Hard Rain (30 page)

"Shouldn't eat these," Fleur said, pushing the bonbons away a little. "Perhaps just one more. Jan should get at Willem's money. Do you know that Willem figures out every night just how much he is worth? To the penny? If it's less than the night before, he has a fit. He would pick up things and throw them."

"At you?"

"No, because I would throw them back." Fleur chewed. "Katrien, tell Jan he should get Willem fined somehow. For nonpayment of taxes—that shouldn't be too hard. Suck his money away, and Willem will be like a deflated scumbag. Jan might work on Willem's drug dealing too, he's been doing that from the day heroin came into the country. Willem was never too normal, but the drugs drove him crazy."

"Does he take drugs, too?"

"No," Fleur said. "It's like his womanizing. I think Willem likes to watch, doesn't get into fun stuff himself."

"Drugs aren't fun."

"No?" Fleur selected another bonbon. "I wonder. They're too expensive for me. They calm you down, I hear. I do get quite nervous."

"Well," said the commissaris's wife, rising and moving toward the door, "nice to see you again, I really love your apartment."

Fleur waddled to the door with her. "Come again."

\\\\\ 30 /////

I
ZZY SANDERS SWITCHED THE COMPUTER SCREEN ON. "Where do you want the money to go, sir?"

"Just a minute." The commissaris took out his note pad. "This is the number of an account. A welfare organization in Calcutta."

Sanders punched in the number. "All of it goes?"

"Yes." The commissaris peered at the screen. "Clean out the accounts of the Society, the bank itself, Willem and Ernst Fernandus, and Baron Bart de la Faille."

"Can I leave something in? It would look better. Zero accounts might draw early attention."

"Now how does this work?" Grijpstra asked. "It's Sunday today."

"I've delayed the commands." Izzy worked his keyboard. "The transactions will take place tomorrow afternoon. With all the bank's computerization, it could take a while before anyone catches on. No human eyes will see this happen."

"Until it's too late?"

"Right," Izzy said. "Shall I leave a few hundred guilders in each account, sir?"

"Fifty guilders will be enough," the commissaris

265 said. "The more devastating the cleanup, the better. Go ahead, friend. We do appreciate your help."

"There's no risk?" Cardozo asked.

"No." Sanders grinned. "The way I'm working this, it will seem as if the commands were given in the bank's administration, by order of the account holders themselves. I have all the codes."

"And the nun won't give the money back?" Karate asked.

"I'm a Catholic," Ketchup said. "I know nuns. Nuns never give anything back. Finders keepers."

"But she's such a holy nun," said the commissaris's wife.

Sergeant Biersma grunted. "The holier the better. The Lord is the holiest of all, and He never gives anything back, either."

"You know that?" the commissaris asked.

"Yes, sir, I was raised as a member of the Dutch Reformed Protestant Church. We know God at His grimmest."

The computer's keyboard clicked away. Luminous figures flashed on and off.

"There," Sanders said. "Done."

"Grand total?" the commissaris asked.

"Maybe thirty million, sir. I don't know what the shares and bonds will be worth tomorrow. Could be more, the stock market is turning bullish again."

Miss Antoinette's knuckles rapped against the glass door of the porch. Carl held up his ark. The commissaris's wife opened the door and the artwork was shown around. The toy animals inside had been glued together in copulating positions.

"I'll tahake them ouhout again," Carl said. "It's only ajohoke."

"They're yours," the commissaris said.

"Then you keeheep the whole thing here, sir. My pleaheasure."

"Why, thank you, dear boy. It's a beautiful piece of work." The commissaris set the construction on the mantel. "Drinks all around, Katrien?"

The commissaris's stock of liquor was soon depleted, together with all the food in the house, transformed into snacks by his wife and Mrs. Jongs. Ketchup and Karate giggled a lot, patting the computer. Sergeant Biersma and Constable Ramsau swore they would apply for transfers to the Amsterdam Murder Brigade. Grijpstra described his paintings to Miss Antoinette, stressing the importance of background colors. Mrs. Jongs discussed lizards with Carl. Izzy and Cardozo played a war game on the computer, a giveaway from the store that had supplied the equipment, scoring most by hitting ambulances and a platoon of medics. The commissaris found de Gier.

"Hiding?"

"Me?" de Gier asked. "No. Why? I'm just having a quiet drink. Congratulations, sir, you did pull this off well."

"Where's the Ferrari?" the commissaris asked.

De Gier thought. "Ferrari?"

"Ryder's Ferrari that wasn't there when I left the motel. You weren't there, either."

"Oh,
that
Ferrari," de Gier said.

"You won't tell me?"

"Sir," de Gier said. "You've just killed Fernanda."

"I have not."

"He's as good as dead," de Gier said. "He just doesn't know it yet. The baron is in the same position, but I demand the privilege of completing his situation."

"Are you two having a furious little chat?" the commissaris's wife asked. "Would you care for some sausage and mustard? What's the trouble, dear?"

"You tell her, Sergeant," the commissaris snapped.

"Thank you, ma'am." De Gier ate his sausage.

"I'm a white knight. I found my black knight. We will now have a duel."

"Childish," the commissaris said.

"In style," de Gier said. "Just for once I will do something in style. I'm still suspended. I'm flying around. I came down to help your husband out, and now that Cardozo has been good enough to take care of the case, I'll be tootling off and I won't come back until the victory is mine."

"Is he drunk?" the commissaris's wife asked. "Don't drive home, Sergeant. Take a cab." She tapped Mrs. Jongs on the shoulder. "Go and tell Adjutant Grijpstra about your lizards, dear, he wants to paint them. Miss Antoinette? I wonder if you'd do me a favor. Poor Carl is a bit unsteady on his legs; I'm afraid I poured him a rather stiff drink. Would you mind taking him home when the party is over?"

"Rinus," the commissaris said, "please."

De Gier refilled his glass. "Just once," he said dreamily. "Just once. I've heard a lot about it, I've read the exposes, I just want to know what it's like. Good guy kills bad guy."

The guests left, except Mrs. Jongs, who wanted to do the dishes. The commissaris and his wife walked about, picking up ashtrays and glasses. The commissar is's wife smiled; the commissaris frowned.

"Damn de Gier."

"You think he's serious, dear? You think Carl knows what to do with Miss Antoinette?"

"Yes," the commissaris said.

"He won't shy away?"

"Miss Antoinette can be very persistent."

She grabbed hold of him. "You see, it's true. I see it all now. In your office, probably, behind a locked door. Or did you take her to a hotel somewhere? Her apartment, maybe?"

The commissaris dropped a glass. "See what you made me do."

"Answer me, Jan."

"Katrien." He picked up the shards.

"What a fool I've been." She stamped her foot. "The wife is always the last to know. All those evenings you had to work late."

"Hee hee."

"You're
laughing?
"

"You flatter me, Katrien. Me? My teeth come out. See?" He wobbled his lower dentures.

"You don't do it with your plastic teeth, Jan."

"You're like Paul Voort," the commissaris said. "We're in the twentieth century, dear. The Inquisition is over."

"Who is Paul Voort?"

"That nasty man you shooed out of the door. He accused me of theft."

"Ach." She grabbed hold of him again. "You don't steal things."

"I just stole thirty million."

"No, you gave it away."

"And you gave Miss Antoinette away."

"You are jealous." She shook him. "Confess."

"Of Carl," the commissaris said.

"What do you mean, of Carl?"

"
You
like Carl," the commissaris said. "That's why I said he could have Miss Antoinette."

"You're jealous of Carl and me . . ." She held him at arm's length. "Jan!"

"I'm very jealous," the commissaris said. "I realize that now. That's why I destroyed Fernandus."

"You thought that Fernandus and I . . . really, Jan, I'm sixty years old and I haven't seen him in thirty."

"Something else," the commissaris said, "something else again. I haven't thought it all out, but I assure you I never touched Miss Antoinette."

"You're sure now?"

"Sure," the commissaris said. "You can kiss me to make up."

"No, you kiss me."

"That's nice," Mrs. Jongs said from the door. "I never kisses anyone. Bob doesn't like that. It isn't in the price."

\\\\\ 31 /////

K
OWSKY OF THE
Courier,
a crablike man with eyes on stalks, a predatory creature who lived in his own crack in his own rock, where he rested between quick, darting attacks, listened to the commissaris with attention.

"You were going to write a piece before on the Society for Help Abroad," the commissaris said. "I believe you spent a night at their club, as a guest of Baron Bart de la Faille. Nothing came of that?"

"Plenty," Kowsky hissed. He sidled a little closer to the commissaris's desk, leering sideways at Miss Antoinette, who, neat and modest in her two-piece suit and lace-trimmed blouse, was pouring coffee. Kowsky retreated to his chair, holding on to his cup with his claw. "I'm still gathering material, researching the project."

"Making progress?" The commissaris, trim and dapper, adjusted his necktie so that it divided his spotless white shirt into symmetrical halves. "I'm sure you have. Perhaps you'd like some help."

Miss Antoinette watered the begonias on the windowsills, which, responding to their daily portion of loving care, flowered profusely, brightening the room with their splashes of glowing red. The leaves of the potted palm fluttered, touched by the morning breeze as Miss Antoinette opened a window. The portrait of the captain of the constabulary smiled down benignly from his golden frame and the glorious past. "Now then," the commissaris said, "perhaps this would be of interest. Reliable informants tell me that the Society is in financial trouble, very likely because of a crisis in the Banque du Credit. You do know that the Society and the bank are closely linked through their mutual president, the infamous attorney Willem Fernandus. A run on the bank is predicted, which will undoubtedly result in financial failure."

"How come?" Kowsky asked, sucking up coffee.

"You're familiar with the troubles of the Ryder empire?" the commissaris asked. "Ronnie Ryder met with a fatal accident yesterday. His speedboat blew up on the Vinker Lakes. His textile stores, mismanaged and almost bankrupt, were bailed out by the Banque du Credit, but the bank, by now, is very shaky too. Ryder was known to be an inveterate gambler, losing at roulette in the Society's club."

"Any criminal charges?" Kowsky asked pointing his sharp nose aggressively at the commissaris. "Didn't the manager of the bank commit suicide a while ago?"

"He died by violence," the commissaris said.

"Ryder did away with himself too?"

"Possibly," the commissaris said. "Fernandus's son, Huip, was also in the boat. We could consider the mishap to be a random event. I won't back you up if you mention crime."

"Front-page news," Kowsky said. "Absolutely. Thank you. 'Bye."

Miss Antoinette let him out. The telephone rang. She came back to pick it up. "The chief constable, sir, he wants you to see him right away."

The commissaris nodded. "Tell him to come here, and I want to see Halba too. Make that sound like an order." She passed the message. The commissaris reached over and broke the connection. Miss Antoinette replaced the receiver. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Please."

They waited. The door opened. "What's this?" the chief constable asked. The commissaris pointed to a chair. "We'll wait for Halba. Did you tell him to come here?"

"I did not," the chief constable said.

The commissaris picked up his phone and dialed, then said, "Halba. The chief constable and I are waiting for you in my room."

The chief constable cursed.

"Morning," the commissaris said when Halba showed up. "I'll be brief, so there's no need to sit down. I'm accusing you both, respectively and in ascending order of rank, of incompetence and corruption. I should have come out with this earlier, but I was hampered by the mess that you two helped to bring about. No." He raised his hand. "Shut up. This isn't a discussion. You will, respectively and in ascending order of rank again, apply for early pension and resign. I can't accept a refusal. Should you decide to make a stand, State Detection will uncover, with help from me, a series of misdemeanors that would show you both up personally and further worsen the image of the city's police. If you leave now, I won't take any action, but I can't guarantee that your self-made fate won't trip you up through some other chain of events." He stood up. "Please go. This will be a busy week for me. Hand in your written requests to the administration and leave the building afterward. That'll be all. Miss Antoinette, would you see these men out?"

"Wah," the commissaris said, sitting down.

"You're so fierce, sir," Miss Antoinette whispered. "You think they will do all that? Ruin their own careers?"

"They've been ruined for some time," the commissaris said. "They just needed someone to tell them. Would you send in Cardozo?"

Cardozo came in and found the commissaris hopping about on his oriental rug. "Sir?" The commissaris jumped to a geometric design half a yard ahead. "I used to do this for hours when I was a child. This rug was in our living room. I pretended the blue parts were swampy spots where crocodiles and other toothy creatures lived, and the green designs were safe ground, but then I would change it all around, and only the red areas were safe, but not for long again. Reality is like that. Changeable, very. Got to adjust your strategy constantly. Never quite know where you're secure. Educated guesses combined with foolhardy courage ..."