DeKok And The Sorrowing Tomcat Part 6

"With a garage?"

"No, no, it was an old-fas.h.i.+oned house. No garage. That's why the Simca was parked in the street."

"What was your impression of Bergen?"

"Oh, a nice guy. He told me of his own accord that he was one of the managers at B&G. He certainly didn't make a secret of it. But ... he said: 'you must not give that any particular significance. The fact that a blue Simca was used during the hold-up and the fact that I happen to own a blue Simca that has been stolen, is no more than a peculiar coincidence of circ.u.mstances and you, detectives, must not a.s.sume that it is anything more than that'."

DeKok laughed.

"Did you learn that by heart?"

Vledder smiled.

"Believe me, that's exactly the way he said it. I thought is so beautifully phrased that I remembered it."

"And what did Mrs. Bergen say?"

Vledder turned abruptly toward DeKok "My goodness, good thing you reminded me, I'd almost forgotten. Mrs. Bergen made a particularly strange remark."

"Remark?"

"Yes, she said, and I quote: 'Bent should never have married for the second time.'."

"What did that have to do with anything?"

Vledder gestured.

"It had absolutely nothing to do with anything. That's the point. It was just an idle remark, without reason, or purpose. Bergen, quite rightly I think, ignored it. He just gave her an angry look. Obviously he wasn't happy with the remark."

"What next?"

"Nothing next. I tried to get the conversation on the subject of Bent, I tried several times. But without success. Bergen didn't give me a chance. After his wife's remark he firmly kept the trend of the conversation under control. It was almost as if he was afraid she would say anything else. Of course, I could have directed a number of pertinent questions at her, but I didn't want to be obvious."

DeKok nodded his understanding.

"Time enough for that."

He parked the car along the sidewalk.

"You're home," he said. "Get a good night's sleep and then, in the morning, off you go to Seadike. I want you to personally acquaint yourself with the facts. Especially the technical details are important to me, you know, footprints, fingerprints, special characteristics of the weapon ... There must be a lot of detail that simply wasn't included in the telex message this morning."

Vledder smiled. DeKok would insist on calling a fax a telex. He got out of the car.

"What's your next step?" he asked from the sidewalk.

DeKok shook his head.

"I think I'll just stop by the office for a moment, on my way home, just to double check on new developments, if any."

Vledder nodded.

"And what about Mrs. Bergen's remark?"

DeKok smiled.

"We take it at face value. Perhaps Bent shouldn't have married for the second time."

DeKok proceeded at a snail's pace in fourth gear. The old engine in the VW protested vehemently. DeKok ignored it. Engines were not a pa.s.sion with him and he felt even less sympathy for transmissions. Quietly he bounced along.

When he spotted a phone booth at the corner of the Roses Ca.n.a.l and the Wester Market, he suppressed with difficulty the malicious impulse to call the Commissaris out of bed. He would have liked to tell him that he was, after all, going to get involved with Pete Geffel's murder. He grinned softly at himself, then reflected that it would be bad manners to disturb the well deserved rest of the old man and pa.s.sed the phone booth with a soft glow of inner righteousness.

He parked the car behind the building and walked toward the front of the station house. Suddenly he heard the unmistakable tick-tack of high heels behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw a beautiful blonde girl, dressed in a long, black cape.

"DeKok?"

He nodded, hesitatingly.

"With ... eh, with kay-oh-kay," he answered, almost mechanically. Another beautiful blonde, he thought. And then, with an inner shrug, he thought, what else can you expect in Holland? Curiously he looked at the young woman.

She gave him a sweet smile.

"I'm Flossie."

6.

DeKok leaned his elbows on the desk. From over his folded hands he looked with approval at the young woman across the desk from him. His first impression had been correct, he determined. She was beautiful, extraordinarily beautiful. She had sparkling blue eyes, a clear, open face and an ivory skin. Her long, blonde hair came down in luxurious waves and contrasted pleasantly with the black cape.

At first he had estimated her to be younger, but now, in the detective room, under the harsh lights of the neon tubes she looked to be about twenty-four, maybe twenty-five years old. He tried to remember if he had ever met her before, but again he thought, not without irony, that fate had led a lot of beautiful blonde women to cross his path. It was almost an occupational hazard, he reflected ruefully. His experiences were mixed. Beautiful women showed a sometimes frightening willingness to get involved in all sorts of difficulties. But that was definitely the only objection DeKok had against beautiful women.

"I waited a long time for you."

She had a deep, sultry voice that echoed softly and pleasantly in the room.

"I'm sorry," sighed DeKok. "After all, I wasn't to know that..."

She waved his apologies away.

"I take it you know who I am?"

DeKok swallowed.

"Flossie ... isn't that what you said?"

With a nonchalant gesture she shrugged off her cape, shook her long hair and adjusted the hem of her skirt. Her long, slender legs were stunning.

"Florentine La Croix. Flossie ... Flossie is just for my most intimate friends." She smiled at him sweetly and pulled her chair a little closer. "So to you ... I'm Flossie."

DeKok took refuge in his puritanical, civil servant soul and braced himself for what was to come next. He decided, no matter what, not to succ.u.mb to the undeniable attraction of the young woman.

"Flossie."

His voice sounded strange to him. To hide his inner confusion he rummaged in a drawer, then sat back.

"I am ... I was a friend of Pete Geffel."

DeKok nodded slowly, regaining his self-control.

"I know," he answered. "Mother Geffel told me." He hesitated a moment. "I had imagined you different," he added.

She smiled charmingly.

"A different image?"

DeKok pushed his lower lip forward.

"Yes, Mother Geffel spoke of a kind girl, a nice girl to whom Pete was devoted."

She gave him a challenging look.

"Something wrong with that?"

DeKok made an apologetic gesture.

"No, no, nothing. It's my fault. Apparently I have a limited imagination."

She looked at him searchingly. The expression on her face became more formal. The smile had disappeared.

"What do you mean?"

DeKok shrugged his shoulders reluctantly.

"Well, you don't exactly look the picture of what I had imagined: a kind, nice girl, a girl who mourns the pa.s.sing of her friend."

She twiddled nervously with a b.u.t.ton of her blouse. A red blush spread over her cheeks.

"What do you expect me to do?" she asked vehemently "Perhaps you expect me to sit here sucking my thumb, or to cry on your shoulder. Is that what you want?"

"Why not? I don't mind. Go ahead." He nodded encouragingly at her, his eyes half closed. "It's a relief, believe me. And don't worry about your make-up. Go ahead and cry, if you want to. You don't have to be attractive or alluring for me. I'm just a civil servant so it's all wasted on me, anyway."

She moved in her chair.

"You won't see me cry," she said, a determined tone in her voice.

DeKok shrugged his shoulders.

"As you like," he remarked resignedly. "n.o.body's forcing you."

She did not react.

DeKok looked at her with interest. Even with a determined, stubborn look on her face, she was gorgeous, impressive.

"You called him 'Peter', is that right?"

"Yes."

"Did you love him?"

"Yes."

"You knew about his past?"

She nodded.

"Everything, from the moment he was born," she admitted.

"Well, and?"

She looked at him, frowning angrily. Her eyes spat fire.

"What do you mean: well, and?" Her tone was rebellious. "What's that supposed to mean, eh? I loved Peter. I told you, didn't I?"

DeKok avoided her penetrating look, the angry eyes. He understood at once that he had found a weak spot in her armor. Always the policeman, he wondered how to use it, how long it would be before she gave up all resistance.

"So, Pete's past did not affect your relations.h.i.+p with him?"

She hesitated for a moment.

"It didn't hurt us," she said softly.

DeKok slapped his flat hand on the top of the desk. The sound made her jump. His face was angry.

"That's not what I asked," he said, louder than intended. "I didn't ask whether it did, or did not hurt you, I asked if it affected you."

Her lips trembled.

"Yes, it affected us."

Her att.i.tude changed visibly, it became softer, less rigid. For the first time DeKok detected something of the "kind, nice girl" described by Mother Geffel. He regretted his loss of control, the momentary outburst.

"You tried," he said in a friendly tone of voice, "to change Pete's att.i.tude, to change his lifestyle?"