"So?"

"You know who Bergen is?"

"Not yet."

"One of the managers of B&G."

"What!?"

"Yes, one of the people who knew that this particular transport was heavy on cash. He knew about the three million."

5.

DeKok gave Vledder a hearty welcome.

"I'm glad you got back so quickly, from Haarlem," he called jovially. "You see, I want to pay another visit to Mother Geffel."

Vledder unb.u.t.toned his coat.

"Mother Geffel?"

"Yes."

"Tonight still?"

"Yes."

"A condolence visit?"

DeKok nodded slowly.

"You could call it that, yes, to express our sympathy."

Vledder looked at him suspiciously. His sharp eyes took in DeKok's innocent face. He tried to read the true meaning behind the bald statement. But DeKok's friendly face did not reveal any answers.

"I should remind you," grinned Vledder, "that the Commissaris has prohibited you from any partic.i.p.ation in the Geffel case."

DeKok pushed his lower lip forward and shook his head.

"I ... eh, I don't think I can obey the Commissaris in this."

Vledder looked at him in astonishment.

"Why not?"

"Because Pete Geffel knew everything about the hold-up."

"What!?"

"Yes, in a confidential mood, he told Little Lowee all about it."

For a moment Vledder was speechless. In a series of quick, brief thought a.s.sociations he tried to incorporate the news into the overall picture he had built up so far.

"Is that why Pete was killed?"

"What, why?"

"Because he knew about the hold-up."

"I don't think so," answered DeKok pensively. "I don't think it was that. The mere fact that he knew about the hold-up would not have been enough reason to kill him. There must have been more who knew about the hold-up, friends, family of the crooks and so on. As a rule they don't keep their mouth shut, they like to boast."

"Perhaps Pete threatened to betray them."

DeKok c.o.c.ked his head at his younger colleague. His eyebrows rippled briefly.

"Even before the hold-up?"

"Yes."

DeKok shook his head.

"No, d.i.c.k. Pete would never have been that dumb. It wasn't for nothing that he was known as Cunning Pete. He had quite a reputation in the underworld." He raised a finger in the air. "I'm almost positive that if Pete had the idea to make some money from his knowledge, he would have waited until after the hold-up. He would have had all the time in the world to make his demands and, a secure feeling for a blackmailer, would have known that his victims had the means to pay him. Considering the haul they made, they might not even have minded, not much, anyway." He paused and drummed his fingers on the desk. "Still," he continued after a while, "Pete was killed on the night before the hold-up. And that's rather strange."

Vledder shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps the guys who did the hold-up antic.i.p.ated Pete's blackmail attempt and just got him out of the way to be on the safe side. You know, just as a precaution."

DeKok bit his lower lip.

"Possibly," he said, deep in thought, "just maybe. But it does seem rather far-fetched. I mean, kill somebody before he has even done anything? That's ... eh, that's just too precipitous. There has to be another, more reasonable motive."

"All right, what?"

DeKok ambled over to the coat rack.

"If you've got trouble sleeping, tonight, meditate upon that question."

He pulled on his coat, pressed his little, old felt hat on top of his head.

"Come on, we'll go see Mother Geffel."

Vledder followed without protest.

Ever since her wedding day, old lady Geffel had lived in the small, spotless house on the quiet side of the Lily Ca.n.a.l. The house always smelled of coffee and furniture polish. A rather heavy-set neighbor woman opened the door. She raised her eyebrows with a questioning expression when she saw the two inspectors on the doorstep. DeKok lifted his hat.

"We ... eh," he said hesitatingly, "we want to express our sympathy to Mrs. Geffel about the loss of her son."

The neighbor pressed her heavy body against the side of the corridor.

"Please come in," she said, "she's inside."

There were a lot of people in the small living room. Family, friends and acquaintances with sad faces. Mother Geffel was seated in a chair next to the window. When DeKok entered she looked at him with a teary face. For just a moment it seemed as if she would cry again. But she controlled herself and with surprising strength she gripped both hands of the gray sleuth.

"I always warned my Pete, Mr. DeKok," she said sadly. "You know that. I always said he would come to a bad end. But he would never listen, not to me, or to anybody. He always knew everything better."

She shook her head.

"And how much did Uncle Gus Shenk not do for him? Ever since my husband died, he always kept an eye on the boy. But all for nothing. He always thought that life was nothing but a game and all the people in the world were there only to amuse Pete Geffel."

Her voice sounded bitter.

"Oh, yes," she went on in a changed tone, "they always did laugh at his jokes, his tricks. They laughed too much you know. That was the problem. It was that way when he was only a kid and he was always the center of attention. We never saw how wrong that could be. First it was Funny Pete, then Handy Pete and finally just Cunning Pete. You see, that's how it happened. It became worse all the time and it's my fault. From the beginning I should have been much more strict..."

DeKok placed one of his large hands tenderly on the shoulder of the old woman.

"I wouldn't blame myself too much if I were you, Mrs. Geffel. There's no reason for that at all, at all. It's not your fault and I know that." He sighed. "How could you have prevented his death? How? You could hardly keep him by the hand all the time. There was no way to tie him to your ap.r.o.n strings. No, Pete was old enough and wise enough to take care of himself."

The old woman sobbed softly.

"And lately there was such an improvement. I was so happy. After all, you do want what's best for your child, don't you? He had met a girl, a nice, kind girl. He would do anything for her. I'd never seen anything like it. He couldn't care less about girls, as a rule. But this one was different. He even contacted an employment agency, looking for regular work."

DeKok's eyebrows danced briefly across his forehead.

"Work?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, he had serious plans."

"Marriage?"

"Yes."

"What's the name of the girl?"

"Florentine ... Florentine La Croix."

"A beautiful name," admired DeKok.

A vague smile fled across the wrinkled face of the old woman.

"But he didn't call her Florentine. That was too ostentatious, he said. He called her Flossie ... just Flossie." She gestured. "That was my Pete. That was his way. He had a special name for everybody and everything." She looked up at him, a bit shyly, a hint of a naughty twinkle in her eye. "He had a special name for you too," she said. "He called you the Cocque of the walk. He was so clever. He frenchified your name, you see," she explained superfluously. "Cocque means rooster in French, you see, and thus..."

"Yes, yes," said DeKok hastily, casting a warning glance at a smirking Vledder. He was well aware of Vledder's opinion regarding the similarity in names between himself and the very late Captain Banning Cocq. "Did ... eh," he continued, "did he talk about me at all, lately?"

She looked at him, wondering about the question.

"You mean," she said finally, slowly, "about you being after him?" Then, in response to DeKok's nod, she continued: "No, as I said, things were going so much better."

DeKok nodded again.

"Do you know who he hung around with, lately?"

"No, I don't. Anyway, I never knew that. Those sort of things he kept from me, you see. He knew what I thought about his so-called friends."

DeKok remained silent. His glance roamed the small room, observed those present. He saw a few old acquaintances. There was Old Bill, who he had arrested once, a long time ago, for dealing in stolen goods. And "Uncle" Derek. Uncle Derek Geffel who, despite his sixty years, still liked to get involved in street fights. Just some old, semi-retired ex-cons who were past it. There were no modern criminals present.

DeKok shook hands with the old lady.

"When is the funeral?"

Mother Geffel swallowed.

"Thursday,... this Thursday at Sorrow Field."

DeKok rubbed his dry lips with the back of his hand.

"I'll try to be there and I'll see if Uncle Gus Shenk wants to come as well. You know how he liked the boy."

Mother Geffel searched for a handkerchief.

A murmur of agreement went through the room.

DeKok guided the police VW along the Amsterdam ca.n.a.ls. He was not in a hurry. His head burst with ideas. Once in while he would look at young Vledder, slouched in the seat beside him.

"What's the matter. d.i.c.k?" he asked at last. "Something bothering you?"

Vledder pressed himself more or less into a sitting position.

"It just doesn't compute," he said, irritation in his voice. "If Mother Geffel is right and if Pete was in the process of changing his lifestyle, well, then his death becomes an even greater puzzle than it is already. For one thing, what's left of a motive?"

DeKok searched for, and found, a stick of chewing gum.

"You never know," he said somberly. "Perhaps his 'conversion' is the motive for the killing." He sighed deeply, clamping down on the chewing gum. "Anyway," he continued, "keep in mind that a mother usually presents her son in as good a light as possible. I wouldn't take all her statements as Gospel, you know. His reform is nothing knew ... it's happened before. Ask Shenk, he'll tell you."

For a time they drove along in silence. Between them hung the spirit of Cunning Pete. DeKok was the first to break the silence.

"Apart from your brief phone call," he began, "I haven't heard anything about your visit to Haarlem."

"Ach," answered Vledder, irked. "There's not all that much to tell. First I went to the local police station and they provided me with an escort to point out the house. It was a nice house, a big house, in the suburbs."