DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat (14 page)

“There she goes,” he said with a wide grin, “Destination: Houston in the good old U. S. of A.”

DeKok stared after the lights for a long time until they melded into the distance. Then he turned slowly toward the Customs man.

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“What nothing?”

“He didn't show up. Everybody had been instructed, everybody was alert. All for nothing. He was a no-show.”

DeKok's eyebrows rippled briefly. Westerhoff suddenly looked at him intently, as if he could not believe his own eyes.

“So, the plane left without him?” asked DeKok.

The Assistant Bureau Chief shook his head, as if clearing his vision and raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

“I presume so. There was certainly nobody aboard that looked like the description we received of Thornbush.”

“Was he listed as a passenger?”

“Oh, yes. We checked that first. Thornbush was on the passenger's manifest.”

“Alone?”

“What do you mean?”

DeKok sighed, a bit impatiently.

“According to our information, he had two tickets. Did he travel alone? Was he listed singly on the manifest? I wonder in what name the second ticket was issued.”

Westerhoff looked at him with surprise.

“His wife, of course,” he responded.

DeKok's mouth fell open.

“Wife?”

“Yes, yes, I thought you knew. They were listed as Mr. and Mrs. Thornbush.”

*   *   *

At a very sedate pace they drove back to Amsterdam. DeKok was sprawled comfortably in the passenger seat next to Vledder. The greenish light from the communication gear gave his friendly face the contradictory expression of a devil that had been banished from Hell because of its innate goodness. He grinned softly to himself. Vledder looked aside.

“Wife,” remarked DeKok mockingly. “I don't think that KLM asks for marriage certificates.”

Vledder looked at him defiantly.

“And you do?”

DeKok looked at him.

“What
do
you mean?”

It was Vledder's turn to grin.

“Do you ask for marriage certificates? I don't seem to recall that you asked for any identification from the woman we surprised in the Farmer's Alley. You certainly didn't ask for a marriage certificate.”

DeKok shook his head.

“No, I didn't. But I can tell you that she was born about thirty-five years ago under the name of Judith Klarenbeek in the Old Wilhelmina Hospital in Amsterdam. Before she married Thornbush she was a dancer of some renown.”

“And how did you find all that out?”

“I had it checked out. By the way, nothing detrimental or disreputable is known about the couple. No police records, anyway.”

Vledder stared pensively at the road.

“In any case she wasn't the woman that was listed as Mrs. Thornbush on the passenger's manifest.”

DeKok smiled.

“A logical conclusion. The real Mrs. Thornbush wouldn't have been looking for her husband in Farmer's Alley if she had made a date to meet him at Schiphol.” He paused for a moment. “Although…”

“Although, what?”

“Perhaps the trip to Houston was a secret that Mrs. Thornbush wasn't about to reveal to us.”

Vledder gave him a penetrating look.

“In other words, the Mrs. Thornbush on the manifest was the real Mrs. Thornbush, but Mr. Thornbush, for whatever reason, was prevented from meeting her.”

DeKok nodded slowly.

“It could be that way,” he reflected. “In any case it's a possibility we shouldn't overlook. Yet, at the same time, it's probably better to give the wife on the manifest no name at this time. Let's just call her ‘Second Ticket' for the time being. It prevents surprises. After all, feisty men like Thornbush often have a weakness for amorous adventures.”

Vledder laughed.

For a while they drove on in companionable silence. Vledder kept his eyes on the road. His youthful face was serious. There was a deep crease in his forehead. He was thinking.

“You know,” he said suddenly, “we've got three of them.”

DeKok looked at him with expectation.

“Three what?”

“Women with whom Thornbush is involved, or women who are involved with Thornbush. In any case, women who know him well. It certainly seems to confirm your suspicion of Thornbush as some sort of Lothario. What did you call him?… feisty?”

“Go on,” growled DeKok.

Vledder grinned.

“Three women. Count them. The real wife, ‘Second Ticket' wife and the woman who called.”

DeKok's eyebrows vibrated slightly, then rippled definitely.

“You mean the woman who tipped us about the ticket?”

Vledder nodded.

“Exactly. And that's the most important woman for us. Just think. First of all, she knew that Thornbush was planning to leave the country and second … that you were interested in that fact. Especially the last is interesting. It means, I think, that she either knows, or suspects, the relationship between the hold-up and … Thornbush.”

DeKok pressed his heavy body into a more upright position and looked at his former pupil with pride.

“Excellent,” he said with admiration in his voice, “really excellent. I couldn't have done better myself. Crystal clear reasoning. That third woman is indeed the most important for our investigation.”

Vledder blushed under the onslaught of that much praise.

“It's just too bad,” he said with a regretful tone of voice, “that we don't know who she is. Perhaps she could tell us who ‘Second Ticket' was.”

“And,” supplied DeKok, “maybe she can tell us why Thornbush did not go on the trip after all, why it was cancelled because of lack of interest.”

They had reached the city. The streets were deserted at this late hour. No buses, no streetcars. An occasional milk-float could be heard rattling along the canals.

DeKok rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Take me home,” he yawned. “I want to get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”

Vledder guided the car to DeKok's house.

“Any other plans?” he asked casually.

DeKok nodded slowly.

“As soon as you wake up, I want you to go back to Haarlem. You ask Mrs. Thornbush if her husband has shown up in the meantime. Be sincere, show interest. Try to take a look around.”

“And?”

“What?”

“If he has shown up?”

DeKok shrugged his shoulders in a careless gesture.

“Then you show her your pearly whites in a most winning smile and in your most ingratiating tone of voice you declare that it's usual for beautiful women to worry about their husbands. And if Mr. Vice President
hasn't
shown up, you promise most sincerely that we'll move heaven and earth to find him.”

Vledder nodded his understanding.

“And what about you?”

DeKok rubbed his hands together as if in anticipated pleasure. He grinned.

“I'm going to see my good friend Little Lowee. I'm curious about the price of whiskey, these days.”

*   *   *

With a friendly grin on his large, somewhat melancholy face, DeKok strolled along the Rear Fort Canal. A few hours of sleep had banished the tiredness from his bones and he was again fully prepared to face a world of crime. Cheerfully he greeted a number of “good” guys and “bad” girls and brought his old friend Handy Henkie close to a heart-attack when he suddenly lowered his heavy hand on the shoulder of the ex-burglar. Henkie's left leg was in a cast and he supported himself with a crutch.

He seemed to shrink when he felt DeKok's hand and turned with some difficulty. His face was pale and there was a hunted look in his eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief when he discerned the old sleuth.

“Dammit, DeKok,” he said, shaking his head, “you shouldn't of done that. Geez, you shoulda known I've given it all up. But yet … you see, iffen I feel a hand on me shoulder, I gets the willies.”

DeKok smiled.

“Not working?”

Henkie gestured toward his left leg.

“Some fool done dropped a hunk of iron on me foot.”

“You're sure?” asked DeKok with suspicion in his voice but with a broad grin on his face. “You're sure it was a
work
related accident?”

Henkie looked at him without guile.

“Of course it were! You can see for yourself. I've got Workman's Compensation and everything. Wadda difference from the old days. Then, iffen something happened to me, I'd have to hole up and too afraid to see a doctor. Now, the doctor says its gonna be a few more weeks.”

DeKok pulled a serious face.

“Still,” he said with a sympathetic voice, “it isn't something you would wish on anybody. Anyway,” he said, changing the tone and the direction of the conversation, “at least you'll have time to have a drink with me. My treat.”

Henkie grinned.

“Alla time in the world,” he declared.

Next to DeKok he hobbled along to the well-known underworld bar of Little Lowee.

They pushed the heavy curtains aside and entered the bar. This early in the morning they were the only visitors. Lowee was behind the bar and polished glasses. He greeted them jovially. DeKok and Handy Henkie walked toward the back of the dimly lit room and sat down at one of the small tables. Henkie pulled up an extra chair and placed his injured leg on it.

“I've gotta rest it,” he explained.

DeKok nodded his understanding.

Little Lowee shuffled closer. He carried a tray with two bottles and three glasses.

“Come on and join us,” invited DeKok. “My treat.”

Lowee grinned.

“How come? Is it your birthday?”

DeKok shook his head.

“No, that's a few more months in the offing. But I have just about solved the case of the hold-up.” He made a nonchalant gesture. “And that's worth celebrating, don't you agree?”

Henkie snorted.

“It all depends how you looks at it,” he said mockingly. “Iffen you ask me, it ain't exactly a reason to get all happy about.”

DeKok carefully watched Lowee's reactions. He noticed a tic near the right eye of the small barkeeper.

“I ain't seen nothing about it in the papers,” he remarked while he poured generously.

DeKok heard a vague suspicion in the tone of voice.

“Well,” he said expansively, “I figure the Commissaris probably doesn't want the press to know yet. He'll probably wait until after I've arrested the perpetrators. Otherwise they might take off prematurely, you know. We don't want to give them any warning, after all. No, no, we want to prevent that at all cost. We aim for a speedy arrest.” He paused for effect. “I just hope it won't take much longer. We could be too late.”

Handy Henkie looked at him with astonishment.

“Too late?”

DeKok nodded. His face was serious.

“One of the boys was wounded during the hold-up. A constable shot him in the back as they were fleeing the scene of the crime. We know the man has lost a considerable amount of blood. If the bullet wound isn't treated quickly and correctly, it could very well be fatal.”

“You means he'll konk off?”

DeKok shook his head in commiseration.

“It's extremely dangerous not to treat a gunshot wound.”

Handy Henkie shook his head in desperation.

“But why doesn't that stupid bastard give himself up? I means, how much is he likely gonna get? Two years? Give him a good chance to get cured all the way.”

DeKok turned the glass in his hands. Pensively he stared into the distance.

“Murder … you get a little more than two years for murder.”

Lowee sat up abruptly. His mousey face was red and his adam's apple bobbed up and down.

“Those boys,” he exclaimed with passion, “ain't got nothin' to do with Pete's killing.”

DeKok looked at him in well feigned surprise.

“Well,” he said calmly, “that's an extremely positive statement.” He leaned back in his chair and stared evenly at Lowee. “If you don't mind my asking, I would be very interested to know how you gained that particular insight?”

The small barkeeper swallowed. A blue vein throbbed in his neck. A distinct tic developed along his high cheekbones.

“Well … I, I just thought…”

DeKok rubbed the bridge of his nose with a little finger.

“I seem to remember,” he said slowly, with emphasis, “that you thought the opposite during our last conference.” He curled his lips up and displayed a frightening, false grin. “Or,” he added, “did you change your opinion because they bought their whiskey from you?”

14

Little Lowee was pale. Sweat beaded his forehead and his hair seemed to be plastered to his head.

“Whiskey? I don't know nothing about no whiskey.”

DeKok pushed his chair back a bit.

“Come, come, Lowee. You know very well what I'm talking about.” He made a grand gesture. “Whiskey in an old, abandoned warehouse in Farmer's Alley.”

The barkeeper swallowed.

“I don't know,” he repeated stubbornly, “wadda you talking about.”

DeKok rubbed his face with a flat hand. From between his spread fingers he looked searchingly at Lowee.

“Lowee,” he said with just a hint of impatience, “please reflect … how long have I been visiting your … eh, your establishment? Fifteen years? Twenty years? Not much longer and I'll be celebrating my Silver Anniversary here.” He grinned mockingly. “Now do you understand? I am not mistaken. I recognize a bottle from your bar from a mile away.”

Handy Henkie looked from DeKok to Lowee and back again. Then he picked up his glass and emptied it in one swallow.

“I thinks,” he sighed, “I better hit the road.” With a painful grimace he lifted his left leg from the extra chair. “You guys is getting too pally for me.”