DeKok and Murder by Installment Page 5

  “Mr. Abbenes was an individualist, a man who found it difficult to delegate.”

  DeKok nodded his understanding.

  “Did you have any difficulty with that?”

  “Sometimes. I was always ready to lighten his load, so to speak, to relieve some of the burden. But he did not always allow that.”

  “Do you know Mrs. Abbenes?”

  Dungen’s face fell.

  “His married life was not exactly, eh, fortuitous,” he said sadly. “I mean, the marriage did not bring him the happiness he might have expected from such a relationship.”

  DeKok smiled. He was amused by the way Dungen expressed himself.

  “Did he compensate?”

  Dungen seemed confused.

  “What? Compensate for an unhappy marriage?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Exactly. Friends, other women?”

  Charles Dungen made a vague gesture. The question obviously embarrassed him.

  “Mr. Abbenes,” he said carefully, “spent a lot of time at the clubhouse.”

  “He was a member of a club?”

  “The golf club, Amstel Land. If I needed him urgently, I could often reach him there. That is also where he met his friends.”

  “Dr. Hardinxveld?”

  Dungen nodded calmly.

  “I’ve also met him at the office—Don Hardinxveld, surgeon at St. Matthew’s.”

  “Do you know any other friends…women friends?”

  Dungen shrugged.

  “I know nothing about girlfriends,” he said testily. “He met other friends at the club besides Dr. Hardinxveld. But I don’t know those people. Mr. Abbenes kept his private life separate from the office environment, as much as possible.”

  DeKok glanced at Vledder, who was unobtrusively making notes.

  “You have never noticed anything about relationships with women?” he asked with incredulity. “Mr. Abbenes was a handsome, wealthy man, who did not receive tenderness from his legal spouse. I would have thought that…” He did not complete the thought, but gave his visitor a penetrating look. “You must have heard conversations with women in the office.”

  Charles Dungen moved in his chair, as if to distance himself from DeKok.

  “Those conversations always concerned business, legal business.”

  DeKok leaned back and scratched the back of his neck. A feeling of self-pity overcame him. Here he was, he thought, beating his brains out over yet one more murder case. With an effort he banished the depressing thought and produced a wan smile.

  “Didn’t you say you might have some useful information?”

  Dungen nodded with emphasis.

  “I know who killed Mr. Abbenes.”

  “Who?” DeKok asked evenly.

  With precise movements Charles Dungen took a notebook from an inside pocket and opened it.

  “Franciscus,” he said primly. “Franciscus Kraay, File Number PLX 84.”

  6

  “Franciscus Kraay?”

  Charles Dungen again nodded with emphasis.

  “He is a client; a wild, somewhat primitive man. He has a violent, explosive temper.”

  “And this Kraay murdered Mr. Abbenes?”

  “I’m convinced of it.”

  “And what makes you so convinced?”

  Dungen moved in his chair, closer to DeKok’s desk.

  “Early this year Mr. Abbenes represented Kraay in a divorce proceeding. Kraay was displeased with the final conditions of the settlement. In fact, he completely disagreed. The alimony was too high, in his opinion. He held Mr. Abbenes responsible for the judgment. He suggested, said right out, Mr. Abbenes had been influenced by his attractive ex-wife.”

  DeKok smiled.

  “I presume,” he said calmly, “emotions are often in an uproar in divorce proceedings. Would you say such accusations happen more often than not?”

  “Certainly. Sometimes the wild theatricals occur in our office. It cannot always be avoided. But there is seldom any physical violence.”

  “But there was with Kraay?”

  Charles Dungen gestured impatiently.

  “I told you, the man is violent, reacts at the most primitive level. He’s as strong as an ox. He knocked me to the ground with a single movement of his arm when I did not admit him to Mr. Abbenes’ private office. It was also the first time he voiced deadly threats.”

  DeKok leaned his head to one side.

  “Deadly threats?” he repeated skeptically.

  The tone did not escape Dungen. He looked up briefly and then consulted his notebook.

  “Kraay actually said, ‘Believe me, my man, I’ll bash your head in.’ He repeated that threat at least three other times. I have noted the times when he spoke those words, together with dates and places.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  DeKok spread his arms wide.

  “Why did you keep such an accurate record?”

  Dungen shook his head.

  “I have the feeling,” he said chidingly, “you do not appreciate my statements as you should. You do not realize what kind of man Kraay is.” He raised his hands in a gesture of despair. “These were not meaningless threats of a powerless man who angrily relieved his feelings. On the contrary Kraay meant every word he said. His words were calm and precise; he said them without feeling. Both Mr. Abbenes and I took him seriously. In view of our past experiences with Mr. Kraay, we did not think even for a moment that he would not fulfill his threats. We remained vigilant.” He paused, lowered his head and continued in a somber tone, “This morning when I learned Mr. Abbenes had been killed on his own doorstep with a blow to the head, Kraay came to mind as the perpetrator. I was convinced, especially since time was running out for the next installment.”

  “What time was running out, what installment?”

  Dungen sighed and explained.

  “Last night, midnight, was the time limit Kraay had given Mr. Abbenes. If Mr. Abbenes had not negotiated different terms for his divorce by the deadline, Kraay would irrevocably proceed to the next installment of the drama. He would execute his threats.

  “Are we going to arrest him?”

  “Who?” asked DeKok.

  “Franciscus Kraay, of course,” said Vledder, irritated.

  DeKok shrugged.

  “First I want to know more.”

  “More?” asked Vledder mockingly. “It’s very clear to me. The man threatened to bash in Abbenes’ skull—”

  DeKok interrupted.

  “There is a dent in his skull.”

  “Precisely,” agreed Vledder. “Think about the time limit…the next installment to begin at midnight. It cannot be coincidence Abbenes’ killer struck a few hours after the deadline.”

  “It is indeed remarkable,” said DeKok calmly.

  Vledder gave his older colleague a searching look. His face was serious.

  “And I have to say you treated Dungen rather shabbily. That man was genuinely interested in helping us. But most of the time it seemed like you did not really believe him.”

  DeKok leaned back in his chair.

  “I’ll confess something to you,” he said slowly. “I know Frankie Kraay. They used to call him “The Crow.” I had something to do with him a long time ago.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Oh, about fifteen years back, maybe longer. He lived on a quiet stretch of Gelder Canal. In those days, The Crow was always ready to do something if he thought some kind of injustice had been done.”

  “Violently?”

  “Usually.”

  “Primitive?”

  “As a rule.”

  Vledder leaned forward.

  “So, what else do you want?” He could not control the irritation in his voice. “Everything comes together very nicely. This time, according to him, the injustice had been committed against him.” He paused and thought for a moment. “And then think of the phone call we received: ‘Not according to your righteousness, but mine.’ That seems
clearly in character for Kraay.”

  DeKok gave his agitated colleague a long, considering look.

  “Only one problem, Dick. A woman made the phone call.”

  DeKok suddenly realized the car had not moved for awhile. He pressed himself up in the seat and saw the long row of cars on the Damrak waiting for the traffic lights. Most were headed for Dam Square.

  “I thought we would have been much farther along,” he murmured to himself. “What time is it?” he asked Vledder.

  Vledder pointed at the clock on the dashboard.

  “Just about a quarter to four,” he said patiently. He knew DeKok had a watch somewhere. But it was one of those old-fashioned chain watches. DeKok never consulted it. Of course a wristwatch would be too modern, thought Vledder, not for the first time.

  “Well,” said DeKok, “if this keeps up much longer, we’ll be too late.”

  Vledder shrugged.

  “What can you expect? It’s the beginning of rush hour. It will only get worse.” He paused while he moved the car about three feet. “Does it have to be today?”

  “Never put off till tomorrow what can be done today,” said DeKok.

  Vledder grinned.

  “Another saying from your old mother?”

  “You’re starting to get to know my family.”

  They progressed another few feet.

  “What do you hope to achieve at the Ijsselstein Bank?”

  DeKok gestured vaguely.

  “Mr. Darthouse, the managing director, is prepared to receive us. That’s quite an achievement in itself.”

  “But not an answer to my question,” noted Vledder.

  DeKok rubbed his nose with his little finger.

  “I still can’t get out of my mind the 100,000 Euros that Casper carried taped to his waist. It bothers me. Perhaps we can get a look at Casper’s bank account.”

  “And then what?”

  DeKok grinned wickedly.

  “Call it official curiosity. It intrigues me why someone would handle that kind of money so carelessly.”

  “You want to know who deposited that money into his account.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “And why. I’m rather suspicious when it comes to grand gestures.”

  They crawled along in silence. The traffic became denser, as Vledder had predicted. DeKok looked at the dashboard clock. Darthouse promised to wait until four thirty—it was now almost twenty-five minutes past the hour. Time was pressing.

  Vledder cursed at the driver in front of him.

  “Did you tell Darthouse why you wanted to talk to him?” he asked, as the car in front suddenly turned out of the way.

  “I had no choice. Darthouse wanted to prepare himself and gather whatever information he needed. I can understand. I remained as vague as possible, but I could not avoid mentioning Casper Hoogwoud’s name. I would have preferred to see him unprepared…using the element of surprise, so to speak.”

  Vledder finally turned onto Emperors Canal.

  “You know, DeKok, there’s something I don’t understand.”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you mention Casper Hoogwoud when you were talking to Dungen? Perhaps he could have given you some useful information.”

  DeKok turned toward his colleague.

  “I thought about it, Dick. But I decided against it very early in the conversation. You see, Charles Dungen is one of two things; he’s either extremely naïve, or he purposely presents a false image of an ethical Abbenes. Either way, I thought it more prudent not to mention Casper Hoogwoud and his questionable 100,000 Euros.” He waved

  nonchalantly. “Never fear. I’m not through with our dedicated Charles Dungen…not by a long shot.”

  Vledder found a narrow spot between the trees. DeKok had to get out of the car before he pulled in. Even so, there was barely room enough to allow Vledder to get out. When he finally wriggled from behind the steering wheel, DeKok asked him for the time. Vledder looked at his watch.

  “He may be gone, DeKok, we’re almost twelve minutes late.”

  DeKok curled his lips in disappointment.

  “Let’s hope,” he said piously, “justice is worth an extra twelve minutes to Mr. Darthouse.”

  Vledder nodded and started to cross the street.

  After climbing the imposing stairs, they entered the lobby and walked to an information booth. A man in a neat, dark-blue uniform with silver lapels waited for them expectantly.

  DeKok lifted his hat slightly.

  We’re police inspectors—Vledder and DeKok, Warmoes Street. We have an appointment with Mr. Darthouse.”

  The man looked up at an enormous clock on the marble wall. Then he looked down at the inspectors.

  “By this time of day,” he said severely, “Mr. Darthouse is no longer in the building.”

  DeKok made an apologetic gesture.

  “I’m sorry. We were delayed by traffic. But Mr. Darthouse promised to wait for us.”

  With obvious reluctance, the man left the booth and disappeared through a high door in the back of the lobby. He returned a few minutes later and led the inspectors to an elevator.

  “Second floor,” he said. “Mr. Darthouse’s secretary is waiting for you.”

  DeKok again lifted his hat in thanks. When the elevator doors opened on the second floor, they found an attractive woman in a severe business suit waiting for them. She smiled professionally.

  “If you gentlemen will follow me?” she invited.

  Vledder and DeKok followed her through a wide corridor of pink marble. At the end she lifted the ornate handle of a heavy, carved door. She made an inviting gesture and departed without a sound.

  Mr. Darthouse turned out to be a tall, stately man with a tanned face and straight, blonde hair. He was seated in a large chair with a high back, behind an ornate, oaken desk. He waived at a couple of chairs in front of the desk without getting up.

  “Please have a seat,” he said. “How may I be of assistance?”

  It did not sound unfriendly.

  DeKok placed his old, dilapidated hat on the floor next to the chair. Then he looked at their host.

  “We have the sad task,” he said soberly, “to investigate the untimely, violent passing of Mr. Abbenes, Esquire. He had an office on this same canal.”

  Darthouse nodded.

  “I heard about it and, I must say, the event shocked me. I knew Mr. Abbenes very well. We were, how shall I put it, we were friends.” He paused and stared at the inspectors. “Therefore I am more than willing to help you in your investigation in any way within in my power.”

  DeKok nodded gratefully.

  “Our investigations have not yielded much result in the short time that has gone by. But we understand Mr. Abbenes had a large practice.”

  Darthouse smiled.

  “That is common knowledge. Mr. Abbenes was an extremely competent attorney.”

  “We are not excluding the possibility,” continued DeKok, “that the motive for the murder may be found in one of the cases in which Mr. Abbenes was involved.”

  Darthouse nodded his agreement.

  “Indeed a reasonable assumption.”

  DeKok rubbed the bridge of his nose with his little finger.

  “We have learned,” he said carefully, “that Mr. Abbenes was working on a case involving a young man, Casper Hoogwoud. I mentioned the name over the telephone. Mr. Hoogwoud allegedly swindled your bank out of 100,000 Euros.”

  With a slow movement, Mr. Darthouse brought both hands together and placed the tips of his fingers against each other.

  “I don’t know,” he said icily, “the source of this so-called information, but Mr. Abbenes was not handling a case like that because we have not been swindled.”

  DeKok widened his eyes.

  “Have you any information on Casper Hoogwoud?”

  “He is not known to us.”

  DeKok swallowed his disappointment.

  “He did, however, have an account here.”


  Darthouse shook his head calmly.

  “Nobody by that name has ever had an account in this bank.”

  7

  Inspector DeKok left the Ijsselstein Bank with an intense feeling of dejection. He knew the managing director had lied to him and there was probably no hope in penetrating those lies. He could hardly turn the entire bank administration topsy-turvy. Still he considered the possibilities, only to admit that all his brainstorming was futile.

  Vledder seemed more cheerful. The young inspector appeared to be filled with happy thoughts. The visit to the bank had not depressed him. On the contrary he gave the impression Darthouse’s remarks had revived him.

  After a bit of maneuvering, Vledder freed the car from its narrow space, enabling DeKok to get in as well. Once on the quay along the canal, there was suddenly no easy way to proceed. The canal sides and the side streets were clogged with vehicles.

  After several tries, amid the angry horn signals of other vehicles, DeKok made a dismissive gesture with his hands.

  “Just find a place to wait,” he said resignedly. “Sooner or later we’ll be able to move.”

  Vledder acted surprised.

  “Do you want to spend the night here?”

  DeKok’s face, which normally looked like that of a good-natured boxer, was sad.

  “He sounded bleak. I think we’re better off doing nothing,” he said. “We need to just stop, give it up. I have the feeling every step we’ve taken in this case has been the wrong one.”

  Vledder put the car half on the roadway and half on the sidewalk. He turned on his hazard lights and shut off the engine.

  “That’s nonsense, and you know it,” he rebutted, shaking his head. “Or is it because Darthouse told us that Hoogwoud never had an account with that bank? That only means Casper lied. Casper cannot tell us the true source of that money without compromising himself. That’s why he spins a different tale every time we talk. First he says he won it gambling, next it was an unknown benefactor who deposited the money in his account.” He grinned. “Lies, all lies.”

  DeKok looked pensive.

  “There’s more to the money than is apparent. We’re missing a thread somewhere, a connection.” He paused and pulled his lower lip out. Then he let it plop back. It was a disgusting sight and always annoyed Vledder.