"Yes, Elizabeth, the coffee is perking and I've got sugar, cream, cups, spoons, yes, I've got it all."
"Naughty," Elizabeth said. "You haven't got the saucers. You aren't married, are you, sergeant? Living by yourself, I bet. You weren't planning to serve coffee in cups only, were you? What do you think of these cups? Bought them last week. Just what I've been looking for for years. My mother had cups like that, cost a few cents when I was a child and now you pay as many guilders, but it doesn't matter, I bought them anyway. And there's a saucer for Tabby too, nasty cat goes on banging it about when I don't keep it filled; he'll crack it if he isn't careful and I'll have to give him an ugly enameled one again. Nasty cat, he got so angry with me yesterday that he didn't watch where he was going and he fell off the roof into the canal and I had to fish him out with a broom and all I got for thanks was a scratch. See here."
She rolled up her sleeve and de Gier saw a thick hairy wrist with a deep scratch on it.
"I have a cat too," and he showed the top of his right hand where Oliver had scratched him that morning.
"Ha," Elizabeth said, whacking him on the shoulder so that he nearly dropped the sugarbowl, which he was refilling from a tin found in the cupboard. "They all do it, but what else can they do, the silly little animals! They can't talk, can they? But they still have to show their tempers. What's your cat? Alley cat or proper aristocracy like my Tabby?"
"Siamese."
"Yes, they are nice too. I had one, years ago now. The neighbor's dog got it when it was still small, grabbed it by the neck and shook it and it was dead when he dropped it. All over in a second. Since then I have always had bigger cats. No dog would try to pick on Tabby. He would be blind and castrated and floating in the canal with his legs up if he only tried to look at my Tabby."
She went back into the living room and de Gier followed, carrying a tray. Elizabeth fussed with the cups and brought out a tin with a Chinese design. "A biscuit, gentlemen?"
De Gier was nibbling his biscuit, inwardly grumbling about its oversweet taste when Elizabeth got up again and opened a drawer. "Here, what do you think of it, commissaris? Didn't I make a nice job of it? A hundred and fifty hours of hard work, I timed it, but it was worth the trouble, wasn't it?"
The commissaris and de Gier admired the bellpull which Elizabeth dangled in front of their eyes. It showed a repeating design of roses, embroidered in cross-stitch. "I have lined it with the material you brought me in that little plastic bag. They are clever nowadays, aren't they? When I was a little girl you had to buy your material by the yard, even when you only needed a little bit, but now it's all supplied in those handy kits. Just the right fit too. All I have to do now is find a set of copper ornaments and sew them on and then I'll hang it over there, next to the door. Just the right place for it. Maybe I'll get a brass bell as well and then I'll pull it and the servant will come. Hahaha."
"Beautifully done, Elizabeth," the commissaris said. "No, don't put it away, I want to see it properly. My wife is doing something like that as well. On linen I think she said it was, pure linen."
"Can't work on linen anymore," Elizabeth said sadly, "not even with a magnifying glass. If the design isn't printed on the cloth I can't follow it; on linen you have to count the stitches, from a chart. I used to like doing that but now I get a headache when I try. We are getting old. It was very thoughtful of you giving me the bellpull kit, commissaris. Good of you not to forget an old woman living by herself."
"I like coming to see you," the commissaris said, "and I would come more often if I wasn't so busy and if my legs didn't make me ill all the time, but this visit tonight isn't a social call. That's why the sergeant came with me. He is a detective and we are working tonight. There's been a manslaughter on the Straight Tree Ditch this afternoon."
"Manslaughter? Nothing to do with the riots, I suppose?" "No. A man's face got bashed in. Abe Rogge, a hawker. The house is close, perhaps you know the man."
"That handsome man with the blond beard? Big fellow? With a golden necklace?"
"Yes."
"I know him." Elizabeth pursed her lips. "He has spoken to me. Often. He has even visited me here. He's got a stall on the Albert Cuyp street market in town, hasn't he?"
"Had."
"Yes, yes. Got killed, did he? What a shame. We haven't had any crime here for as long as I can re* member. Not since those two idiot sailors clobbered each other years and years ago and I don't think they were ever charged. I pulled them apart and one of them slipped and fell into the canal."
She rubbed her hands gleefully. "Maybe I shoved him a little, did I? Hehehehe."
"Ah well, there has to be a first time for everything. Manslaughter, you said? Or murder? I saw some murders when I was on the force, but not too many of them, thank the Lord. Amsterdam isn't a murderous city although it's getting worse now. It's those newfangled drugs, don't you think?"
"You were on the force?" de Gier asked in a sudden high voice. The commissaris kicked him viciously under the table and de Gier began to rub his shin.
"Constable, first class," Elizabeth said proudly, "but that was some years ago, before I retired. My health was a bit weak, you see. But I liked the job, better than being lady of the toilets. Five years on the force and thirty years in the toilets. I think I can remember most of my police days but there wasn't much happening when I was scrubbing floors and polishing taps and carrying towels and cakes of soap. And all these men pissing, piss piss piss all day. I thought in the end that that was all men ever do, hehehehehe."
The commissaris laughed and slapped his thighs and kicked de Gier under the table again. De Gier laughed too.
"I see," he said when he had finished laughing.
"But tell me about Abe Rogge's death, commissaris," Elizabeth said.
The commissaris talked for a long time and Elizabeth nodded and stirred her coffee and poured more coffee and handed out biscuits.
"Yes," she said in the end. "I see. And you want me to find out what I can find out. I see. I'll let you know. I can listen in the shops and I know a lot of people here. It's about time I paid some visits."
The commissaris gave her his card. "You can phone me in the evenings too. My home number is on the card."
"No," Elizabeth said. "I don't like telephoning gentlemen at their homes. The wives don't like it when a spinister like me suddenly wants to talk to hubby."
The commissaris smiled. "No, perhaps you are right. We'll have to be on our way, Elizabeth, thanks for the coffee, and you did a beautiful job on the bell-pull."
"Commissaris," de Gier said when they were on the quay again.
"Yes?"
De Gier cleared his throat. "Was that really a friend of yours, commissaris?"
"Sure. I kicked you just in time, didn't I? I thought I had warned you before we went in. That, as you put it, once was Constable First Class Herbert Kalff. Served under me for a while, used to patrol this part of the city, but he had a problem as you will understand. He thought he was a woman and the idea got stronger and stronger. We put him on sick leave for a year and he was more or less all right when he came back but it started again. Claimed he was a girl and wanted to be called Elizabeth. He was on sick leave again and when there was no change we could only retire him. By that time she was a woman. There wasn't much medical science could do for her then. I imagine they operate on cases like that now. The poor soul has to live in a male body. She got a job as a lavatory lady in a factory but they made fun of her and she didn't last. She thinks that she was there for a long time but it isn't the truth. Her self-respect makes her say that. The truth is that she was declared unemployable and has lived on State money ever since. I've kept in touch and the social workers call on her but there was no need really; she has had a stable personality ever since she chose to be a woman, and she is incredibly healthly. She's over seventy, you know, and her mind is clear."
"Shouldn't she be in a home for the elderly?"
"No, the jokers would make fun of her. Old
people are like children sometimes. We'll leave her here as long as possible."
"And you visit her regularly?" De Gier's voice was still unnaturally high.
"Of course. I like her. I like walking about this part of town and she makes a good cup of coffee."
"But he, she's mad!"
"Nonsense," the commissaris said gruffly. "Don't bandy that word about, de Gier."
They walked a while in silence.
"How's your rheuma, sir? You have been in bed for a while, they tell me."
"Incurable," the commissaris said pleasantly. "Drugs help a bit but not much. I don't like the medicines anyway. Horrible little pills, chemicals, that's all they are. Lying in a hot bath helps but who wants to be in a hot bath all day, like a frog in the tropics?"
"Yes," de Gier said, trying to think of a more helpful remark.
"And she isn't mad," the commissaris said.
"I can't understand it," de Gier said slowly. "The person is unnatural, absolutely, and you go to see her. Aren't you frightened or disgusted?"
"No. She is different, but that's all really. Some invalids look gruesome when you meet them for the first time but you get used to their deformity, especially when they are lovely people, just as Elizabeth is lovely. She is a kind and intelligent person so why would you be frightened of her? You are frightened of your own dreams, it seems to me. You do dream, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any nightmares?"
"Yes."
"What happens when you have a nightmare?''
"If it goes wrong I wake up in a sweat and I scream but usually it doesn't come to that. I can control the dreams somehow, get out of the most gruesome parts anyway. I find a weapon in my hand and I kill whoever is chasing me, or there's a car in the right spot and I jump into it and they can't catch up with me."
"Very good," the commissaris said, and laughed.
"But you don't always get away, and then you suffer."
"Yes," de Gier said reluctantly.
"But why? The dream is part of you, isn't it? It's your own mind. Why should your own mind frighten you?"
De Gier stopped. They had reached the narrow footbridge again and de Gier was ahead of the commissaris, so the commissaris had to stop as well.
"But I can't avoid my dreams, can I, sir? I can avoid mat… well, apparition in the houseboat. It scares me.
I don't have to go there."
"Shouldn't I have taken you, sergeant?" the commissaris asked quietly.
"Well, yes, sir. Maybe it can help us with our investigation. It lives in the area and it has police training. May be useful. Yes, you should have taken me."
"So?"
"But you can't ask me to enjoy the experience."
"I am not aware that I am asking you to enjoy Elizabeth's company." The commissaris was smiling.
"No. Yes. Perhaps you are not. But you won't let me…"
"Let you what?"
De Gier raised his hands helplessly and walked on, slowly, so that the commissaris could keep up with him.
"We are all connected," the commissaris said softly. "Elizabeth is part of you, and you are part of her. Better face up to it."
***
They were passing the Rogges' house and Grijpstra was waiting at the door.
"Nothing, sir," Grijpstra reported. "The house on this side is a warehouse and it belongs to Abe Rogge. It's full of merchandise, wool and various types of cloth. Esther Rogge opened the door for me. Nothing here. The neighbors on the other side saw nothing special but they claim that quite a few people walked about this afternoon. The constables on duty let anybody through who lived here, without asking for any identification."
"Did you check the houseboat, Grijpstra?"
"Yes, sir. It's a wreck as you can see. Windows broken and everything. I found nothing extraordinary. A lot of rubbish, a broken fish knife and a plastic bucket and some rusted fishhooks and the usual collection of used condoms. I checked the roof as well but I had to be careful; the roof is rotten too, full of holes."
"Nobody fired a musket from there, you think? Or threw balls?"
"No, sir."
The launch had come back and was waiting for the commissaris. Grijpstra climbed aboard, de Gier hesitated. "Don't you want to come, de Gier?" the commissaris asked.
"Perhaps I should have another talk with Esther Rogge and that young fellow, Louis Zilver. I would like to have a list of Abe's friends, and girlfriends."
"Can't it wait till tomorrow?"
"It could wait," de Gier said, "but we are here."
"Grijpstra?" Grijpstra looked noncommittal. "All right," the commissaris said, "but don't overdo it. The woman is tired and that young man isn't very easy to get along with. Don't lose your temper."
"No, sir," de Gier said, and turned on his heels.
6
His suit was stained with soapstone powder and his right trouser leg smeared with red paint. He hadn't noticed anyone throwing paint but someone had. His socks were still wet, for although the water cannon hadn't hit him full on, he had been forced to run through puddles and mud had oozed into his shoes. He badly wanted to go home and have a hot shower and lounge about bis small flat in the kimono he had bought at a department store where they were having a Japanese day. He wanted Oliver to be asleep on his legs while he looked through the paper and smoked and sipped tea. He also wanted a meal, some spaghetti perhaps, a dish he could cook quickly and tastefully, and Oliver would be sitting on the chair, his only chair, while he squatted on his bed and ate the spaghetti from a bowl. And then, afterwards, a cigarette on the balcony. He would have to do something about his flower boxes. He had lobelia in them again, and alyssum, like last year, and a geranium in a pot hanging from the wall. There might be more interesting plants. He stopped and cursed. Elizabeth, the artful gardener. Nellie and her three hundred and fifty guilders. Had he joined the criminal investigation department to meet crazy people? To be with them? To try to understand them? To find, as the commissaris had suggested, his own connection with them? The commissaris! Silly little wizard with his limp?
"Mustn't talk about the commissaris like that, Rinus," he told himself. "You admire the man, remember? You like him. He is an advanced man, he knows far more than you do. He understands. He is on a different level. Higher, Rinus, much higher."
He stood at Esther's front door but he didn't ring the bell. The launch was taking off, the water sergeant was hauling in the mooring rope. The commissaris and Grijpstra were talking on the foredeck. They probably thought he had gone in already. He might not go in at all. What was he doing here anyway? Was he being the efficient policeman, efficient and energetic, going on when others were having a break? Or did he want to hold Esther's hand again?
A lovely woman, Esther. Not a cheap whore like Nellie who had bedazzled him with her big shapeful tits and low oozing voice, a gritty oozing voice. A voice can't be gritty and oozing at the same time but hers was. It was, damn it. "Easy, Rinus," he told himself. "You are losing control. Today has been too much for you. A battered corpse and a whole square full of dancing idiots throwing soapstone powder and paint and all those uniformed bullies charging the idiots and the sirens, it was too much for you. The commissaris shouldn't have left you, he knew you were cracking up. But he left you all the same, didn't he?"
De Gier listened to the silence of the canal. So he had. And if the conunissaris had left him on his own he must have had faith. Policemen don't usually work on their own, they work in pairs. Detectives work in pairs too. So that the one can check the other, restrain him if necessary if he loses his temper, or touches his gun. The one policeman protects the other by restraining him. He protects him against himself. It is the task of the police to protect the civilian against himself. It is the task of the policeman to protect his mate against himself. He was talking aloud now, droning the words.
"Shit," de Gier said and pressed the bell.
Esther opened the door.
"You," Esther said. "Sergeant Rinus
de Gier."
De Gier tried to smile.
"Come in, sergeant."
Esther looked better. There was color on her face again and she had made up her lips.
"I am having something to eat. Would you care to join me, sergeant?"
"Please."
She led the way to the kitchen. He was given a plate of soup, hot tomato soup from a tin. De Gier didn't like tomato soup and never ate the bloody-looking fluid but he didn't mind now. She cut him a piece of bread and there were gherkins on the table and olives, and a piece of blue-veined cheese. He ate it all while Esther watched him.
"We can have coffee upstairs."
He hadn't said anything during the meal and now he merely nodded.
"A nice room," de Gier said, from the deep low chair Esther had directed him to, "and you have a lot of books."
Esther waved at the two walls covered by bookcases. "A thousand books and I have learned nothing from them. The piano has been of more use to me."
He got up and walked toward the baby grand. An etude by Chopin was lying on the stand and he put a hand on the keyboard and picked away, trying to read the notes.
"That's very nice," Esther said. "Do you play often?"
"No. I had piano lessons as a child but I switched to the flute. I play with Grijpstra, the adjutant you met today."
"What does he play?"
"Drums," he said and grinned. "Someone left a set of drums in our office at Headquarters, years ago now, we have forgotten why, but Grijpstra remembered that he played drums once and started again and I found my flute. It's a silly combination perhaps but we manage."
"But that's beautiful," Esther said. "Why shouldn't drums and flute go together. I'd love to hear you play. I could play with you too. Why don't you both come one evening and we can try?"
"It's free music," he said. "We have some themes we use, church music mostly, sixteenth and seventeenth century, but then we go off and we play anything. Trills and bangs."
"I'II fit in somehow," Esther said confidently.
He laughed. "O.K. I'll ask Grijpstra."
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