"Manfred and I met every couple of months for a socalled audition. I couldn't wear nail polish or makeup. He insisted upon seeing see me au natural, to guarantee my unblemished condition." She gave a harsh, joyless laugh. "I even had to take a bath before he would consent to view me. God forbid there should be marks on my skin from tight clothing." She rubbed her arms and looked at them. "Did you know that I was asked to remove all body hair? Look at my arms, as smooth as a baby's bottom."
DeKok nodded, but did not want to interrupt her stream of consciousness with the slightest sound.
"Manfred Nettelhorst, the great collector, cannot see. His ability to perceive beauty is one-dimensional. He was a joke, as was his agenda of keeping men out of my life. What was he looking for... fingerprints? My arrangement with Manfred became less and less amusing." She swallowed away a sob. "Everything changed," she continued after a short pause. "Strange things started happening around me." She looked at DeKok, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. "It was as if there was a curse on me. Men who showed an interest got into strange accidents. Some were the targets of murder attempts."
She stopped talking. DeKok respected her silence. When it appeared she was not going to say anything else, he spoke cautiously.
"There were attempts on Robert Achterberg's life?" he asked softly.
"Yes."
"And who do you think was responsible?"
An angry, determined look came over her face.
"Manfred Nettelhorst," she said with venom in her voice.
"Do you have any proof of that?"
Therese took a deep breath.
"Proof? No, I don't have any proof," she said bitterly. "I couldn't draw any other conclusion. After all, I broke the rules, the contract."
DeKok made a small gesture in her direction.
"Why would he not punish you.. .chastise you? After all, you were responsible for breaking the agreement."
Therese grinned with hardened eyes.
"You simply have no idea how Manfred thinks. In his eyes I am an idol, a goddess who may not be touched, who may not be sullied by common people."
"He merely supervised?"
Therese de la Fontaine nodded vehemently.
"Of course. It wasn't difficult for him. Manfred is very, very wealthy. He isn't just any eccentric. The man has influence. It's whispered he even has highly placed police officials in the palm of his hand."
DeKok remained silent and drank his coffee. He was glad to see Therese reach for her cup. When she replaced the cup on the table, he did the same and continued the interrogation.
"Why did you flee from the house that night with your suitcase?"
"I was afraid."
"Wasn't that sudden?"
Therese closed her eyes for a moment.
"Not so sudden," she said softly. "I hadn't been at ease for months. A certain threat surrounded me. It wasn't the first time I'd thought about running. In the end the decision was made for me. I had to leave because of the telephone call."
"What kind of call?"
"It was from DeBeau."
"It was that upsetting?"
She lowered her head.
"A few days before the phone call, a young woman had come to Emperor's Canal asking to see me. She didn't want to tell me her name. It was a one-sided conversation and weird. She told me Robert was at her house. She said she planned to keep him there, even if she had to chain him to the wall."
Therese sighed with closed eyes.
"DeBeau called the same night. He let the phone ring until it woke me. He told me Marius' sister had been arrested for the murder of a boy, a boy she chained to the radiator with handcuffs."
DeKok nodded understandingly.
"You knew immediately what had happened."
Therese clapped her hands over her face.
"I was overcome by panic. I didn't want to stay another second in that horrible house... it never gave me anything but grief. I packed a bag and ran away."
"To Henri Tombs."
"I trusted Henri. He brought me here, to Baarn."
DeKok looked at her evenly.
"You believed Robert was dead because of you?"
"Yes."
"You also knew we had arrested the wrong person?"
"Yes."
"It was not Antoinette, Marius' sister."
Therese de la Fontaine shook her head slowly.
"The killer was Matthias Heusden, my stepfather."
DeKok alerted the Baarn police, greeted them, and observed while they worked. He managed a credible explanation of his presence at the murder scene. He employed moral certitude and considerable tact to negotiate the immediate release of Therese and her mother. The women left for Amsterdam. DeKok's sense of duty kept him at the villa until the local police arranged for DeBeau's corpse to be moved to the morgue. After a very long night, he and Vledder said their farewells and departed for Amsterdam.
Vledder urged the police VW through the night. His face was ashen and his eyes rimmed in red. Sleep deprivation was getting to be a factor.
DeKok sat in the passenger seat, his dilapidated hat pushed down over his eyes. Now he wondered whether he should feel responsible for DeBeau's death. He quickly pushed that thought away into the recesses of his mind. He had only recently known DeBeau existed. He had been completely unaware of the young Frenchman's relationship with Therese.
He dwelt on one question exclusively: How could he unmask the killer? The horrors inflicted on Therese and the murdered men had to come to an end. First he'd have to expose a killer. DeKok sighed deeply, thinking about the obvious contradictions in the case. Robert Achterberg could hardly be described as one of Therese's lovers. Whatever the motive, the murderer had gone to considerable lengths to kill the young photographer.
Vledder broke in on his thoughts.
"When are we going to arrest Heusden?"
DeKok glanced aside.
"Why should we arrest him?"
Vledder reacted, surprised.
"You heard what Therese said. She's convinced he killed Robert Achterberg. He was not home the night of the murder."
DeKok pushed his hat back.
"Was he also the man who shot DeBeau?"
Vledder shrugged.
"Who knows? Who cares?"
The grey sleuth shook is head.
"No. The man who shot DeBeau was not Matthias Heusden."
"How do you know that?"
DeKok moved in his seat.
"DeBeau lived in the same house with Therese. He and Marius were assigned to be her bodyguards. Heusden knew both men well and vice versa. DeBeau would have recognized Matthias Heusden as his killer. DeBeau mentioned no name, he did not know who shot him."
Vledder grunted.
"I see, you assume that DeBeau and Achterberg were killed by the same person."
"I don't just assume it, I'm convinced of it."
"But," said Vledder, instinctively letting up on the gas, "if that's true, we're just as far from a solution as before."
DeKok grunted and sank back down in the seat.
When they reached Amsterdam, Vledder dropped DeKok at home. Next he would return the car to the station.
Before he took his leave, DeKok asked his partner one more thing. "Before you go home, please make an appointment with Harold Buis."
Exhausted by the excursion to Baarn, DeKok had crawled into bed and slept like log. He'd spent most of the day puttering around the house.
DeKok ambled across the Damrak. He looked at a clock in a shop window and noted the time. It was just past seven o'clock in the evening. He must hurry. He was to meet Harold Buis at eight o'clock. He still didn't know what kind of St. Nicholas surprise he would buy for his wife. He allowed his thoughts to drift. He thought of buying a vase or pitcher. After all, it was his fault a silver ewer worth a million and a half euros passed her by.
He grinned to himself, remembering the surprise. He felt strangely content not to be able to buy her such an expensive present. W
ealth couldn't be equated with happiness. Many rich people were unhappy. He thought about Manfred Nettelhorst, a dedicated gatherer of unblemished beauty. Therese made a perceptive observation. Nettelhorst restricted the young beauty's behavior, depriving her of a normal life. Without a sexual agenda, he objectified her. He did not merely look at Therese's naked, unblemished body. He viewed it to ensure his investment was intact. It was a surreal ritual, stemming from an unconscionable contract. As bizarre as it was, DeKok could not reconcile it with murder.
The St. Nicholas surprise had faded from his thoughts. When he checked the time again, he discovered it was nearly eight. As he entered the lobby of the station house, the clock on the wall confirmed the time.
Harold Buis shook his hand. lleKok looked in surprise at his colleague. The likeness was indeed striking-the same height, the same posture, the same moustache, the same hair.
The grey sleuth grinned.
"I can almost believe that DeBeau has risen from the grave."
Harold Buis smiled.
"You mean Charles Montagne?"
DeKok reacted, surprised.
"You knew him?"
Buis nodded his assent.
"He is a Frenchman, but he's been in the Netherlands for more than a year. He comes to visit the immigration office periodically. He has to renew his residency permit. The guys in the office always call out, `Harold, your brother is here!' They think they are so funny."
"DeBeau is dead."
"Dead?"
DeKok made a vague gesture.
"Somebody fired three bullets into his chest last night. It proved to be fatal. He died within minutes, in the arms of his girlfriend."
Harold Buis looked properly solemn.
"But what do you want of me?"
"I want you to replace him."
Harold's moustache twitched.
"I'd rather stay alive."
DeKok nodded in agreement.
"That's the idea-we want you alive."
19
It was quiet on the canal, but cold and windy. DeKok shivered in his thin trench coat. He stood at the corner of Hart Street and waited for the Wester Tower clock to chime ten o'clock. That was to be the signal.
Less than a hundred feet from his position at the canal's edge were two unmarked police cars. They were part of l)eKok's arrangements.
Dick Vledder and Fred Prins were in one of the cars.
The grey sleuth hoped he would not need the two junior detectives. He wanted to avoid any unnecessary risks.
DeKok had also arranged for DeBeau's coat to be sent to him at Warmoes Street Station. Later, when DeKok asked Harold Buis to put on the garment, Buis balked. Bullets had torn through the fabric. The coat was blood stained. Against his better judgment, Buis now wore the dead man's coat over a bulletproof vest. The illusion was complete-he was a ringer for DeBeau. He sat in a parked car right across from number 1316.
The senior inspector decided against a bulletproof vest for himself. He was beginning to regret the decision. He was not fearful of being shot, but he was freezing. The vest would have afforded some protection against the bitter cold.
The Wester Tower clock began to chime. DeKok was distracted, anxious. He tingled with a combination of anticipation and intense pressure. In his long career he had orchestrated many such events. He had the confidence of experience. He had successfully concluded more cases than he could count. He planned meticulously, but unexpected factors could complicate matters.
"The best-laid plans of mice and men..." DeKok did not have time to complete the thought. He hoped the element of surprise would determine the outcome. He had no other viable option, except to arrange to ambush his suspect's peace of mind.
When the tenth peal of the tower clock dimmed, DeKok stretched. Outwardly unconcerned, he stepped from the shadows of Hart Street onto the quay of Emperor's Canal.
He stopped in front of number 1316 and rang the bell. He knew the surveillance cameras displayed his image on screens inside the mansion. With a certain amount of effort, he forced an innocent smile.
After many long minutes the door opened. The real estate broker stood in the doorway, dressed in a beige dressing gown.
Their eyes met.
DeKok stood smiling in the doorway. Behind him he heard footsteps. The footsteps came nearer, steady and purposeful. DeKok could almost feel Harold Buis' breath on his neck. He stepped aside.
Tombs completely lost his composure. DeKok could see the man's face freeze in bewilderment. His eyes widened as he began to panic. He raised both hands to his face, fingers spread, as if to protect his eyes from seeing some unspeakable evil.
"NO!" His scream echoed along the canal. "No, that's impossible. It cannot be..."
DeKok pushed Harold Buis aside and stepped closer to the broker.
"Henri Tombs," he said formally, "I arrest you on suspicion of murder."
20
DeKok opened the door of his house and found Vledder on the stoop. The young man smiled shyly. A beautiful bouquet of red roses hung from his left hand.
"For your wife. The longer I work with you, the more I admire her."
DeKok laughed.
"Is that a compliment?"
"For her, yes."
Vledder entered the hallway.
"Harold Buis here yet?"
The grey sleuth nodded.
"He's sitting next to my wife, talking nonstop. Fred Prins can hardly get a word in edgewise."
Vledder rubbed his nose and snorted.
"Braggart. He's telling everybody that we solved the murders because of his intervention."
DeKok grinned.
"In a way he's absolutely right."
Together they entered the living room. Mrs. DeKok immediately stood up and shook Vledder's hand. She was clearly delighted to receive the roses. She pointed to a deep easy chair.
"Please, sit down," she said heartily. "My husband was wondering where you were."
Vledder made an apologetic gesture.
"Since we're computer reliant at Warmoes Street, I get to do all the typing and enter all the data. It takes time." He turned to DeKok. "And I need answers to a whole bunch of questions."
DeKok made a dismissive gesture.
"We can take care of that later, better yet tomorrow. This, however," he held up a bottle of fine cognac and pointed at the faded label, "this cannot wait much longer."
Vledder laughed.
"Did Lowee donate one of his precious bottles?"
"No, this is a present from Therese de la Fontaine and her mother, although Little Lowee delivered it in person."
"Leave it to Lowee," said Vledder with a grin. "His reach extends to every corner of Amsterdam, and he knows exactly who can supply the very thing his favorite cop appreciates most."
While Vledder seated himself, DeKok was busy at the sideboard. Carefully he uncorked the rare, costly bottle of cognac and set prewarmed snifters in a row. He poured with elan. Little Lowee could not have done better. He distributed the glasses.
Then he raised his glass.
"To emotions," he said. "To the emotions that rule our lives."
"Hear, hear," said the others, and they all took a sip.
DeKok closed his eyes and allowed the liquid to explore the inside of his mouth. Vledder, who knew what to expect, followed suit. He smiled in delight.
As the others sipped, their expressions changed. They stared intently at their glasses.
"Wow," said Fred Prins, "that's some drink."
Buis nodded and took another sip before he spoke.
"And you use this heavenly drink to toast emotion," he said. "Were it not for an ability to twist emotions, you wouldn't be able to make people tell you their deepest secrets." It sounded like an accusation.
DeKok looked at him, a pained expression on his face.
"There is such a thing as being caught in a vicious cycle. We humans are not so much ruled by emotion as we are by conviction. Once we commit to a point of view, our thoughts a
nd actions are predictable, if not predetermined. Sometimes a misguided conviction leads to choices that are wrong and diametrically opposed to commonly accepted norms. Without intervention it may be impossible to break out of such a cycle. Henri Tombs was relieved to confess. His guilt weighed on him heavily. I told him DeBeau was dead and admitted to using Harold as a decoy. Harold's uncanny resemblance to his victim shocked and overwhelmed Tombs. Believe it or not, he was grateful."
Mrs. DeKok looked at her husband.
"Is he going to jail?"
DeKok shrugged his shoulders.
"That's the decision of the judge-advocate. I think he'll be in psychiatric treatment first."
Vledder leaned forward.
"When did you know it was him?"
"The moment I looked out the windows of Robert's room at 1217. 1 noticed 1316 Emperor's Canal was almost exactly opposite Therese's house. Henri Tombs could see exactly what happened in her house. And that is what he did. He used a telescope and some instrument I don't understand. But he could also hear almost everything that was said in the house across the canal."
Mrs. DeKok shook her head in amazement.
"What possessed the man?"
The old inspector sat down in an easy chair and took another sip of his cognac. He placed the glass on a side table and spread his hands.
"The senior Tombs was obsessed by conviction. He had it in his head that Therese de la Fontaine had been created for his son. Not only did he believe the marriage was predestined, he believed God had already married the couple. He considered the will of God inviolate. When his son died in a car accident, he simply could not bear the thought of Therese belonging to another man."
"That's why he eliminated all potential suitors," said Vledder after draining his glass.
DeKok nodded.
"Yes. He was also eliminating those who could shatter his delusion. He was ruled by conviction." He sighed deeply. "This case has caused me some headaches. I was shocked and angered by Manfred Nettelhorst's so-called contract with Matthias Heusden. Even before I learned of it, I witnessed the ugly scene with the old lady at Arti et Amicitiae. Nettelhorst's rage and loss of control caused me to peg him as a potential perpetrator."
"So what made you decide to let go of that idea?"
DeKok and the Dead Lovers (Inspector DeKok Investigates) Page 13
