DeKok and the Death of a Clown Read online

Her face fell.

  “You can warn a youngster, but sense comes with maturity.” She patted her ample bosom. “I was the same way They don’t call me Silly Kate for nothing. I used to spill my guts. A young pro relishes the power she has over Johns.” She sighed. “Once life deals a few uppercuts, we learn prudence. But my name stuck.”

  DeKok understood.

  “So, Carol did talk.”

  Silly Kate made a helpless gesture.

  “Her best friend and confidante, Charlotte, hears it all. They don’t keep any secrets from each other.” She fell silent and brushed an invisible speck of dust from the tablecloth. “Charlotte is a wild woman, a married woman. She is always on the make. If a John wants a second girl, Carol never fails to invite Charlotte. She always goes along for the ride, not the money.”

  “She’s not in the business?”

  “No, she’s in the theater.”

  “Really, what kind of theater?”

  “Variety, carney, maybe the circus.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She does a number with a knife thrower.”

  Vledder sank into the chair behind his desk. His face showed complete satisfaction. With a contented sigh he leaned back.

  “It’s coming together beautifully,” he exclaimed happily. “Wonderful. We can close the case.”

  DeKok looked at him.

  “Which case?”

  The young inspector made a gesture of dismissal.

  “Both cases,” he said with a laugh. “Silly Kate just handed us the keys to the jewel theft and the murder.”

  DeKok pushed his lower lip out. It gave him a surprisingly disapproving face.

  “Fine,” he said finally, “then who is the culprit?”

  “Fantinelli.”

  DeKok’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

  “Fantinelli?”

  Vledder nodded with a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

  “Remember the guy you didn’t like for the murder? The guy who walked out of Warmoes on the strength of your intuition?”

  DeKok listened to the sarcastic tone and grinned. The sarcasm did not bother him. He expected Vledder to voice his own opinions.

  “And that intuition, hasn’t changed,” he said calmly.

  Vledder leaned forward and pointed at the chair next to his desk.

  “Why don’t you sit down for a moment and I’ll explain it all to you.”

  DeKok sat down on the indicated chair.

  “I’m listening,” he said patiently.

  Vledder held up an index finger.

  “It’s really simple. The pattern of relationships sets the stage. Carol Ponytail, a. k. a Clarisse, can’t resist blabbing to her girl, Charlotte. Her special “friend,” Vlaanderen, decks her out in fabulous jewelry, blah, blah, blah. He gets stuff out of his safe, just to deck her out. No more discreet than Carol, Charlotte repeats the story to her knife-throwing husband.”

  “Good … go on.”

  “Fantinelli maneuvers his wife into asking Carol to take a closer look at the combination to the safe, next time Vlaanderen indulges his taste for guilding her.”

  DeKok rubbed his chin.

  “Okay, it could happen.”

  Vledder continued as if he had not heard his partner.

  “As soon as Fantinelli gets the combination, he waits patiently for the next time Clarisse gets an invitation.”

  DeKok nodded agreement.

  “Now we’re to last weekend.”

  “Exactly. Clarisse, or whoever, makes sure Vlaanderen tuckers out and falls into a deep sleep. As soon as the old man is snoring, she gets up, borrows the key to the safe, lets Fantinelli in. He absconds with a fortune in jewelry.” Vledder looked triumphant. “Cake, don’t you think?”

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

  “And the death of the clown?”

  Vledder gesticulated impatiently.

  “A direct result of the burglary.”

  “How?”

  “Charlotte.”

  DeKok looked puzzled.

  “What about Charlotte?”

  Vledder shook his head. It was so obvious.

  “She was having an affair with the clown,” he said impatiently. “She must have told Pierrot that her husband and best friend conspired to organize this easy, profitable burglary. When Pierrot hears about it, he demands part of the loot … for himself and Charlotte. Fantinelli refuses, probably because he feels Pierrot is blackmailing him. The point is, he refuses. The two fight. Furious, Fantinelli grabs a throwing knife and kills the clown.”

  There was a long silence while DeKok stared thoughtfully in the distance. After a long pause DeKok spoke again.

  “It sounds impressive,” he said.

  Vledder became agitated.

  “It doesn’t just sound impressive, it is impressive. My theory is undeniably solid. Fantinelli, himself, is so transparent.”

  “And you think you have the right stuff for an arrest?”

  Vledder nodded with conviction.

  “I was ready to roll this morning, before we knew the relationship between the two females.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “I’m still trying to digest all the coincidences in the story you relate.” He sighed, “Sadly, if your theory is correct, Silly Kate’s Carol is guilty of criminal conspiracy. She is certainly an accessory to the burglary.”

  Vledder reacted angrily.

  “Of course she’s the driving force, worse than the others. It all revolves around her. Without her close cooperation, Fantinelli could never have pulled off the robbery. She has been Vlaanderen’s companion for years. No doubt he trusted her. It’s not hard to imagine Vlaanderen getting careless around her.”

  “You mean to say that it would be rather easy for Carol to get hold of the combination?”

  “Exactly.”

  DeKok’s phone rang. Out of habit, Vledder walked over and answered it. After a few seconds he covered the mouthpiece with his hands and shot DeKok a significant look.

  “Carol Ponytail is downstairs,” he said. “She wants to talk to you.”

  A boyish smile played around DeKok’s lips.

  “You’re a lucky guy, Dick. You don’t have to hunt down your perpetrators. They’re offering themselves up on a silver platter.”

  Vledder saw DeKok’s face and listened to the bantering undertone. He suddenly felt uneasy.

  7

  Carol Ponytail turned out to be delicious. She walked toward DeKok with a sensual sway of her hips, punctuated by the discrete clicking of her high-heeled shoes. She managed to look both elegant and provocative in a tight, short skirt of black velvet. Her silky white blouse showed precisely enough cleavage to entice.

  The old inspector watched her with discreet approval. He was not immune to feminine beauty. With a friendly smile and a courteous bow he held a chair out for her next to his desk.

  She seated herself with graceful poise and crossed her lovely legs. She glanced briefly at Vledder while she rearranged a strand of platinum hair. She spoke with the slightest Amsterdam accent.

  “Mother sent me,” she said.

  DeKok nodded his understanding.

  “I didn’t know you called yourself Clarisse nowadays.”

  She shrugged her shoulders with a careless gesture that did exciting things to her cleavage.

  “Carol is so common.”

  “Not for you.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Do you know why I asked you here?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Vlaanderen’s collection …” She suddenly changed her tone of voice and lifted her head. Her brown eyes sparkled. “Really, you don’t have to lecture me. Mother already did that.”

  “With reason?”

  “What do you mean?”

  DeKok fiddled with a pencil in his hand.

  “Have you talked with others about Vlaanderen’s jewelry?”

  “Just with Charlotte. Charlotte and I are very
close. She confides in me, too.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “She said she was having a fling with the dead clown. She said Fantinelli was enraged by this affair. He threw her make-up table around the dressing room and called her a bitch in heat.”

  “Nasty.”

  Carol shook her head.

  “Sure, but who could judge him? Charlotte will bed any guy she meets. Some of us do it for the money and derive no pleasure out of it … not much, anyway.”

  DeKok kept a neutral expression.

  “But Charlotte always enjoys it?”

  Carol nodded with a sly smile on her face.

  “You could say that.”

  “How long have you known Charlotte?”

  “A little over two years.”

  “So, you must have heard a lot about her various affairs.”

  Carol tittered.

  “Charlotte gets very excited with each new conquest. She enjoys making a man dance to her tune.”

  “It is easy to see how Fantinelli would be fed up over yet another affair,” DeKok said pensively.

  “Yes.”

  “Even so, she continues to perform in the knife act.”

  Carol’s face showed a pretty frown.

  “You mean, she’s not afraid he’ll miss one of these days?”

  “Exactly.”

  A patronizing smile played around her lips.

  “You don’t know how most knife-throwing acts operate.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Sure the knife thrower throws some knives, but for really dangerous stunts, he doesn’t throw any at all. He makes the knife disappear when he throws, something like a magician does. Then the knife appears in the target, triggered from behind. When Charlotte is on the wheel, for instance, she’s perfectly safe.”

  “I did not known that. It seems Charlotte is never in real danger.”

  “Not from Fantinelli. Fantinelli needs Charlotte. Aside from the act, they have a deep, intense relationship. Fantinelli is obsessed with her, you know what I mean?”

  “I think I understand,” DeKok said carefully. He leaned forward. “Does Charlotte also share all her secrets with her husband?”

  Carol grinned mischievously.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I mean your secrets. Did she tell him about the jewelry?”

  Carol’s face froze.

  “You don’t mean,” she said, hesitating, “you aren’t suggesting Fantinelli stole the jewels.”

  DeKok made a nonchalant gesture.

  “I’m just exploring the possibilities.”

  Decisively, Carol shook her head.

  “Fantinelli is no jewel thief, definitely not. He’s not capable.” She spread her hands, “Fantinelli is like a hapless, grown-up child. He’s a kid, whose father happened to teach him how to throw knives.” She paused. “Were it not for Charlotte he couldn’t even do that.”

  DeKok heard the tone of disdain.

  “Is Charlotte such a strong personality or is she manipulative?”

  “She has him mesmerized, ready to do her bidding.”

  “And what about you?”

  “What?”

  “Does she have your number, as well?”

  Carol’s gaze drifted away. She remained silent while she mulled over the question.

  “Sometimes,” she said after a long pause, “she tries being in control.” It sounded vague. “Sometimes she would like me to bend to her will.”

  “And?”

  “No worries,” she said firmly. “She’ll never succeed. You see, I am a woman.”

  “You mean her domination works only on men?”

  She nodded a few times.

  “Yes,” she said slowly, “you got it.” Suddenly she lifted her head. DeKok saw raw fear in her eyes. “Pierrot, oh my god,” she blurted.

  “What about Pierrot?”

  Carol swallowed nervously.

  “Pierrot, Pieter. She told him about the jewelry.”

  DeKok gave Vledder a mocking look.

  “What, no arrest? Did you not see me look at you before I told her she could leave? Your mouth never moved. You looked like a deer in headlights.” He waved in the direction of the door. “It was her, wasn’t it, you accused of being at the center of it all? How did it go? Oh, yes, I remember. ‘It all revolves around her. Without her cooperation, Fantinelli could never have pulled off the robbery.’”

  Vledder hung his head.

  “I didn’t dare detain her,” he said with a sigh. “It took only a few minutes to convince me Carol wasn’t involved.”

  DeKok grinned.

  “Were you acting on fact or feeling?”

  Vledder turned away. He had trouble looking his colleague in the eye.

  “Feeling,” he admitted weakly.

  DeKok smiled.

  “You’ll be a good cop, one day,” he said. It was sincere. “Never underestimate feelings. Go with your gut instinct.”

  With a sad face, Vledder shook his head.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to ask if there was some way she could have obtained the combination of the safe.” He glanced at DeKok. “I noticed you didn’t ask, either.”

  “Do you think it was necessary?”

  Vledder shrugged his shoulders. He was regaining his composure.

  “Until an hour ago, I liked her for conspiracy. If anybody was in a position to get the combination she was.” The young inspector spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Who does that leave? Maurice, the son?” He snorted. “Or maybe we could look into the supernatural … gremlins, for instance, or, eh, the pinch horrors.”

  “The what?” asked DeKok.

  “The pinch horrors,” laughed Vledder. “It’s an invention of Inspector Vries. Whenever he’s faced with an inexplicable theft, he uses that as an excuse.”

  DeKok shook his head. He looked serious.

  “We must keep one thing in mind. The theft from Vlaanderen is not isolated. It’s one of a string of similar burglaries, all very cleverly concocted. We do not have a plague of gremlins, or a rash of pinch horrors. That is a fact and I think there is a real brain behind it all.”

  “Who?”

  DeKok gave him a tired smile.

  “Good question,” he nodded. “But speculation would be premature. Certainly we cannot construct a sensible answer right now.” He lifted his head and stuck out his chin. His face changed into a steel mask. “It’s a shot in the dark,” he said grimly, “but I promise an answer in the very near future.”

  Vledder looked at him with a frown.

  “The notion persists whether Pierrot’s murder is connected to the thefts. Charlotte couldn’t help admitting he knew about Vlaanderen’s jewelry collection.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps that knowledge proved fatal.”

  DeKok was all unfeigned admiration.

  “Dick,” he said, “you sometimes say very intelligent things.”

  Vledder almost blushed.

  “What about Charlotte?” he asked.

  DeKok grinned.

  “She’s arrestingly beautifully and, apparently, a very sensual woman. She enjoys flitting from one man to the next.” He gazed into the distance, momentarily preoccupied. Suddenly he resumed, “Flit … flutter. What insect flits from flower to flower?”

  “A bee?”

  “No, no, it’s a—”

  Vledder interrupted.

  “A butterfly.”

  DeKok nodded.

  “Butterfly,” he repeated, yes indeed. Suddenly he vaulted to grab his coat and hat.

  Vledder followed.

  “Where are we going?”

  The gray sleuth turned toward his young friend as he struggled into his coat.

  “We’re going to pay another visit to Dongen, perhaps he can tell us where we can recruit a butterfly.”

  Peter Dongen, the tall impresario, received the inspectors politely. With a friendly gesture he invited them to follow him to his cluttered office.

  “Have you
identified the false Pierrot?” he asked. “The next morning, after the unsettling experience at the morgue, I called Groningen a second time. Nobody there could give me any further details. The performance of the fake Pierrot was flawless. Nobody imagined he could be an impostor.”

  DeKok looked surprised. Again he was struck by the warm, melodious tone of Dongen’s voice.

  “I regret to inform you,” he said, a bit sheepishly, “that we have not yet started an investigation in that direction.”

  It was Dongen’s turn to be surprised.

  “Aren’t you interested in the fake Pierrot?”

  DeKok nodded.

  “He has my attention, I assure you. The fake Pierrot is central to our investigation. He’s certainly a person of interest.”

  “What is your interest?”

  DeKok smiled politely.

  “The imposter knew the real Pierrot would not appear. In other words, he probably knew the real Pierrot had been killed. He would have known long before we discovered the body.” He waved a hand in the air. “That puts him in close proximity to the murder or the murderer.”

  Dongen invited them to sit down.

  “So you think the fake Pierrot committed the murder?” he asked after they were seated.

  DeKok placed his little hat on the floor.

  “It’s, eh, it’s one possibility,” he said carefully. “But it isn’t the only one. Someone else could have sent him to perform in Pierrot’s stead. When we recovered the body, the man had been dead for at least six hours. Death would have occurred around three o’clock in the afternoon. No matter how our pretend Pierrot gained the knowledge, he had plenty of time to prepare.” DeKok sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Frankly,” he added, “I’m a bit bothered by the false Pierrot.”

  “How?”

  DeKok grimaced.

  “Why did he appear as Pierrot, there in Groningen, knowing the real Pierrot was dead?”

  Dongen did not answer at once. He crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, and placed the tips of his fingers together.

  “That seems rather obvious to me,” he said finally. “He was providing himself or the actual perpetrator an alibi.”

  “But did he?”

  The impresario grinned self-consciously.

  “I’m just an amateur, inspector. But the idea of an alibi seems obvious. You see, the clown is dead … the clown performs.”