Hard Rain (21 page)

"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 physical. 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 /////

"A
LWAYS 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 unlimited 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."

"Mr. Wang," Grijpstra said. "There's a Chinese for you. He owns a restaurant in Bolsward. The commissaris likes Mr. Wang. They meet from time to time. Tell Voort to see Wang."

"Thanks," Sergeant Biersma said. "That's good. We finally came up with something. How do we know about Wang?"

"Because I told you," Grijpstra said. "You tricked me. I'm stodgy and stupid. I've got that reputation in the force."

"More eel?" Sergeant Biersma asked.

Grijpstra burped.

"No more eel," Constable Ramsau said. "A dessert? Two pounds of fat eel slithering around in half a gallon of whipped cream, and a heavy pie crust to press the mixture down?"

"No, thanks." Grijpstra stood up. "I may have a little job for you. Sergeant de Gier and I had an accident a little farther along on this dike, and we vaguely remember a woman who called an ambulance. I'd like to see her, but I don't know what house she came from. There are several houses in the area where we got hurt. We also vaguely recall a truck loaded with tarpaper stuck halfway on the dike's shoulder. We hit a heavy green car that got away, with a bearded type at the wheel, wearing a duckbilled cap. Would you help me by going from door to door? Anything you turn up will be of value."