"Marbella? Isn't that on the south coast of Spain?"
"The land of the happy," the commissaris said. "The happy and the bored."
Her hand was on his knee again. "You should be careful. Willem said that accidents will happen. Grijpstra and de Gier already had an accident. How are they now?"
"They'll be up and about in a few days," the commissaris said. "Meanwhile, I'll wait. So Willem's nervous, is he? Fear will make him stumble."
"You still plan to raid the club?" Miss Antoinette asked. "Please don't destroy the building, it's so beautiful in there. Day after tomorrow might be good. Fernandus will take me to his other club, at the Vinker Lakes, I haven't been there yet. This other man will take care of the place here, a baron."
"De la Faille?"
"Yes, I met him. He hasn't met any of you yet, so he won't be suspicious."
"Bart met me," the commissaris said, "but he was still a boy then. I could change my appearance somewhat. You think the club will be busy then?"
"Yes," Miss Antoinette said. "I heard Fernandus and de la Faille talk. De la Faille looks like de Gier— he's tall and handsome and sporty and better-mannered than the sergeant, and has the same mustache but darker, and I think he's gay."
"My dear," the commissaris said, "since when is de Gier gay?"
"De la Faille is very gay," Miss Antoinette said. "I felt it in the way Willem introduced me to him. Willem acted as if de la Faille were harmless. Willem is possessive, don't you think?"
"Did Willem ..." The commissaris studied his drink. "... eh, possess you?"
"Yesterday, a little," Miss Antoinette said, "after we had bought the clothes. He bought me other clothes too, sort of old-fashioned, with a high lace collar and a long skirt, and I had to walk around his bedroom and take them off again and he called me 'Miss' and was kind of silly. I don't know what Willem was getting at. He behaved like a little boy."
"Oh, dear," the commissaris said,
"Maybe he's too old to do much," Miss Antoinette said. "Are you too old?"
"Absolutely," the commissaris said. "Miss Antoinette, I'm too old."
"Even to do a little?"
"Too old to do absolutely anything."
"Well," she said, "you could watch."
"Bert," the commissaris shouted, "more alcohol, please." Bert shuffled over and made the jenever jug's silver spout tinkle.
"You don't want to watch?" Miss Antoinette asked.
The commissaris swallowed and shuddered. "You and Willem?"
"Just me?"
"No." The commissaris took out his tin of cigars, looked at it briefly, and put it back in his pocket.
"I have this book of photographs," Miss Antoinette said. "They show men who watch women in expensive hotel rooms. The women sit or stand around, or they lie on antique beds, all calm and relaxed, and the men watch them. The men are always dressed. Sometimes they have their backs to the women but then they look into mirrors, very elegant mirrors, with gold frames, and there are flowers in the room, roses, and the men smoke long cigars and drink cognac, maybe."
The commissaris drank his spiced gin.
"I don't think watching is very fatiguing," Miss Antoinette said, "but it could be exciting, don't you agree? Watch and be watched? You in your nice suit. Hike your tie."
"Oh, dear," the commissaris said. "Katrien bought me this tie. You should be careful with your fantasies, dear. Celine Guldemeester had fantasies too. Living them out might not be as harmless as she thought."
"Yes." She released his knee. "I forgot. I met Celine at the club."
"Is she happy now?" the commissaris asked.
"She was a bit drunk." Miss Antoinette giggled. "Like I am now. I don't like being drunk, but just a little is fun. I wish I could be drunk like this all the time. Celine kept talking about de Gier. She just loves deGier."
"Yes," the commissaris said.
"I don't love deGier."
"No?" the commissaris said. "Why not? Most women seem to like de Gier."
"He's too healthy," Miss Antoinette said. "Healthy men are always so stupid. I only like handicapped men. I don't like men who can do anything they want to do. They don't need me."
"Is that why you like old men?"
"Willem needs me." Miss Antoinette smiled.
"You don't love Willem," the commissaris said. "That's impossible." He looked fierce. "So what else did you and Willem do?"
"Well ..." Miss Antoinette pursed her moist lips and pushed a lock of hair away from her eye. "Not much. When I still had the dress on, he sat on my lap, which was awkward, for he's rather heavy. He kissed me a bit and caressed me, sort of. Rather sneakily, I thought." Her shoulders trembled above the low blouse. "Willem is very sneaky."
"Yes," the commissaris said.
"Would you be sneaky if you sat on my lap? You're not heavy."
"No," the commissaris said. "Not if I was aware that you didn't like that type of activity. Bert? Could I have another, if you please?"
"I didn't altogether dislike it," Miss Antoinette said. "I'm sometimes sneaky myself. And then we had a bath."
"Together?"
"Yes." She laughed. "In a sunken tub. Enormous, black marble, and the water swirled, and we were both admirals and we had fleets of nutshells."
The commissaris looked around. Bert had poured the jenever but seemed now lost in thought. "I'll get it." Miss Antoinette pranced past the commissaris. She came back. "You didn't look. I walk differently now. Willem likes that. I sway."
"Willem can look," the commissaris said. "What else happened, dear? Never mind the sex, I think I can visualize that part of your encounter well enough. Any information I can use?"
"At the club," Miss Antoinette said, "Willem and that silly baron who looks just like de Gier talked about a man called Ryder. I met Ryder too. A big fat guy who looks like a frog. Ronnie Ryder."
"The fellow who owns all the clothing stores?"
"Yes," Miss Antoinette said. "Willem explained it to me later, when we were nutshell admirals. I let him win. You've got to make waves, and when a nutshell capsizes, you've lost it."
"Yes," the commissaris said. "I know, but Willem cheats. He throws water in your eyes and then he quickly sinks a few."
"How do you know?" Miss Antoinette said. "Amazing, he kept doing that to me too. But that Ryder fellow cheats too. It seems that Ryder had lost a lot of money when his cheating went wrong, and Willem's bank took over the debts, but all the goods in the stores belong to Willem now. The baron is arranging sales in all the stores and races around to empty the registers, and Ryder doesn't want that."
"Well-known gambit," the commissaris said. "They'll collect all the cash, which is more than whatever Ryder owes the bank now. He'll go bankrupt anyway, and Willem makes a cool million."
"Yes, but Ryder got wise to that. Ryder and Willem were supposed to be close friends, but Ryder knows now that they're shaking him down, so he hired some lawyers and they got quite a bit of cash back for him. Some contract trouble, Willem said. But he still wants the money and now pretends that he and Ronnie are friends again so that Ronnie will come to the club and lose the money at roulette. He's coming every night and they keep allowing him to win. So far, that is."
The commissaris nodded. "Another old trick. When is Ronnie going to lose the lot?"
"Next week, I think," Miss Antoinette said. "I'll let you know. Maybe that's when you should raid the club."
"Yes," the commissaris said. "Exactly. Thank you."
She tittered. "All the money will be on the table. They don't have chips in the club. All the gambling is for cash. It'll be a fortune."
The commissaris checked his watch. "Not yet." He looked again. "No, my watch is slow, I think." He lit a cigar.
Miss Antoinette's slender fingers touched his hand. "Do you know what Celine asked me? If I had left you as well. Celine has a crush on you too."
"On de Gier," the commissaris said.
Miss Antoinette bent farther toward him. "That's physica
l. The part she really loves de Gier took from you." She pulled a lipstick and a mirror from her handbag and busied herself for a while. She looked up. "And Celine feels she has betrayed that part by working for Fernandus. She wants support. If I betrayed you too, she doesn't have to feel too bad." Miss Antoinette dropped her mirror back into her bag. She smiled happily at the commissaris. "But I'm still yours."
"Exaggerations," the commissaris said. "You project more onto me than I could ever be worth. Your father died young?"
"My father is a fool," Miss Antoinette said briskly. "He only believes in work. Dad bores me. I won't even go to his birthday parties anymore." She smiled. "He's not manly."
The commissaris looked furiously at his cigar. "No, dear. De Gier is a real man, he shoots bull's-eyes only, has a black belt in judo, rides motorcycles and whatnot. I never achieved anything in the manly field. I'm just sly." He threw ash from his cigar. "And self-centered. Why can't you see that?"
"If"—Miss Antoinette raised a finger—"if you were sly, there would be a purpose to your slyness. You use whatever comes up and you always use it right." Her hand was on his again. "You fascinate us."
"Tell Katrien," the commissaris said. He grinned. "Now if she would say that." He thought. "Well, she has said it at times." He tipped his cigar carefully into the ashtray. "So Celine likes de Gier?"
"If you ask me," Miss Antoinette said, "Celine joined the Society's club on the chance that de Gier might visit there. She couldn't get him at her home. De Gier is too straitlaced for that, but if he happened to stray into the club she could catch him."
Bert shuffled close, holding the jug. The commissaris held his hand above his glass.
Miss Antoinette laughed. "That Willem. What a pity you weren't there to see it. When he sat on my lap? And was fondling my breasts? You know what he said?"
The commissaris coughed. She waited. "What did he say, dear?" the commissaris said between coughs.
"If Jannie could see me now." Miss Antoinette was laughing again. "Don't you think that's crazy?"
\\ 19 /////
"ALWAYS SOHOMETHING," CARL SAID, TRYING TO bend a ragged shingle, "never mahade a tuhurtle's shehell before."
The commissaris held up the turtle. "Sit still, friend, you're supposed to be a model."
"You can puhut him dohown," Carl said, squatting on the commissaris's back porch. Mrs. Jongs, standing behind the two men, cleaned windows. The commissaris's wife called from inside the house. "Jan, Adjutant Grijpstra is here."
"Hello, Adjutant," the commissaris said, beckoning Grijpstra toward the porch. "How's the head? Still plastered up?"
"He showed me just now," the commissaris's wife said. "There's a big red gash underneath the bandage, with stitches. Poor Grijpstra. I wish de Gier wouldn't drive so recklessly."
"I'm fine, sir." Grijpstra sat down on the bamboo chair that Mrs. Jongs had brought out. "Hello, Mrs. Jongs. Hello, Carl."
"I'm mahaking Tuhurtle," Carl said. "It's nehever eaheasy."
"Turtle has a lot of character," the commissaris said. "Look at the head, Grijpstra." Grijpstra gingerly held the little structure, squinting through half glasses that he extracted from his breast pocket with a flourish. "This is good. What did you use, Carl? Bits of shell on a cork?"
"Carl just broke up a mussel shell," the commissaris's wife said. "Clever, eh? Glued all the little pieces together differently. The shiny parts are the inside of the shell and the gleamy eyes are bits of a toffee wrapper he found in the street."
"Looks just like Turtle's face," Grijpstra said. "Better. Turtle can look pretty silly at times, but his head is kind of thoughtful."
"Carl managed to portray the essence of Turtle's deeper being," the commissaris said. "I envy you chaps your artistry. How are your ducks doing, Grijpstra?"
"Yes," Grijpstra said. "I went home before I came here. Remembering them from the hospital wasn't so good. I thought I had mucked the ducks up, but there's some promise there, if only I could catch that green background. And if I do, the thing probably still needs work. May I borrow your car, sir?"
"Oh, yes," the commissaris's wife said to her husband. "Your car. I forgot to tell you yesterday. Some real strange-looking hulk brought the car back. He was wearing an earring and his lips were made up. He said he found your car near the museum, with the engine still running. Forgot all about that. You and your gallivanting about town all day. You give me bad dreams."
"I had a dream too," the commissaris said. "Something nasty was trying to drown me in a black bath, but I met Carl down there, who was making water sculptures, and Mrs. Jongs ..." He looked away. "Well, never mind Mrs. Jongs."
"I dreams too," Mrs. Jongs said, squirting a blue liquid on the windows behind the porch. "About Bob's lizards. They helps me out. Bob ain't so nice."
"Wahater scuh . . . scuhulptures?" Carl asked, picking up the shingle, which kept slipping from his fingers.
The commissaris's wife caressed Carl's hair. "You're so clever, dear." She stared at her husband. "I'm sure you can make water sculptures too."
"How come State Detection got your car?" Grijpstra asked.
"I was waiting at a traffic light," the commissaris said, "and it just wouldn't change. There was a tram standing next to me, so I left my car and hopped into the tram. The State cops must have happened to come along and they found my car. Very kind of them to bring it back."
"I see," Grijpstra said.
"And how's the sergeant?" the commissaris asked.
"Home," Grijpstra said. "De Gier had his neighbors look after Tabriz and they phoned the hospital to say that Tabriz had been breaking jam jars in the kitchen again, so the sergeant took Nurse home to help him clean up. She has mornings off."
"Oh dear," the commissaris said. "Another intangible. I wanted the sergeant to save his energy."
"For what?" the commissaris's wife asked. "For Miss Antoinette? Because Willem isn't doing much? You think the poor thing is getting all overexcited?"
"Don't be flippant, Katrien," the commissaris said. "All of us are working on a most serious criminal case right now. I need to fit all factors in, for optimal benefit. This is very tricky, Katrien. De Gier has no business with a nurse right now."
"With a beautiful black nurse," his wife said coldly. "You told me about that attractive nurse."
"Do you have Miss Antoinette on Fernandus now, sir?" Grijpstra asked. "Does that work?"
"Too well," the commissaris said. "There are complications there that I can't fathom as yet."
"Poor Jan," his wife said. "I'm going in, I have things to do. Would you like to come in too, Mrs. Jongs, and help me with the lunch?"
"I'll pihick the sahalad," Carl said, "if Tuhurtle hasn't eaheaten it all."
"Is the commissaris going anywhere today?" a tall man asked when Grijpstra walked to the Citroen. "The constable and I are getting bored. We've been here all morning."
"Have we met?" Grijpstra asked.
"Sorry, Adjutant." The man pushed himself free of the tree he had been leaning against. "Sergeant Biersma, State Detection."
Grijpstra shook Biersma's hand. "And you know me?"
"We identified you from a photograph in our file," Biersma said.
"I don't think the commissaris is going out today," Grijpstra said. "I'm off on a little job. Why don't you and your constable come with me? Bit of a change. I'll drop you off here again. It shouldn't take long."
The sergeant whistled. The constable clambered out of the Corvette parked in front of the commissaris's house and stretched his back. "Damn that car, it's too low for me." The constable was tall too. "How are you, Adjutant? The name is Ramsau."
"We're going with the adjutant, Ramsau," the sergeant said. "Can we have lunch, Adjutant? Our treat?"
Grijpstra drove to a small cafiS on the Amstel River, south of the city. They sat on the dock and ate smoked eel on toast. "Expensive," Grijpstra said, "but I don't mind if The Hague is paying. Why are you driving that Corvette? An oversized sportscar from un
limited lazy luxury land? I can spot that vehicle with all my senses switched off."
"Why not?" Sergeant Biersma asked. "It's a crazy assignment anyway. Voort doesn't know his hemorrhoids from dirt in a drain. How can we ever follow a chief of detectives with half a century of experience? You know your commissaris got away again yesterday?"
Grijpstra waved the waiter down for more eel. "Tell me."
The sergeant explained.
"Hoohoo." Grijpstra blew toast crumbs over the table. "Excuse me. Hoohoo."
Constable Ramsau cleaned his face with a napkin. "It's not that funny, Adjutant. We couldn't leave the Citroen blocking traffic in a main thoroughfare, and your chief had left his key in, so I drove the car away. Then I was arrested."
"You shouldn't have left your ID in the hotel," Sergeant Biersma said.
"You shouldn't have left your ID in the hotel, either," Constable Ramsau said. "We had to raise Commissaris Voort to get me out. The local cops thought I was some dumb fag who cruised around in a stolen car."
"Why would they ever think that?" Grijpstra asked. "Hoohoo. Excuse me."
"Yes?" the constable asked, flicking a sliver of eel off his cheek.
"Fashionable these days," Sergeant Biersma said. "All our detectives dress up as the wrong type of fags. Yours do too. We met some in town, driving a Camaro."
"This is very tasty eel," Grijpstra said. "I'll have some more. How's your investigation going?"
"It isn't," Sergeant Biersma said. "Never thought it would. We're running after the wrong man. Commissaris Voort can't find any hidden wealth your chief would be hiding, and there isn't any, I'm sure. We can't find any Chinese."
"Ah," Grijpstra said, taking another plate of eel from the waiter, "Chinese. What do you want with Chinese?"
"Prove our charge," Constable Ramsau said. "The charge is that your chief has been paid off by the Chinese. In your last case, six Chinese got killed and there was heroin everywhere and a Frisian dealer got shot and your team never arrested the killer. So you were paid off, right?"
"Wrong," Grijpstra said. "A cop shot the dealer and then the cop fell off a roof. He wasn't even pushed. We don't arrest cops, you guys arrest cops."
"Don't we ever?" Constable Ramsau said. "I've worked on a dozen cop cases now and I haven't even touched a suspect yet. We chase the wrong cops. Maybe we should chase our chief."
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