"And people had to admit it to him all the time?"
"Yes, that was the only way to start doing something." "So they could do something after all?"
"Yes, not much. Something. Provided they admitted they were fools."
De Gier lit a cigarette and sat back. "Shit," he said softly.
"Pardon?"
"Never mind," de Gier said. "Your brother must have annoyed a lot of people. Did he ever admit he was a fool himself?"
"Oh, yes."
"And he really thought he was a fool?"
"Yes. He didn't care, you see. He just lived for the moment. A day consisted of a lot of moments to him. I don't think he cared when he died either."
"These friends he had, what sort of people were they? Business friends from the street market?"
Esther adjusted her hair and began to fiddle with the coffee machine. "More coffee, Rinus?"
"Please." She filled the apparatus and spilled some coffee on the floor.
"Allow me," de Gier said, and picked up a dustpan and a brush.
"Thanks. Are you married?"
"No, I live by myself, with my cat. I always clean up immediately when I make a mess."
"Friends, you said. Well, he often had friends from the street market in the house, and students would come, and some artists. And journalists, and girls. Abe attracted women. And Louis, of course, you have seen him in the corridor, haven't you. Where is he anyway?" "He is upstairs with my colleague, Adjutant Grijpstra, and the commissaris."
"That little old man is your chief?"
"Yes. Can you describe some of his friends to me? I'll need a list of them. Did he have any special friends?"
"They were all special. He would get very involved with people, until he dropped them. He wasn't concerned about friendship, he always said. Friendship is a temporary phenomenon; it depends on circumstances and it starts and ends like the wind. He would annoy people by saying that, for they tried to attach themselves to him."
"Some case," de Gier said.
Esther smiled, a slow tired smile.
"You remind me of the constables who came here a few days ago," she said. "They had the wrong number. Our neighbors had phoned. An old man was visiting them and the man suddenly got ill and collapsed. The neighbors had phoned for an ambulance but the police came as well, to see if there had been any violence, I suppose. The woman next door was very upset and I went there to see if I could be of some help. The old man was obviously dying. I think he had had a heart attack. I overheard the conversation between the constables."
"What did they say?" de Gier asked.
"The one constable said to the other, 'Hell, I hope the old bugger doesn't croak. If he does we'll have to write a report on it,' and the other one said, 'Never mind, he'll die in the ambulance and, the health officers can take care of it.'"
"Yes," de Gier said.
"That's the way you people think, isn't it?"
"Not really," de Gier said patiently. "It's the way it sounds to you. You are involved, you see. The dead man is your brother. If a friend of mine dies, or if my cat gets run over, or if my mother gets sick, I'll be upset. I assure you that I will be very upset."
"But when you find my brother in a pool of blood…"
"I am upset too, but I keep the feeling down. I won't be of much help if I crack up, will I? And this looks like a strange case. I can't figure out why your brother was killed. Perhaps Grijpstra has seen something. You were here all afternoon, weren't you? Did anybody go up to his room?"
"No. Louis came in but I heard him pass the room and go up the second staircase to his own room."
"The Straight Tree Ditch is not a very busy thoroughfare," de Gier said, "but there must be people moving about in it. It would be possible to climb into the room from the street but it would be a real risk. Nobody has reported anything to the constables in the street, for they would have come in to tell me about it."
"Perhaps someone threw something at Abe," Esther said. "He could have been looking out at the canal. He often does. He stands at the window, the window is open, and he stares. He goes into a trance that way and I have to shout at him to break it. Somebody threw a stone at him perhaps."
"The stone would have fallen in the room or bounced off and got back to the street. The constables would have found it. A bloody stone in the street. I'll go and ask them."
He was back in a minute. "Nothing. I asked the men upstairs as well. There is a man from the finger-print department. He says there is nothing in the room either. No weapon, no stone."
"Abe was a strange man and he died in a strange way," Esther said, "but there will be some technical explanation. There always is, for anything."
"Nothing is stolen, is there?"
"No. There is no money in the house, except what Abe keeps in his wallet. The wallet is still there, in the side pocket of his bush jacket. I saw the bulge. The pocket is buttoned. He usually has a few thousand guilders in it."
"That's a lot of money to keep in one's pocket."
"Abe always had money. He could make it much faster than he could spend it. He owns the warehouse next door; it's full of merchandise, and it never stays there long. There is cotton cloth in it now, bought just before the cotton price went up, and a whole floor stacked with cartons of wool, which he is selling in the street market."
"There is no connection between this house and the warehouse next door is there?"
"No."
"No secret door?"
"No, sergeant. The only way to get to the warehouse is via the street. The courtyards in the back are separated by a high brick wall, much too high to climb."
Grijpstra and the commissaris were coming down the stairs. De Gier called them in and introduced the commissaris to Esther. Two health officers were maneuvering their stretcher up the stairs, they had come with the Water Police launch.
"I'll go upstairs," de Gier said. "I think we would like to have the contents of the pockets before the body is taken away. You'll be given a receipt, Miss Rogge."
"Yes," the commissaris said. "We'll be off for a while now but we may have to come back later. I hope you don't mind the intrusion on your privacy, miss, but…"
"Yes, commissaris," Esther said. "I'll be waiting for you."
The atmosphere in the street was still eerie. A siren wailed in the square nearby. A fresh platoon of riot police came marching up the narrow quay. Two launches of the Water Police, their foredecks packed with leather-coated constables ready to disembark, were navigating carefully between the moored houseboats and the launch preparing to take Abe Rogge's body aboard.
A young man, exhausted, was being run to the ground on the other side of the canal. Gloved hands grabbed his wrists and the detectives could hear the handcuffs' click and the man's sobbing breath.
"Where to, sir?" Grijpstra asked.
The commissaris was watching the arrest. "Hmm?"
"What now, sir?"
"Anywhere, a quiet place somewhere, a pub, a cafe. You go and find it. I am going back into the house a minute. When you find a good place you can telephone the Rogge house. The number will be in the book. Terrible, isn't it?"
"What, sir?"
"That manhunt just now. These riots bring out the worst in everyone."
"They weren't manhandling him, sir, they only made an arrest. The man has probably wounded a policeman in the square. They wouldn't go to so much trouble to catch him otherwise."
"I know, I know," the commissaris said, "but it's degrading. I have seen men hunted down like that during the war."
Grijpstra had seen it too but he didn't say anything.
"Right, run along."
"Sir," Grijpstra said and tapped de Gier on the shoulder.
"So where to?" de Gier asked. "Do you know anything here? The pubs will all be closed and I wouldn't want a police conference in a pub here right now anyway." Grijpstra was staring at the policemen across the water. They were marching their prisoner to a Water Police launch. The prisoner wasn'
t resisting. Three men going for a walk.
"Hey."
"Yes," Grijpstra said. "The only place I can think of is Nellie's bar. It will be closed but she'll open up if she is in."
"Don't know the place."
"Of course you don't."
***
They read the sign together. It said "If I don't answer the bell don't bang on the door for I won't be in." They read it three times.
"What nonsense," de Gier said finally. "If she isn't in she won't mind us banging on the door."
Grijpstra rang the bell. There was no answer. He banged on the door. A window opened on the second floor.
"Fuck off. Do you want a bucket of dishwater all over you?"
"Nellie," Grijpstra shouted, "it's me."
The window closed and they heard steps.
"It's you," Nellie said. "How nice. And a friend. Very nice. Come in."
The lights were switched on and they found themselves in a small bar. The only color in the bar seemed to be pink. Pink curtains, pink wallpaper, pink lampshades. Nellie was pink too, especially her breasts. De Gier stared at Nellie's breasts.
"You like them, darling?"
"Yes," de Gier said.
"Sit down and have a drink. If you buy me a bottle of champagne I'll give you topless service."
"How much is a bottle of champagne?"
"A hundred and seventy-five guilders."
"I am a policeman," de Gier said.
"I know you are, darling, but the police pay a hundred and seventy-five guilders too. I hate corruption." "Do you ever have any policemen in here?"
Nellie smiled coyly and looked at Grijpstra.
"You?" de Gier asked.
"Sometimes," Grijpstra said, "but I don't pay. Nellie is an old friend."
"And you get topless service?"
"Of course he does," Nellie said briskly. "What will you have? It's a bit early but I'll mix you a cocktail. I don't serve straight drinks."
"No, Nellie," Grijpstra said. "We want to use your bar for an hour or so. Our commissaris wants a quiet place to talk; there will be some others as well. Do you mind?"
"Of course not, dear." Nellie smiled and bent over the bar and ruffled Grijpstra's hair. The breasts were very close to de Gier now and his hands twitched. "The bar is closed tonight anyway," Nellie crooned. "These damn riots are bad for business. I haven't seen a customer for two days and my runners can't get anyone through the roadblocks."
Her lips framed a snarl. "Not that I would welcome any customers these days, not with all this tension about."
"And you still dress like that?" de Gier asked, and stared.
Nellie giggled. "No. I wear jeans and a jersey, like everybody else, but I don't want Grijpstra to see me in a jersey. He is used to me like this, so I slipped on a dress."
"Wow," de Gier said.
Nellie patted her breasts. "Disqualified me for a Miss Holland contest once. I had too much, they said. But they are good for business."
"Do you have a license for this place?" de Gier asked.
Her face clouded. "I thought you were a friend."
"I am curious, that's all."
"No, I don't have a license. This isn't a real bar. It's private. I only entertain one or two clients at a time. The runners bring them in."
Prostitution, de Gier thought, straight prostitution. He knew there were bars like Nellie's bar but he hadn't come across one yet. Grijpstra had and he hadn't told him. He looked at Grijpstra and Grijpstra grinned. De Gier raised his eyebrows.
"Nellie had trouble once and I happened to answer the call."
"That was a long time ago," Nellie said and pouted. "You were still in uniform then. I haven't seen you for a year; you are lucky I am still here." She groaned. "That's the way it is. The nice ones are busy and they don't pay and the bastards take far too much time, but they pay."
De Gier could imagine what the bastards would be like. The stray tourist, the lonely businessman. "Want a nice woman, sir, something really special? Cozy place? All to yourself? A little champagne? Not too expensive? Let me show you the way, sir." And an hour, two hours maybe, three hours at the most later, the bastard would be in the street again with a stomach full of fuzz and a light head and a light wallet. She would squeeze them in stages. A pink spider in a pink web. And out the minute they were dry, out into the street. And the runner would be waiting and slip in for his cut and rush out again, to catch the next fly.
"How's business, Nellie?"
She pulled in her underiip and bit it. "Not so good.
The guilder is too high and the dollar too low. I don't get them as I used to get them. It's Japanese now and they make me work."*
A majestic woman, tall and wide-shouldered, with long red hair framing the green slanting eyes. De Gier could feel her strength. The strength of a voluptuous snake.
"Who is your friend, Grijpstra?"
"Sergeant de Gier," Grijpstra said.
"Nice. Very nice. I don't often see handsome men nowadays; they are getting scarce." The green eyes became innocent.
"Careful," Grijpstra said. "He has a way with ladies."
She giggled. "Don't worry, Grijpstra. I prefer your type, warm and heavy and fatherly. Handsome men make me nervous. They don't really need me and I hate it when I am not needed. Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?"
"Let me use the phone," Grijpstra said.
She pushed the phone across the counter of the small bar and suddenly leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. Grijpstra returned her kiss and reached out and patted her buttocks. De Gier looked away.
^* The ranks of the Dutch municipal police are constable, constable first class, sergeant, adjutant, inspector, chief inspector, commissaris, chief constable.
^* The ranks of the Dutch municipal police are constable, constable first class, sergeant, adjutant, inspector, chief inspector, commissaris, chief constable.
4
The bell rang and De Gier went to open the door. The commissaris came in, followed by the doctor and the fingerprint man.
"Evening," the commissaris said brightly.
Grijpstra was rubbing his lips with a crumpled handkerchief. "Nellie's bar, sir, only place we could find. Very quiet."
"Your ears are red," de Gier said.
Grijpstra mumbled through his handkerchief. "Introduce me to the lady," the commissaris said, and climbed on a bar stool.
Nellie smiled and extended a hand. "A drink, commissaris?"
"A small jenever, if you have it."
Nellie poured six glasses.
"I thought you didn't serve straight drinks," de Gier said and looked at the woman's breasts again. He wasn't the only one who looked. The commissaris was fascinated; so was the doctor, so was the fingerprint man.
"Cleavage," the doctor said. "Lovely word, isn't it? Cleavage?"
The others grunted their agreement.
"Yes," the commissaris said and raised his glass, "but it isn't good manners to discuss a lady's anatomy in her presence. Cheers, Nellie.* '
The glasses were raised, emptied and plonked down on the counter. Nellie grabbed the bottle and filled them again.
"Lovely," the doctor said stubbornly. "As a doctor I should be immune perhaps but I am not. There is nothing more beautiful in the world. There are sunsets, of course, and sailing ships in a strong wind, and a deer running in a glade in the forest, and flowers growing on an old crumbling wall, and the flight of the blue heron, but nothing compares to the female chest. Nothing at all."
"Right," the fingerprint man said.
Nellied smiled and a slow ripple moved her bosom, a delicate ripple which started almost imperceptibly but gathered force gradually and ebbed away again.
De Gier sighed. The commissaris turned his head and stared at de Gier.
"She charges a hundred and seventy-five guilders for a bottle of champagne," de Gier explained.
The commissaris inclined his small head.
"And then she takes off the top of her dres
s, sir, there's a zipper at the waist." De Gier pointed at the zipper.
Grijpstra had put his handkerchief away and was fumbling with a black cigar which he had found in a box on the counter. "What do you want the commissaris to do?" he asked gruffly. "Order champagne?"
The commissaris smiled and scraped a match. "Here," he said mildly. "It isn't the right night for champagne."
Grijpstra inhaled and glared at de Gier. The smoke burned Grijpstra's throat and he began to cough, pushing himself away from the bar and upsetting a stool. The smoke was still in his lungs and he couldn't breathe and he was stamping on the floor, making the glasses and bottles, lined up on narrow shelves attached to a large mirror, touch and tinkle.
"Easy," the doctor said, and began to pound Grijpstra's solid back. "Easy, put that cigar away!"
"No. I'll be all right."
"Syrup," Nellie said. "I have some syrup, dear."
The thick liquid filled a liqueur glass and Grijpstra swallowed obediently.
"All of it," Nellie said.
Grijpstra emptied the glass and began to cough again, the cigar smoldering in his hand.
"Stop coughing," de Gier said. "You have had your syrup. Stop it, I say." Grijpstra hiccupped. "That's better."
They drank their second glass of jenever and Grijpstra quieted down.
"We'll have to talk business," the commissaris said to Nellie. "I hope you don't mind, dear."
"Do you want me to go away?"
"Not unless you want to. Now, what did you think, doctor? You had time to study the body, did you?"
The doctor rested his eyes on the lowest point of Nellie's cleavage. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, quite. I had enough time although we'll have to do some standard tests later, of course. I have never seen anything like it. He must have been killed this afternoon, at four o'clock perhaps, or four thirty. The blood was fresh. I would think he was hit by a round object, small and round, like an old-fashioned bullet fired by a musket. But it looks as if he was hit several times. There were marks all over the face, or over the remains of the face, I should say. Every bone is smashed, jaws, cheekbones, forehead, nose. The nose is the worst. It seems that the object, whatever it was, hit the nose first and then bounced about."
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