"You don't have a good time yourself," the commissaris said. "I refuse to believe it. You repress your true nature. It must burp up all the time. Do you see a psychiatrist at all?"
Fernandus stared, biting his finger.
"See?" the commissaris asked. "What's your complaint? Can't sleep? Short of breath? Feel like you're suffocating at times? You're not really a devil, Willem, you're a good man hiding behind a demonic mask."
"Have you seen your secretary lately?" Fernandus asked.
The commissaris shook his head. "I don't go to the office."
"I see her."
"Good for you."
"Maybe I'll do away with her," Fernandus said. "I do kill people, you know."
"Right," the commissaris said. "My offer still stands. I'm about to grab you, Willem. I may have boasted a little when I spoke to you earlier, but now that I'm in pursuit, I'm surprised how easy it all is. Criminals are always careless. There are so many holes around you that I'm surprised you're still around. Do away with the Society and the Banque du Credit—I mean total liquidation, with your share of the funds transferred to some needy foreign organization—and confess to some misdeed that will get you into jail for three years. If you do that, I don't go any further. I won't say this again. Refuse and you'll be destroyed. Ruthlessly, I'm afraid. There's no way I can protect you if you won't surrender now."
A spasm, starting at the corners of his mouth, made Fernandus's cheeks tremble. His hands shook. "Tom?" the commissaris called. "Could you bring another glass of water, please?"
Fernandus drank the water. The glass rattled against his teeth.
"Feel better now?" the commissaris asked. "Oh, by the way, I brought you something." He looked through his wallet. "Hope I didn't leave it home . . . no, here it is, you can keep it."
Fernandus pushed the piece of paper away. His hand still shook. "I'll tell you what it is," the commissaris said. "Remember the money that was taken from your club? This is proof that all that cash—a bit more, actually, I included the winnings of my men; after all, we did have a pleasant time at your establishment— now then, this document proves that all the money was transferred to a fund in Calcutta, run by a nun. I hope that organization is honest; we never know, of course, but Katrien thinks it is. The nun, apparently, is concerned with the poor, starving in the streets of her city. She provides housing, food, medical care, and spiritual comfort. I don't know about spiritual comfort, not being religious myself, but I don't think your donation can hurt."
"Listen," Fernandus said, "listen . . ."
"No," the commissaris said. "Your Society was set up to provide help abroad. Now don't bother me any further, Willem. I don't enjoy your company in your present state, and don't blame me if the process of destroying you will be painful to you." He got up. The waiter opened the door. " 'Bye, Tom," the commissaris said, handing him money. "Thank your wife for the pie."
\\ 25 /////
"JAN?" THE COMMISSARIS'S WIFE WHISPERED. "JAN? Jan?"
He grunted.
"Turn over. You're squeaking. You're having a bad dream."
He turned over. The dream continued. The commissaris sat on Miss Antoinette's lap, or Miss Bakker's lap, they were both the same woman. The woman kissed him and her finger tickled his stomach. "Poor little Jannie," the woman said. She was very beautiful and he reached out to touch her full standing breasts. It was very hot in kindergarten, nobody wore any clothes. "Poor little Jannie," the woman whispered. "Never mind, dear. Nasty Willem is to blame, he told you that I said you could watch the mice, didn't he? And then he told me that you were watching the mice without permission. I'm sorry, I know it now. It was all Willem's fault."
The mice had come out of the terrarium and were dancing around the schoolroom, wearing pointed paper hats. One had Chief Inspector Halba's overbite and another wore a blazer and slacks, like Commissaris Voort. A chief constable mouse tried to climb the woman's leg but she managed to kick it off. Little Willem Fernandus was being whipped in a corner, by Adjutant Grijpstra, who impassively made his leather thong swoosh. De Gier looked out of a window. His eyes twitched every time the whip struck Willem's little pink bottom.
A bell rang and the dream began to shred but the commissaris was still holding on to the woman's breast, which had turned green and very soft, a pasty mass that began to pour over his body and was getting into his mouth. "Lobster feces," a voice boomed. "Please don't consume this substance. We'll speak to the cook."
"Jan? Jan?"
"Yes," the commissaris said.
"Telephone. It's been ringing for a while. Are you going down?"
The telephone had stopped by the time the commissaris got to it, but started up again when he was halfway up the stairs. His leg hurt and he dragged it down the steps once more. "Yes?"
"Sir? De Gier. Could you come over to Wilhelmina Hospital? I can't pick you up. Your car is being dusted for fingerprints right now."
"Anyone hurt?"
"Two," de Gier said. "Heul and Celine. Halba couldn't be reached, but Chief Inspector Rood is here. He'll send over a patrol car."
"I see," the commissaris said. "I see. But I have Carl and Mrs. Jongs here, and Katrien of course."
"I have phoned Grijpstra, sir, he's on his way to you. You want Cardozo too?"
"Yes," the commissaris said. "It'll make Katrien feel better. All right, Rinus, I'll get dressed."
A half hour later the commissaris walked over to the hospital's reception desk and was guided to a room by a young nurse. De Gier opened the door. "Celine just died, sir. Heul's in a deep coma. He won't make it, the doctor says."
"Let's see him."
The thin body on a table gurgled and snored. A young man in a white coat watched the patient. "Heavy overdose, I've seen a lot of them now. The needle was still in his arm. Heroin, I'm sure, but the laboratory will confirm that tomorrow. We're short of staff tonight."
"An addict?" the commissaris asked.
The doctor shook his head. "Not of heroin. I checked his nose and I would say the patient has used a lot of cocaine, but there are no marks on the arms or anywhere else on the body. May have been his first try."
"Where did you find him?" the commissaris asked de Gier.
"In your car, sir, parked in front of my apartment building. About an hour ago. The door lock was broken. Heul was slumped over the wheel."
The commissaris looked at his watch. "Where were you going at three o'clock in the morning?"
"I had a call, sir. The police found Celine in the street, next to a crushed bicycle. She was still alive and mentioned my name. A witness saw her being run down by a black car."
"Mrs. Guldemeester was on her way to you?"
"So it seems." De Gier swayed. "Whoa," the doctor said. "Sit down." He slapped de Gier's face lightly. "Hold it now." The commissaris shook de Gier by the shoulders. "Hello?"
"Yes," de Gier said. "Sorry. I'm here. Rather a lot of blood. Her chest is caved in. According to the witness the car hit her twice. The second time it reversed."
"A lot of internal damage," the doctor said. "Horrible, blood coming from the mouth. I don't understand this very well. What was the lady doing on a bicycle at that time of the night? She was very well dressed. Drunk perhaps? I did smell alcohol."
"I'd like to see her," the commissaris said.
Heul's labored breath was slowing down as de Gier and the commissaris left the room. "Wait here," the commissaris said in the corridor.
Celine's body was in the room next door. The commissaris observed the corpse in silence. The head was twisted to the side, and an arm dangled off the stretcher. Celine's mouth hung open and her eyes stared past the commissaris. "Yes," the commissaris said. "Sure. Could be my fault, you know." He touched his chest and bowed. "Have a good journey."
"Funny," he said when he joined de Gier in the corridor again. "I always think that they've gone somewhere when I see dead bodies. I feel pleased for them. They're out of this. Life's rather a mess, very unreal. All this pai
n here can't be seriously meant. Whatever comes later must be a lot better. Surely it'll have to be made up to us. A bad break here, and then a holiday somewhere. There's no proof of that, of course."
"Sir?" de Gier said, holding on to a wall.
"Here, hold my arm." The commissaris and de Gier shuffled along. Farther along the corridor, a middle-aged man in a striped suit that bulged around his paunch was making notes on a pad. "Rood?" the commissaris said.
The man looked up. "Hello, sir. Sorry to disturb you about this, but both bodies are known to you, I hear. What do you think happened?"
"A continuation of the IJsbreker case," the commissaris said.
"Which was closed?"
"Yes, Chief Inspector, and reopened by me. Male subject, Heul, was going to implicate others and must have been liquidated before we delved too deeply, and I think the same goes for the lady. A shot was fired into my garden this afternoon intended to hit my pet turtle. We have reason to believe that Celine Guldemeester was forced somehow to accompany the rifleman. Perhaps she wanted to tell us about that. She liked de Gier."
"And she was on her way to the sergeant's apartment," Rood said. "There is no simpler explanation? An affair? A jealous lover?"
"The suspect I have in mind could be gay," the commissaris said.
Rood pocketed his note pad. "I'd better stay out of this, then. You're in charge of this case."
"I'm off duty," the commissaris said.
Rood shook his head. "You're not, you know. Haven't you been told? State Detection could find nothing on you. Me and some others have been exercising pressure on our dimwit chief. You're back in business, sir." He tapped de Gier on the shoulder. "You too, Sergeant. You're feeling okay? Bit pale around the nose? Too much blood for your taste?"
"Just tired," de Gier said. "Forgot to eat tonight. A bit busy."
"I shouldn't be here at all," Chief Inspector Rood said. "Halba's job, really. Seems he doesn't sleep at home much. That's another rotten apple, sir; isn't he due for a transfer? The farther the better."
"I'll be going home," the commissaris said. "Why don't you take care of the report? Would you mind doing that?"
"Overdose and accident, sir?"
"Let's leave it at that for now. No use alerting the papers. Keep it quiet, Chief Inspector."
"Sir," Rood said. "Your car is in the yard."
\\ 26 /////
TURTLE, HANGING FROM THE COMMISSARIS'S HAND, had come out as far as he could, rowing his legs and extending his scaly neck. He peered up at the commissaris's face with hooded eyes. "They thought they got you yesterday, Turtle," the commissaris said. "A good mistake. You think it's my turn now to make a good mistake?" His wife put down his coffee on the little table on the porch. She scratched Turtle's head. "Silly thing. You think he thinks, Jan? Carl's version looks very thoughtful. He's patched him up. Carl's making Noah's Ark now, using the piaster animals from your toy zoo. I said it was all right."
The commissaris stirred his coffee. "My zoo. I used to play a lot with that, trying to figure out what animals could be put together in one cage. I was always short of cages. The lion and the lamb, but that doesn't work so well. Another biblical tale that I could never accept."
"Is that why the lamb is red? You dipped it in paint?"
"And broke off its head," the commissaris said, "but I glued it back on later. Noah's Ark? Very applicable, don't you think? We do have a strangely assorted collection of creatures in the house now."
"You mean Carl and Mrs. Jongs? They get on very well. Mrs. Jongs is cleaning out the hall closet today, throwing out a lot. That's where Carl got the scraps he's using for the ark."
"We'll be adding to our collection today," the commissaris said. "Grijpstra is picking up Miss Antoinette. I think we'll have to place her in safekeeping too. Fernandus was grumbling about her yesterday. I didn't like that."
"Your mistress?" his wife asked. "You want your mistress to stay with us?"
"She isn't my mistress." The commissaris held his wife's hand. "She's my spy, risking her life for our good cause."
"No, Jan, I won't have her here. Such a smart-looking woman, she always makes me feel old and ugly. Don't do this to me."
"Yes," the commissaris said. "I have to. It won't be for long. You're eternally young, Katrien. I can see that clearly. Age has brought out your grace. Just the way you move ..." He stroked her arm. "And your hair is so beautiful now, pure silver. Young women aren't quite formed, mentally I mean. They make desirable impressions, but the attraction doesn't last."
"That's what I think when I watch you," his wife said. "I like you better than in the early years. Your presence keeps improving."
"Same with all of us," the commissaris said. "If we evolve properly, of course. Fernandus looks much worse now." He looked up. "I thought he was going to have some heart trouble yesterday."
"So how long is Miss Antoinette going to stay, Jan? I may tear her to ribbons. We're incompatible animals if you lock us together."
The commissaris thought.
"Well?"
"You know what you could do?" the commissaris asked. "Link her to Carl. Give her the other room in the attic, they'll be next door. They should be good for each other. Miss Antoinette is always complaining about loneliness, and Carl could use some affection, I think. It may interest her to see what Carl does with his life. They would make a great pair."
"You amuse me," his wife said. "Why don't you grow your hair and wear a long dress and I'll play Beethoven's Fifth on the record player while you arrange the fate of little people?"
"I'll be divine?" the commissaris asked. "What's wrong with arranging a liaison between Miss Antoinette and Carl? I tell you, it'll work out well. Miss Antoinette's lights are lit when she's with handicapped men. I'm a bit of an invalid, too, and Fernandus suffers from evil. Carl is young and handsome, in spite of his affliction."
"Yes, he is," his wife said. "I find him attractive."
"You can't have Carl," the commissaris said. "You have me. Give Carl away. Has Cardozo gone home?"
"Cardozo is very restless." She caressed his shoulders. "A young man picked him up here this afternoon. I think Cardozo called him Izzy. What's Cardozo working on?"
"On our case, I hope." The commissaris stood up. "He asked me if he could bring his computer up here, and I told him yes; I hope you don't mind. He'll also bring a friend, maybe the fellow you mentioned just now. They're going to arrange a demonstration."
She turned to the door. "Not at all, dear. I suppose they'll all stay to dinner. Have you invited Grijpstra and de Gier too? And those two rough young men who swear a lot? And your State Detection friends, the painted horrors?"
"They'll all come later," the commissaris said. "We're having a meeting tonight. Tomorrow we move in for the kill."
"On Sunday?"
"The day of the Lord of Vengeance," the commissaris said.
She looked away.
"What's wrong?"
"Never mind," she said. "Mrs. Jongs and I will bake more cakes."
"What's wrong? Do tell me."
"I don't like it," his wife said, "when you talk about revenge. It hurts me. You should be above all that. You just want to destroy Willem Fernandus, you were talking about him in your sleep again. I've never seen you so upset, thrashing about, kicking me, snoring, mumbling."
"It's got to be done, dear."
"Why?"
"It's my job," the commissaris said triumphantly.
"But you're relieved, Jan, you don't have a job."
"I got it back last night."
"Oh, dear," said the commissaris's wife. "Aren't you clever? I do wish you'd take the trouble to find out what you're really trying to do." She leaned over to kiss him. "You busy little bumbler."
\\ 27 /////
IT WAS A REGULAR DUTCH SUMMER, WITH HEAVY rain and fog, but that Sunday afternoon the sun broke out. The commissaris sat quietly in the passenger seat of his Citroen, steered by de Gier on its way to the Vinker Lakes. T
hey had avoided the speedway and were following a country road paved with red bricks and lined on one side with tali poplars, protecting fertile fields. Brown sails topped the dike, moving slowly, cracking when the invisible flat-bottomed vessels that carried them went through the wind. Swans and white ducks moved about in the tall grass, and a cormorant flapped by, struggling with a large eel that had wound itself around its beak.
"So pleasant," the commissaris said. "I wonder why we can't just enjoy ourselves on this planet of plenty, but we keep banging each other in the head. We've raised the defense budget again, I hear."
"We're warriors, too," de Gier said. "We'd get bored if we didn't live in peril."
"Oh, come now, Sergeant, you faint when you see blood."
"Makes it more fun," de Gier said. "The controversy within. Maybe that's why I joined the police, to overcome my fear. I'm going to get him, sir."
"The baron?" the commissaris asked.
De Gier stared straight ahead. "I know you won't let me, but I'll arrange the showdown discreetly. I feel better about it now that he has murdered Celine."
"You can't be sure, Sergeant. All we know is that the killer drove a black car. Does de la Faille drive a black vehicle, perhaps?"
"A black Porsche, sir, Cardozo checked on the computer."
"Yes," the commissaris said. "Very clever, these technical wonders. But if Cardozo and that expert friend of his can break into the police system through a computer that's hooked up to my phone, then anyone else has access to our files too. That's rather frightening, I think."
De Gier cursed as an open sports car overtook the Citroen, blowing its horn. "Ryder, sir. Did you see him? That fat blob? In a Ferrari?"
The commissaris nodded. "Not a sympathetic man, but speeding toward his death. We'll have to prevent that killing, Rinus. I thought about it. It would be tempting to let young Fernandus press his button to strengthen our charge, but there's been enough murder for now. Ridiculous. We've had six corpses so far, all because of a weakening in the Murder Brigade."
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