DeKok And The Sorrowing Tomcat Part 14

She moved slightly in the chair.

"No," she answered in a sudden, vehement tone of voice. "What do you think? Otherwise I certainly wouldn't have dragged myself all the way to Farmer's Alley. Believe me, I had to overcome a great deal of fear, of apprehension, before I dared enter that dark warehouse."

DeKok nodded at her in a friendly way.

"You're a courageous woman," he said, admiration in his voice. "Also," he continued, "you apparently care a great deal about your husband."

She looked at him with suspicion.

"Yes," she said, tentatively, "yes," firmer this time, "yes, I do."

The acting watch-commander, Scholten, entered the room at that point. He carried a note in his hand.

"Dammit, DeKok," he growled, "I've looked for you everywhere. I even had them check as far as Maltese Cross Alley. Why can we never reach you on the radio? Greanheather told me just now that you were back."

DeKok looked at him with amazement.

"But what can the matter be?"

"That woman called again."

"When?"

"About an hour ago, you had just left."

"Well?"

Scholten looked hesitantly at the woman in the chair in front of DeKok's desk. He pondered how explicit he could be in her presence.

"She gave me a message for you. I wrote it down."

DeKok took the note from him and read: Thornbush has two airline tickets for Houston, USA.

Thoughtfully he pulled on his lower lip and then let it plop back. He did that several times. It was a most annoying sound.

"You're certain it was the same woman?" he asked finally.

"Yes, undoubtedly."

"You couldn't be mistaken?"

"It was the same voice. It was recorded, you know." Scholten gave the explanation almost automatically, knowing that DeKok would disdain such esoteric developments as the automatic recording of all incoming calls.

"Did she identify herself?" asked DeKok, sublimely indifferent to the subconscious by-play.

"I tried, of course, but she refused to tell her name."

DeKok crushed the piece of paper in a ball and threw it in the nearest waste basket. He looked up at the acting watch-commander and asked: "Did she say anything else? I mean, besides what was in the note?"

Scholten shook his head.

"She said no other explanation was needed. You would know exactly what the message meant."

DeKok pressed his lips together into a tight line.

"Thank you," he said.

Scholten turned around and left the room without another word. He was acting watch-commander but for some reason DeKok nevertheless always intimidated him. Strange really, the man would never be promoted past his present rank. He was too much of a maverick for that. But his age and above all, his thorough understanding of police work, seemed to force respect from all his colleagues, high or low.

Mrs. Thornbush leaned forward and placed a hand lightly on DeKok's forearm.

"News about my husband?" she asked fearfully.

The gray sleuth looked at her for a long moment and then he slowly shook his head.

"No," he lied blandly, "not about your husband. But we must ask you to excuse us. The message makes it necessary that we continue with an ongoing investigation." He gave her a winning smile, trying to soothe the pomposity in his voice. "I think it best," he added with a fatherly firmness, "that you go back to Haarlem. Perhaps your husband has come home in the meantime and you'll find you've been worrying about nothing at all, at all."

"He isn't home," she replied seriously.

"What?"

"He isn't home," she repeated insistently.

DeKok gave her a searching look. There had been a strange tone in her voice. It gave him a queazy feeling. As if she had spoken with an inner conviction, based on immutable facts.

"Why not?"

She shrugged her shoulders and at the same time pulled up the fur coat and pulled it tighter around her body. She s.h.i.+vered visibly.

"I'm afraid, Inspector," she said hoa.r.s.ely, almost in a whisper, "I'm afraid that something has happened to my husband. Something serious, I mean." She tapped her ample chest with the tips of her fingers. "Deep inside me I have the terrible feeling that I will never again see my husband alive." She made a sad gesture. A single tear rolled down her cheek and dripped on her fur coat.

"I know it's silly," she sobbed. "I try to fight it, but it doesn't work ... it doesn't work. I can't get rid of that terrible feeling."

Inspector Vledder whipped the police VW along the road to Schiphol Airport. He held the steering wheel in a firm grip and there was a determined look on his face.

"I hope we make it," he said, irritation in his voice. "Once that plane leaves the ground we can't do anything about it." He risked a glance at his older colleague. "Didn't I see you on the phone? Why didn't you at the same time alert the State Police and Airport Security? You could have asked them to arrest Thornbush at the airport. They would have been happy to comply."

DeKok smiled.

"Certainly. But why should I ask them to arrest Thornbush?"

Vledder made an unexpected movement, almost causing the small car to leave the road.

"Why?" he asked in amazement. "You ask WHY? But isn't it crystal clear that he's the man behind the hold-up? Everything points to it. Just think. He was almost certainly the man who accepted Geffel's phone call. You tried a similar call yourself. He was also the man who kept in contact with the robbers. Just think about the note in his appointment book about Farmer's Alley." He paused, his attention on the road. Then he snorted and added: "And he's the man who's on the verge of absconding with the loot."

DeKok raised a restraining hand.

"Just a moment, my friend," he laughed. "You're going too fast. The loot ... the loot hasn't left the country and isn't going to leave the country. That's one of the advantages of living in a small country like ours. There are precious few places to hide and there are none where you can hide for long. Besides, I asked Customs at Schiphol to thoroughly search Thornbush and his luggage. Every cubic centimeter of his luggage will be searched."

Vledder shrugged his shoulders.

"But I still think it would have been simpler just to arrest him at the airport. Then we would have had it all: perpetrator and loot."

DeKok ignored the remark.

"Also," he continued as if Vledder had not said a word, "I made a deal."

"A deal?"

DeKok nodded, self-satisfied.

"Yes, I made a deal with the Customs people. If they were to find any large quant.i.ties of money, jewels, gold, or any other valuables in the luggage, they would alert the State Police to arrest Thornbush. Not before."

He looked aside at Vledder and grimaced.

"We don't want a VP without loot. If, after his arrest, he were to refuse to tell us about it, about the three million-and he would be crazy if he told us-we would still be as far from the solution as before. You understand?" He paused, glanced at the road, shrugged and continued. "Without the loot our case rests on a notation in a pocket calendar book. Four words: warehouse, Farmer's Alley, Amsterdam. A very narrow basis for a conviction." He shook his head. "No, d.i.c.k, if the Customs people don't find anything, we're better off letting our Secretary go, in the hope that he will eventually lead us to the money. Without the money he isn't about to stay in Houston."

They drove on in silence after that. Suddenly Vledder slowed down. With open mouth he looked at DeKok.

"B-but...," he stuttered, "b-but if it's all taken care of, then why are we racing to the airport?"

DeKok grinned broadly.

"Thornbush has two tickets. I'm dying to know who's flying on the second ticket."

13.

Mr. Westerhoff, a.s.sistant Bureau Chief of Customs at Schiphol Airport pointed at the lights of a 747 as it rose into the air near the end of a runway.

"There she goes," he said with a wide grin, "Destination: Houston in the good old U. S. of A."

DeKok stared after the lights for a long time until they melded into the distance. Then he turned slowly toward the Customs man.

"And?"

"Nothing."

"What nothing?"

"He didn't show up. Everybody had been instructed, everybody was alert. All for nothing. He was a no-show."

DeKok's eyebrows rippled briefly. Westerhoff suddenly looked at him intently, as if he could not believe his own eyes.

"So, the plane left without him?" asked DeKok.

The a.s.sistant Bureau Chief shook his head, as if clearing his vision and raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

"I presume so. There was certainly n.o.body aboard that looked like the description we received of Thornbush."

"Was he listed as a pa.s.senger?"

"Oh, yes. We checked that first. Thornbush was on the pa.s.senger's manifest."

"Alone?"

"What do you mean?"

DeKok sighed, a bit impatiently.

"According to our information, he had two tickets. Did he travel alone? Was he listed singly on the manifest? I wonder in what name the second ticket was issued."

Westerhoff looked at him with surprise.

"His wife, of course," he responded.

DeKok's mouth fell open.

"Wife?"

"Yes, yes, I thought you knew. They were listed as Mr. and Mrs. Thornbush."

At a very sedate pace they drove back to Amsterdam. DeKok was sprawled comfortably in the pa.s.senger seat next to Vledder. The greenish light from the communication gear gave his friendly face the contradictory expression of a devil that had been banished from h.e.l.l because of its innate goodness. He grinned softly to himself. Vledder looked aside.

"Wife," remarked DeKok mockingly. "I don't think that KLM asks for marriage certificates."

Vledder looked at him defiantly.

"And you do?"

DeKok looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

It was Vledder's turn to grin.

"Do you ask for marriage certificates? I don't seem to recall that you asked for any identification from the woman we surprised in the Farmer's Alley. You certainly didn't ask for a marriage certificate."

DeKok shook his head.