DeKok laughed at him.

"Don't be so pessimistic. After all, we are policemen, you know. I'm sure we can solve it. To begin with, here's an intriguing question for you."

"Question?"

DeKok nodded indulgently.

"Yes. How did Pete Geffel know that a hold-up was in the making?"

For several seconds Vledder was dumbfounded. Then he covered his face in his hands and groaned.

"Of course," he exclaimed, "of course. I never gave it a thought. He had to hear it from somebody."

DeKok rubbed his face with both hands. It was a tired gesture.

"And he had been well informed. He knew exactly what was going to happen. Therefore, I think he got his information first hand."

Vledder looked at him searchingly.

"You mean, he got his information directly from one of the robbers?"

DeKok placed a fatherly hand on the broad shoulders of the younger man.

"It seems that way. And if I then tell you that Pete had been out of jail for less than a month, according to his file, and that he had spent the last few months of his jail sentence in Haarlem, what would be your conclusion?"

The expression on Vledder's face became noticeably more cheerful.

"That Geffel gained his knowledge in jail."

DeKok nodded encouragingly.

"Exactly. Therefore I think you should make another trip to Haarlem. Have a talk with the warden there. He would be able to tell you who shared a cell with Pete."

"Then what?"

"Then you come back to the station. Don't try any arrests on your own."

"And what will you be doing?"

DeKok looked into the distance without seeing anything.

"I promised myself a long conversation with Flossie."

"Flossie?"

DeKok nodded slowly.

"Yes. I'm afraid she has an ulterior motive. You see, this afternoon I spotted her in one of the corridors at B&G."

10.

With his collar pulled up high, his hands deep in his pockets and his little, decrepit felt hat far back on his head, DeKok stared across the Brewers Ca.n.a.l. Florentine La Croix lived just across the inky waters, near the corner of Pilgrim Street.

He had seen her enter more than half an hour ago, accompanied by a young man and he wondered how much longer the visit was likely to last. To be honest, he had no inclination to remain much longer on the drafty, cold corner in the hope that the young man would soon take his leave.

He grinned quietly to himself. Perhaps he intended to stay the night and had no plans of leaving at all. You never knew with women. One moment they seemed broken in body and spirit because of the loss of a loved one and the next moment they had cheerfully engaged in a new relationship. Come to think of it, reflected DeKok, the same could be said for almost anybody. People were wonderful.

He scratched the back of his neck. Women and love, he thought, returning to his original thought, he could not help it. They were factors he always looked at with a certain amount of suspicion. Perhaps it was because he did not understand women. What man could? But it seemed as if their capricious characters had confronted him with many a surprise on several occasions during his long career as a cop. And DeKok did not really like surprises. He preferred to work within the trusted framework of a regular routine. Surprises worried him. Yet, he relished the challenge of every new mystery. Sometimes, thought DeKok ruefully, I am too complicated for my own good.

He looked at his watch and decided to allow the young man another fifteen minutes. When the allotted time had past, he ambled away from his post, crossed the narrow bridge toward the other side of the ca.n.a.l and approached the corner of Pilgrim Street. Meanwhile he searched in his pocket for the invaluable gadget that had so often allowed him to open doors that seemed impenetrable. The gadget had been a gift from Handy Henkie, a reformed burglar. DeKok would not readily be without it and this time too, he silently thanked Henkie for his invention.

Without any trouble at all, he opened the front door and then he carefully hoisted his two hundred pounds up the narrow, creaking stairs. He paused in the corridor on the second floor. The building was one of those typical Amsterdam ca.n.a.l houses. Three floors, each with their own entrance into what had once been a single family residence. But that was several centuries ago. The exploding population and the price of real estate had forced many subdivisions of this kind. Few people could still afford a large house like this just for themselves. Certainly not in the city. Apparently this particular floor was subdivided again. The front of the house and the back area had both been rented to separate tenants.

He waited until he had his breath under control once again. With a smile he realized that he had held his breath while climbing the stairs. He carefully felt the k.n.o.b of the front living room and when he ascertained that it was locked as well, he again fished Henkie's gadget from his pocket.

Cautiously he pushed the door until it was barely open. He heard the murmur of voices. A man and a woman spoke in turns. But no matter how he strained his ears, he could not distinguish any words or sentences in the series of sounds that reached him. He hesitated for just one more moment, then he entered.

His sudden appearance in the living room caused a certain amount of commotion. The young man hastily rose from an easy chair and looked at DeKok with large, surprised eyes. His long, gaunt face was pale and the corners of his mouth trembled.

Flossie, too, stood up. Blood rose to her head and her face became a deep red. Anger flashed in her bright, blue eyes. With an abrupt gesture she tossed her long, blonde hair backward.

"What ... eh? How ... eh?"

Apparently she was unable to formulate her questions in a coherent manner.

With a shy smile on his face, DeKok stood in the middle of the room. His hat in his hand. He made a b.u.mbling gesture toward the door.

"Please excuse me. I ... eh, I knocked several times," he lied. "But n.o.body heard me, it seems. And because the door was ajar, I just came in."

She looked at him with suspicion.

"The door was locked," she declared firmly.

DeKok shrugged his shoulders. He thought it better to ignore the subject. The young man obviously felt ill at ease.

"I ... eh, maybe I better leave," he whispered.

She gave him a sweet smile.

"All right, Frits, go on. We'll see each other tomorrow. I'm sorry," she continued, with a vague gesture toward DeKok, "I had no idea that Uncle would arrive today."

The young man grabbed his coat from a nearby chair, stammered a greeting and left hastily. Flossie and DeKok watched him leave. They heard him stumble on the stairs.

When the front door had closed behind him, DeKok unb.u.t.toned his coat and nestled himself comfortably in one of the easy chairs.

Still standing, Flossie looked down on him. Her long, shapely legs spread, her hands on her hips in a challenging stance.

"Intruder," she hissed. "You don't fool me. The door was locked!"

DeKok grinned and despite herself she was momentarily charmed by the boyish jollity that transformed his face.

"Let's not make a federal case out of it," he replied airily. "I just didn't feel like waiting until the young man had left. That's all."

Confused, she looked at him.

"But how did you..."

DeKok waved her question away.

"Forget it, Flossie. I've got my little secrets." He smiled. "Why don't you make your dear uncle a nice cup of coffee. Because Uncle isn't about to leave anytime soon." His emphasis on the word "uncle" suddenly reminded her that it was Amsterdam slang for a police constable, one of the few slang words that could be directly traced. Shortly after the n.a.z.i Occupation, some genius, in an attempt to make youth less afraid of people in uniform, had started a campaign promoting "Uncle Police".

"Uncle has a lot of things to discuss with you," added DeKok.

"Oh, cut out the 'uncle' stuff," she snapped. "After all, I could hardly tell that boy you're a cop."

DeKok grinned broadly.

"But why not? It's an honorable profession."

Moodily she shrugged her shoulders.

"I didn't want him to know who you were." She paused. "Besides," she continued after a while, "it would spoil my plans."

DeKok looked at her searchingly.

"Plans?"

She did not answer. Slowly she turned around and walked toward the alcove that had been fitted out as a kitchen. She returned into the living room after a few seconds.

"You know all about my plans," she said.

DeKok sighed.

"You mean, of course, your plans regarding Pete's killer."

Her face became serious.

"I'll find him." She stared past him at nothing in particular. Her big, cornflower-blue eyes had a strange shine, almost otherworldly. "I'll find him," she repeated tonelessly. "I'll find him before you do."

DeKok looked at her until the strange gleam had left her eyes.

"Is that...," he asked carefully, "why you invited that young man here?"

She did not answer. She smoothed her skirt with a routine gesture and sank down into one of the chairs. Her challenging, obstreperous att.i.tude had disappeared.

"Why did you invite ... Frits, was it? Why did you invite him over?"

"He's from the office."

"The B&G office?"

"Yes."

"How did you get to know him?"

"I work there."

"What?"

She smiled faintly.

"Last night, after our conversation, I realized that the murderer had to be found at B&G. I laid awake all night. The more I thought about it, the surer I was. That's when I wrote you the note." She sighed deeply. "This morning I went to the office at the Emperor's Ca.n.a.l and asked if there were any openings. I'm an excellent typist, you know."

"And?"

"I was hired on the spot."

DeKok pressed his lips together.

"And then you immediately found this young man, Frits, played up to him, perhaps, all in order to learn more about the internal relationships at B&G?"

"Yes."

Bemused, DeKok shook his head.

"But don't you understand," he said earnestly, "that you're playing a very dangerous game? If the killer really works at B&G and if he discovers, no matter how, who you are and what you're after..." He did not complete the sentence. "Did you really think that the man, or woman ... whatever, would hesitate about a second murder?"

The kettle started to whistle in the alcove. Without answering she stood up and attended to it. She returned a little later with two steaming mugs of coffee.

DeKok watched her closely. She was completely calm. With a steady hand she placed the mugs on a small table. She seemed a different woman. He could not find anything in her demeanor that reminded him of the scared, emotional being who had waited for him the night before. Her face looked very serious and there was a determined expression around her mouth. Even her beauty seemed to have chilled, as if an icy wind had blown away all inner warmth. Ice Queen, thought DeKok.

She gave him a pitying look.

"I believe," she said softly, "that you don't understand at all."

DeKok rubbed his gray hair in a despairing gesture.

"No," he sighed. "I've always had trouble comprehending the turmoils of the soul. Especially those of beautiful women. It's really too bad that I so often seem to be confronted with them. I guess it's fate."

A big, black tomcat rose lazily from a spot near the fireplace. It sniffed DeKok's trouser legs disdainfully and then jumped lightly on Flossie's lap.

"I'm not afraid of danger," she said, softly stroking the cat. "I will find Peter's killer, his murderer, and I'll accept the risks connected with that." A bitter smile marred her perfect lips. "And I will find him before he winds up in the weak, powerless hands of your so-called justice." She almost spat the last word with special emphasis and a considerable amount of contempt.