DeKok and the Sorrowing Tomcat by Albert Cornelis Baantjer Page A

Pete.”
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œThen you come back to the station. Don’t try any arrests on your own.”
    â€œAnd what will you be doing?”
    DeKok looked into the distance without seeing anything.
    â€œI promised myself a long conversation with Flossie.”
    â€œFlossie?”
    DeKok nodded slowly.
    â€œYes. 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 Canal. 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 canal 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 canal 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 knob 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