, are his.”
“He perpetuated the ‘I’ tradition.”
A smile of remembrance came over the old man’s face.
“Ilja resembled my father in many ways. But he never managed to prosper. He died relatively poor.”
DeKok picked up his glass and drained it. Vledder momentarily put down his notebook and followed suit. DeKok looked thoughtfully at Vledder and waited until he had picked up his notebook and pen again, before he asked the next question. The pause had been unobtrusive.
“Your other brothers …” resumed DeKok, “did they have any children?”
Immanuel Bildijk seemed surprised at the question.
“Ignatius had one daughter … Isolde.”
DeKok’s eyebrows briefly performed their incredible gymnastics. Immanuel looked for a moment as if he could not believe his own eyes, Vledder never noticed. Pen poised, he waited for the next question.
“Isolde?” asked DeKok.
“Yes, another ‘I,’” grinned the old man.
“Would that be …” hesitated DeKok. “Would that be the same Isolde who now lives at Happy Lake, that Isolde?”
“Yes.”
“But I understood she was married to Iwert … how’s that possible? I mean … Iwert was her father’s brother … he was her uncle … a real uncle.”
Uncle Immanuel rose from his chair.
“Come, let me pour you another glass.” He grinned shyly. “I promise you, it’s going to be interesting.”
DeKok could not contain his impatience.
“Surely Isolde can’t have married her blood uncle.”
The old man waved the question away. He poured from the decanter until all three glasses were full again. Then he sank back down in his chair.
“Isolde …” he finally said, “was a, how shall I put it … a wild girl. As a young woman she was beautiful, wild, fiery, and passionate. She could not be tamed … restrained. Her behavior brought Ignatius and her mother to grief. She was only sixteen when she had … eh, relations with unsavory men. She stayed out all night and the family’s reputation was shredded to bits by the neighbors. Holland wasn’t always as tolerant as today. In those days the people had a strict sense of propriety. Circumspect behavior was absolutely expected.”
He paused in reflection, but this time DeKok did not urge him on. He patiently waited for the rest of the story.
“When she was about eighteen,” resumed Immanuel, “Isolde suddenly showed up with a violinist … a nondescript, vague sort of man, who traveled across Europe with his violin. The next day, she and the violinist disappeared. My brother Ignatius did everything possible to get her back. He asked the police for help and spent a small fortune on private detectives. It was all to no avail. She seemed to have gone up in smoke.”
Uncle Immanuel took a sip of his wine. After he put the glass down again, his voice was a little less raspy.
“But about five years later,” he continued, “Isolde suddenly re-emerged, alone. She refused to talk about the five years she had been gone. ‘That’s all over,’ she would say. As her parents were dead, she soon claimed Happy Lake for herself. That’s when I became involved. I was incensed at the time. I made it crystal clear she was in no way entitled to remove Iwert from his rightful inheritance. For years they lived together on the estate, Iwert and Isolde. They lived separate lives, each on their own floor. Still they were together in that large mansion. People thought it strange. Isolde was still a very attractive woman, so the inevitable rumors started to circulate. Although people did not know they were related, most knew the two were not married. In those days it was just never done. To quell all the rumors, Iwert and Isolde eventually married.”
“Surely they had to have dispensation from the Crown.”
DeKok and the Geese of Death Page 13
