DeKok and Murder by Installment Page 13
When DeKok returned to the detective room, he found Vledder with his head in his hands. The gray sleuth tapped him on the shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, worried.
Vledder pointed an index finger at a memo pad.
“I just received word from St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
DeKok felt the tension in his chest.
“Dr. Hardinxveld?”
The young man nodded.
“He died from a single blow to the back of the skull.”
17
Vledder parked the marked patrol car in the parking lot. Two uniformed constables were unceremoniously evicted from the vehicle and dispatched to pick up the team’s battered and abandoned vehicle. The constables were to bring the VW back, and then leave with the patrol car. Despite DeKok’s repeated assurances that “the gears don’t work,” the desk cancelled the tow truck.
As they exited the car, they stretched.
“I hope we soon have our own car back,” said DeKok.
“I thought you didn’t care for cars.”
“I don’t, but this car is worse.” He kicked the tires. “How can a sane person think in it? There are two radios, a computer, a location thingamajig, not to mention, other gadgetry! It’s too much.”
Vledder smiled, he secretly agreed that a GPS in an Amsterdam patrol car was superfluous, to say the least. But he heartily appreciated all the other electronic systems incorporated in the vehicle.
“Inspector, had you not broken our regular VW, you wouldn’t have to put up with all this stuff.”
DeKok growled something unintelligible.
They looked up at the facade of the enormous St. Matthew’s Hospital. Vledder was impressed, but DeKok was not pleased with the vista. It was modern, too cubist for his taste. He found all the steel and glass impersonal. The intimate, spread-out buildings of the old Welhelmina Hospital, almost hidden by trees and greenery, were more to his taste.
In the vast lobby, soft conversation mingled to form an anxious hum. An older nurse walked toward them. She looked at the senior partner.
“You’re Inspector DeKok?”
He nodded.
“With a kay-oh-kay,” he said automatically. “This is my colleague, Inspector Dick Vledder.”
The nurse searched their faces with an appraising look. It took seconds, but both men felt she had seen everything she needed to see.
“I’m Chief Nurse Westerveld,” she said abruptly. “Please follow me.”
They followed her to a large alcove on the side of the entrance hall. Elevator doors lined three walls of the alcove. She walked to one of the elevators and pushed a button.
“We can’t go all the way by elevator,” she explained. “The last stretch we’ll have to climb the stairs.”
The elevator door opened and they stepped inside. Nurse Westerveld pushed another button and the elevator shot up with nauseating speed.
DeKok leaned over.
“Did you find him?”
She shook her head.
“It was Theresa, a girl from administration. The child was so upset, I sent her home,” she said in a tone that smothered any disagreement with her actions.
DeKok looked at her with a bland face.
“The girl works in administration here?” he asked, baffled.
The nurse pointed up.
“Practically nobody goes to that space. It contains only file cabinets. Administration uses it as storage space.”
“And that’s where the body is?”
“Yes,” she answered sharply. “That’s where he is. They told us not to touch or move anything. Besides, any idiot could see there was nothing else to do.”
“Quite right,” said DeKok. “How did Dr. Hardinxveld get to be there?”
“Who knows? It’s a mystery to us. Dr. Hardinxveld belongs in surgery. He would have no business there.”
The elevator stopped. The doors opened onto a long, deserted corridor.
Nurse Westerveld again preceded them. At the end of the corridor she opened a door. There was a small landing, at the end of which was a rather steep, iron staircase.
DeKok pointed at the door.
“Is that ever locked?”
“No, why?”
DeKok did not answer. He entered the door and climbed the steel staircase. Vledder and the chief nurse followed.
They arrived in a large, low space without windows. A few fluorescent lights were mounted on the steel beams of the ceiling. They shed an eerie light on the silent file cabinets along the walls. At the end was a wide door.
Almost in the middle of the space a man in a white coat was supine on the concrete floor. DeKok looked down at him. He recognized him immediately. Only this morning those eyes had looked at the world cheerily, almost amused. Now vacant, they reflected only death. Around the head was a circle of coagulated blood. Blood also stuck to the back of his head.
DeKok kneeled next to the victim. Suddenly he jumped up, as if stung by a bee. An overpowering noise filled the low space. He looked around wildly. He saw the nurse’s lips moving, but could not hear her. After awhile, the noise lessened, until it died away altogether. It was replaced with the whine of a large elevator. A light flashed by at the end of the space, behind the large door.
“What the—” he exclaimed.
“It was a helicopter,” explained the nurse calmly. “We’re underneath the heliport on the roof. This space not only strengthens the roof, it acts as a sound barrier between the hospital proper—it is an addition.”
“But I heard an elevator pass,” said Vledder.
“Yes,” she responded, unruffled. “One large elevator serves the heliport. It is for patients and staff who travel to and from the heliport. It’s not for just anyone,” she added primly.
“I see,” said DeKok, dismissing the subject. He had seen a gleaming round object behind the right shoulder of the corpse. He bent to pick it up, and put it in his pocket.
“What is it?” asked Vledder.
“A two-Euro coin somebody must have lost.” He straightened out. His knees creaked. “Did you alert the herd?”
“Yes, from the car. Didn’t you hear me?”
“I wasn’t listening—thought you were just playing with your new toys.”
Vledder started to grin, but then he pointed over DeKok’s shoulder. DeKok turned around and saw Dr. Koning, the old, eccentric coroner, approach. Two morgue attendants, carrying the ubiquitous stretcher, followed on his heels.
When the aged coroner reached DeKok, they shook hands formally. Then the coroner took off his old, greenish Garibaldi hat and knelt down next to the corpse.
He moved the head slightly to get a better look at the wound. Then he closed the eyes of the corpse.
“Another upstanding member of our community,” said DeKok.
Dr. Koning looked up.
“Our oh-so-reliable Grim Reaper does not take into account his clients’ social status.”
DeKok nodded.
“Neither does my murderer.”
Koning stretched out a hand and DeKok hastened to help him stand up. With precise movements, he took out a large, white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his coat. Next he took off his pince-nez and started an elaborate cleaning process. Finally he replaced the glasses on his nose and replaced the handkerchief in the pocket of his old-fashioned tailcoat.
“All these heavy blunt-force traumas,” he said in a scratchy voice. “It looks like an epidemic. If I were you, DeKok, I’d tell your future victims to wear hard hats.”
“I would, if I could,” answered DeKok. “Ironically, this is the second man who had every opportunity to tell me he was threatened, and refused to ask for protection.”
“I didn’t see the first one, but I heard about it, of course. From what I hear, however, neither this one nor the two previous cases are exactly a great loss.”
“Doctor,” said DeKok, shocked. “I’ve never heard you say such a thing.”
“You
didn’t this time, either,” replied the coroner. “By the way,” he added, “he is officially dead.”
DeKok nodded.
“I knew that…killed with a seven iron.”
The next morning DeKok was early getting to the station house. The murder of Dr. Hardinxveld had not succeeded in pushing him deeper into the quagmire this case presented. On the contrary, he had a distinct feeling the framework of his theory was taking shape, solidifying. He had a clear shot at a solution. Of one thing he was certain: he had to find the killer before the next victim surfaced.
He took a blank sheet of paper out of a drawer. He drew some lines on it, dividing it into columns. Then he started to fill in the spaces between the lines. He put all the known facts about each victim in a separate column. He also prepared a column for Frankie and each witness. Before he wrote anything down, however, he realized that Vledder could give him all of it in a few minutes of keyboard strokes. He crumpled the paper in a ball and tossed it in the wastebasket.
His old friend, Adjutant Kamphouse, came into the room and walked over to DeKok’s desk.
“I’ve bad news for you.”
“Oh, I’m getting early retirement?”
Kamphouse laughed.
“You can forget that. For the time being they can’t do without you.” He became more serious. “Vledder called in sick, this morning. He was very upset about it. I was asked to tell you that he’s sorry, but he’s completely laid-up.”
DeKok looked distressed.
“I was afraid this would happen. The boy has hardly slept at all for several days. Sooner or later we all pay
the piper.” He looked up at Kamphouse. “I need some freedom of movement for the immediate future. Do you have someone who can go to the autopsy for me? It’s at ten o’clock, at the lab.”
The adjutant nodded.
“I’ll send Ans. She’s good. Is there anything specific she should look for?”
“A woman?” queried DeKok. “I didn’t think alot of women worked homicide.”
“Be careful, DeKok. You’re dating yourself. Anyway, it wasn’t a lateral move. She transferred as a detective. Actually, I think you know her. She’s worked with us before.”
“She has?”
DeKok thought.
“No,” he said after awhile. “The only Ans I remember is a constable. She helped us out by impersonating a prostitute so we could catch a murderer.”
“That’s her, but a constable no longer. Ans Rozier is now a detective-sergeant—she’s been working plain-clothes at headquarters for the last two years.”
“Well, well,” said DeKok. “How time flies. Yes,” he then decided, “Ans will do very well. I hope she has attended at least one autopsy before.”
“Don’t worry about that. It was part of her training. Well, anything particular she should be looking for, or asking?”
DeKok nodded slowly to himself. He visualized the constable he had known—a petite, athletic blonde with an elfin face.
“Yes,” he said. “Have her contact Weelen. I want accurate, detailed close-ups of the wound. Also, I want the little bull.”
“What little bull?”
DeKok gave him a wan smile.
“I’m convinced that Hardinxveld has a little bull on a chain around his neck.”
“Like a zodiac sign? Is the man a Taurus?”
DeKok shook his head.
“No, he’s a Leo, and it isn’t a bull, but a calf.”
DeKok requested and received a bicycle from the watch commander. It was the typical police bicycle, black, upright, without speed gears, the top of the rear wheel and the drive chain neatly enclosed in gleaming vinyl. DeKok remembered when all police constables patrolled on bicycles. They patrolled the city in pairs on shiny black bicycles, stiffly upright, in immaculate uniforms. Any disturbance would immediately subside when they turned a corner. Sometimes they would walk the bicycle and sometimes they would lean it against a lamp post and chat with people in the neighborhoods. Strange, thought DeKok, police officers seemed to be more respected when they patrolled on foot, or on a bicycle. Was that because they were closer to the people in the city? Nowadays, most officers roar around in closed cars. You sometimes can not even see the faces. It had all become so impersonal and the crime rate was increasing steadily.
There had to be a lesson there, mused DeKok, as he steadily peddled along. He passed the Royal Palace, driving along Nicholas Street, until he turned a familiar corner. He found himself in front of number 876. He leaned the bicycle against a convenient lamp post and secured it.
He walked over to the door and rang the doorbell.
It took a few minutes for Casper Hoogwoud to open the door. The young man looked neglected. He had a three-day stubble, and his hair hung down in strings. He tightened the cord of his dressing gown with an angry gesture. He gave DeKok a challenging look.
Without saying a word, DeKok pushed the young man aside and entered the residence. He walked directly through the corridor to the living room. When Casper hastened after him, he turned around and took the young man by the shoulders and pushed him forcefully into a chair. The old sleuth loomed threateningly over him.
“Now I want the truth about the money.”
“What money?”
“The hundred thousand you wore on your belly the day Marcel died.”
Casper tried a weak defense.
“I told you, I withdrew it from my account at the Ijsselstein Bank.”
DeKok narrowed his eyes and his face looked menacing.
“You never had an account with that bank.”
A spark of the previous defiance returned. “Says who?”
“Mr. Darthouse, the managing director of the bank.”
Casper made a defeated gesture.
“Okay, the account wasn’t in my name. The account was in Marcel’s name.”
“And there was a hundred thousand in that account?”
Casper Hoogwoud smirked.
“There was a lot more, at times. Sometimes as much as half a million. Marcel was so sick toward the end, he wasn’t able to get the money from the bank himself.”
“And that’s why you did it?”
“Yes.”
“With an authorization from Marcel?”
Casper shook his head.
“Marcel never wanted to give me authorization.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t want anybody to know he was sick.”
DeKok was perplexed.
“How did you manage it?”
“Marcel and I looked alike. If I dressed like him, combed my hair the same way, most people couldn’t tell the difference.”
“So, you presented yourself at the bank as Marcel Hoogwoud.”
“Right.”
“And Marcel knew that?”
Casper nodded with animation.
“Of course Marcel knew that,” he reacted sharply. “Do you think I played that masquerade on my own? I had to do it. Marcel asked me to.”
“And the money you got from the bank in this manner, you gave to Marcel?”
“Yes.”
“Except for that hundred thousand.”
Casper sighed.
“That was the last of the money in the account. Marcel told me to keep it for myself in case something happened to him. It would give me a little nest egg, a new start for me. Marcel also advised me not to put it in a bank.”
“Why not?”
“He said nobody, not the government nor the police, could confiscate it.”
DeKok was tired of standing up. It was no longer necessary to intimidate Casper. With a relieved sigh he sat down in the easy chair across from the young man.
“Why would Abbenes accuse you of fraud?”
Casper smiled crookedly.
“They figured out, somehow, that I had been taking the money out of Marcel’s account. They wanted that money back.”
“Who are they?”
“The people from the bank, the Ijsselstein B
ank…they had hired Abbenes to put pressure on me. If I didn’t return the money, they would sue. Accuse me, take me to court. According to Abbenes, I had deliberately swindled the bank. He said he could also get me on falsification of documents and impersonating a depositor. Not only had I pretended to be my brother, I had forged his signature.”
DeKok was curious.
“Weren’t you afraid Abbenes would actually take you to court, not just threaten?”
Casper grinned with gleaming eyes.
“When I told Marcel what Abbenes said, he told me not to worry. He started to laugh out loud, as a matter of fact. ‘Let them threaten,’ he said. ‘They don’t have enough guts to come after you.’”
DeKok rubbed his chin pensively.
“Marcel was convinced?” he asked, disbelieving.
“Absolutely.”
“How did Marcel get the money in the first place, at least half a million, you said?”
Casper shrugged nonchalantly.
“Marcel often traveled abroad, by himself, on business.”
“What kind of business?”
The young man threw both arms above his head.
“I don’t know that. Really, I don’t. Marcel never talked about it to me.”
“Then, who knows?”
“I think my father knows.”
“What do you mean you think?”
Casper avoided DeKok’s eyes while he talked.
“Once when I was alone with my father at Amstel Land, he said to me, ‘Your brother, Marcel, is a real smart fellow. He’ll get them.’”
DeKok gave the young man a searching look.
“Did you understand what your father meant?”
The young man shook his head.
“That’s why I asked how Marcel got so smart.”
“And?”
“My father ignored the question and changed the subject.”
DeKok nodded to himself.
“And now Marcel is dead.”
Casper lowered his head.
“I buried him yesterday.”
18
Jaap Groen approached DeKok with outstretched arms and a broad smile on his face.
“My very good friend,” he said with feeling. “Welcome, welcome to my humble abode. What a surprise and what a joy to be able to greet you.”