Dr Prins led them to a long, cavernous, tomb-like chamber, ‘the furnishings of which — exclusively in concrete, white tiles, marble and metal — accorded well with the chilled atmosphere. An attendant, seeing Prins approach, opened a metal door and pulled out a wheeled rack that ran smoothly on steel runners. A shrouded form lay on this. Dr Prins took the top comer of the sheet.
‘I have to warn you, gentlemen, that this is not a sight for weak stomachs.’
‘My stomach couldn’t possibly be in worse condition than it is,’ de Graaf said. Prins looked at him curiously — de Graaf hadn’t seen fit to make mention of the abandoned fish and wine — and pulled back the sheet. What lay revealed was indeed, as the doctor had said, not a sight for queasy stomachs. Dr Prins looked at the faces of the two policemen and felt vaguely disappointed: not by a flicker of expression did they display whatever emotions they might have felt.
‘Cause of death, doctor?’ de Graaf said.
‘Multiple, massive injuries, of course. Cause? An autopsy will reveal — ‘ ‘Autopsy!’ Van Effen’s voice was as cold as the mortuary itself. ‘I do not wish to be personal, doctor, but how long have you held this post?’ ‘My first week. ‘The slight pallor in his face suggested that Dr Prins was, himself, having some problems with his internal economy. ‘So you won’t have seen many cases like this. If any. This man has been murdered. He hasn’t fallen off the top of a high building or been run over by a heavy truck. In that case the skull or chest wall or pelvis or the femoral bones or tibia would have been crushed or broken. They haven’t. He’s been battered to death by iron bars. His face is unrecognizable, kneecaps smashed and forearms broken — no doubt when he was trying to defend himself against the iron bars.’
De Graaf said to the doctor: ‘He was, of course, wearing clothes when he was brought in. Anyone been through them?’
‘Identification, you mean, Colonel?’
‘Of course.’
‘Nothing that I know of.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ van Effen said. ‘I know who it is. I recognize that scar on the shoulder. Detective Rudolph Engel. He was shadowing a man known as Julius Caesar — you may remember Annemarie mentioning this character in La Caracha.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because I was the person who told Engel to do the shadowing. I also warned him that there was more than a degree of danger attached and that he was on no account to be in a position where he would find himself without people around. I reminded him what had happened to the two detectives who had trailed Agnelli. He forgot or disobeyed or was carried away by curiosity or enthusiasm. Whatever it is, it cost him Ws life.’ ‘But to murder him in this savage fashion?’ De Graaf shook his head. ‘Even to kill him at all. Well, it does seem an unbelievable instance of over-reacting.’
‘We’ll probably never know the truth, sir. But if we do we’ll probably find out that he wasn’t disposed of just for shadowing but because he’d found out something they couldn’t let him live to report. High stakes, Colonel.’
‘High indeed. It might help to have a word with this — ah — Julius Caesar.’
‘Probably couldn’t find him in the first place. He’ll have gone to ground, left Amsterdam for healthier climes or, most likely, shaved off his pepper-and-salt beard and got himself a wig for his bald pate and a pair of dark glasses to conceal his squint. Besides, even if we did pull him in, what have we got to charge him with?’
They thanked Dr Prins and left. As they were passing through the entrance hall a man at the desk called the Colonel and handed him a phone. The Colonel spoke briefly, handed back the phone and rejoined van Effen. ‘Not destined to be our afternoon, I’m afraid. Office. just heard from the hospital. One of our men there. Just been fished out of a canal, it seems.’
‘What’s he doing in hospital? You mean he’s not drowned?’ ‘No. Touch and go, it seems. We’d better have a look.’ ‘Identity?’
‘Not established. Still unconscious. No papers, no badge. But carrying a gun and a pair of handcuffs. So they guessed it was a cop.’ In the hospital they were led to. a private room on the first floor, from which a grey-haired doctor was just emerging. He saw de Graaf and smiled, ‘My old friend! You don’t waste time, I must say. One of your men has just had a rather unpleasant experience. A very close thing, very close, but he’ll be all right. In fact, he can leave in an hour or two.’ ‘So he’s conscious?’
‘Conscious and in a very bad temper. Name of Voight.’ ‘Mas Voight?’ van Effen said.
‘That’s him. Little boy saw him floating face down in the water. Luckily there were a couple of dock-workers close by. They fished him out and brought him here. Couldn’t have been. in the water more than a minute or so.’
Voight was sitting up-in bed and looking very disgruntled. After the briefest of courteous enquiries as to his health de Graaf said: ‘How on earth did you come to fall into that canal?’
‘Fall into the canal!’ Voight was outraged. ‘Fall into — ‘ ‘Shh!’ said the doctor. ‘You’ll just do yourself an injury.’ He gently turned Voight’s head: the blue and purple bruise behind the right ear promised to develop into something quite spectacular. ‘Must have run out of crowbars,’ van Effen said.
De Graaf frowned. ‘And what is that meant to mean?’ ‘Our friends are being active again. Detective Voight was keeping an eye on Alfred van Rees and
‘Alfred van Rees?’
‘You know. The Rijkswaterstaat man. Locks, weirs, sluices and what have you. Unfortunately it would seem that Detective Voight couldn’t watch van Rees and his own back at the same time. Last report, Voight, was that you had lost van Rees.’
‘A patrolman found him again. Gave me the address. I drove down and parked by the canal, got out
‘What canal?’ van Effen said.
‘The Croquiskade.’
‘The Croquiskade! And van Rees. You astonish me. Hardly the most salubrious part of our fair city.’
Voight rubbed his neck. ‘I didn’t find it very salubrious either. I saw van Rees and another man coming out of this doorway and then they went back in again. Why, I don’t know. I wasn’t in a police car and as far as I know they’ve never seen me, never suspected I was following them. And then — well, the next thing I knew I was in this bed. Never even heard a footstep behind me.’ ‘Did you get the house number?’
‘Yes. Thirty-eight.’
Van Effen picked up a bedside phone, told the switchboard it was police and urgent, gave them his office number and said to de Graaf. ‘I don’t suppose that anyone will still be at number thirty-eight. But we may find something there — if, that is, they didn’t see Detective Voight being fished out of the canal. If they did, it’ll be as clean as a whistle. Question of search warrant, sir?’
‘Damn the search warrant.’ De Graaf was obviously rather shaken that his old friend van Rees could be involved in illegal activities. ‘Effect an entry by any means.’
Van Effen was through to his office almost immediately, asked for a certain Sergeant Oudshoorn,got him in turn just as quickly, gave him the address and instructions and listened for a brief period. ‘No, Sergeant. Take four men. One at the front door, one at the back … No warrant. The Colonel says so. Yes. Take the damned door off its hinges if you have to. Or shoot the lock away. Detain anyone you find inside. Don’t leave there. Radio report to station and await instructions. ‘He hung up. ‘Sergeant Oudshorn seems to relish the prospect.’ They told Voight to cA home, have dry clothes brought, go home and rest and said goodbye. In the passageway de Graaf said: ‘It can’t be. Impossible. Man’s a pillar of society. Good heavens, I even put him up for my club.’