Hard Rain (16 page)

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 /////

"H
OW?" 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."

Carl lived in the top-floor loft of a large old house; the loft had its own front door and a steep staircase unbroken by landings. De Gier wandered about the vast space, weaving his way through the statuary that showed up everywhere. "You've been busy. This is great stuff."

"How's Mrs. Johongs?" Carl asked, leaning against a full-sized standing lion that growled near the door. The structure, looking fairly realistic, had been made from slabs, probably leftovers from sawn logs. The animal appeared to smile and had raised its tufted tail in a gesture of jolly eagerness.

"Mrs. Jongs is fine," Grijpstra said. "You may meet her a little later. She's staying with our chief."

"You're aharresting me?" Carl asked.

"No," de Gier said. "We'd like you to come with

139 us, though. Maybe you should take some clothes. We believe you're in danger and would like to ensure your safety."

"Amazing," Grijpstra said, looking at a row of large insect heads, displayed on a wall like hunting trophies. "This must be a mosquito. What are those wavy things coming from the eyes?"

"Not eyeyes," Carl said. "The eyeyes are on top and the si-hides of the hehead, those things are an . . . an . . ." He was bending sideways, contorting his mouth, his elbows jerked backwards, but the word still wouldn't come out.

"Antennae?" Grijpstra asked. "I see. Most expressive. This is some collection."

Carl, dressed in spotless jeans and a short-sleeved striped shirt, took the adjutant to the back of the room, where a microscope had been set on a table painted a meticulous white. A glass box held some dead moths. Carl held up a large magnifying glass. "Vehery beautiful."

"You catch them?"

"The spihider does." Carl pointed at an open window covered with cobwebs. He produced a pair of tweezers and took out a dead fly, steadying his hand with the other. "I hahaven't made a flyhy yet."

De Gier was looking at another table, covered with carpenter's tools, jars of nails, and a pot of glue bubbling on a hot plate. Heaps of broken boards, twigs and dried stalks, odd-shaped rocks and pebbles, flanked the table. "How do you get all this stuff?"

"I fihind it," Carl said. "Keeheeps me busy."

"You on welfare?"

"Noho."

"But you don't do regular work," Grijpstra said.

"This isn't reh-reh-reh . . . gular work?"

"Yeah, sure," Grijpstra said, "this is expressive stuff, really. I envy you your talent." He looked around the huge room again and concentrated on the skeleton of a horse assembled out of material that was probably charred plywood, remnants of a gutted building, perhaps, cut to size by a saber saw; the cadaverous animal seemed to prance in high spirits. The adjutant smiled widely and encompassed all the sculptures and other artful displays in a sweep of his arm. "This is something else again, but you don't make money on it, do you?"

"I dohon't neeheed to."

De Gier brought out a pack of tobacco and offered it to Carl. "Noho thanks, my hahands tremble." Carl found a packet of cigarettes among his tools and lit one. "My fahather sends money."

"That's nice," Grypstra said.

"Noho," Carl said. "Dahad never comes here. Because I'm spahastic."

"And your mother?"

"Noho, she's a Buhuddhist."

"The compassion of the Buddha?" de Gier asked.

"Noho," Carl said. "She lihives in a coh-coh-comm . . ."

"Commune?"

Carl nodded gratefully. "Vehery hoholy." He frowned furiously. "Fuhuck her."

De Gier admired a huge bird, swooping down from the ceiling, with wings made out of black garbage bags and a long beak twisted from sharp wires. "That's my mohother," Carl said. "My fahather's over there." De Gier walked over to the indicated corner. He stepped back when he saw a human figure sitting on a chair.