DeKok And The Sorrowing Tomcat Part 3

Bent made an annoyed gesture.

"Not in the least. They don't know the exact amount. As I said: they transport money. Just freight to them. That the amount was unusually high, this time ... happens to be an unlucky coincidence."

DeKok laughed heartily.

"It depends, of course," he chuckled, "on one's point of view. The people who perpetrated the robbery, for instance, are probably pleasantly surprised." He paused, c.o.c.ked his head and looked at the B&G president. Then he continued: "Unless, of course, unless it was no surprise to them at all, at all."

"What do you mean?"

DeKok shrugged his shoulders.

"Exactly what I'm saying. Perhaps they knew..."

Bent jumped up. His mouth formed a thin line across his face and there was an indignant fire in his eyes.

"You're insinuating..." He shouted. "You're insinuating that our company would ... would be involved in ... in..." His rage made him stutter and panting for breath, he stopped.

DeKok, too, stood up. Bent stood before him, red-faced with anger, his hands bunched into tight fists. DeKok suddenly realized how dangerous this man could be, especially in a fit of pa.s.sion.

"Please, sit down," DeKok said soothingly. "There's no reason to get so excited. You read more in my words than I intended." He paused and gauged the effect of his words. Then he said: "By the way, Bent, I take it that the s.h.i.+pment was insured?"

It was a second attack on Bent's self-control. He lost that battle as well.

"Oh yes," he yelled, wildly gesticulating, "yes, the s.h.i.+pment was insured and the insurance company will pay." He leaned closer to DeKok, almost touching his face. "Is that another reason to suspect us? Our lawyers checked carefully. There's no financial damage to our company."

DeKok shook his head and sighed.

"I never worried about that for a moment," he said. He motioned toward Vledder. "Come on, d.i.c.k," he continued, "It's about time we were leaving. It would be impolite to impose any longer on the hospitality of Mr. Bent."

Vledder lifted the cat from his lap and handed the animal to the furious manager.

"In case you remember anything," said the young inspector politely, "that may help us in tracking down the perps, we'd be much obliged if you..."

Bent made a violent gesture.

"You may ... you may..."

"May what, Mr. Bent?"

DeKok intervened. He was not interested in a permanent breach of communications. He always liked to leave an opening.

"I understand," he said pleasantly, "that the concerns of your company are close to your heart. We only want to find the perpetrators. That's the only purpose of our questions. There's absolutely no question of trying to blacken the name of your organization."

DeKok sighed. After everything that had been said, and thought, it was a lame speech. But the president became visibly calmer. The color drained from his face, his gestures became more controlled. He led Vledder and DeKok to the door.

The parting was cool, almost icy.

"I would appreciate," said Bent formally, "being kept informed of the progress of the case."

DeKok looked at him sharply.

"Even if,... eh, if the developments take a turn that may be less pleasant for you?"

Bent pressed his lips together.

"Yes," he hissed, "then, too. Especially then."

The inspectors walked down the driveway. At the gate Vledder stopped to rub black cat hairs off his coat.

DeKok looked back at the house. His eyebrows rippled in amazement. He saw the slender shape of a young woman behind one of the windows of the study they had just left.

4.

"Found out anything about the car, yet?"

Greanheather, the old desk-sergeant looked up absent-mindedly. With the pen still poised over the entry in the logbook, he stared at Vledder and DeKok.

"What car?" he asked finally.

"The car that was used in the hold-up, of course."

The desk-sergeant grinned.

"Oh," he said with a prim mouth, "you mean the Simca with NG-12-83. No, no news about that. The APB is still in force."

"What about the other Simca?"

Sergeant Greanheather pushed the logbook aside and pulled a folder in front of him. From that he produced a number of message flimsies.

"I read here," he said, "that only one of the two Simcas has been located so far. That's the blue Simca that was stolen from Heemstede, the suburb of Haarlem. The heavily damaged car was found on Route A-17 near Gouda. It had been driven head-on into one of the columns supporting an overpa.s.s. The front-end was caved in and the car is a total loss." He shook his head sadly, as if in commiseration. "Unfortunately, it wasn't the Simca you're after. The car still had its original license plates. Thus not NG-12-83. Also, there were no bullet holes in the trunk." He looked at the two inspectors. "And there should be, right?"

DeKok nodded.

"Indeed, there should be. Constable Bever is convinced that both his shots. .h.i.t the trunk."

The sergeant pursed his lips.

"Well," he continued, "the lab guys had the crumpled Simca towed to headquarters, here in Amsterdam, and have gone over it with a fine tooth comb. They found no bullet holes of any kind." he paused. "Therefore," he continued pompously, "it has been established that the Simca that was stolen from Heemstede, was not the same vehicle that was used during the robbery. That leaves the Simca that was stolen from Haarlem."

"How terribly clever," remarked DeKok ironically.

Greanheather shrugged his wide shoulders nonchalantly.

"That," he observed evenly, "is to be expected from a good desk-sergeant."

Vledder laughed.

The large detective room on the third floor of the police station at Warmoes Street was empty when DeKok and Vledder entered. The other detectives had either gone home, or were on patrol somewhere within the inner city.

DeKok placed himself comfortably in his chair, put his feet on the desk and leisurely searched for a pack of gum. In his mind he went over the case. The near perfect execution, the unexpected large haul, the curious behavior of Mr. Bent. He had barely started and already a number of strange aspects had become evident. They were things that did not fit in the overall picture of the hold-up, things he did not like at all. Especially the fact that the car that was used for the robbery had not yet been found, caused his eyebrows to ripple in agitated nervousness.

It did not fit into the picture. It was unorthodox. Usually a stolen car was used for a robbery, or hold-up. That was hardly remarkable. It happened this time as well. But it was almost gospel that the suspects would get rid of the stolen car as soon as possible and then continue their flight in another, unregistered, unknown vehicle, a vehicle of which the license number was not known. That was the safest, the orthodox way of doing things. DeKok wondered why they had deviated from the safe way. Had something gone wrong? What was behind it? Of course, the license tags could have been changed, but then there remained the danger of driving around in a car with a description, a car with two bullet holes in the trunk. He rubbed his face with both hands and looked thoughtfully at Vledder, who had taken a seat across from him.

"The borders have been alerted?"

Vledder nodded emphatically.

"Oh, yes, the APB went out almost immediately and I specifically alerted the border posts. Of course, Interpol, too, was notified."

DeKok stared at nothing at all.

"Excellent," he answered vaguely, "really excellent." He scratched his neck pensively. "But I think we should have a little talk with the owner of the Simca in Haarlem."

Vledder looked at him with surprise.

"But why? What do you expect to gain by that? It's more than likely that the man has nothing to do with it. I mean, they needed a car for the hold-up. As it happens, somebody stole his car. That's all. It happens."

DeKok shook his head.

"It doesn't have to mean anything. I'm just surprised they haven't found his car yet. After all, Holland is so small, so densely populated and so well policed, they should have found both cars by now. Perhaps the owner can give us some additional details about the vehicle, some flaws, or something that makes the car stand out."

He rubbed his hands through his gray hair.

"Oh, yes," continued DeKok after a long pause, "there's something else I want. Try to get some background on Mrs. Bent."

"On who?"

DeKok smiled.

"Bent's wife. Wasn't that clear enough?"

Vledder grinned in surprise.

"Surely you don't think she has anything to do with it?"

"I don't know. Anything is possible. Behind every successful man, so they say, is a woman to inspire him. Sometimes it helps to know the source of the inspiration."

Vledder grimaced.

"The source is sick. You heard. She's in bed with migraine."

DeKok nodded slowly.

"That's what Bent wants us to believe. But when we left the villa this afternoon, there was a slender woman behind one of the windows of the study we had just left."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Perhaps a daughter?"

DeKok shook his head.

"I could be wrong, but she seemed too old to be a daughter. Besides, I don't think that Bent has any children living at home."

Vledder grinned.

"Well, back to cherchez la femme.* Who was the woman behind the window?"

The phone rang at that moment. DeKok lifted the receiver. Greanheather was on the other end.

"DeKok, you there?"

"Yes."

"There's a guy downstairs who wants to talk to you."

"Who is it?"

"Lowee. He says that's all the name you need."

DeKok laughed.

"That's right. Send him up."

Deep in thought, he replaced the receiver.

"Little Lowee is coming up."

Vledder nodded.

"I understand. I'll make myself scarce. Lowee is a bit shy and he's got only one friend with the police: the renowned sleuth, Detective-Inspector DeKok."

The younger man walked over to the coat rack and grabbed his coat.

"I'm going to Haarlem. I'll call you as soon as I know something."

DeKok waved goodbye.