DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat (16 page)

“What do you mean by that remark?”

Vledder shrugged his shoulder.

“Nothing,” he said reluctantly, unable to tear his gaze away from DeKok's forehead. “Nothing. I just mean to say … that … a lot of people have done worse for a lot less money.”

DeKok looked intently at his protegee.

“You're rather cynical, all of a sudden.”

Vledder sighed elaborately.

“Ach,” he said, obviously irritated. It was not quite certain with what, or with whom he was irritated. “You're probably right. Lowee is indeed an ‘honest' crook. After all, you know him a lot better than me. But the whole case bothers me, that's all. I just can't see an end to it. It's all so vague, so, so … circumstantial. If the perpetrators of the robbery aren't guilty of Pete's death, who is?”

DeKok did not answer. He stood up from his chair and started to pace up and down the detective room. Every once in a while he would look at Vledder who remained seated with a rebellious look on his face. The younger man stared obstinately into the distance. DeKok wondered if, perhaps, he had not given him enough to do, or maybe he had given him the less important role. Possibly he had done his younger colleague an injustice, not shared enough with him.

He stopped in front of Vledder.

“You were in Haarlem. Has Thornbush surfaced yet?”

Vledder shook his head.

“No, he's now been missing since last night and Mrs. Thornbush is getting more and more worried. She
looked
worried. Apparently she was awake all night. Even before I showed up, she had already called his office three times. But Thornbush hasn't appeared there, either.”

DeKok nodded slowly.

“Then what did you do?”

“I took as accurate a description from Mrs. Thornbush as she could give me. She also gave me a photo. I added the facts we already know. Then I prepared an APB and had it transmitted from Haarlem. I requested location and apprehension.”

DeKok nodded approval.

“Nothing much else you could do, under the circumstances.” He paused and pulled on his lower lip. There was a pensive look in his eyes. Then he said: “Yet, the mysterious disappearance of Thornbush is a remarkable coincidence. I don't believe in coincidences. We'd do well to keep a close eye on that development.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a little finger. “I wonder where the man can be?” he added.

The phone rang at that moment. DeKok lifted the receiver.

“I saw you at the cemetery.” Despite the whispering tones, DeKok immediately recognized Flossie' voice. “I half expected that you would have a cup of coffee with me after the funeral.” She laughed without humor. “As a sort of compensation for the coffee you didn't drink at my place.”

“I … I ran out of time. As you know, I'm also investigating a murder.”

“Any news?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

For a long time it remained silent on the other end of the line. Then she said:

“Did you know that Thornbush has a long-standing affair with Bent's young wife?”

15

“Hello … hello!”

DeKok threw the receiver back on the hook.

“She hung up.”

“Who?”

“Flossie. She wanted to know if I had any news and when I answered in the negative, she asked if I knew that Thornbush had an affair with Bent's wife.”

Vledder grinned.

“The Secretary and the wife of the President.”

DeKok nodded.

“Indeed, an interesting twist on an almost classical situation.”

Vledder's eyes lit up.

“Perhaps Mrs. Bent is ‘Second Ticket'?”

DeKok pushed his lower lip forward.

“She could also have been the woman who sent us to Schiphol last night. In any case, as long as he doesn't show up, it may be a good idea to keep an eye on the women around our elusive Secretary. One of them probably knows where he is.”

Vledder looked at him.

“Do you think that the disappearance of Thornbush means little more than that he's stepping out on his wife?”

Inspector DeKok pulled a serious face and shook his head.

“It's more. It means a lot more than that. The disappearance of Thornbush is important to the case as a whole. I firmly believe that Thornbush really planned to flee the country last night. It would be interesting to know what prevented him.”

“Perhaps he picked a different escape route at the last moment.”

“Possibly, but then there had to be something that caused him to change his original plans. I wonder what that could have been.”

*   *   *

They remained silent for a long time. DeKok pulled his legs up and placed them on top of the desk and leaned comfortably back in his chair. His forced march on the cemetery was having its effect. Vledder was the first to break the silence.

“But you know what I don't understand? Why would Thornbush run off? We have no proof at all of his complicity, either with the robbery, or with Pete's killing. To flee like that would only make sense if he had the loot.”

“And?”

“What … and?”

“And why shouldn't he be in possession of the loot?”

Vledder looked stupefied.

“You forget about the guys that did the actual hold-up. After all, they didn't do that just for amusement.”

“You mean, they wouldn't just hand over the proceeds?”

“Exactly.”

“And if there was fraud as well?” asked DeKok thoughtfully.

Vledder creased his forehead, the closest he could come to frowning in DeKok's inimitable manner.

“Aha, you're starting to take our theory serious! You believe there may very well be a difference between the reported amount and the actual amount. Insurance fraud seems more possible to you?”

“Yes.”

Vledder shook his head.

“Well, you see, I have problems with that. At least in connection with Thornbush. I just don't think it would be all that easy for him to set something like that up all by himself.”

DeKok gestured.

“Even so, he could have possession of the loot. You understand, even with the connivance of one, or more of the other members of management. After all, if it
is
a matter of fraud, the accomplices would hardly start to divvy up the loot at once. Thus it would not be at all unusual if Thornbush had been appointed to take care of the money until the spoils could be divided. No, not unlikely at all, at all.”

“Then, why don't we arrest the whole bunch?”

DeKok grinned wickedly.

“For the same reasons as last night. In fact, nothing has really changed.”

Vledder looked at him for a long time, deep in thought.

“Do you think…,” he began after a while, hesitantly, looking for words. “Do you … eh, think that Thornbush on his own, last night … I mean, without telling his accomplices … that he might have attempted to take off with all the money? And that … eh, maybe that became known somehow?”

DeKok nodded slowly.

“Something like that … yes.”

Vledder swallowed.

“B-but … but,” he stammered, “in that case, in that case the disappearance of Thornbush means something entirely different. Then…” He stopped, confused.

DeKok nodded encouragingly.

“Go on,” he said.

The young Inspector swallowed once more.

“In that case Thornbush committed treason, I mean … he betrayed his accomplices. You know what that means, DeKok? These are people who are not afraid to kill. We've seen that already with Pete Geffel. If we don't find Thornbush real soon, I don't give a plugged nickel for his chances of survival.”

*   *   *

They found the missing Simca about halfway between Amsterdam and Utrecht near a small village along the banks of a smaller river with the incongruous name of Joy, just past the old windmill that had seen better days. The shiny bumper was pressed hard against a pair of rotting willows with bare branches that poked at the gray sky. At first glance there seemed to be no damage to the exterior of the vehicle, until one noticed the two bullet holes in the trunk.

Sergeant-Major Windt of the State Police leaned against his bicycle close by with a bored look on his face. He looked at the two Inspectors from Amsterdam.

“I think,” said the sergeant-major in a gravelly voice, “that the car must have been placed there last night, during the night I mean. Last
evening,
during my last rounds, it wasn't there. I'm sure of that. I couldn't have missed it. I saw it for the first time this afternoon.”

“At what time?”

“About two o'clock. I had just come from Town Hall,” he waved vaguely in the direction of a church tower in the distance. “Then I started my afternoon rounds.” He nodded, pursed his lips and repeated: “Yes, it must have been just after two.”

DeKok nodded.

“We're very grateful for your prompt notification,” he said formally.

“Yes, well, I saw at once that it was the car you were looking for. The two bullet holes were clear enough.”

DeKok smiled.

“Did you search the car?”

The sergeant-major shook his head emphatically.

“No,” he growled, “I kept my hands off it. You never know what you might spoil. I looked through the windows, that's all. The keys are still in the ignition. And … I think I saw blood on the rear seat.”

DeKok pushed his old hat forward until it almost obscured his eyes.

“That's possible,” he said slowly. “One of our constables shot at the fleeing car. That explains the bullet holes. Possibly he hit one of the occupants.” He turned to Vledder. “Alert the fingerprint experts and the photographer. Also order a wrecker.” He turned back to the sergeant-major and gave him a winning smile. “I take it that you have no objection if we confiscate the vehicle?”

The broad-shouldered State cop laughed heartily.

“On the contrary. The sooner you get it out of my jurisdiction, the better I like it.”

DeKok pointed at the old windmill.

“Would they have heard anything, over there?”

Windt grinned.

“No, those people aren't home. Both of them left for England this week. They go there every year for Christmas and New Year. They have a son in London. The mill doesn't work anymore, you know, but I think they have plans to restore it,” he added garrulously. He gestured around. “Other than them, not a soul lives along this entire stretch.”

DeKok sighed, disappointed.

“So, not a chance of a witness?”

The sergeant-major grimaced.

“I wouldn't count on it,” he said darkly.

Vledder returned from passing on his messages. The old police VW was parked some distance further.

“Well, I got through,” he said. “We have to do something about that car, you know. And the equipment inside is just as antiquated. I could hardly make myself understood over the static.”

“Were there any objections?”

“Yes, they asked why they couldn't just wait until the car was back in Amsterdam before they did the prints and the pictures. Since you're towing it anyway.”

“And, what did you say?”

Vledder grinned.

“I told them that you insisted on having everything done here because of the decor.”

“Good.”

Vledder pointed in the direction of the VW Beetle.

“I saw a number of nice tire tracks in the soft ground over there. They seemed fresh. It seems that a car waited there for a considerable amount of time and then turned to leave in the other direction.”

“The tracks don't match the ones from the Simca?”

Vledder shook his head.

“No, and they also don't look like the tracks they found in Seadike, those they found near Pete's corpse.”

DeKok looked at the horizon for a long time. Then he slowly turned full circle while he looked at the scenery. The place was typical of Holland. A narrow dike with a two-lane highway on the crown, a strip of grassy clay on either side of the road surface. The road seemed to stretch on forever in either direction. Thin, almost insubstantial poplars in the distance. The water on one side and flat, unrelieved grass land on the other side of the dike. DeKok noted, but did not find it significant, that the water table was several feet higher than the land on the other side. Most of Holland was always below sea-level.

“Go ahead, Dick,” he said after a long interval. “Do your measurements and so on. Make a sketch, you know what I mean. Have the photographer make a few shots of the tracks you found over there, when he shows up. Oh yes, don't forget to take some soil samples. I don't think they'll be much use, but you never know.”

Vledder looked at him, surprise on his face.

“You don't want to take a closer look at the car?”

“No, not now. I want the experts to go over it first. I have a feeling about this. It seems strange, and at the same time too pat, for us to find the car now, at this late date. Just take your measurements and so on. Disturb as little as possible.”

“Well, if you think so.”

“Yes, I agree with the sergeant.” He made a deferential bow toward the burly State cop. The gesture did not seem out of place. It was the sort of thing that one accepted as natural from DeKok. “Best wait a while with the closer examination,” he continued, “the rest of them will be here soon enough.”

Sergeant-major Windt looked at Vledder as he brought out his tape-measure and began.

“As for me,” said Windt importantly, “I don't believe in it. In an old shed behind the post, I've got a whole pile of plaster casts of foot prints, tire prints, and you-name-it prints. I've never been able to solve even a chicken theft with it.”

DeKok ignored the remarks of the State cop. He looked at his watch and wondered how much longer he had to wait before the police wrecker arrived and before the specialists made their appearance. He estimated at least another half hour.