DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat (12 page)

Her personal actions were no concern of his. Officially they were none of his business. He had enough on his plate as it was, even without Flossie trying to act as a detective. Who did she think she was, anyway. Solve the puzzle all by her lonesome, would she? He grinned at the thought. Stupid, silly business. With a last, half-hearted curse aimed at all beautiful, blonde women in the world, he entered the station house.

*   *   *

The desk sergeant emerged from his high bench as soon as he saw DeKok enter.

“Vledder left barely fifteen minutes ago.”

DeKok looked at him with surprise.

“Where to? Didn't he go to Haarlem?”

“Oh, he's back from there already. He came in here about fifteen minutes ago and went straight on to Maltese Cross Alley. He's supposed to be waiting for you there, on the corner of Farmer's Alley.”

“But why?”

The desk sergeant shrugged his shoulders.

“That's all he told me to tell you. It's all I know.” He gave DeKok a reproachful look. “It's your own fault. Why don't you carry a walkie-talkie. Why do you always insist on walking? Hell, we can't even get you on the police radio. But then, you guys in plain clothes are always so secretive.” He returned to his desk and sat down. Then he looked up. “Oh, yeah,” he added, “a woman called you several times.”

“A woman?”

“Yes.”

“What's her name?”

“I don't know. I asked, but she wouldn't tell me. She just said that she
had
to speak to you, personally.”

DeKok grinned.

“Oh, well,” he said finally, resignation in his voice, “if it's important, she'll call again.”

He waved at the sergeant and left the station.

*   *   *

As usual, it was busy in Warmoes Street and the area around it. The bars and night clubs were filled to overflowing. Groups of drunks staggered from one bar to the next and the Red Light District was operating at capacity. The curtains in front of the windows that indicated whether a room was “occupied” or not, opened and closed with the regularity of a well-oiled machine. A detachment of the British Fleet was in port and large contingents of British sailors searched avidly for sex, fun and pleasure. Amsterdam's Red Light District absorbed them all and tended to their needs, desires and lusts.

DeKok passed through it all with a nonchalance bred from familiarity. He knew the business of the Quarter, the fat madams, the smooth pimps, the suspicious characters, the beautiful, often exotic ladies of the “Life”. The Quarter had no secrets for him. He thought about Vledder and wondered why his young colleague had so suddenly left for Farmer's Alley. He must have discovered something. But what could possibly be found in the Farmer's Alley, a decrepit, neglected passage-way in a dark corner of the District. It was, of course, typical of DeKok that he never once considered contacting Vledder via a walkie-talkie, although they had by now become so small and unobtrusive that he would hardly have noticed their presence. Also, despite the apparent urgency of the call, he walked. Anyway, he was convinced that the fastest way to get around the inner city of Amsterdam was either on foot, or on a bicycle. And he had not ridden a bicycle for years. Besides, however innocuous, a bicycle was a mechanical contraption. DeKok did not like modern means of communication and transportation, avoided them as much as possible.

With his typical, somewhat waddling gait, he crossed the Quarter, in one alley and out another, across some forgotten footbridge and along a deserted canal, places unknown even to many native Amsterdammers. Finally he turned the corner of Maltese Cross Alley, saw Farmer's Alley and the silhouette of Vledder. Softly he approached.

Vledder was visibly startled by his sudden, silent arrival.

“Damn,” he whispered, “is it you?”

DeKok pulled a serious face.

“You're not very alert for a policeman,” he admonished. “That could be fatal, one of these days. You should have seen me coming.”

Vledder nodded silent assent.

“You're right,” he allowed after a while. “It was stupid. I didn't watch that side at all. I was too occupied by the Alley.”

DeKok nodded.

“What's in the Alley?”

“The hiding place of the gang.”

“What!?”

Vledder grinned softly.

“Yes, the guys who robbed the transport were supposed to use an old, abandoned warehouse to lie low.”

“Who told you that?”

“A prisoner in Haarlem.”

DeKok's eyebrows danced briefly. Vledder thought he saw the remarkable phenomenon, but unfortunately it was too dark.

“And he just told you that?”

Vledder sighed elaborately.

“Well, I asked the warden who had associated with Geffel during his incarceration. There were quite a few.”

“How's that?”

“Actually, you can't exclude anyone. After all, the prisoners meet each other in the work shops, on the exercise yards. Did you know they even have a swimming pool there? Anyway, Cunning Pete could have gotten the information from just about anybody in that prison.”

“Very well, then what?”

“Well, I asked the warden to tell me who had been Pete's cell-mate during the last few months. This turned out to be an old guy called ‘Uncle Safe'. It seems that ‘Uncle Safe' is a rather old burglar who used to specialize in antique safes. I talked to him. At first he didn't want to tell me a thing, but after I told him that Pete was dead and how he had lost his life, he became more forthcoming. ‘If you ever tell anyone I told you, I'll call you a liar to your face,' he said, ‘but there's an old abandoned warehouse in Farmers Alley in Amsterdam. Go have a look there.' I tried to get him to tell me more, but he clammed up after that.”

DeKok nodded pensively.

“And then you rushed right over to arrest the supposed gang.” Vledder could almost taste the sarcastic tone of voice.

“Well, no … eh, no, or rather, yes. I … I didn't want to waste any time.”

DeKok smiled.

“Did you know that Farmer's Alley makes a sharp turn a little further down and that there's another exit toward the Cleavers Canal? While you stood here, guarding one end of the alley, they could have left by the other side.”

Blood rushed to Vledder's head.

“I thought it was a dead-end. Anyway,” he continued, irritated, subconsciously contradicting himself, “I wasn't after an arrest. I knew very well that I couldn't do that by myself. I just wanted to take a look. That's all.”

“And?”

“What?”

“Is there an old, abandoned warehouse?”

“Yes, just a little down the alley, on the left side. It has an entrance with double doors. They were opened recently. The hinges are oiled.”

DeKok pushed his hat further back on his head.

“Excellent,” he grinned, “really excellent. Then the doors won't squeak for us, either.”

He felt for Handy Henkie's little gadget in his trouser pocket and stepped into the Alley. Vledder followed with a flashlight.

DeKok had little trouble with the ancient lock. His experienced fingers touched the lock, made some adjustments to the gadget and the lock softly clicked open. Softly he pushed the doors ajar. The hinges were as soundless as they had hoped. Vledder aimed his flashlight into the interior. A set of bright, green cat's eyes lit up like forgotten Christmas lights. As the two man carefully pushed the door wider, the animal slipped between their legs into the Alley. Nothing else moved. Carefully, following the cone of light as it explored the interior, they tiptoed into the warehouse. Slowly their eyes adjusted to the dark. They saw a number of empty racks and shelves. A thick layer of dust covered everything. Two doors were situated at the end of the main floor. One opened up on a filthy toilet, the other revealed a sparsely furnished room with black paper glued to the windows. DeKok found a switch. A few wires with a bare bulb hung from the ceiling. It illuminated a couple of dirty beds, an old sofa, three rickety chairs and a wooden table.

“We're too late,” said Vledder regretfully. “The birds have flown the coup.”

DeKok nodded.

“They
were
here.” His gaze wandered through the room. He took it all in, recorded it like a movie camera. Every detail was imprinted in his brain. “In any case,” he added carefully, “a number of men lived here for some time. I don't think they'll be back.”

Vledder gave him a surprised look.

“Why not? After all, they can't know we have discovered their hideaway!”

DeKok rubbed an index finger across one of the backs of the chairs.

“Wiped clean,” he remarked resignedly. “They didn't want to leave any fingerprints.” He placed a pinky into the neck of an empty whiskey bottle on the table. Carefully he lifted the bottle and breathed on the glass. “You see, no prints.”

Suddenly he noticed the label on the bottle, took a closer look and examined a small scratch near one edge. Carefully he replaced the bottle on the table. There was a faint smile around his lips.

Vledder rummaged around. In a corner of the room he leaned forward. He had found a set of old license tags. He picked them up and placed them on the table. Both plates showed the numbers NG-12-83. The young Inspector's eyes gleamed.

“The tags from the blue Simca,” he said enthusiastically.

DeKok looked at the tags.

“You're right,” he agreed. “They probably clamped them over the existing plates, there are some scratches on the edges. They removed them immediately after the hold-up”

Vledder gestured.

“But that would mean that the robbers must have been here very shortly after the hold-up. They may have come here directly. Apparently they thought it too dangerous to keep driving around with the false tags.”

DeKok rubbed his face with both hands.

“I wonder,” he mused, “if the money was also brought here.” Suddenly his eye fell on an irregularly shaped, dark, reddish brown spot on the table top. He looked at it intently. “It looks like blood,” he said, astonishment in his voice.

Vledder came closer.

“Where?”

“Here, on the table. They must have been drops of blood. It looks like coagulated blood, you can see the edges of the drops where they were wiped out later.”

Momentarily DeKok seemed at a loss. Then he walked with long steps to the beds in the corner. One by one he turned back the covers. The sheets and the pillow of one of the beds were covered with large blood stains.

“Good grief,” he exclaimed, “one of the guys is wounded. Constable Bever must have hit somebody, after all.”

For a while both stared at the blood stains in the bed.

“I do hope,” sighed DeKok, “That the guy had the courage to go see a doctor with that wound…”

He did not finish the sentence.

Vledder looked a question at him.

“Do you really think it's serious?”

DeKok nodded slowly.

“Yes, at first glance it seems that he lost a lot of blood. Without medical attention…” He stopped suddenly. His sharp ears had heard a new sound.

Quickly he indicated to Vledder to position himself next to the door. Softly, without a sound, he went to the switch and turned off the light.

The soft noise of footsteps could be heard from the warehouse space.

12

In darkness, backs against the wall, the two Inspectors listened to the footsteps for seconds that seemed to stretch into hours. The footsteps came closer. Undeniably, inevitably. But the sound became less distinct. It was if the steps had become more cautious, more hesitating, as if sensing an unknown danger. They stopped on the other side of the door.

Vledder, who kept his fingers into light contact with the door, felt a slight pressure. Softly the door was pushed open … farther, a little farther, until it opened all the way. With tensed muscles, like a runner at the starting block, Vledder waited for a sign from DeKok.

Suddenly the light was switched on. Vledder jumped. With all the power and strength of his athletic body he threw himself on the intruding figure. For a split second the shape was clearly delineated against the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was the silhouette of a woman in a fur coat.

*   *   *

In the large detective room, against the grim decor of yellowed folders, dusty binders and much abused furniture, the gray sleuth executed a polite bow with old-world formality.

“As I told you,” he said with a winning smile, “my name is DeKok, with … eh, kay-oh-kay. Please do not consider this conversation as a formal arrest. It's anything
but
an arrest. But I thought it better to talk here, rather than in the warehouse. I'd just like to talk to you for a while.” He gestured with a broad grin. “Not an unnatural desire, after all, don't you agree? Your … eh, your unexpected visit to Farmer's Alley would naturally arouse our curiosity.”

She did not answer. She stared at the two Inspectors. There was a melancholy look in her bright, green eyes, not unlike that of a helpless child looking for protection.

Slowly she unbuttoned her coat and pushed it off her shoulders. It was a studied gesture that indicated refinement and a lot of experience. Only now did it become clear how truly beautiful she was. The dark fur coat had veiled her figure, hid her supple shape.

DeKok looked at her transfixed. She was, he concluded, a ripe, mild beauty, an intoxicating, magical expression of subtle enticement.

“I … I hope,” he stammered, “that … that my colleague's impulsive attack didn't, eh … damage you in any way?” He almost blushed because he could not at once find the right words. “After all,” he continued, hesitantly, “we … couldn't have known that … eh, that…”

She smiled faintly.

“That it would be me,” she completed.