Hard Rain

by Janwillem Van De Wetering

  The chief constable pushed his phone across the desk.

  The commissaris dialed, waited, and then spoke. "Katrien? Listen, this is fun. There's a colleague from Central Detection here who has all these questions. About how much money we have, and so forth. It's all a game. Like they play in The Hague. Government games? You've heard of those? . . . What's that?" The commissaris looked at Voort. "No, he isn't nasty, just nosy, you might say, but I say that we don't have to answer his questions . . . You agree? . . . Good. Yes. I will be careful, dearest. Even if it's a game. Good-bye." He put the phone down. "So I'm off duty for a while?"

  "With pay," the chief constable said. "Like an extra holiday, but I thought you might not like that. If you cooperate with the investigation, your discomfort won't last too long."

  "Oh, I don't know," the commissaris said. "I daresay I could find something to do with my spare time. Something useful, even." He clapped his hands. "Yes."

  "You're not being helpful," Voort rumbled. "Not at all. I'm still prepared to work in a friendly way."

  "No, no," the commissaris said. "I insist. Each game has its rules. Let's pretend we're sworn enemies, colleague. I'll be as tricky as I can be. Dodge your questions, trip you up where I can, and, of course, I expect the same from you. Let's play cops-and-cops. Cops-and-robbers I know by now, but this variation is new to me. Let's match wits." He pushed himself out of his chair. "You must excuse me. I'm off duty now. May I still spend time in my office, or is that out too?"

  "I would like you to be within reach," Voort said.

  "I'll be around," the commissaris said. "I might be home from time to time. Give me a ring whenever you like."

  The chief constable walked to the door. "Please. I didn't expect this sort of behavior from you. Do be serious."

  The commissaris frowned. "I'll try. That's part of the game? We pretend the investigation matters?"

  "There are penalties," Voort rumbled.

  "Such as?" The commissaris stood opposite Voort's seat.

  Voort sneered. "Lack of sympathy when I do turn something up might mean a dishonorable discharge."

  "Very well," the commissaris said. "All right, do a good job, you two. No mercy. Let's have a good game. What if I win?"

  The chief constable stood in front of the door. His lips trembled and his eyes bulged. "You won't, I swear you won't. Not after this."

  The commissaris turned his back to Voort. "The Porsche?" he whispered loudly. "The blonde photo model? My insinuations didn't upset you, I hope?" The commissaris stepped closer, smiling up at his much taller opponent. "Don't get nervous this early in the game."

  The chief constable stepped aside. "Get out."

  " 'Bye," the commissaris said. He didn't look around when the door banged behind him.

  "Well?" Miss Antoinette asked when he came back to his room.

  "I'm off duty." He switched on the faucet of a small basin in the corner of the room, and beckoned her close.

  "Oh, no," Miss Antoinette quavered. "I don't want to lose you."

  "Just for a little while." He nodded. "So far, so good. Look after Halba for me."

  "That miserable man?"

  "Only a little," the commissaris said. "Keep an eye on the chief constable too, and on Paul Voort, my colleague from State Detection." He pocketed the case of cigars that she had picked up from his desk. "Thank you, dear." He took his gun from the drawer of his desk and locked it away in the safe hidden by the gold-framed portrait of the antique constabulary officer. "Won't need that, I think. Wouldn't do to shoot anyone when I'm off duty. Now, dear, you might have some time off every now and then, with me not here. We could meet." He pointed at a map of Amsterdam. "Here, I'll show you. Over there."

  "On the—"

  He put his hand to his lips. "Right. Do you know how to get there?"

  "Yes."

  He held her by the hand and walked back to the running faucet.

  "Every morning at ten? If you can't make that, at four in the afternoon will be fine. You might be followed. Can't have that. Put on a bright raincoat, then take it off somewhere. Change trams."

  "Yes." She smiled. "Yes, sir."

  "You can trust Grijpstra, de Gier, and Cardozo," the commissaris said. "No one else. If you're followed too much you can reach me by letter at the cafe on the island, or you can talk to my wife. She goes shopping after lunch. Meet her in the grocery store around the corner from my house."

  "How exciting," Miss Antoinette said. "I love it."

  "It won't be at ten times your regular pay," the commissaris said sadly.

  "But can I wear a split skirt?"

  The commissaris took his time washing his hands.

  "Please? I'd like to be a vamp for a good cause."

  "We'll see."

  "Please?"

  "All right, all right." The commissaris looked around the room, nodding at the begonias and the potted palm next to his desk.

  "You will be back here?"

  He sighed. "Yes, dear. I think I will, but this will test my talents. I may be a babbling wreck when I come back. My habits are strong by now." He shook his head. "To reverse them ..."

  She kissed his cheek. "Be ruthless. We'll all help."

  "Yes." He opened the door. "See you, Miss Antoinette."

  \\ 13 /////

  "THIS IS MRS. JONGS," THE COMMISSARIS'S WIFE said. "She'll be staying with us for a while. Remember? Adjutant Grijpstra phoned late last night, saying that he might bring a guest?"

  "I heard all about your predicament, Mrs. Jongs," the commissaris said, shaking the old woman's hand gently. "I hope you'll be comfortable here."

  Mrs. Jongs rattled her dentures. "I don't bother you?"

  "Not at all." He touched her stooped shoulder. "Our pleasure entirely." He smiled at the worried look on Mrs. Jongs's crinkled face. "We'll soon have you home again. In the meantime, please enjoy your stay with us."

  "I cooks," Mrs. Jongs said, "and I cleans."

  "We're cooking now," the commissaris's wife said. "Your favorite lunch. Veal ragout and rice. Mrs. Jongs is tossing the salad. She has been talking to Turtle in the garden."

  "Good turtle," Mrs. Jongs said. She picked up an object from the hat rack in the hallway. "I brought Mouse."

  "Isn't he wonderful?" the commissaris's wife asked. "Mouse is Mrs. Jongs's pet. Ds Gier thought she might be lonely without him. He and Grijpstra are waiting for you in your study."

  "He ain't real," Mrs. Jongs said. "Real Mouse squashes under a truck. Cahcarl copies Mouse. Good, ain't he now?"

  The commissaris admired the wooden dog. "Excellent animal, Mrs. Jongs. Cahcarl, eh? Friend of yours?"

  "Oh, yes," Mrs. Jongs said, "oh, yes."

  The commissaris climbed the stairs, impatiently pulling his right leg along. "The pain isn't worse, is it?" his wife asked. "Please, Jan, don't strain yourself now. You were so relaxed after Bad Gastein."

  "Bah," the commissaris said from halfway up the stairs. "I feel better now."

  Grijpstra and de Gier stood up as he entered his study. "Sorry, sir," Grijpstra said, "but Huip Fernandus and Heul have been released already, due to shortage of cells, and we can't have them harming the old dame."

  "Your wife said it's all right," de Gier said. "I thought of taking Mrs. Jongs to my apartment, but, as subject is rather nervous and may need care ..."

  "Yes. Yes, Sergeant." The commissaris checked his watch. "Twelve o'clock seems slow coming today. I would like my first cigar of the day now. So tell me more. I'm sorry I was so abrupt on the phone last night, but I'm almost sure my line is tapped. Let's have a full report."

  De Gier spoke for a while.

  "I see," the commissaris said. "That's good. A full frontal attack on Fernandus's fortress, resulting in the arrest of his son and confiscation of valuable instruments and a fair quantity of soft drugs. The initiative is ours this time. Isn't it pleasant to go all out? Do sit down, Sergeant. No, Grijpstra, that's my seat. Try the rocking chair, it's comfortable too. What's our
gain so far?"

  "Harassment of a helpless old lady," Grijpstra said. "That's about all the charge boils down to, but the prosecutor was impressed. It was the details in our report that got to him. Loudspeakers screwed against Mrs. Jongs's floor, the broken antique plates, the suspects mentioning their important fathers. I had a photo crew over this morning; the pictures they came up with are nice and sharp. We even have the shards of the plates. Mrs. Jongs had been trying to glue them together."

  "The hashish won't stick," de Gier said. "It was found in a building belonging to the Society, with free access to all members. Suspects claim they didn't know they had two and a half kilos under the floor. The bribery attempt is no good either. They're both first offenders."

  "Did you get Heul's father to Headquarters?" the commissaris asked. "Heul Senior is a prominent member of the Socialist Party."

  Grijpstra grinned. "Yes, sir, and he was interviewed by a reporter. Kowsky of the Courier, best man we could find."

  "That'll be front-page news, then." The commissaris nodded. "Heul Senior has helped to subsidize the Society. Thanks to him, we have all these canteens in town that sell drugs to the young." He shook his head. "Silliest system I've ever heard about. We drug our own youth at a tax-free profit that supposedly goes to the needy abroad but is retained here to finance luxuries for the rich. And we subsidize the stupidity out of our wages. How did Councilman Heul take the confrontation?"

  "Smoothly," de Gier said. "He took Kowsky over to the Society's club for a drink afterward."

  "That wasn't so clever." The commissaris checked his watch again. "Kowsky will write that visit up too. He'd rather be in with us or he won't get nice news. Is it in the paper yet?"

  De Gier shook his head. "I phoned Kowsky this morning. He got very drunk at the club. Tomorrow, maybe."

  "Hmm," Grijpstra said.

  "You don't trust Kowsky, Adjutant?"

  "No, sir."

  "Is there anyone you trust?" de Gier asked.

  Grijpstra was busy lighting a cigar. The commissaris looked at his watch again. "You can trust me," the commissaris said lightly. "I'm a good guy. I'm ready to admit that now. I find myself very committed to our present cause. Too much, perhaps."

  "How so, sir?" de Gier asked.

  "Well..." The commissaris hesitated. He pointed to the ceiling. "I always fancied myself to be up there, Sergeant. Floating, you might say, free from any petty cause whatever."

  "Detached?" Grijpstra asked, looking at a photograph of the commissaris as a young uniformed police officer, riding a horse.

  "I don't like that word anymore," the commissaris said, "and I don't like the way you say it, either, Adjutant. But you're right. So, let's see. A fine for Huip and Heul, they lose their musical instruments and electronic equipment, and they'll maybe get a few weeks suspended. The courts are still holding up. I'm glad our judges are appointed for life at maximal pay. To keep them out of temptation helps during a bad period such as we're having these days. I'm interested in Mrs. Jongs now. She saw IJsbreker's frequent partying and she connects the junkies to the disappearance of the dead man's treasure. A definite lead there."

  "Yes," de Gier said.

  "Very flimsy," Grijpstra said. "While the photographers were busy in her house, I asked around the neighborhood. Mrs. Jongs is known as one of the local loonies. Her pimpish husband must have beaten a lot of sense out of her. It wouldn't do to drag her into court."

  "A lead for us, I mean," the commissaris said. "So far, we've only thought up a connection, but now we have someone from the area who confirms that the unfortunate girl and her afflicted friends were guilty of breaking and entering before. Who is Cahcarl?"

  "The fourth junkie," Grijpstra said, "who is not on heroin, and therefore did not die of an overdose."

  "The maker of Mouse." The commissaris checked his watch again. "Ha. Five more minutes. So our spastic stutterer created the rhino's head. Did you notice the similarity in technique? You have the head, Grijpstra, maybe you can bring it here sometime. Those two artworks link the suspect to his dead friends and to Mrs. Jongs. You haven't seen the artist yet?"

  "The Overtoom is a long street," de Gier said. "We don't have a number. I wanted to go there now and make some inquiries in the stores. Cahcarl must be very noticeable. Do we arrest subject when we find him, sir?"

  "No." The commissaris put his tin of cigars on his lap and held his hand poised over it. "No, we have to think of Halba too. I won't have the chief inspector interrogating any of our suspects in this case."

  "That boy is in danger," Grijpstra said. "They killed his associates. Cahcarl must know where the loot from IJsbreker's house went and who supplied the lethal heroin that paid for the theft."

  "I'd like to get to know Cahcarl," the commissaris said. "Bring him over here. Katrien likes to take care of the weak. She has taken care of me for forty years. Ha!" He lit a cigar, closed his eyes, and sucked smoke luxuriously. "Ha."

  "How long will you keep this up, sir?" de Gier asked.

  The commissaris smiled. "An excellent cigar indeed. What's that, Sergeant? Oh, I see. I'll be good in the mornings and bad in the afternoons and evenings. Symbolic, don't you think? Now, I have some news for you, I've been released from my duties for the duration of an investigation that centers on my career."

  Grijpstra coughed. De Gier reached over and slapped Grijpstra's back. "They started on you?" Grijpstra asked between coughs.

  "Of course," the commissaris said, daintily waving his cigar about. "I never expected otherwise. Once types like Halba become powerful in the force, types like me have to go. But this present activity suits me, Adjutant. When the law is twisted, I can't do much legally."

  "Heh heh," de Gier said. "I've been waiting for this."

  "Easy," Grijpstra said.

  "Yes, easy, Sergeant." The commissaris nodded. "You aren't off the leash yet. We'll lengthen the rope but you'll still be pulled up short if you want to practice the martial arts too much."

  "Heh heh." De Gier put his hands on his knees and smiled at Grijpstra.

  "No," Grijpstra said.

  "Released from my duties," the commissaris said. "Isn't 'release' a lovely expression? I still have duties, of course, but I can define them myself now. My self-inflicted duty now is the destruction of the Society for Help Abroad. Adjutant? What do we do next?"

  "Lean on Heul," Grijpstra said. "He's the weakest link in their chain. I had a good look at Heul last night. If we can get him away from Huip Fernandus, Heul might confess to having supplied the dope to the junkies. We could waive that and have him implicate young Fernandus. Fernandus is tougher, but if we break him we have the leader's only son."

  "They aren't weak enough yet," de Gier said. "Let's raid the club first. Illegally, of course."

  "There you go already," Grijpstra said.

  "Don't you want us to go?" de Gier asked the commissaris. "Karate and Ketchup would like to be in on the raid. Their sergeant is bought by the Society, so they can only hunt the Society's competition. This sergeant owns a high-priced sailboat on the Vinker Lakes. That's where the motel is."

  "The motel," the commissaris said. "That would be the private country club where all rooms are continuously reserved for Society members? That muckraking magazine my wife cherishes mentioned the motel."

  "The motel is protected by the local police," de Gier said. "We can raid it later."

  "Raid," Grijpstra grunted. "What raid? You mean we burn the place down? Have charred bodies on our hands? Are you crazy?"

  De Gier dropped his voice to a persuasive level. "Just rob the club a little, Adjutant. Annoy the opposition. Show them they aren't as safe as they'd like to be. They can't officially complain, for the reporters would swoop down and write about their illegal activities. Two illegals cancel each other out."

  "Sir?" Grijpstra asked.

  "Yes, Adjutant." The commissaris looked over Grijpstra's head. "I was thinking about Karate and Ketchup. Courageous little daredevils, are they not? They
've been promoted to detectives, I hear. Can we trust them, do you think?"

  "Grijpstra doesn't trust anybody," de Gier said.

  Grijpstra scratched his badly shaven chin. "We could use them a little. They've been helpful so far. Pointed out that you're followed by a State Detection Corvette. Karate and Ketchup have got good eyes. Told us about Cardozo, too."

  "Cardozo?" the commissaris asked. "Yes, de Gier mentioned that just now. Cardozo seems to be out on his own somewhere. Did you go to that address in Mad Nun's Alley?"

  "Not yet, sir," de Gier said. "I think Cardozo wants to impress us. He'll show up in his own time."

  "We could use an inside contact in the club," Grijpstra said.

  "Oh, my," the commissaris said. "Oh, my."

  "You've got someone in mind, sir?"

  The commissaris looked at de Gier. "Oh, dear. Another decision. I have to consider morals again. Should I ask Katrien?"

  "Beg pardon, sir?"

  "Never mind," the commissaris said. "I'll work this out. Why don't you try and get hold of Cahcarl, meanwhile? Even if we can't use him as a witness, it'll worry Fernandus once he knows that Cahcarl is in our custody. I think I'd like to talk to subject. Just pick him up and bring him over. He could enjoy protective custody at my place too. What do you think?"

  "Then what, sir?"

  "Then you take a break," the commissaris said. "Drive along the Amstel River a bit. Check with me later. Stay away from the phone. If I'm not home, I'll pick up messages at Bert's place on the island." He got up. "Away with you now."

  \\ 14 /////

  "HOW?" DE GlER ASKED. "BY BEING THE POLICE. We can find anybody."

  "Shuhure," Carl said, beckoning the adjutant and the sergeant into his loft. "If they're spahastic."

  "Okay," Grijpstra said. "It was easy, Mrs. Jongs gave us the name of your street. We just asked around the neighborhood. Nice place you have here."