Hard Rain (28 page)

"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 /////

I
T 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. They 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."

"Suicide of the Society," de Gier said. "Who cares? IJsbreker and Heul were criminals, and the junkies wouldn't have lived long anyway. I'm only concerned about Celine. Ryder can go too."

"A capitalist?" the commissaris asked. "Capitalists are still legal and should enjoy our protection."

"Woosh," de Gier said, lifting his hand from the wheel. "There goes Ryder. I grab young Fernandus."

"You grab him
before
the woosh," the commissaris said. "That's an order, Sergeant. Huip could be anywhere when he sets off the bomb, that's my worry, anywhere within sight of the lake. We only have six men out there."

"Six fishermen," de Gier said. "Grnpstra was all upset about his fishing gear. I saw them getting into the Camaro and the Corvette, with Grijpstra's complete fishing rod collection. You really won over those State detectives; they gave up their free weekend to help us out again. Ketchup and Karate were all gung-ho, of course."

"Unbridled energy," the commissaris said. "Only useful if we can contain that youthful zest. I'm surprised that you're not losing your adventurous streak, you should be maturing by now. Obtain some distance. I urge you to follow my orders closely."

De Gier grinned. "I'm still suspended, sir. I haven't received word that I'm on the force again."

"I give you the word."

"No, sir, you can't. You haven't been officially reinstated either. The chief inspector's word doesn't count, he's lower in rank than you."

"Next turn," the commissaris said. "That'll be the Society's motel. I don't want you to be seen. We could hide in the bushes, perhaps, and find some vantage point that'll look out on the motel's marina and the lake, and as close as possible to Huip Fernandus."

The motel was surrounded by ornamental gardens. De Gier parked next to Ryder's Ferrari. "I'll be off," the commissaris said. "Meet you behind the rhododendrons over there."

De Gier looked in the Ferrari and saw a jacket on the seat. He picked it up. Something rattled. He removed a bunch of keys and a wallet from the jacket's pockets. The uniformed driver of an old-model Rolls-Royce parked farther along was watching. "Friend of mine, Ronnie Ryder," de Gier told the driver. "Shouldn't leave his keys and valuables in the car. I'll give them to him. Is this Mr. Fernandus's car?"

"No," the driver said. "All mine. Fernandus has been renting my Rolls by the day."

"I thought Fernandus drove a Daimler."

"Then he should be driving his Daimler," the chauffeur said. "I'm getting mighty tired of Fernandus. Here, sir, my card. I'm available. Pass on the news to your wealthy friends."

"You don't like Willem Fernandus?" de Gier asked pleasantly.

"Can't stand him, sir. He's with his son today, and the son is even worse. I need a change."

"Where were you?" the commissaris asked when de Gier showed up.

"Just checking, sir. Fernandus came with his son today, I thought you'd like to know."

They walked past tennis courts where fresh young ladies in short skirts missed balls, and past a lawn where old men in checkered pants drove about in golf carts. The commissaris muttered.

"Don't care, for ball sports, sir?"

"Balls have always infuriated me," the commissaris said, "probably because I could never catch them, except on my head. Here, this might be a good spot." He adjusted his binoculars, aiming them at the motel's terrace. "That's Fernandus, sitting with Ryder and an unknown subject. Here, take these, you have better eyes."

De Gier looked through the glasses. "The young fatso is Huip. I can see his pimples. Yagh, must weigh two hundred pounds and he's as short as his father."

"Can't spot the baron," the commissaris said.

"On the far end, sir, sitting by himself."

"Right." The commissaris grunted. "He does look like a darker version of you. Wavy hair, hooked nose, same posture. You even dress alike."

"The black knight," de Gier said. "Waiting for his rightful fate."

"Are we close enough, you think?" the commissaris asked. "As soon as Ryder takes off in the boat, you'll have to make a dash for the terrace and grab Huip. Get the infernal gadget that'll set off the bomb away from him as soon as you can. Huip won't blow up the boat if it's too close to the terrace. Get hold of his arms and twist them up."

De Gier was looking at the baron.

"Rinus?"

"Yes, sir."

Fernandus and son were chatting and drinking. Ryder ate. A waiter brought a bottle of wine.

"Taking their time," the commissaris said. "I hope we got this thing right and that Heul wasn't trying to impress us."

"Heul is dead," de Gier said. "He got killed because he was seen being arrested by Grijpstra and Cardozo. They didn't want to take any chances when Heul popped up again. They leaned on him and he betrayed his betrayal."

"Possibly," the commissaris said. "In which case they won't try to murder Ryder here." He slapped at a mosquito. "So we're wasting our time. Katrien put a thermos of coffee in the car."

"There's Grijpstra," de Gier said, "on the other shore. He just caught a fish. Man in the cap. And the little fellow farther along must be Cardozo, he's wearing red suspenders."

"You're sure?"

"Not sure," de Gier said. "They're partly hidden in the cattails. Should be them."

"There's still a lot that could go wrong," the commissaris said. "Perhaps I should have taken more precautions. Ah, Ryder is getting up. Look at that speedboat's engine, must be over a hundred horsepower. Huip is getting in."

De Gier whistled softly.

"No," the commissaris said. "That can't be correct. Huip should stay ashore. Now Ryder is getting in too. Are they going out together?"

De Gier dropped his binoculars. "We were misinformed. Huip won't blow himself up. I don't get what they're at."

"Oh, well," the commissaris sighed. "I had to fail somewhere. Too many factors in the equation again. I did try to fit them all in, but I have missed a few here and there. We'll have to rethink our attack most thoroughly next time. Poor Katrien."

De Gier peered through his binoculars. "They're taking off. Your wife, sir?"

"All my guests," the commissaris said. "Katrien wasn't too pleased with Miss Antoinette's arrival this morning. I can't expect her to keep running a hotel. Look, Sergeant, that boat is still increasing speed. Not a good idea. The wake will disturb the canoe over there. Not too thoughtful."

"Bastards," de Gier said. "There are little kids in the canoe. They're turning now, they think the lake belongs to them."

"Don't like it," the commissaris said. "Don't like this at all." He made an impatient gesture. "Surely not."

"What?"

"I was thinking," the commissaris said. "Like in Paris then ... but Willem wouldn't... it doesn't really prove anything . . . although ..."

The explosion wasn't too loud, but a huge orange ball of fire formed immediately, ballooning up, shot through with burning remnants of the exploding boat. Two bright flaming objects were suspended well above the water where the boat was last seen. De Gier jumped and ran to the terrace. The commissaris limped after him. Startled guests had pushed over their tables and thronged the edge of the dock. Men jumped in boats and started up engines. Waves set up by Ryder's boat lapped against the marina's posts and planks. De Gier ran to the end of the terrace where he had seen de la Faille, but the baron was gone. Fernandus still sat at his table, sipping wine. The commissaris fell into the chair where Ryder had sat. "You . . . you . . ."

"Yes?" Fernandus asked. "Do say it, old chap. You what?"

"Your own son?" the commissaris asked. "But why?"

"Why not?" Fernandus asked.

"But. . ."

Fernandus looked at the lake, where the ball of fire was dying down. "But nothing. You're right, Jan, there's nothing there. You and I are part of it, figments of creative imagination. We can do as we like, and whatever gets in our way and is removable is removed."

"I'll remove you." The commissaris pointed a trembling finger. "You have to go."

"But I'm not removable," Fernandus said. "Neither are you, unfortunately. It wouldn't suit us to do away with one another. You're a powerful official on one side of the line, and I'm an inventive entrepreneur on the other side of whatever divides us. Why don't we shake hands and have a grand old age together?"

"No," the commissaris said. "You'll be destroyed."

"Pity," Fernandus said. "Stupid to the end. You're a coward, Jan, you never dare to think things out."

The baron was at the bar inside the motel. "Hi," de Gier said, taking the next stool. "Why did you blow them up?"

"Oh, hello," de la Faille said. "How did you enjoy the fireworks, Rinus? Do call me Bart."

"Those kids in the canoe might have drowned."

"We do have to take risks," the baron said. "Grand show, wasn't it? Never cared much for either of the victims, although I could put up with Ronnie at times, but a useful purpose will be achieved by Ryder's demise. The other liquidation may be more philosophical, I understand. Uncle is a great man for thinking solutions through. Can't follow him, always. A drink?"

"Bit short of time," de Gier said. "We'll have that duel soon. Okay?"

"No," the baron said.

"Yes," de Gier said. "Soon. To the death. Bare hands."

"I thought I could choose my weapon?"

"Not anymore," de Gier said. " 'Bye. You'll hear from me."

The commissaris read the note left under the windshield wiper of his car.
See you in town, sir. Key's in the ignition.
He looked to the side. Ryder's Ferrari was missing.