DeKok and the Dead Lovers (Inspector DeKok Investigates)

by A. C. Baantjer

  DeKok ignored the banter.

  "When did those two leave?" he asked.

  "Bin one, two days."

  "So before the search warrant was issued?"

  Lowee looked serious.

  "They was scared, scared to get offed."

  "Both?"

  "Yep."

  "Why?"

  The barkeeper sighed.

  "Them two gypped some rich guy. Now he owes 'em."

  "Revenge?"

  "True."

  DeKok held his head to one side.

  "And do you know the name of this rich guy?"

  Lowee nodded, lowering his voice.

  "Manfred Nettelhorst."

  15

  Slightly depressed and deep in thought, they walked back to Warmoes Street.

  They ignored the crowds of lechers peering through windows behind which prostitutes displayed their wares. DeKok recalled painfully that it was Little Lowee who, once again, gave new impetus to his investigation. Over the years he had received many tips from the small barkeeper. He owed him a lot. The realization was not a burden. It was a simple acceptance.

  He knew Little Lowee was a thief and a fence. Over a lifetime Lowee had undoubtedly broken every commandment and most articles of the criminal law. DeKok, however, considered Lowee more brother than friend. It takes a thief to catch a thief. The saying certainly applied to his relationship with Little Lowee. DeKok grinned.

  "If a puppy steals a sausage," he said suddenly, "it will grow up to be an excellent police dog."

  Vledder looked at him.

  "What did you say?"

  DeKok laughed.

  "If a puppy steals a sausage," he repeated, "it will grow up to be an excellent police dog. I read that in some book."

  "And what made you think of that?" Vledder shook his head with disapproval. "For days we have been immersed in a murder," he said. "If we're not careful, there will be more victims. But you're thinking about dogs."

  DeKok nodded slowly.

  "You're thinking about Marius and DeBeau?"

  "Yes. Those two aren't the type to scare easily. There must be a real threat emanating from Manfred Nettelhorst."

  DeKok took a deep breath.

  "We had a perfect opportunity to observe his rage at Arti et Amicitiae," he sighed. "Nettelhorst has the ability and the means to hire people for dirty jobs. It isn't hard to find people who will do just about anything for cash, no questions asked."

  "You think he wouldn't have a hard time arranging the executions of Marius and DeBeau?"

  "Precisely."

  "How do you suppose they cheated him?"

  DeKok gestured with a hand.

  "Easy. It was the silver ewer."

  "How?"

  DeKok grinned.

  "Either they stole the work of art without his knowledge-in other words, the robbery was real, not staged, and our favorite collector discovered the identity of the perpetrators-or the two stole the ewer with his knowledge. In that case, it had to look like a real robbery." He paused and grimaced. "Personally, I bet on the second possibility."

  "That it had to look like a robbery?"

  "Yes," nodded DeKok. "From the onset I never trusted the robbery account. There is something wrong about it."

  "You said it stank."

  "It does. How strange for a single object, the ewer, to be stolen. There were many objects of incalculable value at the exhibition. Just think about the Monet for a moment. The thieves, however, restricted themselves to the ewer. I keep asking myself why. I believe Manfred Nettelhorst no longer wanted to keep the ewer. In his twisted perception, the old woman had touched it and-"

  "She contaminated it, rendering the object blemished," completed Vledder.

  DeKok nodded with emphasis.

  "Very good. Of course he could have sold the ewer. He could have given it as a gift to somebody. But that does not fit into the thinking of this man, who sees himself as a dedicated gatherer of unblemished beauty. In fact, he is so obsessive he just cannot stomach the idea of anyone else owning one of his prized possessions.

  Vledder frowned.

  "But why would he allow the ewer to be stolen? Wouldn't it wind up contaminated by hands other than his own?"

  DeKok shook his head.

  "Not necessarily."

  "I don't understand that."

  The grey sleuth smiled.

  "Manfred Nettelhorst is not just an eccentric, fanatical art collector. He's also an extremely shrewd man. He wanted to get rid of the ewer because possessing it disturbed him. But more importantly he wanted money for new acquisitions. The staged robbery provided an ideal solution. The insurance company would cough up a million and a half. Nettelhorst undoubtedly paid the thieves to destroy the object."

  Vledder looked aghast.

  "Destroy something so exquisite?"

  DeKok nodded with conviction.

  "It was a way to guarantee the unique object would never resurface. Nettelhorst would not lose a dime, nor would he have to imagine his object in other hands." He grinned. "Who could say whether the ewer was insured for much more than its real value?"

  "Aha," said Vledder. "Now I understand why he wasn't at all pleased when you returned his ewer."

  DeKok grinned.

  "You should have seen his face. Believe me, it was a triumphal moment for me. I've never seen anybody so dumbfounded." The old inspector raised a finger in the air. "There is more. His astonishment built to anger," he continued, "as he realized the thieves had broken their promise; they had not destroyed the beautiful ewer."

  Vledder narrowed his eyes.

  "Marius Graaf and lleBeau have reason to be afraid. It isn't hard to imagine him vengeful."

  "Another singular reaction while we were in Buitendam's office was this: Nettelhorst never asked me how I had gotten his ewer. He wasn't the least bit curious how we'd found it. Of course, we know now he didn't have to ask. When I entered the office with his ewer in my hand, he immediately grasped what had happened! Marius and DeBeau had double-crossed him."

  Vledder laughed.

  "It was a double whammy. Now that he had the art object back, he hadn't a prayer of an insurance settlement."

  DeKok snorted.

  "As police inspectors, we should never be influenced by our personal feelings. To be brutally honest, though, my first impression of Manfred Nettelhorst stuck. From the beginning I found him repulsive."

  Vledder thought it over.

  "Do we have any proof?" he asked after a while.

  "What?"

  "Can we prove the fraud?"

  DeKok had a doubtful look on his face.

  "Assuming Nettelhorst was involved, we'd need corroborative statements from Graaf and DeBeau. Without their testimony it would be difficult to build a case. We interrupted Nettelhorst's fraudulent scheme, so those two are the only witnesses." He paused a moment. "That is another reason for Nettelhorst to-"

  "Make them permanently unavailable," concluded Vledder.

  DeKok nodded. His face was stern.

  "The case is extremely serious," he said pensively. "One good idea would be to research Nettelhorst's sales and acquisitions. It would be interesting to know whether he has previously disposed of blemished works of art...and, if so, how."

  Vledder stopped suddenly in the middle of the street. His facial expression was frightened and bewildered.

  "What, eh, what happens to Therese de la Fontaine," he asked with a quaver in his voice, "if Nettelhorst decides she too is no longer unblemished?"

  "You mean, is she also to be destroyed?"

  They entered the station house and in the lobby DeKok signaled Vledder to wait. He walked through the gate in the low wall that separated the public part of the lobby from the police operations. He addressed the watch commander.

  "Which detectives are available tonight?"

  Kusters consulted his schedule.

  "Fred Prins and Apple Keizer," he said.

  DeKok nodded and walked over to a gla
ss-topped table where a large map of the precinct resided. He picked up the phone next to the table and spoke for a few minutes. Then he returned to Vledder.

  "Where did you park the car?"

  "Behind the station."

  "Very well, let's go."

  "Where to?"

  "Emperor's Canal."

  They walked to the back of the station house and climbed into the battered VW. Vledder started the engine.

  "We're going to see Matthias Heusden?"

  DeKok nodded vaguely and slid down in the seat until he almost sat on his back. A mysterious smile played around his lips.

  "Why are we going there?" asked Vledder.

  "I want to ask him a question."

  "What question?"

  "I want to ask him if he really killed Robert Achterberg."

  Vledder seemed puzzled.

  "Really?"

  DeKok glanced up at him.

  "Aren't you convinced he did it?"

  Vledder did not answer. They drove through the city in silence. It was a typical rainy night in Amsterdam. Wet pavement mirrored the bright lights of neon advertisements. Vledder found parking near number 1217 Emperor's Canal. He came to a stop between the trees at the water's edge. As DeKok began to exit the car, Vledder stopped him.

  "Heusden," whispered Vledder. "I see him in the mirror. He's walking behind us, on the sidewalk." He paused. "Should we follow him?"

  DeKok shook his head.

  "I know where he's going."

  Vledder looked surprised.

  "You know..." He did not complete the sentence.

  DeKok glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

  "Matthias Heusden," he said calmly, "is running a little late. He is on his way to Warmoes Street Station to have a conversation with Fred Prins. Detective Prins wishes to discuss a certain missing persons report regarding Therese de la Fontaine. Fred Prins has just taken over the case for me."

  Vledder gave his partner a calculating look.

  "Is that a bluff?"

  DeKok shook his head.

  "Just a small trick to keep Heusden out of the neighborhood for a while."

  "Why?"

  "We're going inside the house. We don't want Heusden to bother us while we are about our business."

  "And what exactly is our business?"

  "To look and see if there's a telephone."

  Vledder's mouth fell open.

  "What?" he exclaimed, completely confused.

  DeKok grinned.

  "Am I speaking Russian?"

  16

  Past the half windows of the sous-terrain, Vledder and DeKok climbed the bluestone steps to the front door of Therese's house. They stopped in front of the door and DeKok studied the lock.

  He produced his lock-picking instrument and selected a combination. He held the supple steel between thumb, index, and middle finger, carefully inserting it into the lock. DeKok made a few barely perceptible hand movements and the lock clicked open. He withdrew his tool and silently opened the door by pressing on it lightly with his shoulder.

  Once both men were inside, DeKok closed the door behind them. The beams of their flashlights played through the dark foyer.

  They moved cautiously down the hallway and through the wide marble corridor. DeKok passed the sitting room where Heusden had received them. During his many years of service at Warmoes Street Station, he had come to know the typical layout of the old canal houses. He knew the stairs to the higher floors were usually situated in the back of the house.

  Vledder poked him in the back.

  "Where are you going?"

  DeKok proceeded up the staircase without answering. When they reached a turning point, he addressed his partner.

  "I want to see the room where Robert Achterberg stayed while he was here."

  "Why?"

  DeKok did not answer but resumed climbing the stairs. The ancient wood creaked under his weight.

  They proceeded down a long, oak-paneled corridor toward the front of the house. The last door caught DeKok's particular attention. He rested his hand on the doorknob to discover the door was not locked. He pushed it open and stepped into the room, followed by Vledder.

  To the left was an antique double bed often called a fits jumeaux. It was an innovation during a gracious period. Even married couples of the time would not have thought of sleeping in a single bed. Thus the lits jumeaux was invented: it was actually two beds of comfortable width, sharing a common headboard. One of the beds was made up and covered with a bedspread. The covers were thrown back on the second bed. There was an indentation in the pillow.

  Next to the bed, on an elegant Queen Anne table, stood a telephone. There was an old-fashioned label at the base of the instrument. DeKok leaned closer and read the phone number.

  He crouched down and looked under the bed. There was a suitcase there, which he pulled out. It was an expensive yellow leather suitcase with copper reinforcements on the corners. There was a lock with a letter combination. For just a moment he pondered using his locksmith's skills on the lock, but then he thought better of it. With creaking knees he pushed himself upright.

  Vledder pointed at the suitcase.

  "Are we taking that with us?"

  DeKok shook his head.

  "You want to fabricate another fictitious report?" he asked with a grin.

  Without waiting for an answer, he went over to the high windows. Light entered the room, diffused by lace curtains. Long shadows played on the walls and ceiling.

  DeKok stood in front of the window, his hands behind his back. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He stayed for many minutes, enjoying the view of the canal.

  Suddenly his eyes lit up. It was as if a veil had been lifted, giving him back his eyesight. All at once he understood what had happened. He knew why and how, and he knew the perpetrator.

  Vledder came to stand next to him.

  "What's all this stuff about the telephone?"

  DeKok gestured around the room.

  "This room was the one Maria Goose occupied when she lived here with Heusden." He pointed at the telephone on the Queen Anne table. "This was her telephone. She had her own number. Therese also has her own number. Some time ago it was common for houses like this to be turned into offices. This building would have served a number of concerns; the phone connections date from that time. Three phone lines serve three separate numbers in the house. The third line is in Heusden's name. I discovered it when I tried to reach Maria Goose by telephone. The numbers were all listed in the guide."

  Vledder shrugged his shoulders.

  "We had to come all the way here to confirm that?"

  DeKok nodded.

  "I wanted to verify whether Robert Achterberg took his own telephone calls here or whether someone else in the household picked up the phone."

  DeKok narrowed his eyes. His sharp ears picked up the sound of footsteps in the marble corridor below. He eased over to the door and listened. Soon he heard the stairs creak. The shuffling footsteps grew closer, closer.

  The two inspectors took positions at either side of the door. The sound of footsteps stopped. They waited agonizing minutes as the doorknob turned and a figure slowly entered the room. The light from the windows revealed the silhouette of a formless jacket and wide slacks.

  In one rapid movement DeKok slammed the door and aimed his flashlight at the face of the intruder.

  Vledder gasped and DeKok's mouth fell open.

  Antoinette Graaf was caught in the beam of the flashlight.

  They drove away from the canal. DeKok requested Vledder park in a quiet place behind Wester Church. DeKok was seated in the back, next to Antoinette. A mocking smile played around the young woman's lips.

  "Are you going to arrest me again?"

  "How did you get inside?" he asked severely.

  "Through a window. I could easily push it up."

  "I did not see any open windows when we left."

  "I closed it again, of course." />
  "Why did you come to the house?"

  "To talk with Therese."

  "To talk to Therese," snorted DeKok, "you had to climb in through a window?"

  Antoinette lowered her head.

  "I came for the suitcase," she said softly.

  "What suitcase?"

  "Robert's suitcase. When he fled from the house, he forgot his suitcase."

  "What's in that suitcase?"

  "He said it contained a lot of money."

  DeKok glanced at Vledder in the rearview mirror.

  "How did Robert come by all that money?"

  She gave him a half smile.

  "He didn't tell me."

  DeKok turned in the seat so he could look straight at her.

  "Why didn't you say anything about the suitcase before?"

  She shrugged.

  "I didn't think it was all that important at the time. Besides, you didn't ask."

  DeKok grinned.

  "But now it's important enough to compel you to break into the house?"

  Antoinette looked at DeKok with an open expression.

  "Money doesn't come easily to a cleaning woman. I have to work very hard for very little return. Robert is dead. He doesn't need the money anymore."

  "You thought you deserved it?"

  She nodded slowly to herself.

  "Robert entered my life without warning," she said somberly. "My instinct at the time was to help. We enjoyed each other's company for a few hours. Nothing but sorrow and misery came to me. Yes, I believe I'm entitled to whatever the suitcase contains."

  DeKok looked at her. Strangely, he felt a certain pity for her, as he had during their first encounter.

  "Where is your brother?" he asked softly.

  "I don't know. I haven't seen him since my release."

  "Do you know a man called DeBeau?"

  She nodded.

  "He is one of Marius' friends. They were both working for some rich guy as bodyguards, or something like that."

  "What do you mean by something like that?"

  "They did other jobs for him."

  "Such as?"

  Antoinette gestured wildly.

  "How should I know?" she exclaimed. "It isn't hard to find some rich geezer looking for suckers to do his dirty work." She snorted contemptuously. "How else do you think the rich get and stay rich?"