Again the commissaris sighed deeply.
“All right,” he said resignedly, “all right. I’ll leave things to you, shall I? In any case, I would like a detailed report on my desk tomorrow. You know how persistent the press can be. It would give me an idea how much, if anything, I can tell them. I certainly don’t want your investigations hampered by premature speculation in the press.”
“Thank you,” said DeKok.
The commissaris had no desire to linger. He said his good-byes and left the detective room.
Vledder sighed. “I really couldn’t help it,” he said apologetically. “Really, it wasn’t my fault. When I got here at eight, I met the commissaris in the corridor. I had to follow him to his office, at once. He kept asking all sorts of questions and was extremely interested in Pierre Brassel.”
DeKok nodded.
“Most understandable,” he said. “After all, it is a strange business, and he is the chief. He has every right to know.”
He paused.
“Mind if I change the subject to something completely different? What happened in Utrecht?”
Young Vledder shook his head sadly.
“I don’t think,” he said soberly, “my trip was an unqualified success.”
Amused, DeKok looked down on him.
“No success at all?”
“I followed Fat Anton and Marie for hours. It was torture. He never left her side for a moment. Happily Fat Anton isn’t all that smart, or he would have noticed me several times.” Thoughtfully he stared at nothing at all. Then he continued. “Strangely enough, Marie spotted me almost at once. But she didn’t say a thing to Anton. If she did, I certainly wasn’t aware of it. Finally I decided to pass her a note.”
DeKok’s eyebrows rippled briefly.
“A note?”
“Yes, in some bar. Anton had gone to the bathroom. I wrote a quick note, asking her to come here tonight, without Anton, obviously. I managed to pass it to her before Anton returned.”
Vledder made a helpless gesture.
“I know it’s a gamble. If she shows it to Anton, it’s all over. But I didn’t know what else to do, and I had to contact her somehow.”
DeKok nodded encouragingly.
“Under the circumstances, it was the best you could do, probably the only thing you could do. We’ll just have to wait. Possess your soul in patience, my boy.”
“What?”
DeKok smiled.
“Possess your soul in patience. My mother used to say that when there wasn’t a thing you could do about something. She meant you just had to wait. A saying, that’s all.
A bit old-fashioned, maybe, but it is apt.” He scratched behind his ear. “What about the phone number?”
“Nothing, no answer. I tried several times.”
DeKok nodded.
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Utrecht information should be able to tell us whose number it is. Maybe we can approach it from that angle.”
The phone rang at that moment.
“This is the desk,” said the voice of Corporal Bisterman. “A Marie Sailmaker for you.”
“Is she alone?”
“Yes.”
DeKok winked at Vledder.
“Wonderful. Please have Marie come up.”
After a soft knock on the door, Marie entered the detective room with decisive steps. Her steps were a bit too firm for her elegant high-heeled evening shoes. It created a comic impression, like a longshoreman wearing stilettos. She approached DeKok purposefully.
“You wanted me?”
She was not quite as small as she had seemed next to the enormous thighs of Fat Anton. She had a very attractive figure, and she knew it. Her beige coat closed tightly around her slim physique. A large fur collar covered the bottom half of her face. Her breathing was visible by the movement of the hair in the long fur, like a soft breeze over wheat. She took off a glove and placed Vledder’s wrinkled note on the desk.
“Well,” she challenged, “here I am.”
DeKok gave her one of his sweetest smiles.
“My name is DeKok,” he said pleasantly, “DeKok with a kay-oh-kay. This is my invaluable colleague, Vledder. I don’t remember having been introduced to you last night.” Still smiling, he offered his hand.
She shook it in a businesslike fashion.
“I’m Marie Sailmaker.”
“How young are you?”
She chirped like a schoolgirl.
“Guess.”
“Twenty,” lied DeKok.
She made a movement as if to pirouette.
“You can add five to that.”
DeKok forced an expression in which amazement and admiration seemed to battle for supremacy. He gestured toward the chair next to his desk.
“Please sit down,” he said with old-world charm and a slight bow. “We wanted to have a serious conversation with you and therefore we used, I fear, an unorthodox method of contacting you. Do forgive me.” He seated himself behind the desk and continued. “You see, last evening my colleague and I both had the impression you are an intelligent woman. We felt you would probably be upset if misfortune—or worse—were to befall your friend Anton. It isn’t at all impossible that Anton, too, could be…” He did not complete the sentence, but gauged her reaction.
Marie opened the collar of her coat a little. Her sparkling green eyes explored the face of the old inspector. She weighed the value of his words. She was no longer so self-assured. There was a battle going on within her. She obviously had trouble reconciling her natural aversion to and suspicion of the police with the need to protect Anton. She decided she could trust the friendly, fatherly face of the man behind the desk. DeKok noticed the inner turmoil with interest.
“Does Anton know you’re here?”
“No.”
“You didn’t show him the note?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She did not answer at once. She changed position in the chair and pulled her skirt lower over her knees.
“Anton is an ass.”
“An ass?” asked DeKok.
“Yes, an ass,” she repeated sharply. “A big, fat, stupid ass. Don’t ask me why I love that mountain of flab, but I do.” She paused. “You want to make something out of that?”
Slowly DeKok shook his head.
“Everybody,” he said earnestly, “is entitled to love.”
She nodded agreement.
“Exactly, that’s how it is. Believe me, there is a good heart inside the boy. He’s a bit naive.” She smiled tenderly. “A big, naive, good-hearted man. That’s him. There’s no malice in him.”
Her face took on a happy glow. “He’s childlike, a darling.”
DeKok sighed.
“If we keep this up,” he said dryly, “I’ll be wondering how our little cherub got lost here on Earth with us common mortals.”
She looked confused.
“What?”
DeKok grinned.
“I mean, let’s not exaggerate. Anton isn’t so sweet he wouldn’t be part of a gang. After all, he was, or still is, a gang member. Love hasn’t blinded you so much you believe Anton has no base impulses.”
Her green eyes spat fire.
“If so, it’s because of Jan Brets, the bastard. He made Anton crazy. Brets was full of stories: they’d be rolling in money without taking risks. Poor Anton swallowed it all. His ears glowed while Brets spoke. Anton cannot, or will not, think for himself. He’s happy to let someone else lead him. Jan Brets was all too happy to lead Anton by the nose.”
She pressed her lips together and paused a long time before she continued.
“Clever Jan Brets, with all his jokes and big plans, he’s dead. Somebody beat me to it. Otherwise I would have fed him some rat poison one day.” She rummaged in her purse and took out a cigarette. She lit up. Her hands shook. She blew smoke toward the ceiling.
“Of course, it’s stupid,” she said in an even voice, “to say something like that to the police. But y
ou’d have found out eventually how I felt about Jan Brets.”
DeKok nodded.
“It’s very clear to me,” he said laconically. He looked at her for a moment. Then he asked, “When did you first hear about the accountant?”
Pensively she chewed her lower lip. In an indefinable way, it made her look more attractive. Some of the hardness had left her face.
“About two weeks ago. That’s when Brets first mentioned his name, Pierre Brassel. Usually he referred to him as his little gold mine.”
“Gold mine?”
She nodded, crushed out her cigarette.
“Yes, Jan Brets referred to the accountant that way. Look,” she explained, “an accountant deals with a lot of big businesses. He knows exactly how much cash they have, where they keep it, how it is protected…everything. He was going to feed information to Jan Brets. Jan and his recruits, including Anton, would go in and clean up.”
“A nice plan.”
“Yes, sir. You can see why my Anton was so keen.”
DeKok nodded.
“How many times did you meet Brassel?”
Thinking, she placed a long finger alongside her nose.
“Just once. It was evening, about a week ago. Brets brought him to Anton’s house, to discuss their venture,” she snorted derisively.
“And you were there?”
“Yes.”
“You heard what they discussed?”
“Yes.”
Slowly DeKok rose from his chair and started to pace up and down the room. He wanted to give her time to realize what she was doing. Experience had taught him it was counterproductive to press people too hard. Circumstances change. People regret and recant what they have said. He placed himself diagonally behind her.
“You do know Anton didn’t want to tell us the location of the first burglary?” he asked.
“I know.”
DeKok continued, “If Anton finds out you talked to the police, you could find yourself in a world of trouble.”
She nodded, almost imperceptibly.
DeKok sighed deeply.
“Very well, then, Marie. What does Operation Harlequin mean?”
She turned in her chair and faced him.
“Will you keep Anton out of this? The only reason I’m here is to keep him out of trouble.”
DeKok looked at her unemotionally.
“Has anything happened yet?”
She worried nervously with a glove in her lap.
“No, sir,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing has happened yet. But believe me, sir, I’ve been scared stiff all this time. Jan Brets was ready to do it! I promise you, he would have. He was going to kill an old night watchman with a hockey stick.”
10
DeKok could not control an exclamation of surprise.
“You’re certain he was going to use a hockey stick?”
Marie nodded in confirmation.
“That’s what he was going to use, a hockey stick. It was one of Brassel’s ideas. According to him, nobody would notice a young man walking around with a hockey stick. People go to and come from hockey games, especially on Sunday nights in winter.”
DeKok rubbed his hands over his lips. Marie’s revelations had him reeling. The veil around the dead harlequin was getting larger and less penetrable, like London fog. Jan Brets planned to kill a watchman with a hockey stick. In an ironic turn of events, Brets’s murderer beat him to death with a hockey stick. The odds against a coincidence in the choice of weapons was staggering. Lurking in the fog, like an evil shadow, was Pierre Brassel.
He sat down again behind his desk and pulled thoughtfully on his lower lip. He let it plop back with a most annoying sound.
“To recapitulate,” he said, “Brassel, Brets, and the others planned to execute Operation Harlequin on a Sunday night. The obstacle was a watchman, or guard. The plan was to kill him with a hockey stick.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. And where was this to take place?”
She made a helpless gesture.
“I don’t know if I remember correctly,” she said hesitatingly. “I didn’t want them to get suspicious, so I tried not to pay much attention. It seems to me it was Bunsum & Company, or Bunsum, Incorporated, something like that. The place is on Drain Street, maybe—yes, Drain Street. There’s an alleyway on the corner. Is that possible?”
DeKok nodded.
“That’s possible, yes, quite possible. I know which company you mean. It’s definitely Bunsum.”
She let out a sigh of relief.
“I thought I’d forgotten.”
DeKok smiled.
“You didn’t happen to overhear which Sunday this was to take place?”
She gestured toward a calendar on the wall.
“Now, this coming Sunday. Jan had gone ahead to look the place over. They needed details about the outside of the building, you know. Brassel was going to give Brets details regarding the inside of the building.”
“Do you know what they were after?”
“No.”
“Apart from Anton and Jan, were any others involved?”
She gave him a tired smile.
“I think so, but I really don’t know anymore.” It sounded like an apology.
DeKok placed his hand on her arm in a reassuring gesture.
“Marie,” he said in a friendly tone of voice, “believe me, you have helped us.”
A worried look came over her face.
“And Anton? What about Anton?”
“I have nothing against Anton,” he said, placing his hand on his chest, “nor do I need anything from him. We’ll make sure the break-in at Bunsum & Company will not succeed. That’s all.” He raised a cautioning finger. “Here’s what I want,” he continued in a compelling voice. “You go back to Utrecht and take care of Anton. You said it yourself—Anton likes to have other people think for him. Well, Jan Brets is dead.”
It took a while to sink in. Then a spark of understanding lit up her green eyes. The worried look dissipated slowly, and her face was transformed by a look of relief. She laughed.
“You got it! Damned if I won’t do the thinking from now on. I mean all of it!”
“That’s the spirit,” said DeKok with a smile, ignoring her use of expletives.
As soon as Marie had left, DeKok grabbed the telephone and called the desk sergeant.
“I’d like extra surveillance for Bunsum & Company on Drain Street, from now until Monday night. I don’t think anything will happen, but I want it covered. There’s a plan to break in, and the plan includes killing the guard there, if he’s in the way.”
“I’ll have the necessary personnel assigned.”
“Thank you.”
DeKok replaced the receiver. Vledder stood next to him, a piece of paper in his hand.
“I have here,” he said, all business, “a synopsis, or rather a conclusion, based on the facts as we now know them. Of course, I’ve added the information from Marie Sailmaker.”
DeKok nodded thoughtfully.
“Marie,” he sighed. “I hope she can control Fat Anton. She really seems to love that man.”
“May I?” interrupted Vledder impatiently. “May I present my update now?”
“Yes, yes.” DeKok’s thoughts seemed far away.
Vledder cleared his throat.
“All right, then,” said Vledder. “Pierre Brassel, respected accountant, obtains confidential information regarding Bunsum & Company. This information presumably includes knowledge regarding a large amount of cash on the premises. What is his next step? He goes to Utrecht and contacts Jan Brets, a known criminal. He proposes Brets empty the safe or, by whatever means, remove the cash and—”
“Jan Brets agrees,” completed DeKok. “He thinks it’s a great scheme. He’s actually flattered to have the kind Mr. Brassel pick him. After all, any number of underworld characters could as easily eliminate an innocent old man and do the job. Jan Brets immediately contacts his nearest and dearest, settlin
g on Fat Anton. Anton likes the idea as well. Together the brain and the brawn wait for further orders from Brassel.
“Brassel, in turn, orders Brets to take lodgings in the Greenland Arms. From the hotel, Brets will be closer to the scene. He’ll have an opportunity to check out the lay of the land. Although they haven’t agreed on all the details, the tentative date for the robbery is set: this coming Sunday.”
DeKok made a grand gesture.
“There you are, then,” he said, faking enthusiasm. “It’s a neat package; everything falls into place. What we have here is an everyday criminal conspiracy to drain the cash from Bunsum & Company.”
Vledder shook his head emphatically.
“No, DeKok. I didn’t say it’s at all logical,” he objected. “Not at all. To continue, even before the burglary can come to fruition, Pierre Brassel writes you an idiotic letter. He allows Brets, who has been elected to do the actual robbery…allows Brets to be murdered in his hotel room.” He snorted audibly. “DeKok, where’s the logic in that?”
DeKok nodded.
“Yes, indeed, Dick,” he agreed pleasantly. “If we put it all together, it is anything but logical. If…” He did not complete his thought. He stopped and rubbed his hands through his hair.
Vledder looked at him with surprise.
“If what?”
With a deep sigh, DeKok rose from his chair and placed a fatherly hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“As we discussed earlier,” he chided, “take care with intelligent people. The patterns we design, they’ve already inspected and rejected.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
DeKok shook his head.
“Nothing, it’s nothing at all. Just take it at face value. Take care not to jump to conclusions. Don’t be blinded by what seems to be true at this moment. The most obvious answer is not necessarily the right answer.”
“What do you mean?” Vledder seemed totally mystified.
“Let’s give it a rest for now,” DeKok answered a bit impatiently. “I propose we first get a few hours’ sleep. I don’t know how you feel, but I’m bone tired.” He thought for a while, then said, “Best you go to Bunsum &
Dekok and the Dead Harlequin Page 7
