DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat (20 page)

“Then, my friend, we will proceed to the official entrance of the residence, ring the bell and announce ourselves as honorable servants of the Law.”

A broad grin appeared on Vledder's face.

“That's us,” he said.

19

“Please sit down.”

Bent, barefoot and wearing a camel hair dressing robe with long cords, gestured expansively toward the easy chairs in his study.

“A rather late and … unexpected visit,” said the host.

DeKok gave the man an amused look. A faint smile played around his lips. He glanced quickly at Vledder. Vledder groaned inwardly, steeling himself for another of what he called DeKok's transparent theatrics.

“Unexpected?” asked the gray sleuth, his voice trembling with sheer disbelief. “My old mother, God rest her soul, used to say: if you call for the devil … all hell will break loose.”

Vledder was puzzled, but Bent looked at DeKok for long seconds. Then he nodded.

“Your mother was a wise woman,” he said.

Shyly, DeKok scratched the back of his neck.

“Yes, she was,” he said dreamily. “She had the remarkable gift of understanding her fellow human beings with a single glance.” He paused, as if lost in thought. Then he added: “I wonder what she would have thought of you.”

“Of me?”

DeKok nodded.

“I think,” he said diffidently, “that she would have said that you should never have married for the second time.”

He had hit home. Bent seemed to go rigid. Color appeared in his cheeks in the form of bright, red pinpoints.

“My wife has nothing to do with it,” he exclaimed, sharp and excited.

DeKok grinned.

“With what?”

The president swallowed.

“With … eh, with the hold-up. Isn't that why you're here?”

DeKok did not answer at once. He looked at the black tomcat that was comfortably curled up and purring softly. He tried to imagine the scene of the night before. Slowly his gaze travelled through the study. The big window, the rows upon rows of books, the oak desk with the intricate carvings. No detail escaped him. Everything was exactly as during the first visit. Even Vledder was seated in the same chair.

“What are you here for?”

There was fear and suspicion in Bent's voice.

DeKok forced an expressionless face.

“We came to announce the passing of your friend, Secretary and Vice President Charles Thornbush.”

“He wasn't my friend.”

“You knew he was dead?”

Bent nodded slowly.

“Friends called me. It was in the news, they said.”

“Was it necessary?”

“What?”

“Was it necessary for your friends to inform you?” DeKok gave him a delighted smile. “After all, you were already aware of his demise, weren't you?”

Bent's eyes narrowed. He gave DeKok a penetrating look. There was nothing but animosity in his steel-blue eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Vledder coughed discreetly, unable to keep silent.

“We mean…” he interrupted, “that the death of Thornbush was hardly news to you. After all, you had taken your leave of him much earlier, hadn't you, at the bottom of a deserted stretch of dike?”

Bent reacted violently. Agitated, he rose from his chair. His nostrils trembled.

“I wasn't there,” he screamed. “I was never there.” He took a few quick, emotional steps toward the door. “I want you to leave, now. You come in here in the middle of the night and spout all sorts of indecent insinuations. What gives you the right?”

DeKok looked at him. His friendly, craggy face had changed to a look of utter astonishment.

“But we're here at your own request,” he remarked apologetically. He seemed genuinely baffled.

“My request?” It was Bent's turn to display astonishment.

DeKok nodded.

“But yes. You wanted to be kept apprised of the developments in the case. You remember? Even, or so you said, if the developments would lead into a direction that would be less pleasant, even detrimental to you, or the Company.”

Bent rubbed the back of his hand over dry lips. He darted nervous glances at the two inspectors. First toward one, then toward the other. He hesitated. Suddenly a cunning look came into his eyes. He walked back to his chair and sat down, calmly, outwardly relaxed.

“I had nothing to do with the death of Thornbush,” he said decisively. “The news of his passing was a great shock to me too. I may add that his passing is also a great loss to the Company. Thornbush was a competent man, a trusted and loyal co-worker, who always…”

Vledder interrupted. He was getting angry. His eyes spat fire.

“Spare us the eulogy,” he exclaimed loudly. He pressed his lips together, as if trying to bite his own words before they escaped. Then he pointed his chin toward Bent in a challenging gesture. “Or, is this a rehearsal?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “A repetition of your speech to a willing audience of weeping willows along a forgotten stretch of the Joy.” Vledder could seldom resist an attempt at alliteration.

Bent gripped the arm rests of his chair with both hands. His knuckles were white.

“I was never at the Joy,” he hissed, “I told you that already.”

Vledder sighed. He pulled forward a little plastic bag and held it up for all to see.

“Do you know what this is?”

“No.”

“Mud … dirt, a soil sample. Just before we rang the bell, we scraped this off the tires of your Bentley.”

Bent's intelligent face looked positively stupefied.

“My Bentley? My car?”

Vledder nodded.

“Your car, your Bentley … an exceptional car with an exceptional wheelbase.” He smiled. “Have you ever heard of palynology? It's a scientific method to compare soil samples. It's foolproof.” He gave his host a mocking look. “Am I clear enough for you? We found the tracks of your car at the Joy. We took a soil sample there as well. Now do you understand, Mr. Bent? You were there. You were near the Joy.”

Suddenly the company president looked ashen. The blood had drained from his face. Again he raised himself from his chair, his eyes locked onto the small plastic bag that dangled from Vledder's hand. As if dazed, as if hypnotized, he stretched out a hand to the plastic bag.

At that moment the door of the study opened and a slender woman appeared in the doorway.

“Henry!”

Her shout bounced off the walls and Bent froze in his tracks. A woman walked into the room, dressed in a clinging, turquoise nightgown made of silk. The dress whispered as she walked. She placed a hand on Bent's shoulder and pressed him back into his chair. She looked coolly at the cops.

“My husband has nothing to do with all this. You have the wrong person. I killed Thornbush.”

DeKok swallowed his surprise with some difficulty.

“Y-you,” he stammered, “y-you killed him?”

She nodded slowly.

“I,” she said.

It seemed as if Bent suddenly recovered from his dazed state. He looked up at his wife and groped for her hand on his shoulder.

“Don't do it, Sandra,” he said softly. “Don't do it.”

He waved a hand at the inspectors.

“You shouldn't take her literally. She didn't really kill him. She … eh, she…”

Mrs. Bent lowered her head.

“I,” she interrupted with a sigh, “I had an affair with Thornbush.”

Her husband produced a brief, tired smile.

“Affair is too strong a term in this case,” he said apologetically. “From my wife's side it was nothing more than a foolish flirtation, you understand. She never meant it seriously. You may believe me. It's really all my fault. My wife's foolishness was the result of boredom. I haven't always given my wife the sort of attention to which she's entitled. Business took too much of my time. I should have realized that a young woman…”

He stopped suddenly.

Mrs. Bent gave her husband a tender look. She stroked his hair in a loving gesture.

“In the beginning,” she said softly, “I thought that Charles, too, I mean that Mr. Thornbush looked upon it as no more than a game, a diversion. But soon I realized that he was serious. I should have stopped it then and there. I should have told him to stay away from me. I tried, but Charles was stubborn and, I guess, determined. He kept coming, even when I made it very clear to him that I did not appreciate his visits.”

She shrugged her shoulders in a sudden display of irritation. It did interesting things to her breasts that were faintly outlined under the thin material. Vledder stared, DeKok did not seem to notice.

“You see, in my heart I enjoyed it. His perseverance flattered my ego, my vanity. It gave me a strange feeling of power. I used to tease him often and perhaps my teasing enticed him even more. I don't know. I used to say that I was much too expensive a woman, that he couldn't afford me. ‘Just you wait,' he used to answer, ‘I'll strike it rich, one of these days. Then I'll take you with me, far away.' I used to laugh at him for that.”

She paused. When she continued after a long silence, her tone of voice had changed.

“Now, yes, now I understand that I behaved like a silly goose. When I heard about the hold-up I suddenly realized what Charles had been talking about. Almost from the start I was certain that he had a hand in it. But I was afraid to say anything. I was afraid, really afraid. When you visited my husband, the other day, I hid in the bedroom. I was afraid to face you, afraid you would be able to read the guilt from my expression. Several times after that, I was on the verge of telling my husband everything. But I was afraid of that as well. I kept hoping that my feelings were wrong, that Charles had nothing to do with the hold-up.” She sighed deeply. “Then I got the telephone call.”

DeKok looked at her with sudden interest.

“What telephone call?”

“From Charles. He said, he said that…” She did not complete the sentence. She darted a haunted look at her husband. “He said,” she continued, “that he had booked our flight to happiness. That's how he expressed it. He had two tickets for Houston, the first step on our way to a safe haven in South America.”

“When was that?”

“Yesterday afternoon. He told me that everything had gone according to plan. He was now able to obey my slightest whim, fulfill my merest desire. I didn't have to worry about a thing. I didn't even have to bring any luggage. All I had to do was to be at Schiphol Airport on time.”

“And?”

She raked her fingers through her hair.

“I … I didn't dare refuse.”

“So you promised to meet him?”

DeKok's voice was hard and merciless.

“Yes.”

“But you didn't go.”

She shook her head.

“No, I didn't go. After I had replaced the receiver, after I had a chance to reflect, I suddenly realized what I had to lose. I mean, I love my husband, my house, my surroundings. To give it all up for a wild adventure with a man for whom, if truth be told, I felt nothing but a vague attraction…”

“Go on,” prompted DeKok.

“I suddenly realized how crazy it was and I realized how thoroughly I had put myself in an awkward, an untenable position. I racked my brains and finally I arrived at a solution that would rid me of him forever.”

DeKok grinned broadly.

“You made an anonymous phone call?”

She nodded slowly, reluctantly.

“Yes, my husband had told me that Inspector DeKok was assigned to the investigation. I also learned where you were stationed. That bothered me for a while. You're with Homicide, aren't you?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “When I could not get hold of you, I left a message. Time was running out, you see.”

“Thornbush,” recited DeKok, “has two airline tickets for Houston, USA.”

“Yes, that was the message.”

“And, of course, you hoped to achieve the arrest of Thornbush
with
his loot before he could get on the plane.”

“Exactly,” she answered calmly. “Under the circumstances it seemed the best solution.”

DeKok rubbed the bridge of his nose with a little finger. Then he looked at it as if he saw it for the first time. After a while he lowered his hand and addressed himself again to the young woman. He was struck by the pose of the couple. He, seated rigidly in his chair and she, a hand resting on his shoulder, standing proudly next to him. As if they were posing for an old-fashioned photograph. DeKok rather liked the simile. He approved of old-fashioned things.

“Did you call anyone else?” he asked finally.

She became even more rigid. With an impatient, but graceful gesture she shook the hair from her face and looked evenly at DeKok. Suspicion flickered in her green eyes.

“No,” she answered emphatically. “I did not call anyone else.”

DeKok made an indeterminate movement with his hand. Then he lifted a forefinger in the air.

“So, you and Mr. Thornbush were the only ones to know about the flight to Houston?”

She did not answer at once. She seemed to think about the question behind the question.

“Yes,… eh, I assume so.” She said finally. There was a distinct hesitation in her voice.

DeKok looked at her searchingly for long seconds. His sharp, trained gaze examined her facial expression. He had the feeling that she was hiding something, was keeping silent on a salient point, a point that could be very important.

Vledder showed impatience. He moved closer to the edge of his chair. In his usual, impetuous manner he broke into the conversation.

“I'm still waiting,” he remarked sharply, “for an explanation of the tire tracks along the Joy.”

Bent shifted his eyes to the young Inspector. Anger flashed across his face.

“My wife hasn't reached that point yet.” His tone of voice matched the expression on his face. “You mustn't rush her. For the last twenty-four hours she's been exposed to inhuman stress.” He rose and picked up the black tomcat. Then he led his wife to the empty chair.