第 46 页

Inspector van Duren said, “A step van, twenty feet long, seven feet wide, six feet high, dual axles.”

There was an astonished pause. “Yes, Inspector. How did you know?”

“Never mind. What color is it?”

“Blue.”

“Who's following Stevens?”

“Jacobs.”

“Goed. Report back here.”

Joop van Duren replaced the receiver. He looked up at Daniel Cooper. “You were right. Except that the van is blue.”

“He'll take it to an auto paint shop.”

The paint shop was located in a garage on the Damrak. Two men sprayed the truck a gun-metal gray, while Jeff stood by. On the roof of the garage a detective shot photographs through the skylight.

The pictures were on Inspector van Duren's desk one hour later.

He shoved them toward Daniel Cooper. “It's being painted the identical color of the real security truck. We could pick them up now, you know.”

“On what charges? Having some false business cards printed and painting a truck? The only way to make the charges stick is to catch them when they pick up the bullion.”

The little prick acts like he's running the department. “What do you think he'll do next?”

Cooper was carefully studying the photograph. “This truck won't take the weight of the gold. They'll have to reinforce the floorboards.”

It was a small, out-of-the-way garage on Muider Straat.

“Goede morgen, mijnheer. How may I serve you?”

“I'm going to be carrying some scrap iron in this truck,” Jeff explained, “and I'm not sure the floorboards are strong enough to take the weight. I'd like them reinforced with metal braces. Can you do that?”

The mechanic walked over to the truck and examined it. “Ja. No problem.”

“Good.”

“I can have it ready vrijdag — Friday.”

“I was hoping to have it tomorrow.”

“Morgen? Nee. Ik —”

“I'll pay you double.”

“Donderdag — Thursday.”

“Tomorrow. I'll pay you triple.”

The mechanic scratched his chin thoughtfully. “What time tomorrow?”

“Noon.”

“Ja. Okay.”

“Dank je wel.”

“Tot uw dienst.”

Moments after Jeff left the garage a detective was interrogating the mechanic.

On the same morning the team of surveillance experts assigned to Tracy followed her to the Oude Schans Canal, where she spent half an hour in conversation with the owner of a barge. When Tracy left, one of the detectives stepped aboard the barge. He identified himself to the owner, who was sipping a large bessenjenever, the potent red-currant gin. “What did the young lady want?”

“She and her husband are going to take a tour of the canals. She's rented my barge for a week.”

“Beginning when?”

“Friday. It's a beautiful vacation, mijnheer. If you and your wife would be interested in —”

The detective was gone.

The pigeon Tracy had ordered from the pet shop was delivered to her hotel in a birdcage. Daniel Cooper returned to the pet shop and questioned the owner.

“What kind of pigeon did you send her?”

“Oh, you know, an ordinary pigeon.”

“Are you sure it's not a homing pigeon?”

“No.” The man giggled. “The reason I know it's not a homing pigeon is because I caught it last night in Vondelpark.”

A thousand pounds of gold and an ordinary pigeon? Why? Daniel Cooper wondered.

Five days before the transfer of bullion from the Amro Bank was to take place, a large pile of photographs had accumulated on Inspector Joop van Duren's desk.

Each picture is a link in the chain that is going to trap her, Daniel Cooper thought. The Amsterdam police had no imagination. but Cooper had to give them credit for being thorough. Every step leading to the forthcoming crime was photographed and documented. There was no way Tracy Whitney could escape justice.

Her punishment will be my redemption.

On the day Jeff picked up the newly painted truck he drove it to a small garage he had rented near the Oude Zijds Kolk, the oldest part of Amsterdam. Six empty wooden boxes stamped MACHINERY were also delivered to the garage.

A photograph of the boxes lay on Inspector van Duren's desk as he listened to the latest tape.

Jeff's voice: “When you drive the truck from the bank to the barge, stay within the speed limit. I want to know exactly how long the trip takes. Here's a stopwatch.”

“Aren't you coming with me, darling?”

“No. I'm going to be busy.”

“What about Monty?”

“He'll arrive Thursday night.”

“Who is this Monty?” Inspector van Duren asked.

“He's probably the man who's going to pose as the second security guard,” Cooper said. “They're going to need uniforms.”

The costume store was on Pieter Cornelisz Hooft Straat, in a shopping center.

“I need two uniforms for a costume party,” Jeff explained to the clerk. “Similar to the one you have in the window.”

One hour later Inspector van Duren was looking at a photograph of a guard's uniform.

“He ordered two of these. He told the clerk he would pick them up Thursday.”

The size of the second uniform indicated that it was for a man much larger than Jeff Stevens. The inspector said, “Our friend Monty would be about six-three and weigh around two hundred twenty pounds. We'll have Interpol put that through their computers,” he assured Daniel Cooper, “and we'll get an identification on him.”

In the private garage Jeff had rented, he was perched on top of the truck, and Tracy was in the driver's seat.

“Are you ready?” Jeff called. “Now.”

Tracy pressed a button on the dashboard. A large piece of canvas rolled down each side of the truck, spelling out HEINEKEN HOLLAND BEER.

“It works!” Jeff cheered.

“Heineken beer? Alstublieft!” Inspector van Duren looked around at the detectives gathered in his office. A series of blown-up photographs and memos were tacked all around the walls.

Daniel Cooper sat in the back of the room, silent. As far as Cooper was concerned, this meeting was a waste of time. He had long since anticipated every move Tracy Whitney and her lover would make. They had walked into a trap, and the trap was closing in on them. While the detectives in the office were filled with a growing excitement, Cooper felt an odd sense of anticlimax.

“All the pieces have fallen into place,” Inspector van Duren was saying. “The suspects know what time the real armored truck is due at the bank. They plan to arrive about half an hour earlier, posing as security guards. By the time the real truck arrives, they'll be gone.” Van Duren pointed to the photograph of an armored car. “They will drive away from the bank looking like this, but a block away, on some side street” — he indicated the Heineken beer truck photograph — “the truck will suddenly look like this.”

A detective from the back of the room spoke up. “Do you know how they plan to get the gold out of the country, Inspector?”

Van Duren pointed to a picture of Tracy stepping onto the barge. “First, by barge. Holland is so crisscrossed with canals and waterways that they could lose themselves indefinitely.” He indicated an aerial photograph of the truck speeding along the edge of the canal. “They've timed the run to see how long if takes to get from the bank to their barge. Plenty of time to load the gold onto the barge and be on their way before anyone suspects anything is wrong.” Van Duren walked over to the last photograph on the wall, an enlarged picture of a freighter. “Two days ago Jeff Stevens reserved cargo space on the Oresta, sailing from Rotterdam next week. The cargo was listed as machinery, destination Hong Kong.”

He turned to face the men in the room. “Well, gentlemen, we're making a slight change in their plans. We're going to let them remove the gold bullion from the bank and load it into the truck.” He looked at Daniel Cooper and smiled. “Red-handed. We're going to catch these clever people red-handed.”

A detective followed Tracy into the American Express office, where she picked up a medium-sized package; she returned immediately to her hotel.

“No way of knowing what was in the package,” Inspector van Duren told Cooper. “We searched both their suites when they left, and there was nothing new in either of them.”

Interpol's computers were unable to furnish any information on the 220-pound Monty.

At the Amstel late Thursday evening, Daniel Cooper, Inspector van Duren, and Detective Constable Witkamp were in the room above Tracy's, listening to the voices from below.

Jeff's voice: “If we get to the bank exactly thirty minutes before the guards are due, that will give us plenty of time to load the gold and move out. By the time the real truck arrives, we'll be stowing the gold onto the barge.”

Tracy's voice: “I've had the mechanic check the truck and fill it with gas. It's ready.”

Detective Constable Witkamp said, “One must almost admire them. They don't leave a thing to chance.”

“They all slip up sooner or later,” Inspector van Duren said curtly.

Daniel Cooper was silent, listening.

“Tracy, when this is over, how would you like to go on that dig we talked about?”

“Tunisia? Sounds like heaven, darling.”

“Good. I'll arrange it. From now on we'll do nothing but relax and enjoy life.”

Inspector van Duren murmured, “I'd say their next twenty years are pretty well taken care of.” He rose and stretched. “Well, I think we can go to bed. Everything is set for tomorrow morning, and we can all use a good night's sleep.”

Daniel Cooper was unable to sleep. He visualized Tracy being grabbed and manhandled by the police, and he could see the terror on her face. It excited him. He went into the bathroom and ran a very hot bath. He removed his glasses, took off his pajamas, and lay back in the steaming water. It was almost over, and she would pay, as he had made other whores pay. By this time tomorrow he would be on his way home. No, not home, Daniel Cooper corrected himself. To my apartment. Home was a warm, safe place where his mother loved him more than she loved anyone else in the world.

“You're my little man,” she said. “I don't know what I would do without you.”

Daniel's father disappeared when Daniel was four years old, and at first he blamed himself, but his mother explained that it was because of another woman. He hated that other woman, because she made his mother cry. He had never seen her, but he knew she was a whore because he had heard his mother call her that. Later, he was happy that the woman had taken his father away, for now he had his mother all to himself. The Minnesota winters were cold, and Daniel's mother allowed him to crawl into bed with her and snuggle under the warm blankets.

“I'm going to marry you one day,” Daniel promised, and his mother laughed and stroked his hair.

Daniel was always at the head of his class in school. He wanted his mother to be proud of him.

What a brilliant little boy you have, Mrs. Cooper.

I know. No one is as clever as my little man.

When Daniel was seven years old, his mother started inviting their neighbor, a huge, hairy man, over to their house for dinner, and Daniel became ill. He was in bed for a week with a dangerously high fever, and his mother promised she would never do that again. I don't need anyone in the world but you, Daniel.

No one could have been as happy as Daniel. His mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. When she was out of the house, Daniel would go into her bedroom and open the drawers of her dresser. He would take out her lingerie and rub the soft material against his cheek. They smelled oh, so wonderful.

He lay back in the warm tub in the Amsterdam hotel, his eyes closed, remembering the terrible day of his mother's murder. It was on his twelfth birthday. He was sent home from school early because he had an earache. He pretended it was worse than it was, because he wanted to be home where his mother would soothe him and put him into her bed and fuss over him. Daniel walked into the house and went to his mother's bedroom, and she was lying naked in their bed, but she was not alone. She was doing unspeakable things to the man who lived next door. Daniel watched as she began to kiss the matted chest and the bloated stomach, and her kisses trailed downward toward the huge red weapon between the man's legs. Before she took it into her mouth, Daniel heard his mother moan, “Oh, I love you!”

And that was the most unspeakable thing of all. Daniel ran to his bathroom and vomited all over himself. He carefully undressed and cleaned himself up because his mother had taught him to be neat. His earache was really bad now. He heard voices from the hallway and listened.

His mother was saying, “You'd better go now, darling. I've got to bathe and get dressed. Daniel will be home from school soon. I'm giving him a birthday party. I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

There was the noise of the front door closing, and then the sound of running water from his mother's bathroom. Except that she was no longer his mother She was a whore who did dirty things in bed with men, things she had never done with him.

He walked into her bathroom, naked, and she was in the tub, her whore's face smiling. She turned her head and saw him and said, “Daniel, darling! What are you —?”

He carried a pair of heavy dressmaker's shears in his hand.

“Daniel —” Her mouth was opened into a pink-lined O, but there was no sound until he made the first stab into the breast of the stranger in the tub. He accompanied her screams with his own. “Whore! Whore! Whore!”

They sang a deadly duet together, until finally there was his voice alone. “Whore… whore…”

He was spattered all over with her blood. He stepped into her shower and scrubbed himself until his skin felt raw.

That man next door had killed his mother, and that man would have to pay.

After that, everything seemed to happen with a supernal clarity, in a curious kind of slow motion. Daniel wiped the fingerprints off the shears with a washcloth and threw them into the bathtub. They clanked dully against the enamel. He dressed and telephoned the police. Two police cars arrived, with sirens screaming, and then another car filled with detectives, and they asked Daniel questions, and he told them how he had been sent home from school early and about seeing their next-door neighbor, Fred Zimmer, leaving through the side door. When they questioned the man, he admitted being the lover of Daniel's mother, but denied killing her. It was Daniel's testimony in court that convicted Zimmer.

“When you arrived home from school, you saw your neighbor, Fred Zimmer, running out the side door?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you see him clearly?”

“Yes, sir. There was blood all over his hands.”

“What did you do then, Daniel?”

“I — I was so scared. I knew something awful had happened to my mother.”