DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat (7 page)

“I am … I
was
a friend of Pete Geffel.”

DeKok nodded slowly, regaining his self-control.

“I know,” he answered. “Mother Geffel told me.” He hesitated a moment. “I had imagined you different,” he added.

She smiled charmingly.

“A different image?”

DeKok pushed his lower lip forward.

“Yes, Mother Geffel spoke of a kind girl, a nice girl to whom Pete was devoted.”

She gave him a challenging look.

“Something wrong with that?”

DeKok made an apologetic gesture.

“No, no, nothing. It's my fault. Apparently I have a limited imagination.”

She looked at him searchingly. The expression on her face became more formal. The smile had disappeared.

“What do you mean?”

DeKok shrugged his shoulders reluctantly.

“Well, you don't exactly look the picture of what I had imagined: a kind, nice girl, a girl who mourns the passing of her friend.”

She twiddled nervously with a button of her blouse. A red blush spread over her cheeks.

“What do you expect me to do?” she asked vehemently “Perhaps you expect me to sit here sucking my thumb, or to cry on your shoulder. Is that what you want?”

“Why not? I don't mind. Go ahead.” He nodded encouragingly at her, his eyes half closed. “It's a relief, believe me. And don't worry about your make-up. Go ahead and cry, if you want to. You don't have to be attractive or alluring for me. I'm just a civil servant so it's all wasted on me, anyway.”

She moved in her chair.

“You won't see me cry,” she said, a determined tone in her voice.

DeKok shrugged his shoulders.

“As you like,” he remarked resignedly. “Nobody's forcing you.”

She did not react.

DeKok looked at her with interest. Even with a determined, stubborn look on her face, she was gorgeous, impressive.

“You called him ‘Peter', is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you love him?”

“Yes.”

“You knew about his past?”

She nodded.

“Everything, from the moment he was born,” she admitted.

“Well, and?”

She looked at him, frowning angrily. Her eyes spat fire.

“What do you mean: well, and?” Her tone was rebellious. “What's that supposed to mean, eh? I loved Peter. I told you, didn't I?”

DeKok avoided her penetrating look, the angry eyes. He understood at once that he had found a weak spot in her armor. Always the policeman, he wondered how to use it, how long it would be before she gave up all resistance.

“So, Pete's past did not affect your relationship with him?”

She hesitated for a moment.

“It didn't hurt us,” she said softly.

DeKok slapped his flat hand on the top of the desk. The sound made her jump. His face was angry.

“That's not what I asked,” he said, louder than intended. “I didn't ask whether it did, or did not hurt you, I asked if it affected you.”

Her lips trembled.

“Yes, it affected us.”

Her attitude changed visibly, it became softer, less rigid. For the first time DeKok detected something of the “kind, nice girl” described by Mother Geffel. He regretted his loss of control, the momentary outburst.

“You tried,” he said in a friendly tone of voice, “to change Pete's attitude, to change his lifestyle?”

She nodded slowly.

“Yes,” she answered softly, “I tried to do that.”

“And you counted on his feelings for you?”

“Yes.”

DeKok sighed.

“And yet, the hold-up happened,” he said.

Suddenly she lost all self-control, all resistance seemed to dissipate. Her body shook noticeably and tears filled her eyes. They dribbled down her cheeks and fell on the folded hands in her lap.

“Yes, it happened,” she sobbed. “It happened.” Wildly she shook her head. “That … that was the worst of all. Believe me, that was the worst of all.”

DeKok's eyebrows rippled briefly. There was nobody to be amazed at the sight.

“Worse than Pete's death?”

The question struck her like a blow to the body. She clapped both hands to her face and started to cry in earnest. She wailed out her sorrow with long moans and shrieks. She was hyper-ventilating and seemed inconsolable.

DeKok let her be. The outburst had not surprised him. After a while he stood up, went to the water fountain and poured her a glass of water. Her teeth rattled against the glass while she drank.

“He promised me he promised me he promised me,” she repeated over and over.

DeKok looked at her intently for some time, his head cocked to one side.

“What … eh, what did he promise you?”

“That he would call.”

“Call who?”

“The Company.”

DeKok had difficulty swallowing.

“B&G?”

She looked at him with a teary face.

“Yes, the money transport.”

The gray sleuth rubbed his hands over his burning eyes. Suddenly he felt tired, exhausted. From between his fingers he looked at the young woman. It hurt him to see her in such a state. Slowly he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Come on, Flossie,” he said encouragingly, “wipe your tears. You were so resolute when you first came in.”

A hint of a smile broke through her features. It was as if she suddenly remembered her entrance into the room.

“Yes, I planned for you and me … and if you didn't want that … to go after him alone, after the murderer of my Peter.”

DeKok looked at her with astonishment.

“Is that why you came?”

She cleaned her face.

“Yes, that's why I came. I wanted to work with you, help you.” She picked nervously at the wrinkled handkerchief in her hand. “And I am
still
determined to find Peter's murderer.”

DeKok ignored the remark with his usual, supreme indifference. As if she had said nothing else, he continued:

“So, Peter had promised you to phone B&G.” His tone was matter-of-fact, businesslike.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She made a vague gesture.

“To warn them … to warn them that a hold-up, a robbery, had been planned. We discussed it for hours, he and I.”

“When was that?”

“Last week. Peter knew that some guys had a plan to hold up the transport of that company. He told me. He had no secrets from me, he always told me everything. He also told me how he could make some money from the hold-up.”

“Blackmail?”

She nodded timidly.

“That's what it's called, I think. You see, after the hold-up had succeeded he wanted those guys to share with him. Not a lot, just enough to buy a few things and to get married.”

“And?”

She made a violent gesture.

“I didn't want to hear about it.”

“Didn't you want to get married?”

“Of course I did. I would have liked nothing better than to get married. But not with money from crime. You can see that, can't you, that's no way to start a marriage.” There was genuine indignation in her voice. “I told Peter,” she continued, “that if he was really serious about me, if he wanted to change his life, then
here
was the chance to prove it. To make me believe him.”

DeKok nodded, staring out of the window.

“You meant, I take it, that warning B&G could be the first good deed on his part, the first step, so to speak, on the path to a better, a more law-abiding life? To put an end to the past, to start anew.”

“Exactly.”

DeKok pulled thoughtfully on his lower lip.

“But why not inform the police? That would be the logical thing to do…”

She shook her head, interrupting him.

“That's what I suggested, but Peter wouldn't hear of it.”

“Why not?”

She looked at DeKok, a bit shy, embarrassed.

“Peter said that he was too familiar with police methods. They would, he explained, calmly stand by while the hold-up progressed just so they could catch the guys in the act. He didn't want that.”

“And then Pete promised you that he would call the company, phone B&G?”

For just a moment it seemed as if she would start to cry again, but she regained her composure.

“That's what he promised,” she whispered.

DeKok nodded.

“And then,” he continued gravely, “when you heard that an armed robbery had been committed that afternoon, you felt betrayed. Betrayed by your own Peter Geffel.” He sighed deeply. “And that hurt more than the fact that somebody stabbed him to death with a dagger.”

She lowered her head, the blonde hair fell like a curtain in front of her face. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

“
That
hurt, yes.”

DeKok rose with some difficulty from his chair and began to pace up and down the large detective room.

“But the question remains,” he observed after a while, “if your conclusion is correct.”

She turned to face him abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

DeKok made a vague gesture.

“The question remains if you drew the right conclusion,” he repeated. “The fact that the hold-up took place, nevertheless, does
not
necessarily mean that Pete didn't keep his promise to you.”

“I don't understand,” she said slowly. “If Peter had called, the company would have taken measures, surely? I mean,… the robbers would never have been able to take off with three million…”

DeKok smiled.

“Let's not discuss it any further,” he said in a friendly tone of voice. “It's quite late, you know.” He pointed at the large clock on the wall. “It's way past two in the morning. I'll take you home. You've had a terrible day. It's about time you get a good night's rest.”

Her face fell.

“I don't want to go home,” she said moodily. “I can't sleep, anyway.”

DeKok ambled over to the coat rack and pulled on his coat. Then he picked up the heavy cape and placed it over her shoulders.

“I'll take you to Mother Geffel,” he said soothingly. “That's perhaps better. Try to console the old lady a bit, if you can.”

She shook her head.

“No, not to Mother Geffel. Take me home, after all. I still have to take care of Doug.”

“Doug?”

A wan smile brightened her beautiful face briefly.

“My cat.”

She rose slowly.

“How can I help you find Peter's murderer?”

DeKok gave her a long, penetrating look.

“Give me the names of the men who were going to do the hold-up.”

He read fear in her eyes.

“I don't know them. Really, Mr. DeKok, I don't know who they are. Peter never mentioned their names.”

7

It was closer to eleven than to half past ten the next morning when DeKok, his decrepit little felt hat nonchalantly on the back of his head, entered the police station at Warmoes Street in a jovial mood.

When he took his shower earlier, he had entertained himself with loud singing, then he had consumed a leisurely and extensive breakfast, after which he and his faithful dog, a sad-looking boxer with a worried face, had gone for a long walk. The dog looked as if it was doing most of the thinking for DeKok, but was mainly interested in the trees in the park and the black poodle from next door.

In many ways DeKok looked like his dog, or the other way around. The similarity between DeKok and his dog was striking: they shared solemn looking faces and playful personalities. DeKok did not share the dog's interest in trees. The intelligent animal was aware of that. It was a constant source of sorrow to the dog, but, as is the way of dogs, this flaw in DeKok's character was no reason for the dog to be any less devoted and faithful to its master.

DeKok had been thinking about the case on the way to the office. That is, when he finally made his way to the office. The fact that the robbers must so far have used every available minute to hide their loot, could not spoil his good humor. That was all right with him. As far as DeKok was concerned, money was not something to get all worked up about. Crimes involving just money, had never been able to get his full interest. He simply could not get too excited over the ‘Mine and Thine' of things. If Pete Geffel's death had not been involved with the robbery, one way or the other, he would have just handled the case routinely, closed it routinely and moved on to other things. But it was different now. The murder had complicated the case, had added spice to the problems surrounding it. It drove him to solve the puzzles that had been created. And there were so many puzzles. For instance, if he reflected on the calm, professional, non-violent way in which the robbery had taken place, it was difficult to reconcile that with a dagger in the back of Cunning Pete. And that was but
one
of the puzzles that occupied him.

He quickly suppressed a fleeting thought that both cases, after all, had nothing to do with each other. There had to be a connection. There simply
had
to be. That conviction was impossible to eradicate from his mind. Nevertheless, the question remained: how were they connected?

Inspector Corstant laughed at DeKok when he entered the detective room and gave him a cheery wave.

“The Commissaris has been asking for you. You had to report at once.” Corstant paused and grinned broadly. “That was more than an hour ago,” he added.

DeKok aimed his little hat at the peg where he normally hung it. As usual, he missed. He bent over and retrieved the article. Not in the least put out, he hung it on the peg. Only then did he respond to Corstant's announcement.

“Oh, well, in that case it's old news,” he said, divesting himself of his coat.

Corstant grinned again.

“But I wouldn't keep him waiting,” he responded earnestly. “I have the feeling that the old man is rather pissed. When I told him you weren't here, he asked for Vledder. When I explained, respectfully, that he wasn't here either, I could not shake the impression that he might, mind you,
might
have used a … eh, a strong word.”