DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat

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Authors: Albert Cornelis Baantjer
satisfaction of all concerned, especially that of the Judge-Advocate, or higher authority, but solve them he did. The old sleuth knew all the tricks and all the short-cuts, had thousands of contacts in the underworld, was able to insinuate his particular brand of logic into the most bizarre situations and, above all, was very, very effective.
    His appearance was more often than not that of a country bumpkin in unfashionable clothes, an old raincoat or duffel coat, and his ever present, greasy, decrepit, little felt hat, grey hair peeking from under it in great, disordered tufts. He and Vledder made an excellent team. The old curmudgeon, tempered by years on the force into accepting the possible and the young, eager, well educated and sometimes impetuous Vledder, always striving for the impossible. The old and the new. The old hands-on cop and the new breed of policeman, college educated, technically inclined and with a high regard for rules and regulations.
    The Commissaris had long since given up the hope that DeKok would ever be reconciled to the modern world. But he hoped fervently that, in time, Vledder would pick up some of DeKok’s irreverence and brilliance. With Vledder’s background and education, coupled with DeKok’s experience and wisdom, Vledder might go far. He might become a Commissaris, maybe even Chief Constable.
    *   *   *
    Blissfully unaware of these thoughts, Inspector DeKok took the hefty file on Pete Geffel from a desk drawer, tucked it under one arm and disappeared into one of the interrogation rooms. He locked the door from the inside. He was consciously trying to avoid another confrontation with his angry chief. He did not feel like explaining Vledder’s trip to Seadike. He would tell the old man when he was in a better, a more receptive mood.
    While idly flipping the pages in the voluminous file, his thoughts wandered toward the beautiful and emotional Flossie. Obviously she was from a better, at least a more affluent environment than Cunning Pete. She was also, just as obviously, better educated than most. He reflected on her relationship with the glib, but superficial Pete Geffel, a man with an impressive string of arrests and convictions for his relatively young age. Women were marvelous creatures, he thought. They were almost always on the look-out for men they could ‘reform’, make over, change, whatever. It seemed, so thought DeKok, a natural trait. The only difference seemed strictly a matter of personal preference, whether the reform was for better, or worse. A man, he thought cynically, never knew what sort of woman would get a hold over him, would want to change him. But apparently Pete had fallen into good hands. Too late?
    How stron had been Flossie’s influence over him? Was she indeed the nice, kind girl to whom Pete had been devoted? And what was the meaning of that in connection with everything else? Musing on these and other questions, he was suddenly disturbed by a loud banging on the door of the small interrogation room. Vledder had returned from Seadike and demanded noisy admittance.
    *   *   *
    â€œWhat did you find out?”
    Vledder pulled a sour face.
    â€œIt was mainly a disappointment. I don’t have a lot of news for you. Almost everything known about Pete’s murder was mentioned in the fax, yesterday morning. There simply were no usable technical details. Even the tire tracks were ordinary. I did make copies of all the reports that have been filed so far. But there seems to be no logical connection.”
    DeKok nodded thoughtfully.
    â€œWhat about the official cause of death?”
    â€œPost-mortem was this morning at ten. They were already working on it when I arrived. I waited for the results, such as they were, and interviewed Dr. Rusteloos. He was pretty positive, you know how he is. He had personally removed the dagger from the body. It was a narrow blade, but almost eight inches long. It

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