Hard Rain (15 page)

"Maybe my wife paid for the car," the commissaris said. "I don't remember now. Yes, perhaps she did. She has savings. Always investing in this and that. Likes to dabble in the stock market, Katrien does. Very clever, I'm always amazed. Wait a minute." He scratched his nose. "I may have used my own check after all, I can sign on both accounts. She too, of course. Or did Katrien pay now? Because I paid for her fur coat two years ago? Why do you ask?"

"This is no good," Voort said, crossing out what he had written so far.

The commissaris smiled. "Shall we try your next question?"

Voort turned a page. "Mortgage. Do you have your house mortgaged?"

The commissaris's smile widened. "You'll have to ask Katrien. The house is in her name. You see, that's because of my affairs."

"Affairs?" Voort asked loudly. "With women, you mean?
Other
women?"

"I could explain," the commissaris said.

"Please." Voort narrowed his eyes. "Please do."

"I
could
have affairs," the commissaris said. "My wife and I discussed that possibility many years ago. If I had these possible affairs, she would ask me to leave the house. I can't be asked to leave my own house, so I had the title transferred to her name." The commissaris crossed his legs and studied his well-polished shoe, which moved jerkily at knee height. "Of course, she could have affairs too, in which case I would not ask her to leave the house. Hmmm." He studied his shoe again, as if its rhythmical half-turns surprised him. "Couldn't ask her to leave her own house. Don't you find the ramifications within the concept of marriage complicated, Mr. . . . uh . . ."

"Voort," Voort rumbled. "Paul, to you, if you like. I don't bother with marriage anymore."

The commissaris's pale blue eyes concentrated on the copper buttons of Voort's blazer. He suddenly slapped his forehead. "Paul Voort, the yachtsman, how silly of me! You have this wealthy lady friend who keeps you in boats. Won a prize crossing the Channel, didn't you? And you lost it again because of foul play? What a shame. Poor fellow."

The chief constable spoke loudly. "Now, please."

"Just read it in the paper," the commissaris said to Voort. "I'm not professionally interested. You'd have to commit murder for that, and in Amsterdam, of course." He smiled. "You can operate nationwide? How very convenient for you."

"Let's get back to what we're supposed to be doing here," the chief constable said, waving at Voort, who showed signs of wanting to say something. "So you don't have affairs."

"No," the commissaris said. "But I could, maybe. You know what men are like, especially when they are a little older. How old are you now?"

The chief constable shrugged impatiently. "My age is not under discussion here."

The commissaris adjusted his glasses and peered intently at the chief constable's face. "Early fifties, I would say. That's when we lose confidence, but we gain it at the same time, if we do well in our careers. I know I was sorely tempted at your age. I was thinking, 'Suppose this beautiful blonde photo model comes along, in a Porsche . . .' " He took his spectacles off and pointed them at the chief constable. "You like Porsches, don't you?"

"Just another type of car," the chief constable said.

"Don't know that for sure," the commissaris said. "No, there's perhaps a special glamour there. To me, the Porsche has a female shape. Now suppose that type of car is driven by a luscious human female and I could ask her to ride me around town, do a few night spots, show her off a bit. Say she admits to a tendency to love older, powerful men—and we are powerful in a way, highly placed police officers do wield a certain clout—yes, I might be tempted. Wouldn't you?"

"Excuse me," Voort said.

"You're excused." The commissaris waved invitingly. "Next question, please."

"Has your house been remodeled?" Voort asked in a threatening bass voice.

"Oh boy," the commissaris said. "Oh boy. You got me there. I do believe it was. Windows painted, ceilings fixed up, water pipes ripped out of the walls and replaced, a new porch in the back. Katrien thought I didn't notice."

"But you paid for the repairs?"

"Not that I know of." The commissaris replaced his spectacles, taking his time. "No, sir. It was meant as a surprise, you see, so I think I was only supposed to notice when the job was done. Bills would surprise me ahead of time. But there won't be any bills, I'm sure."

"Because someone is presenting you with surprises?" Voort rumbled.

"I think it's Katrien again," the commissaris said, "paying in cash. You know that all—well, let's say most—workers in the building trades are unemployed these days. So they're on welfare. Welfare doesn't pay for their cars and other necessities. So they work anyway, for cash. You don't deal with these problems in The Hague?"

"But where does your wife get the cash?"

"I wonder," the commissaris said. "She has private investments, as I said. You could ask her. Can you ask her?"

"I certainly can," Voort said, peering at his notebook.

"Yes, but does she have to answer?" The commissaris shook his head. "I'm in murder myself, and you're now investigating fraud, but I rather think the same rules apply. You need a serious suspicion. Wouldn't you have to convince a public prosecutor first? You might possibly need some proof before I could be ordered to show my private papers. It isn't as if Katrien and I are flaunting our vast wealth. I do think I could afford to buy a car and have my house remodeled on my after-tax salary—once in a good while, of course, and it has been a while since I spent money on such necessities. And Katrien, well, she did inherit a bit from her parents. Only daughter, you know. Let's have the next question."

"Second house," Voort rumbled.

"Yes," the commissaris said, "I own a vacation home."

"Where?"

"Suppose I won't tell you," the commissaris said. "Do I have to tell you?"

Voort poked his pen at a gold-capped front tooth.

"I don't have to tell you," the commissaris said. "Same thing again. You need a serious suspicion, then you can drag me to a judge. If I still refuse, you could charge me with hiding evidence. This is a game, isn't it?" He looked at the chief constable. "You said that just now. Let's see if State Detection can locate my summer cottage. Might not be so easy. Houses are registered by town. There are a lot of towns in the country." The commissaris rearranged his legs and examined his other shoe. "I could give you a clue. It isn't really a house, it's more like a small trailer, or rather it was when I last saw it. I haven't been there for a while. Katrien wants to sell it. You could ask Katrien, of course, but there we go again—she doesn't have to answer you. May I use the phone?"

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 /////

"T
HIS 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."