DeKok and Murder by Installment Page 4
DeKok leaned forward.
“If you try,” he cajoled, “maybe you can remember something else about that phone call?”
She stood up.
“I will try,” she said. “Although I’m afraid…” She did not complete the sentence. After a brief pause she continued. “Jacob was not his usual self the last few months.” It sounded analytical. “He was different, less sure of himself, irritable, nervous.”
DeKok picked up his hat from the floor and stood up.
“Do you know why?”
She walked slowly to the door.
“Women,” she said hesitantly, “women often have a sharp instinct for moods. I think his bad disposition had something to do with a fraud case he had taken on. A young man had cheated a bank and some bothersome clients were involved.”
“Did your husband discuss that with you?”
She stopped and shook her head.
“No, I just caught snatches of a conversation he had, here in the house, with a friend.”
“Who was the friend?”
“Dr. Hardinxveld. He’s a surgeon at St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
DeKok seemed baffled.
“And he discussed a fraud case with him?” There was confusion in his voice.
Mrs. Abbenes nodded with emphasis.
“I also heard, at that time, the name of the young man. They mentioned it several times.”
“And what was that name?”
“Casper, Casper Hoogwoud.”
DeKok wondered why he was not surprised.
Vledder’s mouth fell open. He seemed bewildered as he looked at DeKok.
“Casper Hoogwoud involved in a bank fraud?”
DeKok nodded calmly.
“The case was being handled by the murdered attorney, Abbenes.”
Vledder grinned, still in disbelief.
“In that case, the hundred thousand taped to his waist was not connected to some drug deal, as we assumed.” He paused. “To tell you the truth, I had my doubts. After you left this morning I talked to narcotics. They’ve never heard the name Casper Hoogwoud.”
“What about Marcel?”
“Oh, yes, they knew him, but only as a user, not as a dealer.”
DeKok stared at his partner.
“Casper Hoogwoud,” he said slowly, groping for a thought, “has a blank police record.” He looked at the ceiling. “But are there any records that a court case, a law suit against him has been filed?”
“No.”
DeKok shook his head.
“Then the injured bank has not filed an official complaint with the police.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
DeKok waved nonchalantly.
“It happens sometimes…to avoid the publicity. Banks don’t like to wash their dirty linen in public. It damages their reputation and the trust of their depositors.”
“But I don’t understand. How did Abbenes get involved? If no official complaint has been filed against Casper, how can Abbenes act as his attorney?”
DeKok raised a finger in the air.
“I don’t think Abbenes was Casper’s attorney, but he probably represented the bank as judicial advisor.”
Vledder grinned.
“To see if they could contain the damage. Teflonize, as they call it in the U. S.”
“That may have been their philosophy,” nodded DeKok. “Make as little noise and get as much money back as possible.”
“Are we required to inform the bank about Casper’s hundred thousand?”
DeKok shook his head decisively.
“That’s not our job, at least not for now. Officially we don’t know anything. We don’t even know which bank is involved.”
“And how do we discover that?”
“Simple. We ask Casper,” smiled DeKok.
“And if he won’t talk?”
“I have one more arrow in my quiver.”
“What?”
“Dr. Hardinxveld.”
Vledder found a parking place close to where he had parked the night before. The area looked a lot better in the feeble sunlight than it had during the storm. The inspectors got out of the car and Vledder locked the vehicle.
“You remember where it is?” asked DeKok.
“Yes, just around the corner, number 876, downstairs. Just to make sure, I checked the log from last night.”
DeKok nodded his approval.
“I wonder if we’ll meet any sorrowing family members?”
“Perhaps the despotic father,” offered Vledder.
“Indeed, the old-fashioned patriarch with outdated ideas about raising a family.”
“You really think it’s that bad?”
DeKok shrugged.
“As a young man I did not always see eye to eye with my father,” he said nonchalantly. “Generations do collide.”
They stopped in front of number 876 and DeKok gave a forceful tug on the pull bell. The result was an impressive noise.
“You’ll wake the whole neighborhood,” warned Vledder.
Casper opened the door within seconds. He wore the same trousers and blazer of the night before. With surprise he stared at the men on his doorstep.
“Are you returning my money already?” There was sarcasm in his voice.
DeKok shook his head.
“We just want to have a little chat.”
“I thought we said everything there was to say yesterday?”
DeKok pretended not to hear.
“Is Marcel still in the house?”
The young man shook his head.
“No, the funeral home came to collect him early this morning. If Father or Marianne wants to see him, they’ll have to go there. I don’t want to spend another night under the same roof with a corpse.”
It sounded hard and unfeeling. DeKok gave him a pensive look.
“I thought you liked your brother?”
Casper nodded unwillingly.
“Yes, a living Marcel.” He stopped and changed his tone of voice. “Let’s go inside to continue this discussion. It doesn’t have to be public entertainment.”
He turned around and walked down the corridor. DeKok followed him as Vledder closed the door.
The living room looked onto a well-kept garden, enclosed by a thick hedge of conifers. The high windows allowed a lot of light into the room, light that wasn’t there the night before.
DeKok looked at the sofa where they had discovered Marcel’s corpse. Then he looked at Casper. There was something in the young man’s attitude that bothered him.
“Very early this morning,” he began, “someone called us to say Marcel had been murdered.”
Casper seemed genuinely surprised.
“Who called?”
“A woman…she didn’t give her name.”
The young man shrugged.
“An inappropriate joke.”
DeKok remained unmoved.
“Was Marcel murdered?”
Casper raised both arms in a theatrical gesture of despair.
“Marcel died because of complications caused by AIDS,” he said emotionally. “You were here…you heard what the doctor said. What else is there to talk about? Some kind of nut calls you and—” He did not complete the sentence. “When do I get my money back?”
DeKok’s face remained calm, expressionless.
“That money is the result of fraud. You’ve swindled a bank.”
Casper looked as if DeKok was from another planet.
“Who says so?”
“An attorney who says he represents the bank. J. O. B. Abbenes, Esquire.”
The young man laughed a joyless short laugh.
“Abbenes, Esquire,” he repeated with a mocking voice, “asked me to his office several times. He demanded I return 100,000 Euros. I am supposed to have swindled the Ijsselstein Bank for that amount.”
“And that is not so?”
Casper Hoogwoud grinned.
“Of course not. I have an account at the Ijsselstein Bank. Someb
ody deposited 100,000 in that account. I withdrew the money; all completely legal and above board. There was no fraud or swindle involved.”
“Are you entitled to the money?”
“Apparently—apparently somebody wanted to please me.”
DeKok snorted.
“Casper, your story reeks.”
The young man reacted furiously.
“You know what reeks?” he cried sharply. “Abbenes is a big-time crook. The man threatened me with everything from the police to the underworld.” He pointed an accusing finger at DeKok. “When you see him next, you can tell him he can forget about the money.”
DeKok shook his head slowly.
“I won’t tell him that. It would serve no purpose. Abbenes is dead.”
Hoogwoud looked amazed. His mouth gaped open and his eyes widened. His hands began to shake.
“Dead?” he asked hoarsely.
DeKok nodded.
“Last night somebody bashed in his skull, resulting in an unpleasantly large hole.”
“Who?”
DeKok looked at him, a faint smile on his face.
“You?”
5
Vledder drove aggressively away from the side of the road. The much-abused engine of the old VW groaned in protest. DeKok took a look at the door of 876 as they passed. He was convinced it would not be the last time he’d visit the premises.
The interview with young Casper Hoogwoud had been unsatisfactory. It had given DeKok a nauseous feeling of combined disappointment and unrest. There was clearly something wrong with the young man; something sinister, perhaps. Nobody deposits 100,000 Euros in the account of an eighteen year old, just for the fun of it. He pushed his old, felt hat down on his forehead and slid down in the seat. Casper was a strong personality, who had shown a certain mental flexibility and spiritual confidence. Even a direct accusation of murder had left him undisturbed. That was remarkable, especially in view of his age.
The old inspector scratched the back of his neck. There had to be a way to penetrate the armor Casper had built around himself. There had to be a weak spot, somewhere the bastion could be breached.
Vledder broke into his thoughts.
“I never did get around to asking Dr. Rusteloos about AIDS.”
“Why not?”
“That man needs a hearing aid. It’s almost impossible to have a normal conversation with him, especially while he’s performing an autopsy. He speaks into a microphone to record his findings as he goes along.”
“What about the wound?”
“It was immediately fatal.”
“And the weapon?”
“That was rather difficult. The good doctor had never seen a head wound quite like that. There was no indication of a hammer, a handle, or even an axe.”
DeKok sat upright.
“Was there any indication at all?”
“Blunt-force trauma was the cause of death. The shape of the weapon is indicated to be a kind of delta with a rounded point. Perhaps the best way to compare the shape of the wound is to that of a whale without a tail…I mean the curve on the back of the whale.”
“Strange.”
“Dr. Rusteloos agreed. Just to be on the safe side, we took some close ups. Bram Weelen promised to have the prints ready later today.”
DeKok nodded his approval.
“What about the skull? Did Abbenes have a normal skull?”
“What do you mean?”
“Not very thin, a sort of ‘egg-shell’ skull?”
Vledder shook his head.
“The bone was of normal thickness. The blow to the head, with whatever weapon was used, must have been very forceful.”
DeKok rubbed his nose with his little finger.
“Anything else of interest?”
The young inspector took a folded piece of tissue paper out of the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to DeKok.
“When they undressed him, they found this around his neck.”
DeKok unfolded the paper and looked at the item. It was a pendant of some sort, with a thin chain.
“It looks like a bull.”
“That’s right. Taurus, the bull. It’s a constellation, and also a sign of the zodiac.”
DeKok took the piece of jewelry in his hand. The bull was exquisitely modeled and from the weight he guessed it to be pure gold. It was rather heavy and he did not doubt it was also expensive.
“Everybody normally wears their astrological totem, don’t they?”
Vledder smiled.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
DeKok replaced the chain and the pendant back in the paper and folded it over. He placed it in Vledder’s hand.
“There’s something wrong.”
“What?”
“The bull. Abbenes was born on the third of January. He was not a Taurus, rather a Capricorn.”
Vledder parked the car behind the station house. They walked to Warmoes Street through Old Bridge Alley. Business was picking up in the quarter. DeKok lifted his hat to a smiling prostitute. She nodded in recognition. Only in Amsterdam could prostitutes practice their trade within half a block of a police station.
“What are we going to do with the pendant?”
“Keep it. We have other jewelry belonging to Abbenes. It’s a good excuse for another visit to Mrs. Abbenes.”
As they entered the lobby, Jan Kuster called them to the counter. He took a sheet out of the back of the log book and handed it to DeKok.
“Brandsma’s report.”
“Who is Brandsma?”
“The constable you asked to check the hoods of the cars along the canal, remember?”
“Oh, yes,” answered DeKok. “And?”
Jan Kuster pointed at the report.
“Just read it. There was only one car with a warm hood in the neighborhood, a gray Mercedes. Brandsma also tracked the tag number. The car is registered to a Dr. D. E. L. Hardinxveld.”
DeKok wrinkled his nose, as if he had smelled something foul.
“Hardinxveld?” he repeated.
Kuster nodded.
“A surgeon at St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
DeKok sank down in the chair behind his desk. He was just about to toss Constable Brandsma’s report in a drawer when Vledder intervened.
“Hey, hey,” he protested. “Give me that. I want to enter it in the computer. We don’t have too much, so far. At least it will flesh out what we have. It will keep the commissaris happy.”
“Oh, very well,” grumbled DeKok. “But I suspect it will keep you even happier. You know, Dick,” he continued pontifically, “I have noticed a tendency toward bureaucracy in you. You must fight that, my boy. It may lead to a promotion.”
Vledder grinned.
“Well, it is a good report, and it may help us.”
“Yes, that it is,” admitted DeKok. “A good report, I mean. I don’t know yet whether it will help us.”
“But it’s possible.”
“What?”
“Abbenes could have driven Hardinxveld’s car. His wife told you they were friends.”
“But I think it likely that Abbenes had a car of his own.”
“Probably broken down in a garage, somewhere,” guessed Vledder.
DeKok shook his head in disagreement.
“People like that immediately get a loaner from their garage. Most are insured for the expense.”
Vledder looked away from his screen.
“Still, you think it might mean something after all?”
DeKok nodded slowly.
“I’m not certain. But you are right that Dr. Hardinxveld has some explaining to do,” he offered somberly.
A man appeared in the doorway of the detective room. He talked to the detective nearest the door. After a brief conversation, the officer pointed in the direction of DeKok’s desk. The visitor made his way through the crowded detective room. DeKok observed him. The man was about fifty years old and wore a baggy gray suit. The elbows and knees were shiny with age.
He stopped in front of DeKok’s desk.
“You’re Inspector DeKok?”
The gray sleuth looked up at the man.
“With a kay-oh-kay,” he answered.
“I had expected you at our office,” said the man, disapproval in his voice.
“And what office might that be?” asked DeKok.
“The Abbenes law office, of course. My name is Dungen, Charles Dungen. I’m the clerk, or rather, the right-hand man of Mr. Abbenes.” He gave DeKok a sad look. “After the terrible happenings of last night…. I waited all morning for you.”
Vledder made an entry on the keyboard and then stood up. With a polite gesture he offered the man a chair. Dungen pushed the chair a little closer to DeKok’s desk. His face had a sallow, jaundiced tint. He looked tense.
“Perhaps I can give you some valuable information,” said Dungen, nervously. “I have enjoyed the complete trust and confidence of Mr. Abbenes for years. I am au courant regarding all his cases.”
DeKok leaned closer.
“Including those cases,” he asked with a smirk, “that could not stand the light of day?”
Dungen showed himself to be highly indignant.
“That remark was gratuitous, Inspector,” he said severely. “I’m personally offended. You should be aware that Mr. Abbenes was an attorney with high ethical standards. He did not take any questionable cases. He would never have involved himself in cases that are less, eh, that could not stand the light of day. His conduct was beyond reproach.”
DeKok gave him a winning smile.
“I respect your feelings,” he said sweetly. “From your remarks I conclude that you were very much attached to your employer.”
Charles Dungen nodded in agreement.
“Absolutely. And I have every reason for that. I have worked beside him very pleasantly for almost twenty years.” He paused and looked at Vledder. Then he returned his attention to DeKok. “His sudden, eh, demise, however, makes my future a bit uncertain. Although I presume that his successor will keep me in his employ.” He tapped the side of his head with an index finger. “There’s a lot of practical knowledge up here.”
“Is it known who his successor is to be?”
“No.”
“Mr. Abbenes had no partners, no associates?”
Dungen shook his head.