When the woman noticed the men at the top of the stairs, she stood up and walked forward.
“I’m the mother of Therese de la Fontaine,” she said simply.
DeKok smiled
“Maria Goose.”
“Yes.”
DeKok politely lifted his hat and bowed stiffly.
“Very nice to meet you,” he said, leading her to the door of the detective room. He opened it and bowed her inside. At his desk, he pulled out a chair and asked her to sit down. Then he threw his raincoat and hat in the direction of the peg—both missed—and walked around the desk to sit down. Vledder walked silently to his own desk and turned on his computer.
Maria Goose crossed her slender legs and pulled her short dress down a bit, leaving her knees uncovered. She leaned forward.
“I came to tell you,” she said in a husky voice, “I did not do it.”
DeKok feigned surprise.
“Did not do what?”
“Put a bullet through that boy’s head.”
“Which boy?”
“Robert Achterberg.”
DeKok leaned slightly back in his chair.
“But who says you did?”
She thumbed over her shoulder.
“My ex-husband.”
“Matthias Heusden?”
Maria Goose nodded agreement.
“He called me about an hour ago and advised me to disappear, leave the country.”
“But why?”
“In fact I should have killed him.”
“However, you did not?”
She shook her head decisively.
“I told you already. No, I did not murder him.” She moved in her chair, adjusted the top of her dress. “I did threaten it, though. Told him if he kept chasing after my girl I would put a bullet through his head.”
“You had good reason not to like him?” asked DeKok in an even tone.
In an emotional gesture Maria extended both hands.
“I considered the day-to-day relationship my daughter’s problem. I didn’t have to live with him. Therese was capable of deciding for herself. I had a problem with Robert because he was no good, not for himself or anyone else.” She leaned forward. “He was involved with pornography…child pornography. He exploited children hardly aware there are two sexes. He encouraged them to fool around with each other so he could photograph. He used adults now and again, and they certainly knew what they were doing.” She looked at DeKok with revulsion on her face. “You must agree. No mother wants her daughter to associate with a degenerate creep.”
“How do you know about the pornography?” asked DeKok, all business.
“Therese told me herself.”
“You still have regular contact with your daughter? You keep in touch?”
“Of course.”
“Did Therese love Robert?”
Maria Goose leaned back.
“Ach,” she said dejectedly. “Therese is just like she was when she was younger. If a guy pays her any attention, she’s flattered.”
DeKok smiled.
“A lot of men would look at her, I’m afraid. According to what I’ve heard, Therese is very attractive.”
She nodded.
“That’s true. Therese is a perfect-picture girl, perhaps with a hint of vanity. Robert Achterberg was a big danger to her. He spoke eloquently about a golden future…about connections in America who could take her to the top.”
“The usual lure,” said DeKok and stared into the distance. “Did Therese ever pose for pornographic photos?” he asked gently.
Maria shrugged her shoulders.
“I can’t say for sure. She swore to me she would never do that. But she did show me a series of nude studies, very artistic, that Robert made to show to his connections in the States.”
“But no hard-core pornography?”
“No.”
DeKok rubbed his chin.
“Does Therese have a steady boyfriend?”
Maria’s face fell.
“I won’t discuss that.”
DeKok was taken aback.
“But why not?”
“I promised Therese I would never talk about it, not with anybody.”
“And you keep your promises?”
She nodded with closed eyes.
“Therese,” she said softly, “had a friend, a wonderful boy. She loved him dearly. Last year he died in a car accident. Therese grieved over the loss.”
“What was the name of the boy?”
“Everet, Everet Tombs. Son of a real estate broker on Emperor’s Canal.”
DeKok rubbed the bridge of his nose with his little finger.
“Surely you no longer feel you must keep silent about Everet Tombs?”
“Therese did not want to hold on to a secret sorrow anymore.”
“Is she grieving now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Now that Robert is dead.”
Maria Goose shook her head slowly.
“I don’t think so. She never was in love with Robert Achterberg.”
DeKok glanced at Vledder, who shrugged with a noncommittal look before returning his attention to his keyboard.
“And yet,” said DeKok finally, “she took him into her house.”
Maria rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. She appeared tired.
“That wasn’t Therese,” she said wearily. “That was Matthias.”
DeKok hid his surprise, but his eyes lit up.
“Why would Matthias Heusden do that?”
Maria Goose sighed a long, deep sigh.
“You’d have to ask him.” There was despair in her voice. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand anything. I don’t know why he invited Robert into the house. Usually Matthias guarded Therese like a harem guard.”
“Why? She’s a young woman. An adult.”
Maria’s face turned red. She spread both arms wide.
“He sold her!”
“What?”
“Matthias sold Therese.”
“How, where, to who…” DeKok was speechless.
“He sold her to a rich bastard.”
“To whom? Do you know him?”
Maria Goose nodded with rising disgust.
“Manfred Nettelhorst.”
9
Once Maria Goose had swished her way through the door, DeKok leaned both elbows on his desk and thoughtfully bit the tip of his thumb. He silently reviewed all the events related to the case, beginning with the exhibit he and Vledder attended at Arti et Amicitiae. The first person who attracted his attention was Manfred Nettelhorst. DeKok would not soon forget the level of rage Nettelhorst unleashed on the elderly lady he saw touching his priceless ewer. Barely twenty-four hours later, Nettelhorst was reappearing like a fat blip on DeKok’s radar. It seemed Nettelhorst had made a strange acquisition. DeKok would have to discover how this event related to the murder of a certain pornographer.
DeKok formulated a mental picture. Try as he might, he couldn’t place the murder in it. It was like one of those photographic jigsaws. He almost gave himself a headache, but he knew there was vital information missing. He needed to proceed until he found the cornerstone pieces of the puzzle.
He glanced at Vledder, who was busy at his keyboard. DeKok knew Vledder had created a number of subroutines that allowed him to spit out reports at any stage of an investigation they were conducting. He could also delete items from a final report and still have the report accepted as complete, up-to-date information. DeKok had no notion how Vledder accomplished this and could not care less. All he knew was it worked. From the time he began to work with Vledder, he never had to produce another laborious handwritten report. His superiors had eventually ordered the removal of the computer terminal from DeKok’s desk. He refused to use it. The day the technician installed his computer and removed his battered mechanical typewriter, he began turning in handwritten reports. With the typewriter the department had reached the limit of DeKok’s willingness to a
ccept modernization.
“Tomorrow morning,” said DeKok, “I’d like you to check with vice at headquarters. See if they have anything on Robert Achterberg.”
Vledder nodded. He did not find the request strange. Although Warmoes Street Station was located on the edge of the red-light district, it did not have a vice squad.
“I’ll do it,” he said. He touched a key and the image instantly disappeared from his screen. “But to tell you the truth,” he continued, “I’ve lost my appetite for this case.”
DeKok looked surprised.
“How’s that?”
Vledder moodily shrugged his shoulders.
“There’s nothing lost.”
“You mean that it’s justified that Robert Achterberg has been murdered?”
Vledder nodded.
“At first we had no idea who he was, but now he turns out to be a filthy child pornographer. Whoever killed him probably did the world a favor.”
DeKok gave him a long, hard look.
“So you only want to give it your all if the victim is sympathetic?”
It sounded sarcastic and was meant to be.
“You know very well what I mean.”
DeKok shook his head resolutely.
“No, I don’t know what you mean,” he reacted icily. “It should make no difference. A human being is a human being. Once, against an angry mob, I defended a man who murdered a four-year-old girl. I put my life on the line because they would have surely lynched him. Believe me, I did not defend him out of misguided sympathy.”
Vledder shook his head, not willing to concede a point.
“Robert Achterberg,” he said firmly, “was up to his neck in a vicious, nasty business. Regardless of how he became involved, he came in contact with equally nasty, vicious people. The least he risked was a bullet to the head.”
DeKok sighed.
“If our society consisted solely of respectable, decent, honorable people, we could do away with the police altogether.”
Vledder made an angry gesture.
“Right. We’re in no position to judge. We just have the job of always digging around in the crime and filth of others.”
DeKok sighed again.
“We do our job; sometimes it gets nasty. But we, you and I, serve society. We are the ones who have the skill and willingness to uphold the law…sometimes reluctantly.”
A faint smile appeared on Vledder’s face.
“You’re right, of course,” he said soberly. “But just thinking about the purchase of a young woman really upsets me.”
“You mean the purchase of Therese by our collector, Nettelhorst.”
“What,” asked Vledder, “does a man like Manfred Nettelhorst want with a woman like her?”
“I can think of several reasons,” said DeKok.
“I can’t. Nettelhorst is a homosexual.”
DeKok looked at the clock on the wall. It was past eleven thirty.
“I’m going home,” he said listlessly. “I’m exhausted. It’s been enough for one day.”
Vledder straightened his desk.
“Perhaps you should make one more phone call.”
“To whom?”
Vledder pointed at the telephone on his desk.
“Why don’t you call the commissaris, before he goes to bed? Perhaps he’ll agree to release Antoinette tonight.” He grinned. “You’ll sleep better.”
DeKok looked at his young partner fondly.
“All right, it’s worth a try. Why don’t you get him for me.”
Vledder pulled the phone closer and started to punch out the number. Before he could complete the sequence, there was loud knock on the door. The young inspector replaced the receiver and looked at the door. It opened, and there stood a tall, fashionable gentleman. DeKok estimated him to be in his early fifties. He was dressed in an expensive grey coat, perfectly cut. A black homburg was slightly tilted to one side of his head. He approached their desks in long, athletic strides.
“Your watch commander informed me you were still in the building.” His voice was soft but forceful. It had a convincing quality. “Because I felt it urgent, I decided to come and talk with you, despite the late hour.” He took off his hat and looked from DeKok to Vledder and back again. “I hope I did not arrive at an inopportune time.”
DeKok pointed at the chair next to his desk.
“Please sit down,” he said. He had resigned himself to stay.
The man unbuttoned his overcoat and sat down.
“My name is Tombs, Henri Tombs. I’m a real estate broker and I reside at Emperor’s Canal 1316. I also have my office there.”
Vledder rose from his chair and raised an interrupting hand.
“I’ll give Buitendam a call myself,” he said in a soft aside.
DeKok nodded and waited until he left the room. Then he turned his attention to the broker.
“I heard your name earlier this evening,” he said with a winning smile.
Henri Tombs seemed surprised.
“Really…in what context?”
“Maria Goose mentioned it.”
A veil seemed to descend in front of the broker’s eyes.
“I am sorry. The name is unknown to me.”
DeKok smiled.
“I think you know her better by the name Maria de la Fontaine. Maria is the mother of the exquisite Therese.”
Tombs nodded slowly.
“A remarkable woman.”
“In what way?”
“She prefers the uncertain existence of a, eh, a prostitute over the life of a loved and appreciated spouse in a comfortable domicile on Emperor’s Canal.”
DeKok narrowed his eyes.
“At the side of Matthias Heusden?”
“Certainly. An elegant man of refined tastes.”
“You keep in contact with him?”
Henri Tombs shook his head.
“Not anymore. When Everet was still alive…” Suddenly he became silent. His face assumed a strange, almost mystic expression. For a long time he stared dreamily at nothing. He continued in a different, firmer tone of voice.
“Everet is my son, he was my only son. My wife died, and he was all I had left. The revolting behavior of a drunk driver cost him his life. He was young and vital. He had a great future ahead of him. He was so happy at the prospect of having the virginal Therese at his side.” He gave DeKok a penetrating look. “Do you believe in predestination, total submission to a plan greater than our own, Mr. DeKok?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Everet and Therese were created for each other. They were destined for a firm bond in lasting marriage. I believe their marriage was ordained by God, perhaps strengthened by His blessings.”
DeKok blinked. With everything in him, he tried to follow the thread of the broker’s thoughts.
“You mean,” he said hesitantly, “that Therese and Everet were in fact already married?”
Henri Tombs nodded.
“They were predestined for each other. That decision had been made a long time ago for them, in Heaven. The fiat from God was already in place. The only thing still lacking was the earthly consummation.”
“But that never happened?”
The broker reacted vehemently. He raised both hands as though beseeching heavenly intervention.
“That will come,” he said with certainty. “Everet’s death does not change anything.”
DeKok licked his dry lips.
“I don’t quite understand,” he said carefully. “With Everet’s death, consummation became impossible. There can be no question of an earthly marriage.”
Henri’s face became a steel mask.
“Is God’s will to be ignored?”
DeKok did not answer. There was a slight tingling in the tips of his fingers. He wanted to change the subject. He avoided religious discussions. Religion was a subject he did not like to pursue. He felt he lacked both the knowledge and the eloquence to discuss it intelligently.
The broker leaned closer.
<
br /> “Is God’s will to be ignored?” he repeated.
The grey sleuth remained pointedly silent. He let his gaze wander over the face of the broker. He evaluated the man’s features, the lines around the mouth, the slightly pointed nose, the high cheekbones. He saw the contradictions in Tombs’ face. The expression was mild, but it was the face of a fanatic. He’d never encountered the combination. Mildness and fanaticism—the two did not go together.
DeKok stretched out a hand and barely brushed the tips of his fingers against a grey waistcoat with mother-of-pearl buttons.
“You came here,” he said patiently, “because of something you thought to be very important.”
“Certainly.”
DeKok smiled agreeably.
“And you have already mentioned that?”
Henri Tombs shook his head. The expression on his face changed instantly. He appeared to slowly, systematically return to reality. He looked candidly at DeKok.
“Have you received a report about a missing person today?”
“Who’s supposed to be missing?”
“Therese de la Fontaine.”
“No.”
The broker leaned back in his chair.
“I think a report like that will still come. Somebody will notice she’s missing. To save you the trouble of a widespread search, I came to tell you I have hidden her somewhere.”
“Where?”
For the first time since he had arrived, there was a hint of a smile on the broker’s face.
“That I cannot reveal.”
DeKok feigned surprise.
“Why not?”
Henri Tombs made an apologetic gesture.
“Because I promised her explicitly. She is not available to anybody.”
“That is a problem,” said DeKok evenly. “I would like to interview her.”
Tombs shrugged his shoulders.
“You can tell me your questions,” he said in a businesslike tone. “I will present them to Therese and you will hear her answers from me.”
DeKok shook his head.
DeKok and the Dead Lovers Page 7
