DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat (23 page)

“What money?”

DeKok grinned ruefully.

“The money from the hold-up. Two million, two hundred and fifty thousand to be exact.”

She looked at the Inspector with unconcealed hostility.

“I don't have it.”

DeKok gestured vaguely around.

“I have reasons to believe it's in this house. I suggest you voluntarily give us permission to search.” He spoke in a friendly, convincing tone of voice while he gauged her possible reaction. “It saves time,” he continued, “and we'll find it anyway.”

For a few seconds she seemed undecided. Then she slipped out of the chair and walked to a sideboard.

“You won't find it.”

The threatening tone in her voice should have warned the gray sleuth, but for once he was too certain, too overly confident.

He tapped Vledder on the shoulder.

“Go look, Dick,” he said. “Start with the garage. I think I saw a connecting door from the kitchen.”

Vledder took a few steps in the direction of the corridor.

“You're not going to the garage.”

It sounded like an order.

Completely taken aback both cops turned around to look at the woman. She was leaning against the sideboard and there was a pistol in her right hand.

The confusion on Vledder's face was quickly replaced by a mocking smile. Challenging her, daring her, he took a step in her direction.

There was the sudden explosion of a shot.

22

DeKok strode down the long corridor of the hospital with an unfamiliar shopping bag filled with fruit awkwardly under one arm. A blushing nurse pointed the way.

Vledder looked pale, even against the white hospital sheets. His face still bore traces of pain and emotion. But a smile appeared on his lips when he spotted DeKok. His stumbling, cumbersome entrance, combined with the worried look on his face were positively comical to his young partner.

The gray sleuth made quite a production of depositing his old, decrepit hat at the foot of the bed. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down.

“I … eh, I brought you some oranges and stuff,” he said with a helpless gesture. “I hope you like it. I don't know what they feed you in this place.”

“Thank you,” answered Vledder. DeKok was from a generation that equated hospital visits with fruit baskets.

DeKok placed the bag next to Vledder.

“How is it going?” he asked, concerned.

Vledder pointed toward his shoulder.

“They took the bullet out. There it is, on the night table, in the tube.”

DeKok took the bullet from the medicine bottle and let it roll over the palm of his hand.

“The same caliber that put an end to Thornbush?”

Vledder nodded. His face was serious.

“Yes, his wife killed him.”

“That's right, Dick, and she almost killed you as well. We finished the interrogation this afternoon. She confessed fully and in detail.”

Vledder shook his head in confusion.

“It's terrible,” he sighed. “Just terrible. Despite the fact that she fired at me, tried to kill me, I still think it's terrible.”

DeKok looked at him with considerable surprise.

“Why?”

“I liked her. She seemed such a dear …
sweet
woman. The last thing I expected was that she would actually pull the trigger. I just didn't think her capable. Despite your hints about her being responsible for the death of her husband, I just couldn't accept it intellectually. Naive, I suppose.”

DeKok pulled on his lower lip and let it plop back. He did that several times. It was an annoying sound, one of his more irritating habits.

“Yes,” he said after a while, as if reminiscing. “Yes, soft and sweet. She
used
to be just that. Before Thornbush woke the devil in her and drove her to murder.”

Vledder frowned.

“Thornbush drove her to murder?”

DeKok nodded.

“Yes, he drove her to kill him.” He moved in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position on the unyielding hospital furniture. “Perhaps I should tell the whole story. You should be strong enough, by now. Besides … you're entitled to know.”

Vledder smiled.

“Tell me already.”

DeKok rubbed his face with a flat hand.

“Some people,” he began slowly, “are driven by dreams. Charles Thornbush dreamed about a carefree existence in South America with the woman he loved at his side.”

“Mrs. Bent.”

“Yes, he had maintained a more or less intimate relationship with her for some time. His wife knew about it. He never even bothered to keep it a secret from her. He admitted to her, on several occasions, that he was fascinated with Bent's wife. Mrs. Thornbush accepted it, endured it, because she really loved her husband deeply. She hoped passionately that his infatuation with the other woman would be a temporary thing.”

“But it wasn't.”

DeKok shook his head slowly, sadly.

“No, Thornbush was possessed. He was driven by his dream. About three months ago he came up with a plan. You'll remember that Mrs. Thornbush's maiden name was Klarenbeek. Well, she has two brothers: Tim and Walt Klarenbeek. The boys are a bit bohemian and have a friendly, cheerful, casual attitude to life. They both have some artistic talent that affords them a reasonable living. They have a studio in some basement near the Front Fort Canal. One of them paints a bit and the other does weird things with metal, mobiles, I think you call them.”

He paused briefly, looked worriedly at Vledder and asked him if it was not too tiring for him. Upon Vledder's denial, he continued.

“Well, whenever they needed some extra cash, they would do something commercial, design stands for exhibitions, or what have you. Their output wasn't great, but it was enough. They really couldn't care less. They had enough to eat for their needs and an extra beer whenever they wanted. Besides, Little Lowee had a weak spot for them and would often draw them free beer. If they really were short, they could always tap their ‘bourgeois' sister in Haarlem for some extra cash. After all, Thornbush made good money and he would never notice the amount.”

Again he paused briefly.

“Anyway,” he went on, “during one of their expeditions for extra cash, Thornbush revealed his plans and enlisted their help.”

“The hold-up?”

“Exactly. It was really very simple. Thornbush travelled extensively for the firm. He had picked up a couple of pistols somewhere. You know how it's almost impossible to obtain handguns in Holland. But now, with the EEC and all, it's very easy to bring them into the country. Nobody checks luggage anymore, especially on trains.”

“I know,” remarked Vledder. “Last year Celine and I went to Spain. I could almost have left my passport at home. You just hold it up as the Customs people pass through the train. The cover is enough.”

“Right,” agreed DeKok. “Anyway, it was thought that the guards would be so frightened at the mere sight of the pistols, that they would cause no problem. There was virtually no risk. They simply had to wait for the right transport. Thornbush, because of his job, would know exactly when that would happen. He would also know the route, of course. The boys were immediately in favor of the plan. After all, so they reasoned, nobody would get hurt. The company was insured and as for the insurance company … well, insurance companies made too much money anyway.”

He shook his head, reached over to the bedside table and took a large sip of Vledder's water.

“Mrs. Thornbush didn't like it, didn't agree at all. It was criminal, she said and she was especially upset about the involvement of her two younger brothers. That's when Thornbush played his ace in the hole.” Again he shook his head. “Are you sure you're all right?” he asked. “I really don't want to tire you, you know.”

“No, no, I'm fine,” said Vledder impatiently. “Now that I know most of it, I want to know the rest. Don't forget, after I stopped that bullet, I was out of it for all practical purposes. I'm better off knowing. Don't keep me in suspense.”

“Well, all right.” It sounded dubious. “As I said, he played his ace card. During some pillow talk he had confided to his wife that he had tried to break the relationship with Sandra Bent. He told her that he finally realized that she couldn't possibly compare to his own wife. But, he asserted, Sandra didn't want to hear about a break. She insisted that he keep the relationship going. She had, according to Thornbush, threatened to ruin his standing at B&G. She had ways to influence her husband, she said. Then he added that the money could make them financially independent and they could all go to South America together, far away from the pernicious influence of his boss' wife.”

“And?”

“Mrs. Thornbush gave in. She even insisted on taking an active part in the hold-up. They agreed that she would dress as a man and she would drive the getaway car.”

“So, there was your third man.”

DeKok nodded pensively.

“Yes. The first attempt failed because of a mistake by Walt. During a rehearsal he was so nervous that he promptly put the stolen car against a light pole. He was just as promptly arrested and disappeared for a month. He served his sentence in the Haarlem jail.”

Vledder's eyes lit up.

“And that's where he met Pete Geffel.”

“Yes. They vaguely knew each other from their visits to Little Lowee's … eh, establishment. In jail they became better acquainted with each other and Walt Klarenbeek told Pete in a confidential mood about his glorious plans for a hold-up. For one reason or another he kept silent about the role of his brother-in-law, the VP. No doubt in order to impress his underworld acquaintance he emphasized his own role in the plans. He just mentioned in passing a contact within the company that knew all about the money transports.”

DeKok stopped and for a long time he stared at nothing in particular.

“Fate took a hand at that time,” he said somberly, “the cards were dealt and the game would be played to its inevitable end. It's a sad fact that it was actually Flossie who started the ball rolling. She forced Peter to inform the company.”

“And Pete landed in the not-so-tender hands of Thornbush.”

DeKok nodded.

“I've been wondering how Cunning Pete could have fallen so naively into the trap that Thornbush had set him. One explanation is that Pete just wasn't himself. His entire life he had dealt in cheating and lying. He had concentrated on the seamier side of ‘business', so to speak. He just wasn't prepared to deal in an atmosphere of openness and honesty. Thornbush exploited that very cleverly. It's possible that Thornbush promised him some sort of reward. We'll never know. No matter, he succeeded in enticing him to the sand dunes and slipping a dagger into his back.”

Vledder gestured with his left arm.

“But Tim said it was
his
dagger and
he
had done the stabbing.”

DeKok smiled.

“Tim has retracted that confession. As soon as he realized that I was aware of his sister's role in all this, he became more forthcoming. The dagger was an old family heirloom. The boys had it on the wall as a decoration. On the afternoon after the hold-up, Thornbush visited them in their hideaway in Farmer's Alley. He scolded Walt for his loose lips in jail and then added, calm as you please, that he had been forced to silence Cunning Pete forever. Both boys were furious and threatened to inform the police. Thornbush advised them differently. In the first place, so he said, their sister would not escape punishment as an accomplice in armed robbery and as far as the murder was concerned … that was committed with an antique dagger of a special design. Only then did the boys realize that the dagger had been missing for some time.”

“What a bastard.”

Vledder's voice trembled with indignation.

DeKok looked searchingly at his younger colleague. There was an unhealthy, excited blush on his cheeks.

“I really think I better stop,” he said, genuinely concerned. “I'll let you know the rest some other time. This cannot be healthy for you.” He groped for his hat and showed every indication of leaving.

Vledder pushed himself up on his left elbow, a painful grimace on his face.

“If you stop now,” he threatened, “I'll get out of bed and follow you until I know it all.”

DeKok nodded.

“Blackmail,” he said resignedly.

Vledder grinned.

“Call it what you will.”

DeKok sighed ostentatiously.

“All right,” he said with uncharacteristic meekness, “what else do you want to know?”

Vledder shook his head in frustrated despair.

“Everything, of course. For instance, what led you to suspect Mrs. Thornbush? I don't recall anything that pointed in that direction.”

DeKok grinned.

“Mrs. Thornbush made a small mistake. When she went to Farmer's Alley to visit her brothers, the day after the hold-up, she didn't know that Little Lowee had taken the boys to a new hiding place. Much to her surprise and shock she was suddenly attacked by us. In order to explain her presence she said that she had found the address in her husband's pocket calendar. You see, that aroused my suspicion. A businessman, certainly a VP and Secretary of a large company, doesn't usually leave the house without his appointments. When we found him later, near the Joy, his note book was in his pockets. You may remember that I went through it, page by page. The address in Farmer's Alley wasn't there.”

Vledder smiled.

“So, obviously she lied and knew more about the hold-up and the robbers than she let on.”

“Exactly. Therefore there was every reason to keep an eye on Mrs. Thornbush. When she came to the station, supposedly to inquire about her husband, she fainted when I asked her about a cat. In view of the cat's hair on the corpse's clothes, it reinforced my suspicion that she knew
something
about the death of her husband. That's why I had you drive her home. Then, when you returned and reported that you had seen nothing of a cat, I was momentarily at a loss. It seemed a dead end. But not for long. The story from the Bents about the Simca, the money and the dead Thornbush, brought the trail right back to her.”