DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat (10 page)

The expression on DeKok's friendly, melancholy face changed into an even, expressionless, implacable mask.

“Rainbows? Specters?” he asked softly, but threateningly. His voice sounded like the voice of doom. “Mr. Bent, we're not chasing specters, but a phantom, just
one
phantom … the phantom of a murderer.” Vledder admired the lugubrious sounds DeKok was able to produce.

The president fell back in his chair, apparently deflated.

“A murderer?”

DeKok gauged the amount of surprise on Bent's face. He wondered how much was real and how much was well-played innocence. It was almost too good to be true, the bulging eyes, the half-open mouth.

He nodded.

“Yes, the man, or woman, who killed Pete Geffel.”

Bent was a picture of incomprehension.

“Who … who is Pete Geffel?”

“The man,” answered DeKok slowly, “who called B&G last week to alert you about a possible hold-up.”

Bent stared at him dumbfounded. All intelligence seemed to have left his face.

“W-what … what?” he stammered.

DeKok looked at him evenly.

“You heard me, Mr. Bent.” There was icy sarcasm in his voice. “Pete Geffel called last week to warn you about a hold-up that had been planned for one of your transports. He wanted to clear his conscience and, at the same time, protect you from a great financial loss. It was his death. Somebody enticed him into the sand dunes near Seadike and planted a dagger in his back.” He paused, gauged the reaction. “Now do you understand, Mr. Bent, why I have such an insatiable curiosity about that … eh, that bunch of criminals of yours?”

Mr. Bent shielded his eyes with his left hand. The other hand, resting loosely on the armrest of the chair, shook lightly. It took a long time before he answered.

“I must assume,” he said hoarsely, “that you know what you're talking about. I mean, that your information is correct. You see, if the message of … eh, Pete Geffel you said? If Geffel's message had reached us in time, we would most certainly have taken steps.”

DeKok made a vague gesture.

“Indeed, that's exactly what puzzles us as well. I mean, at the very least a company like B&G can be expected to protect its assets.”

Bent nodded slowly.

“I understand what you're thinking. No measures were taken. Our company took no steps to prevent the loss. Despite the warning, the hold-up took place as planned.”

“Exactly! Not even the police were informed. And I can't help but wonder: WHY? What could the company possibly gain by doing nothing?”

Sighing deeply, Bent rose from his chair.

“I won't fight you any longer, Mr. DeKok. I realize that it would be counter-productive.”

He walked over to the desk and pushed a button.

“Tell Thornbush to come in here.” His voice sounded wan, without strength. The president was the epitome of a tired man. His eyes were dull and his face was gray. All inner strength seemed to have been sapped from his body. “Thornbush is our Vice President of Administration,” he explained to the policemen.

A man entered after a few seconds. He stopped in the middle of the room. Nervously, he looked around.

DeKok looked at him intently. He was a relatively young man, a southern type with shiny, black hair and somewhat weak facial structure. He wore a stylish corn-flower blue suit with expensive shoes. He made a foppish impression on DeKok's puritanical soul.

Bent gestured.

“These gentlemen are Inspectors DeKok and Vledder from the Warmoes Street Station. They have been assigned to the hold-up case. I have just told them that they have the ‘freedom of the office' and that there will be no restrictions on the questions they may ask our personnel. They can ask what they want, from who they want, regardless of position. I would like you to take care of all formalities and make sure that their every wish will be obeyed.” He turned to DeKok with a small bow. “Satisfied?” It sounded sarcastic.

DeKok gave him a friendly grin.

“Completely.”

“Then, will you excuse me?”

Head down, Bent left the office with a reluctant, hesitating step. The door slammed closed behind him.

*   *   *

DeKok had tired feet.

With a painful expression he lifted his legs and placed them on top of the desk. It was if a thousand devils pushed red-hot needles into his calves. When it happened it was always a bad sign. And sometimes it happened too often. Whenever a case seemed to progress slowly, or in the wrong direction, when he had the feeling he was drifting farther and farther away from a solution, then he felt his feet, his tired feet and that is when the little devils played their sadistic little games with his lower extremities.

And things had not gone well. The visit to the offices of B&G had not produced any tangible results. As expected, the top management of B&G formed ranks against the intruder. They displayed a united picture of pure innocence and he had not been able to crack the facade. In a circumspect way he had mentioned Pete Geffel. He had left no doubt in their minds about his opinion about murder and he had hinted about the possible perpetrator. The gentlemen had listened politely to his statements, had smiled starchy smiles and that had been their only reaction.

Eventually he had felt that perhaps Bent was right and that he was barking up the wrong tree at B&G.

Across his wide shoes with the painful, flat feet, he looked at Vledder who was working on one of his interminable reports.

“Are you about finished, Dick? I mean, do you have a list of all the people who knew about the amount to be transported?”

“Vledder nodded.

“Oh, yes. I've got that.”

“Read it to me.”

The young inspector picked up his notes and walked over to DeKok's desk.

“Well,” he sighed. “At the top of the list is the President, Bent and…”

“A man,” interrupted DeKok, “about whom it is said that he should not have married for the second time.”

“Then there is the Executive Vice President, Bergen,” continued Vledder.

DeKok nodded slowly.

“The man from Haarlem, who, coincidentally owns a blue Simca that, just as coincidentally, was stolen and used for the hold-up.”

“Then there's Bakelsma, the Vice President of Finance and two more Vice Presidents, Meeden and Westfall.”

DeKok made a helpless gesture.

“All people who are the very picture of reliability and trustworthiness, no doubt.”

Vledder grinned.

“And finally, the Secretary of the organization, also the Vice President of Administration, Thornbush.”

DeKok lifted his legs from the desk.

“The only man, by the way, who doesn't seem to fit in the overall picture. He's different.”

Vledder grinned maliciously.

“Oh, come now, just because he dresses a little snappier than the rest, doesn't make him a criminal.” The tone was sarcastic, as if the young inspector did not believe his own statement.

DeKok looked at him.

“But you forget, that he's the man who probably received Pete's telephonic warning. It's exceedingly strange, however, that none of the receptionists can remember such a call coming through during the time
before
the hold-up. There must, of course, have been a number of calls on the subject
after
the hold-up. Then again, at best they would hear snatches of conversations. I don't think they would purposely listen in.”

Vledder gestured.

“That can mean one of two things: Geffel never called, or, if he did call, he asked for somebody in particular. Maybe he knew somebody's name, one way or the other. But in either case, it would be unlikely that a receptionist would remember any details of a call that was made more than a week ago. Also, I doubt that Pete mentioned his name.”

DeKok nodded reflectively.

“There is a third possibility.”

Vledder looked the question.

“The particular receptionist has been well instructed.”

Vledder frowned.

“You mean she
does
remember the conversation, but somebody instructed her to keep her mouth shut?”

“Exactly.”

Vledder shook his head dejectedly.

“It's a hopeless situation,” he said bleakly. “We'll never get anywhere this way. The circle of suspects and accessories becomes wider and wider.”

For a long time both remained silent, thinking their own thoughts.

DeKok stood up and walked over to the window. He placed himself in his favorite position, balancing on the balls of his feet, his hands folded behind his back. He stared out of the window at the rooftops across the street. A light snow fall had transformed the rooftops and chimneys under the gray skies into an idealized version of a Christmas postcard. After a long while he turned around.

“You know, Dick,” he said slowly, choosing his words, “we are forgetting, I think, that the hold-up actually
did
take place. We seem to have forgotten that, neglected it, rather.”

Vledder looked at him in surprise.

“I don't understand you.”

“Well, it's simple, really. Who committed the robbery? Although B&G probably, according to our theory, took advantage of the information provided by Pete, there were actual people involved in the hold-up. Real people who really
did
commit the crime.”

Vledder nodded.

“Of course, but I don't think that those people are in any way connected with B&G. They probably also have nothing to do with Pete's killing.”

DeKok smiled.

“But they are in a position to provide us with proof about that.”

“Proof?”

“Yes, if we can arrest the robbers and if they can prove that the haul was considerably less than reported by B&G…”

Vledder's eyes sparkled.

“… then,” he interrupted enthusiastically, “then we could really put the screws to B&G management.”

“Yes, indeed. It would help us considerably. Perhaps we can get one of them to talk.”

Vledder's face fell.

“Well, yes, that would be great, but how do we find the perpetrators? I mean, we can hardly place an ad in the papers, now can we?”

DeKok laughed at him.

“Don't be so pessimistic. After all, we are policemen, you know. I'm sure we can solve it. To begin with, here's an intriguing question for you.”

“Question?”

DeKok nodded indulgently.

“Yes. How did Pete Geffel know that a hold-up was in the making?”

For several seconds Vledder was dumbfounded. Then he covered his face in his hands and groaned.

“Of course,” he exclaimed, “of course. I never gave it a thought. He
had
to hear it from somebody.”

DeKok rubbed his face with both hands. It was a tired gesture.

“And he had been well informed. He knew exactly what was going to happen. Therefore, I think he got his information first hand.”

Vledder looked at him searchingly.

“You mean, he got his information directly from one of the robbers?”

DeKok placed a fatherly hand on the broad shoulders of the younger man.

“It seems that way. And if I then tell you that Pete had been out of jail for less than a month, according to his file, and that he had spent the last few months of his jail sentence in Haarlem, what would be your conclusion?”

The expression on Vledder's face became noticeably more cheerful.

“That Geffel gained his knowledge in jail.”

DeKok nodded encouragingly.

“Exactly. Therefore I think you should make another trip to Haarlem. Have a talk with the warden there. He would be able to tell you who shared a cell with Pete.”

“Then what?”

“Then you come back to the station. Don't try any arrests on your own.”

“And what will you be doing?”

DeKok looked into the distance without seeing anything.

“I promised myself a long conversation with Flossie.”

“Flossie?”

DeKok nodded slowly.

“Yes. I'm afraid she has an ulterior motive. You see, this afternoon I spotted her in one of the corridors at B&G.”

10

With his collar pulled up high, his hands deep in his pockets and his little, decrepit felt hat far back on his head, DeKok stared across the Brewers Canal. Florentine La Croix lived just across the inky waters, near the corner of Pilgrim Street.

He had seen her enter more than half an hour ago, accompanied by a young man and he wondered how much longer the visit was likely to last. To be honest, he had no inclination to remain much longer on the drafty, cold corner in the hope that the young man would soon take his leave.

He grinned quietly to himself. Perhaps he intended to stay the night and had no plans of leaving at all. You never knew with women. One moment they seemed broken in body and spirit because of the loss of a loved one and the next moment they had cheerfully engaged in a new relationship. Come to think of it, reflected DeKok, the same could be said for almost anybody. People were wonderful.

He scratched the back of his neck. Women and love, he thought, returning to his original thought, he could not help it. They were factors he always looked at with a certain amount of suspicion. Perhaps it was because he did not understand women. What man could? But it seemed as if their capricious characters had confronted him with many a surprise on several occasions during his long career as a cop. And DeKok did not really like surprises. He preferred to work within the trusted framework of a regular routine. Surprises worried him. Yet, he relished the challenge of every new mystery. Sometimes, thought DeKok ruefully, I am too complicated for my own good.

He looked at his watch and decided to allow the young man another fifteen minutes. When the allotted time had past, he ambled away from his post, crossed the narrow bridge toward the other side of the canal and approached the corner of Pilgrim Street. Meanwhile he searched in his pocket for the invaluable gadget that had so often allowed him to open doors that seemed impenetrable. The gadget had been a gift from Handy Henkie, a reformed burglar. DeKok would not readily be without it and this time too, he silently thanked Henkie for his invention.