DeKok and the Somber Nude Read online

  Praise for the Inspector DeKok Series by Baantjer

  “Along with such peers as Ed McBain and Georges Simenon, [Baantjer] has created a long-running and uniformly engaging police series. They are smart, suspenseful, and better-crafted than most in the field.”

  —Mystery Scene

  “Baantjer’s laconic, rapid-fire storytelling has spun out a surprisingly complex web of mysteries.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “DeKok is a careful, compassionate policeman in the tradition of Maigret; crime fans will enjoy this book.”

  —Library Journal

  “DeKok’s maverick personality certainly makes him a compassionate judge of other outsiders and an astute analyst of antisocial behavior.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  “It’s easy to understand the appeal of Amsterdam police detective DeKok; he hides his intelligence behind a phlegmatic demeanor, like an old dog that lazes by the fireplace and only shows his teeth when the house is threatened.”

  —The Los Angeles Times

  “A major new voice in crime fiction for America.”

  —Clues: A Journal of Detection

  “Baantjer seduces mystery lovers. Inspector DeKok is part Columbo, part Clouseau, part genius, and part imp.”

  —West Coast Review of Books

  “…supports the mystery writer’s reputation in his native Holland as a Dutch Conan Doyle. His knowledge of esoterica rivals that of Holmes, but Baantjer wisely uses such trivia infrequently, his main interests clearly being detective work, characterization, and moral complexity.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “There’s no better way to spend a hot or a cold day than with this man who radiates pleasure, adventure, and overall enjoyment. A five-star rating for this author…”

  —Clues: A Journal of Detection

  “DeKok’s American audiences can delight in his work. Descriptive passages decorate the narrative like glittering red Christmas baubles.”

  —Rapport

  “Baantjer sets us in place and lets the story move. There are touches of the 87th Precinct, Maigret, and Janwillem de Wetering, but Baantjer is in a category all his own.”

  —The Globe and Mail

  “Mystery lovers who yearn for a nice old-fashioned police procedural will find a Dutch treat in the Inspector DeKok series. …this solid, nonviolent mystery deserves lots of American readers.”

  —Rocky Mountain News

  “…the storytelling is very strong, paired with a singularly strong sense of place and strong, vivid characters to make an enjoyable read…”

  —Mystery Morgue

  “…a mix of straightforward police procedural and confounding puzzle mystery, reminiscent of Simenon and Mankell, and all the more intriguing thanks to its basis in fact. …DeKok’s thoughtful, acerbic wit will have you hooked before the first chapter’s out.”

  —Ruminator

  “The third translation of a DeKok Dutch police procedural is a fabulous tale that sub-genre fans will want to read in one delightful sitting. The story line grips the audience from the moment the inspector questions the realtor about the theft and never slows down until the final ‘butterfly’ effect. DeKok is an excellent cop while his partner and others bring out the best in the sleuth. This is must reading for fans who appreciate a strong European investigative tale.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Inspector DeKok Series

  Titles Available or Forthcoming from Speck Press

  DeKok and the Geese of Death

  DeKok and Murder by Melody

  DeKok and the Death of a Clown

  DeKok and Variations on Murder

  DeKok and Murder by Installment

  DeKok and Murder on Blood Mountain

  DeKok and the Dead Lovers

  DeKok and

  the Somber Nude

  by

  A. C. Baantjer

  Translated by H. G. Smittenaar

  golden

  Published by Speck Press, speckpress.com

  An imprint of Fulcrum Publishing

  Printed and bound in the United States of America

  ISBN: 1-933108-13-4, ISBN13: 978-1-933108-13-1

  Book layout and design by: Margaret McCullough, corvusdesignstudio.com

  English translation copyright © 1992 by H. G. Smittenaar. Translated from De Cock en het sombere naakt, by Baantjer (Albert Cornelis Baantjer), copyright © 1974 and 1978 by Uitgeverij De Fontein, Baarn, Netherlands.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review—without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,

  is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Baantjer, A. C.

  [De Cock en het sombere naakt. English]

  DeKok and the somber nude / by A.C. Baantjer ; translated by H.G.

  Smittenaar.

  p. cm. -- (Inspector DeKok series ; no. 3)

  ISBN 978-1-933108-11-7 (pbk.)

  1. Crime--Netherlands--Fiction. 2. Amsterdam (Netherlands)--Fiction.

  I. Smittenaar, H. G. II. Title.

  PT5881.12.A2C6513 2007

  839.3’1364--dc22

  2007040955

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  1

  It was raining. It had been raining for days, endlessly long July days. Fat, heavy raindrops relentlessly pelted down from an even, grey sky.

  DeKok felt vaguely melancholy. His mood was as sensitive as the most precise barometer; a long depression in the barometer found its counterpart in him.

  With his big nose flattened against the window he surveyed the surroundings of the legendary police station on Warmoes Street. The rain veiled the nearby rooftops in a curtain of mist and water.

  DeKok pressed his lips together. Deep creases appeared at the corners of his mouth. How often had he stood here lost in thought, grappling with crime and the underbelly of society. It had turned him into a grey old man: his upper body had acquired a distinct bow, his shoulders sagged. He thought about it not with bitterness but with his customary outlook of mild acceptance. Young Vledder, his assistant and fellow detective, came to join him at the window.

  “A good thing,” he said contentedly, “we have no important cases to investigate at the moment. I wouldn’t look forward to going out in this weather. It’s raining cats and dogs!”

  “Well,” nodded DeKok, “after all, we are in the middle of dog days.” His broad, coarse face had the friendly look of a mild-mannered boxer. DeKok hesitated then said, “I remember my old mother. She didn’t like this time of year. You see the old lady…she was a bit superstitious. She never failed to warn me: ‘Careful, my boy,’ she used to say, ‘the dog days of summer can be dangerous.’”

  He remained silent and scratched the back of his neck.

  “Mother was right. In retrospect she was always right. She died during the dog days.”

  DeKok shoved his thick lower lip forward and looked up at the grey sky.

  “I wouldn’t want to die just now,” he said after a while.

  “What do you mean?” Vledder looked at him cautiously.

  DeKok made a vaguely lazy gesture toward the heavy leaden sky. “The heavens are closed,” he said somberly.

  At that moment there was a knock on the door.

/>   Both turned to face the door of the large detective room. There was a light on in the hall outside although it was the middle of the day. On the frosted glass of the door they observed the shadow of a hooded and cloaked figure. It was a picturesque if rather odd sight. Again there was a knock on the door.

  “Enter,” DeKok called out.

  Slowly the opened and a young woman appeared in the door opening. She pushed her hood back and shook out her hair. DeKok estimated her to be in her early twenties. She was beautiful, he noted, extremely beautiful. Long blonde hair fell in waves over the collar of her black cape. She unhooked her wrap and pulled it with an elegant gesture from her slender shoulders. A small shower of fine raindrops cascaded to the floor around her. Vledder hastened to take her cape. She rewarded him with a faint, almost sad smile. Slowly she entered the detective room. As she progressed through the space the drab institutionalized room seemed to change from grey into a kaleidoscope of colors and sun.

  With old-world charm DeKok offered her a chair next to his desk.

  “Please sit down,” he said in his most friendly manner.

  “Thank you very much.”

  Carefully she sat down, placed her purse on the edge of the desk, and crossed her legs, a mesmerizing gesture. Her movements were slow, refined, and aimed at achieving a powerful impression.

  DeKok looked at her resignedly. He quickly replaced enchantment with the cool observation of a trained detective. Her manner and movements no longer impressed him. He experienced the alluring scent of her perfume as attractive but nothing more. He sat down in the chair behind his desk.

  “My name is DeKok,” he said mildly. “DeKok with a kay-oh-kay.” He waved in Vledder’s direction. “This is my colleague Inspector Vledder, my right hand. How can we be of service?”

  She did not answer at once, but hesitated as if not sure what to say. The hands in her lap moved in a cramped gesture. Her long, narrow fingers worried at the hem of her skirt.

  “My name is Kristel van Daalen—van Daalen, with a double A.”

  DeKok smiled at her.

  “You see, I’m very worried.”

  “Worried?”

  “Yes, very.” She sighed deeply.

  “Why?”

  She looked at him with big uneasy eyes.

  “My cousin has suddenly disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Without a trace,” she nodded emphatically.

  “Since when?”

  “Since yesterday, Mr. DeKok. Yesterday, Thursday, she left around three in the afternoon. I haven’t seen her since. I went to look in her room when she didn’t appear for breakfast and found her bed had not been slept in.”

  DeKok motioned to Vledder to make notes.

  “What’s your cousin’s name?”

  “Nanette, Nanette Bogaard.” She paused, gave DeKok a faint smile, and added, “Bogaard, with a double A.”

  “Her age?”

  “Nineteen. She would have been twenty next month, in August. We were born about two years apart.”

  The grey sleuth rubbed his hand over his chin, picking up on the young woman’s use of past tense. Her manner of speaking affected him.

  “Is it usual…I mean, does Nanette often stay out all night?”

  “No. At least I don’t think she did. You mustn’t think that I watched her all the time. She went her own way. But the whole night away from home…that is a different matter. In any case I never, until now, missed her at breakfast. She was always in time to open the store.”

  “Store?” DeKok’s eyebrows vibrated slightly.

  “Yes, of course, Nanette and I own a flower shop along old Duke Street. You know, just off the Dam near the New Church, around the corner from Blue Street. I—we—live there, as well, upstairs and to the rear. Perhaps you know the store? Ye Three Roses?”

  “I’m afraid,” he answered slowly, “I’m only familiar with the bar The Three Bottles on Duke Street.”

  “I understand,” she answered mildly. “The store isn’t that old yet. Uncle Edward died less than two years ago. He liked us a lot, our Uncle Edward. He called us his daisies.” She smiled almost shyly. “Nanette and I could always get along very well, you know, even as children. No quarrels…” She hesitated and then continued, “When Uncle Edward died he left us some money. Not a lot, but enough to start the business on Duke Street.” She gestured vaguely around her. “We’re both from Aalsmeer, daughters of growers. You know how that goes. You start to live and breathe flowers after a while. Our own flower shop in the middle of Amsterdam seemed ideal, like a dream. Uncle Edward’s money made it possible to make a dream come true.”

  She silently removed invisible lint from her skirt.

  “We complemented each other beautifully. Nanette was extremely gifted in an artistic way. The pieces she created were fantastic—little jewels. I don’t believe that anybody in town did better arrangements. Because of the arrangements our store has gained some recognition. It was Nanette’s doing.”

  DeKok looked at her searchingly.

  “And what is your contribution to the enterprise?”

  She smiled tiredly.

  “I’m not artistic. I take care of the business end of the store. I have what Nanette called a ‘bean-counter’s soul.’ Ach, I’m used to making ends meet; I grew up with it.”

  It sounded like an apology.

  “And Nanette?”

  “Nanette wasn’t interested in money. She couldn’t have cared less about it.”

  “What does interest her?”

  She shrugged her shoulders in a careless gesture.

  “Her passions were art and literature. All in all she was rather carefree.”

  The inspector nodded, understanding but still disturbed by her references to Nanette in the past tense.

  “Perhaps, eh,” he said hesitantly, “that’s the explanation for her disappearance?”

  She looked at him sharply.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because of her carefree outlook there may be no reason to worry. Maybe she’s just been held up by a friend and has just forgotten to give you a call?”

  Nervously she pressed her hands together.

  “It’s really very nice of you,” she sighed. “Really it’s very nice that you’re trying to allay my fears, but believe me, something has happened to Nanette! Something has happened to her. I’m certain.”

  “You’re sure of that?” DeKok looked at her with some intensity.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Call it female intuition, call it what you want. Laugh at my silly fears—it doesn’t matter. I feel it in my bones.” She remained silent as if at a loss for words.

  Slowly DeKok rose from his chair and walked away from his desk. At some distance he stopped, turned, and looked at the young woman from behind. His sharp eyes, trained by years of experience, noted every reaction, even minuscule movements of her shoulders.

  “Please go on,” he said in a compelling voice. “Of what are you so certain?”

  He saw her swallow.

  “Nan—Nanette is dead,” she stammered.

  A strange silence came over the detective room after Kristel van Daalen’s last words.

  Vledder looked at DeKok with impatient, questioning eyes. He was not happy with the conversation, and a number of unanswered questions burned in his brain. DeKok understood his young colleague—he could see the impetuous youth within—­and motioned for him to go ahead.

  Vledder approached the shrinking figure in the chair purposefully. He seated himself importantly behind DeKok’s desk and cleared his throat with a decisive sound.

  DeKok watched from a distance. He liked his younger colleague, and he hoped Vledder would become his successor when he finally retired.

  “Nanette is dead?” he heard Vledder ask. “At least that’s what you say.”

  Kristel nodded.

  “Yes,” she said tonelessly, “Nanette is dead.”

  “A rath
er hasty conclusion, if you ask me.” His voice sounded hard and penetrating. “There isn’t a single clue to point in that direction. That is, you haven’t mentioned a single reason for your suspicion.”

  The young woman raised tearful eyes toward Vledder, a determined expression on her face.

  “If you want proof I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry. I mean, I think I have been clear enough. It’s just my feeling that Nanette is dead.” She paused and took a deep breath. “And that is all. It should be enough for you.” Her voice sounded reproachful, almost chastising.

  Vledder’s face became red.

  “Feelings, feelings,” he said loudly, “what use are those?”

  DeKok interrupted soothingly.

  “But they really are everything, aren’t they, Miss van Daalen? Feelings are the basis of our existence.”

  She gave him a grateful look.

  “But you must understand,” he continued calmly, “that we need more information about your cousin. If we’re to achieve anything at all we’ll need some sort of starting point, some idea as to where and how to start our investigations. That’s what my colleague meant to say. For instance, where was Nanette going yesterday?”

  Kristel shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Did she take a suitcase or an overnight bag?”

  “No, I saw only her purse, nothing else.”

  “How was she dressed?”

  “She had on a casual outfit, a blue suit.”

  “Did Nanette have friends?”

  “You mean men with whom she associated?”

  “Yes.”

  She made an expansive gesture.