Hard Rain (25 page)

"The sergeant hardly ever sees movies."

Grijpstra gestured. "Or he reads too much. Novels with happy endings. There aren't any happy endings. What really happens is that it all goes on. So he gets the baron, so what? He'll also get a lot of trouble."

"We'll have to get the baron," Cardozo said. "Him and Fernandus. They're the killers we're after."

"No proof."

"The baron shot IJsbreker," Cardozo said. "De la Faille must have been an officer with some crack outfit in the army, so he's probably a good shot. Set up a rifle in that house over there, in the part occupied by Huip and Heul, second floor. It couldn't have been anywhere else. We're not after proper evidence. The case won't go to court. None of us have any authority now. The authorities are all against us."

"Yes, yes," Grijpstra said as he wiped the fogged-up windshield. "So?"

"So? Last night's raid was illegal, right? If we arrest Heul now, that'll be illegal too. We can only pretend, try to shake the bad guys into tripping themselves up. Aren't we setting them up? For some accident, maybe?"

"De Gier wants a duel," Grijpstra said. "That's crazy. There must be another way."

"Push him or Fernandus into committing some careless crime? Hand them over to Chief Inspector Rood, maybe?"

"Remember that lobster last night?" Grijpstra asked. "That green stuff inside? Sort of pale green? That's the color I'm after for my painting. Mixed it up this morning. I think it's the right shade."

"Hello," Cardozo said, wiping the window with his hand. "That must be Heul. I'll go get him."

Cardozo ran through the rain. Heul, carrying a shopping bag and holding an umbrella, tried to step out of the way. "Heul?" Cardozo asked.

"Yes?"

"Police." A handcuff clicked on Heul's wrist.

"Hey!"

"Hey to you too." Cardozo grabbed Heul's shoulder. The umbrella fell. The other handcuff clicked shut. "Come along." He picked up the umbrella and prodded Heul's back with it. "Forward, buddy. See that Citroen? Keep going."

"Morning," Grijpstra said when Cardozo pushed Heul into the Citroen's backseat. "We meet again. This time the charge is attempted murder. We'll take you to Headquarters. How have you been?"

Heul stuttered.

"Attempted murder is a nice solid charge," Cardozo said. "We have witnesses who saw you put that tarpaper down. There are other charges too. Receiving stolen property. Remember Carl? Mrs. Jongs made a statement too; she saw you. Nice tight charges."

Grijpstra started the car.

"But. . ." Heul stared at Cardozo. "Shit, man ..."

"Shhh," Cardozo said. "Yes, Adjutant, what were you saying just now?"

"Last night's soccer game on TV," Grijpstra said. "It's the goalkeeper, I tell you. No good. They should fire the old fogey."

"Hmmm." Cardozo considered the suggestion. "There's luck too, so, okay, he was unlucky. The ball was slippery, maybe. He did manage to catch it, but it slithered into the goal anyway. Can't blame him for that."

"Something with his eyesight," Grijpstra said. "The paper mentioned a medical check. He should be retired."

"Listen," Heul said. "Please. I picked up that tarpaper because it was lying in the road. I pushed it to the side. I'm always cleaning up. Habit, you know?"

"Tell the judge," Cardozo said. "Take the next right, Adjutant, the traffic is blocked ahead."

The alley was blocked too. Grijpstra switched the engine off. "This may take a while, that truck there is loading."

"Oh, no," Heul said. "Oh, shit."

Cardozo turned to the prisoner. "Dumb punk. You really did it now. These charges will stick."

"Listen," Heul said. "Please."

Grijpstra looked at the truck ahead in the narrow alley. "They've hardly started. I don't know why there's still so much business in town. All this loading. There must be a thousand cartons in that truck." He honked his horn. "They should give the city to the tourists."

"Listen," Heul said. "It wasn't me. Huip told me to lay that tarpaper down, I didn't know what for. He put the Daimler in your way, I wasn't in the car."

"If you had been, you might have gotten hurt," Grijpstra said. He pointed at his scar. "I got hurt, and the sergeant. Judges don't like it when cops get hurt."

"Huip Fernandus," Heul said, "he's your man. I'm nothing. What do you want with me?"

"Got to start somewhere," Cardozo said. "You lost your hat, and our witness saw your hair. She didn't see Huip Fernandus. Mrs. Jongs didn't see him take the paintings and vases from the junkies burglarizing the IJsbreker house—she saw you. Carl helped take stuff downstairs, and who did he give it to?"

"See?" Grijpstra asked.

"Don't you want Huip?" Heul asked.

Grijpstra thought. "Isn't young Fernandus your friend?"

"Yeh," Heul said. "You want Huip or not?"

"On what charges?" Cardozo asked. "Because you say so? You're not reliable. You were in it yourself. Shifting the blame."

"Huip will deny the charges, you see," Grijpstra said patiently.

Heul waved his cuffed hands. "Catch him on other charges. Better."

Grijpstra pressed his horn again. A man carrying cartons to the truck came over, dropped his load, and banged on the Citroen's roof. "Quit honking, you're making me nervous."

"Like what charges?" Cardozo asked.

Heul rattled his handcuffs. "Give me a cigarette."

"No," Cardozo said. "I don't like you. What charges?"

"Murder?"

"Huip didn't shoot IJsbreker," Cardozo said. "I don't believe it."

"Huip didn't waste IJsbreker," Heul said. "De la Faille did, I saw that happen. Huip saw it too. If you get Huip, he'll tell you,"

Grijpstra had left the car and was arguing with the truckdriver and his mate.

"This is too complicated," Cardozo said. "What's the charge against Huip? Has he murdered someone else?"

"He will," Heul said. "I'll tell you who and how, if you let me go."

Grijpstra came back. "This is interesting, Adjutant," Cardozo said. "Suspect wants to trade."

"You've got nothing on me," Heul said. "So I was Huip's flunky. So I put tarpaper on a street. So I picked up some paintings. You want Huip on real stuff, right?"

"Do I?" Grijpstra asked. "I've got you. Maybe you're enough. The city is short of cells."

"Ryder," Heul said. "Ronnie Ryder. Next Sunday, in a boat, they'll blow him up. If you're there, you can see it happen. Huip will do it by radio, watch Huip push the button."

"Nah," Grijpstra said. He put his arm on the top of the front seat and put the car in reverse. "Move your head to the side, I'm going to back up."

Another truck entered the alley behind the Citroen. Grijpstra switched the engine off again. "Stuck."

"All you have on me," Heul said, "is old stuff. Shaky stuff. It's not a good charge. None of it. Won't hold. But if you see Huip blow up Mr. Ryder ..."

"Why would Huip do that?" Cardozo asked.

"Some shit," Heul said. "I heard him talk to his father on the phone. Ryder wants money out of the bank or out of the Society or something. Fernandus and de la Faille cleaned him out, and Ryder wants his dough back. He knows about some big deals—coke from Bogotd, heroin from Calcutta, all sorts of shit. He's got them over a barrel. There's a meeting Sunday at the Vinker Lakes to talk it out. They've got speedboats there, Mr. Ryder likes that. He'll take out a boat and then Huip will blow him up. The gas tank will explode. A little plastic bomb that won't leave a trace. Voosh!"

"Voosh," Grijpstra said.

"No more Ronnie Ryder," Heul said. "The engine on the boat blows, and the engine is close to the gas tank. A spark. Huip is good with stuff like that. He wanted to blow up Mrs. Jongs too, but she isn't home now. Burn the house down—it's falling apart anyway, and it's insured. The Society wants to construct a classy building instead, start another club."

"Voosh," Cardozo said.

"Voosh." Heul leaned back. "Give me a cigarette."

Cardozo smoked.

"When exactly will this come about?" Grijpstra asked.

"Sunday, two o'clock. Huip and some expert are fixing the bomb now. Okay? Let me go?

"Who killed the three junkies?" Cardozo asked.

"Huip." Heul's nose dripped, and he tried to get a handkerchief from his pocket. "I wasn't in on that. Nobody told me. I thought the horse was regular— cut, you know? Weak shit. But Huip gave them pure junk supplied by the baron. I didn't like that at all."

Grijpstra sucked his cigar.

"Okay," Heul said. "I'll give you more. I don't want to go to jail, man. I'm too sensitive for jail. Okay?"

" If it' s good," Grijpstra said.

"Real good. There's a girl with the Society, from Calcutta. Calls herself Sayukta. Ruby in her nose. Bare belly. They're going to send her home, but she'll come straight back, carrying four ki's of horse. She doesn't want to, but she'll go, all right."

"When?"

"Soon."

"When exactly?"

"I don't know. Very soon. The junk isn't in Calcutta yet. It comes from somewhere else. Nepal. Okay?"

"Okay," Grijpstra said. "For now. If either tip isn't right, we'll get you later. In any way we know of."

"We know lots of ways these days," Cardozo said. "Quick ways." He patted his jacket. "It's good hunting now. We can do lots of stuff. Not so many regular cops around anymore who'd bother to check. Nice."

Heul held up his hands. Cardozo unlocked the cuffs. "Don't forget your umbrella."

" 'Bye," Heul said. "Have a good day." He scrambled out of the car.

"He thinks we're regular cops," Grijpstra said. "Maybe he thinks we won't dare."

"We dared last night," Cardozo said.

The truck ahead moved away. Grypstra started the Citroen again. "Heul's a little guy. Little guys scare easy. Maybe we're getting somewhere now. Pity the Vinker Lakes are out of town, we can't make the arrest."

Cardozo was pressed back in his seat as the car shot away. "Ha," Grijpstra said. "If we see it happen, we've got them anyway. We'll bring in the local cops later. Wouldn't do to call them in early. Suspects could notice."

"Shouldn't we warn Ryder?" Cardozo asked. "I mean ..."

"Yes?"

"I mean he's going to die. He'll blow up in front of us. Can you take that?"

"I've seen Ryder go down once," Grijpstra said. "When de Gier pushed him over. I rather liked seeing him go down."

"This time he'll go up."

"Yes," Grijpstra said. "Where's the computer store you wanted to go to?"

\\\\\ 23 /////

L
ATER THAT DAY, WHILE GRUPSTRA WAS HOME painting in the pale green background that would set off his bare-boned ducks, and Cardozo was working with his new computer on the kitchen table that his mother needed to cut cucumbers on, and de Gier was half-asleep on his antique brass bed, the commissaris' s wife served tea.

The commissaris came down from his study, yawning and rubbing his eyes, Mrs. Jongs brought a chocolate cake from the oven, and Carl held up his image of Turtle. Turtle himself walked stiffly through the tall weeds in the rear garden on his way to fresh lettuce.

"This is like New York," the commissaris said, sitting down on a cane chair, shielding his eyes from the late-afternoon sun that lit up the back porch. "In the thirties. The Mafia wars. The troops would hole up in safe houses, slobber spaghetti, and gurgle wine."

"What troops?" his wife asked.

"You're my troops," the commissaris said. "I need you all. Last night we won a battle. Now we rest, and later we challenge the enemy again."

Mrs. Jongs tried to whistle, matching notes that could be the opening of a military march. Carl attempted a salute, but his hand missed his head. The commissar is's wife stamped her slippered feet and came to attention. "As you were," the commissaris barked.

"Really, Jan," the commissaris's wife said. "Eat your cake. Did you deposit that money?"

"I did," the commissaris said. "You should have seen the teller's face. She needed four colleagues to get it all sorted."

"Jan." She pinched his cheek. "Carrying a suitcase full of banknotes around. The streets are alive with muggers. I should have gone with you."

"I had my cane," the commissaris said. "Good cake." He held out his plate. "More? Please?"

"Goohood cahake indeeheed," Carl said.

The commissaris's wife rubbed Mrs. Jongs's shriveled shoulder. "You did a great job."

"And did Grijpstra bring good news just now?" the commissaris's wife asked.

The commissaris picked up Turtle's image. "Yes,, interesting information. I expect Fernandus to contact me soon. We could stop further trouble, he should see that by now. He'll just have to give in."

"Oh, dear." She shook her head. "Fernandus will move too. He's got so much power. Look at you, Jan, bumbling about on your sore legs. Grijpstra is hurt, de Gier can't lift an arm without groaning. And look at us, we can't help you at all."

"I made the cake," Mrs. Jongs said.

The commissaris grinned at Carl. "And you made another work of most expressive art. The essential turtle. You must have watched my friend well. Let's see if Turtle will acknowledge his archetype."

Carl took his construction and carried it into the garden. The commissaris, his wife, and Mrs. Jongs watched from the porch. Carl had squatted down when the shot cracked. The bullet knocked the wire-and-shingle turtle from Carl's hands. Carl staggered back. The commissaris stumbled down the garden steps and grabbed hold of Carl. His wife screamed. Mrs. Jongs pointed at a window of a building beyond the rear of the garden and past another garden behind it. "There. Up there."

The commissaris and Carl, arms around each other, climbed the stairs back to the porch. The commissaris's wife pulled them both up. "Quickly, Jan, please."

"Phoo," the commissaris said when he pushed Carl into the house. "No panic, Katrien. Why don't you phone de Gier? Tell him to take a cab. Which window was it, Mrs. Jongs? Could you point it out to me?"

"Stay away from the windows!" the commissaris's wife shouted.

"That's the third floor?" the commissaris asked. "Must be that hotel. There's a hotel there now, on Valerius Street. Do call de Gier, dear."