DeKok and Murder by Installment Read online

  The phone on DeKok’s desk started to ring.

  Vledder pushed a button on his own phone, picked it up, and listened. Without saying a word he replaced the receiver after a few seconds.

  “And who was that?” asked DeKok.

  “I don’t know.”

  “But there was someone on the line?”

  “A woman,” nodded Vledder.

  “And?”

  “She only said a few words: ‘Marcel has been murdered.’”

  3

  DeKok was seated near the window of the streetcar. The storm of the previous night had caused a considerable amount of destruction. The sidewalks were covered with smashed roof tiles and broken branches. On Roses Canal the scaffolding in front of a building had collapsed and blocked the road. Some of the debris was still in the water of the canal. DeKok wondered briefly why overhead electric feed wires for the streetcars were still intact. This most controversial of all Amsterdam vehicles was able to proceed unhindered.

  DeKok alighted on Station Square. Usually he walked from there with the stream of commuters to the Damrak. But this time he passed the bus depot and entered the Metro station. He passed by the trains to the exit on Prince Henry Quay. He wanted to take a look at old St. Nicholas Church. He loved the ramshackle old tower and nursed some fond memories of Pastor Aarts, whom he had met several times in the past. The old shepherd’s outdated, naive sympathy for people had always touched him. Although his “congregation” consisted almost entirely of criminals, prostitutes, and brothel keepers, the old man refused to think ill of anyone.

  He eventually arrived on Warmoes Street by way of St. Olof’s Gate. Whistling an off-key Christmas carol, he entered the station house, waved at the watch commander, and climbed the stairs to the floor above.

  He found Vledder seated behind his computer in the detective room. DeKok nodded to some of the other detectives as he found his way to the windows near the back of the crowded room. Vledder looked ragged. DeKok looked at him with surprise.

  “Did you get any sleep?”

  Vledder took his hands off the keyboard and yawned heavily.

  “You know what time I finally got home? Four o’clock. At that hour I’m better off forgetting everything about sleep…I’m too wound up.” He gave DeKok a jealous look. “What about you?”

  DeKok winked.

  “I first took a large glass of cognac to warm me on the inside. Then I went to bed and snuggled close to my wife.” He grinned boyishly. “That warmed the outside.”

  “And you slept?”

  “Like a log.”

  The young inspector waved languidly at the chair next to his desk.

  “This morning I also had to cope with Commissaris Buitendam.”

  DeKok narrowed his eyes.

  “He made an appearance this early? And what did our respected chief have to say?”

  “I was surprised to see him. He was rather nervous, confused, and upset. He made remarks concerning the sparse wording of the report. It was just too meager, he said.” Vledder paused. “Not enough information, no detail,” he added.

  “What details? What more did he want?”

  “He was talking about the murder of Abbenes, the lawyer.”

  DeKok gave his younger colleague a searching look.

  “And that is why he left home so early?”

  “I definitely got that impression.”

  “But how did he know about the murder? We hadn’t informed him. And there was nothing in the papers about it.”

  “Somebody called him.”

  “Who?”

  “A woman, an unknown woman.”

  DeKok sighed.

  “Again a woman.”

  Vledder nodded and lifted a piece of paper from the desk.

  “She said: ‘Abbenes is dead, not because of your righteousness, but because of mine.’”

  Commissaris Buitendam, the tall, stately chief of Warmoes Street Station, waved a slender, well-manicured hand.

  “Please, sit down, DeKok,” he said in his aristocratic voice.

  DeKok gave the commissaris a long look. The man looked tired. His long face with its sunken cheeks had almost no color. His eyes looked dull. The sight moved DeKok to pity. The commissaris, he thought, not for the first time, should have been a diplomat. He should have been transferred to headquarters long since. The bureaucracy there was much more suited to the man than the hustle and bustle of the busiest police station in Europe.

  With a shrug, DeKok sat down.

  The commissaris sat back in his chair and coughed delicately.

  “In a little while,” he began, “I’ll have to inform the judge advocate, Mr. Schaap, that Mr. Abbenes is dead, the victim of a violent assailant. I read your notes in the log and I read your report. I must say, the language was unusually terse.”

  DeKok again shrugged his shoulders.

  “I am sorry,” he said placatingly. “There was little to report last night. A man died on a portico with his skull smashed. There’s no more.”

  “A robbery?”

  DeKok shook his head.

  “I did not get that impression. His wallet, with money, was still in his pocket. He still had all his jewelry—expensive watch, rings, diamond stick pin.”

  Buitendam spread his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “What could the motive have been?”

  DeKok smiled.

  “If you know, I’d be obliged.”

  The commissaris ignored the remark. He moved in his chair.

  “Mr. Abbenes,” he said carefully, “was an important man. He was very influential. His death or, rather, the manner of his death, will cause a lot of commotion and curiosity. Therefore I want to advise you to be very careful in your investigations.”

  DeKok grinned briefly.

  “I usually am.”

  Buitendam’s face became stern.

  “It would be better,” he said evenly, “if we dropped this sore subject. There have been instances in the past…” He sighed and did not complete the sentence. “Seriously, DeKok, Mr. Abbenes had relationships in the highest circles. I would not at all be surprised if The Hague were to take an interest.”

  “He moved in government circles?”

  “Exactly.”

  DeKok pulled back his lower lip and let it plop back. He saw the annoyed look on the commissarial face and stopped the unsavory habit at once.

  “I never knew Abbenes as a lawyer. I understand he also acted as a barrister?”

  Buitendam nodded slowly.

  “Only in rare, special cases…cases that interested him somehow. Abbenes was a rich man. He could afford to pick and choose his clients. Mostly he acted as a solicitor in civil cases.”

  DeKok stared into the distance for awhile. An innocent smile played around his lips.

  “My old mother,” he said, reminiscing, “never had much truck with lawyers. She used to say: ‘The lawyer makes his cash from the stubborn, the nuts, and the rash.’” The gray sleuth drove the memory of his mother from his thoughts and focused again on the commissaris. “I heard from Vledder you received a phone call last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “At what time?”

  “I think about four o’clock.”

  “Think? Didn’t you look at the clock?” asked DeKok, irked.

  “No.”

  “It was a woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was she young, old?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “Could she have called earlier?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The time could be important. Is it possible you may not have heard the phone earlier in the evening?”

  “No. I have a phone next to the bed.”

  DeKok leaned forward.

  “What exactly did she say? What were her exact words?”

  Buitendam closed his eyes for a moment.

  “She said, ‘Abbenes is dead, not because of your righteousness, but because of mine.’”
/>   “Did she have an accent?”

  The commissaris shook his head.

  “I did not notice one.”

  “Where was the emphasis?”

  “Emphasis?”

  DeKok acted distraught.

  “The emphasis,” he said impatiently. “What did she emphasize? Was it your and mine, or was it the word righteousness?”

  “That, eh, that. I don’t remember that.”

  DeKok pressed his lips together. Then he took a deep breath.

  “I had hoped,” he said angrily, “that a commissaris of police would be—” He was interrupted.

  Buitendam stood up. His face was red and his lips quavered. He made a theatrical gesture toward the door.

  “OUT!” he roared.

  Vledder shook his head.

  “You just couldn’t control yourself, could you?” There was censure in his voice. “I think you do it on purpose. You elevate his blood pressure every time. It’s sadistic—you should watch it.”

  DeKok spread both hands in a gesture of innocence.

  “I could not help it. I really did not intend to make him angry. He looked so wan and tired, I had firmly decided to treat him with consideration and respect. I just lost my temper when he knew so little about the phone call.”

  “Well, at least he remembered the text,” added Vledder.

  “But that was about all.”

  “You think the message means something?”

  DeKok nodded thoughtfully.

  “Of course it means something. Righteousness is another word for justice. But don’t ask me for an interpretation. There’s not much sense to make out of it. But it does seem as if that woman disagrees with the kind of justice we practice.”

  “And is in favor of her own brand of righteousness?”

  “Something like that, yes. Although I still don’t know what that would entail.” He sighed. “But one thing is for sure, she knew last night that Abbenes had left this world.”

  Vledder’s eyes lit up.

  “You’re right, but how?”

  DeKok smiled.

  “It would be really nice if I could answer that at this moment.”

  He rubbed his nose with his little finger.

  “When did you tell the Minerva Lane watch commander to inform Abbenes’ wife about her husband’s death?”

  Vledder thought a moment.

  “I contacted him not long after we returned from Emperors Canal, about quarter past three. It was after our anonymous female caller.”

  “In that case we can take it as written that Abbenes’ wife would have been informed not much later than four o’clock in the morning.”

  Vledder looked shocked.

  “You think the mysterious female on the phone was his wife?”

  DeKok stared out of the window. He did not answer at once.

  “Whoever the woman was,” he said finally, “we can be sure she was close to the murderer.”

  They remained silent for a long time. DeKok half closed his eyes and seemed to doze off. Vledder half-heartedly made some entries in his computer. Outside an early drunk yelled something intelligible; they heard Moshe, the herring man, reply in kind. Perhaps the drunk was obstructing the path of his cart as he maneuvered it down the street.

  Vledder finally broke the silence.

  “While you were with commissaris, I talked to Dr. Rusteloos.” The young man looked at his watch. “He wants to start the autopsy in about an hour.”

  DeKok nodded his understanding.

  “Are you going?”

  “Yes, because you don’t want to.”

  “Ask him if he can say anything about the weapon that was used. And get some information about AIDS.”

  The young inspector raised his eyebrows.

  “Are we going to get involved with the Hoogwoud case after all?”

  DeKok shrugged. “Marcel Hoogwoud died a natural death. There is no reason to suspect a crime.”

  “How do you explain the phone call?”

  “I don’t know, is that a reason to confiscate the corpse?”

  Vledder shook his head.

  “It’s just a bit remarkable that phone call also came from a woman.” He looked at his partner. “Isn’t there somebody else who can tell us about AIDS?”

  “Why?”

  “You can hardly have a conversation with Dr. Rusteloos. His hearing is rapidly going.”

  DeKok laughed.

  “Then you’ll just have to speak louder.”

  He stood up and walked over to get his coat and hat. Vledder called from his desk.

  “Where are you going?”

  The gray sleuth half turned.

  “I’m going to continue an old detective tradition.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I’m going to express my sympathy to the widow concerning the loss of her husband.”

  4

  DeKok looked at the house number on Minerva Lane and let his glance stray to the nameplate. J. O. B. Abbenes, it stated in elegant copperplate on a white enamel background. He pressed the brass button mounted below the sign.

  It took at least a minute. Then the door was carefully opened by a tall, distinguished lady in a high-buttoned black dress.

  “Mrs. Abbenes?”

  “Indeed.”

  It sounded forceful.

  DeKok politely lifted his hat and made a courteous bow.

  “My name is DeKok,” he said hoarsely, “with a kay-oh-kay. I’m an inspector attached to Warmoes Street Police Station, and I would like to talk to you concerning the passing of your husband. I have been assigned the investigation.”

  Mrs. Abbenes nodded her understanding. She stepped aside and gestured permission to enter. After she had closed the front door behind him, she preceded him to a spacious living room with solid leather furniture.

  “Please sit down.”

  The old inspector lowered himself into an easy chair, unbuttoned his coat, and placed his hat on the floor next to the chair.

  “I understand,” he began hesitantly, “this must have been a shock for you. I can imagine how difficult it is for you to talk about this.”

  She seated herself on a straight-backed chair across from him. She remained stiff and erect, her knees closely pressed together.

  “I don’t mind talking about it,” she said cheerfully. “The shock wasn’t all that great. Jacob…Jacob was my husband, in a legal sense. Not much more than that.”

  For just a moment DeKok’s eyebrows rippled across his forehead. In an instant it seemed two hairy caterpillars crossed above his eyes. The woman looked startled, but regained her composure almost immediately, as if she had only imagined what she had seen. It gave DeKok time to gather his thoughts and take a new direction. The answer had been unexpected.

  “But, eh, you lived here together?”

  Mrs. Abbenes nodded slowly.

  “That’s right, yes. This was Jacob’s residence. But to share a home is not the same thing as living together.” She paused while a slight smile fled across her lips. “I get the impression that I am confusing you.”

  “I confess, a bit.”

  She laughed out loud.

  “I didn’t think experienced inspectors from Warmoes Street, of all places, could be easily shocked.”

  DeKok looked at her. When she laughed she had a pleasant face with laugh wrinkles around the eyes. He cocked his head to one side.

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said apologetically. “Your attitude, your manner, surprised me. I had prepared myself to meet a grieving widow, sorrowing for the loss of her husband. I was prepared to offer my condolences.”

  The laugh faded away.

  “You must not think his death leaves me cold. It isn’t that way at all. Perhaps the pain will come later.” She sighed deeply. “Jacob and I grew apart over the years.”

  “But you’re not divorced.”

  Mrs. Abbenes shook her head.

  “I think that we both lacked the courage to make
a final break.”

  “How did the rift come about?”

  She did not answer at once. She lowered her head and clasped her hands together on her knees.

  “It happened gradually. The breach would widen every time I discovered another of Jacob’s character flaws.”

  “What kind of flaws?”

  “Mostly it was small aggravations—sly arrogance, nasty habits. I could not agree with the way Jacob manipulated people. I rebelled when he talked about people as though they were marionettes. He controlled others like wooden dolls, whose strings he could pull. He talked about sheep that needed to be led.”

  DeKok looked at her sharply.

  “Was his killer one of the marionettes?”

  Mrs. Abbenes shrugged.

  “Perhaps…perhaps one of his dolls realized he’d sold his soul.”

  “And no longer obeyed?”

  She nodded.

  “It is a possibility.”

  DeKok rested his chin on his fist.

  “Have you any suggestions as to the direction I should follow to find the perpetrator?”

  She shook her head.

  “Through his practice Jacob knew so many people. He was involved in so many activities, some that could not stand the light of day…that’s why the murder did not completely surprise me. Plenty of people had motives. Jacob was almost permanently surrounded by a cloud of conflict.”

  DeKok smiled at the description.

  “Why did he go to his office in the middle of the night, during such abysmal weather?”

  “He had made an appointment.”

  “With whom?”

  She looked at him. Her face had changed expression. The laugh wrinkles had disappeared. For the first time she showed some sadness, a silent sorrow.

  “That I don’t know,” she said softly. “It was sometime between one and two in the morning. I was in bed and heard the telephone ring. I could not follow the conversation…didn’t try, really. Toward the end Jacob said something like: ‘All right, then, come to my office.’ Shortly thereafter he left.”

  “Without telling you?”

  Mrs. Abbenes shook her head.

  “As I told you, we just lived together in the same house.”