Hard Rain (5 page)

"But you are interested, sir," Grijpstra said. "Especially as you're sort of personally involved."

"You knew the dead banker," de Gier said. "How was that now? Martin IJsbreker's father and your father were partners?"

"I don't think Martin was born then," the commissaris said. "All this goes back a long way, Sergeant. There were four partners in the Banque du Credit, but my father backed out. That left three. IJsbreker Senior, Baron de la Faille, and old Mr. Fernandus. I knew them all, since we moved in the same circles. Willem, old Mr. Fernandus's son, went to school with me.

"But you aren't friends with Willem Fernandus, the bank's current president, anymore?"

"Please," the commissaris said. "I don't even greet Willem when we meet in the street. That bank's reputation has gone down even further, Sergeant. Fernandus has been in a lot of scandals. His practice as an attorney is infamous, as you know if you've been reading the papers."

"The Society for Help Abroad?" Grijpstra asked.

"Started by Willem Fernandus," the commissaris said, "and very likely linked with his bank. That bank has never had a good aura about it; that's why my father got rid of his shares. It only has one office, situated fairly close to the prostitution quarter. The bank reputedly helped the German occupation. Fernandus was a double agent who somehow managed to jump clear when the war was over."

"Willem Fernandus," Grijsptra said, "not his dad."

"Yes, Willem," the commissaris said. "Let me see now. I think my father and the others all had equal shares. My father sold out, and old Fernandus may then have had half. Willem inherited half of that, so he only got a quarter, but his brother Ernst was never interested in business, so Willem may effectively control Ernst's shares as well. Then Willem married the Baroness de la Faille, whom I also know; she's an old lady now, and divorced. Fleur's share probably went to Willem. But Fleur only inherited half of her father's stake, for he married again and had a son. The son I met once, when he was still a child. I wonder how young Bart fits in now."

"And then there was IJsbreker Senior," Grijpstra said. "Father of the subject who shot himself. The report says IJsbreker Senior was a banker, so maybe he ran the bank. Willem Fernandus doesn't run the Banque du Credit, sir?"

"Willem is the president, Adjutant. He probably doesn't handle the day-to-day business, because he's still an attorney with an office on Prince Hendrik Quay, quite an impressive building."

"With nasty-looking gargoyles sitting on the steps," de Gier said. "I pass that place often. The mansion has recently been restored. The gable was sandblasted and all the ornaments repaired."

"We could find out," the commissaris said. "Prince Hendrik Quay is only a stone's throw from the Binnenkant, where IJsbreker Junior lived and died. The Banque du Credit is also on the quay, two blocks east of Willem's office."

"A stone's throw away from a houseboat where Adjutant Guldemeester found three dead junkies," Grijpstra said.

"So you were saying." The commissaris shook the thermos flask. "Maybe we can squeeze three small cups out of this smart invention. Miss Antoinette has been improving things here. Oh, by the way, Sergeant, you find my secretary to your liking?"

"Sir?" de Gier asked.

The commissaris found two more cups. "Yes."

De Gier scratched his buttock. "Well. . . eh . . . sort of cool. Not very responsive."

"Ah," the commissaris said. "You're answering the question behind my question. So Cardozo actually met one of the junkies. Adjutant, when you have a minute, I'd like you to check the reports from ballistics and pathology on Martin IJsbreker. I don't imagine there has been a proper autopsy on the junkies, but you might find something there too. Pathology must have checked on the overdose supposition. And you, Sergeant, send a routine message to all personnel about the American student of Chinese, saying that we'd welcome any data at all. Subject interests me because of the information he didn't give after all."

"Would you like us to visit the premises where IJsbreker died?" de Gier asked.

"Yes, tonight, maybe." The commissaris rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. "I'd like to come along. We'll need a key. Maybe Guldemeester has the IJsbreker key."

"Adjutant Guldemeester won't like this, sir."

"No?" the commissaris asked. "No. Perhaps you're right. So you'd better see him straightaway. Sergeant. Yes, I think that would be best."

"He might refuse, sir."

"Then bring him in here, Sergeant."

Grijpstra laughed.

The commissaris frowned. "You're not enjoying the discomfort of a colleague, I hope."

"No," Grijsptra said. "I was thinking of Guldemeester's birthday party, earlier this year. De Gier and Cardozo were invited, too. Bit of a disaster that was."

"Ah?"

Grijpstra looked at de Gier. "Leave me out of it," de Gier said. "I had a terrible time."

"Let's hear this," the commissaris said. "Or shouldn't I?"

De Gier sat down on the edge of a chair. "May I tell it, sir? Grijpstra will exaggerate. Have you met Guldemeester's wife, Celine?"

"Perhaps I have, Sergeant. Pretty? Long blond hair?"

"A most attractive young lady," Grijpstra said.

"Guldemeester must be your age, Adjutant. Fifty or so?"

"Celine isaround thirty," deGiersaid. "They haven't been married long, and they won't be married long, either, I would guess. Guldemeester likes to drink— as we all do, of course—but I felt rather uncomfortable, so I only had a few."

The commissaris looked at Grijpstra. Grijpstra nodded.

"I hate birthday parties," de Gier said. "I don't particularly like Guldemeester, either. I should never have gone, but he invited me and I thought it would be rude to refuse."

"I always refuse," the commissaris said.

"Mrs. Guldemeester made a pass at me," de Gier said. "Everyone was quite drunk by then. Except me, as I mentioned."

"You got drunk?" the commissaris asked Grijpstra.

"Grijpstra threw up on the goats," de Gier said. "But that was afterward. Guldemeester keeps goats. Mini-goats, strange-looking specimens, from Mongolia, I believe."

"They all died," Grijpstra said.

"Probably a rare breed," the commissaris said. "Couldn't stand your treatment."

"No, no," Grijpstra said, "nothing to do with me. Some disease, it must have been. I got drunk because that household made me unhappy. De Gier and I are different that way. He won't drink when he's unhappy."

"So Mrs. Guldemeester made a pass at you, Sergeant?" the commissaris asked. "And that upset you? You should be used to that sort of thing by now."

"Our hero," Grijpstra said. "It's because of that ridiculous mustache. It makes women curious, they want to lift it up."

"It's my high cheekbones," de Gier said. "Anyway, I didn't respond, so Celine stripped on the table."

"She what?" asked the commissaris.

"She did, sir," Grijpstra said. "Cardozo liked that. He gave her the idea. He kept talking about how he would like to infiltrate that nightclub, or gambling joint, or whatever one would like to call it, that belongs to the Society for Help Abroad and gets written up in the papers a lot. Best striptease in town. Guldemeester said he'd been there several times in the line of duty and the the show was truly excellent. Meanwhile, his wife had been making up to the sergeant, who just sat there and called her 'ma'am' and—"

"Well, what did she expect?" de Gier asked. "She is Guldemeester's wife."

"More, probably," the commissaris said. "Perhaps she expected more. Go on, Adjutant, you've made me curious."

"Well, sir," Grijpstra said, "so Celine said that Cardozo could see a striptease right then and there, but she kept looking at de Gier."

"Then what happened?"

"We went home," de Gier said. "After Grijpstra threw up on the goats."

"Oh," the commissaris said, "so Mrs. Guldemeester didn't really perform?"

"She did," de Gier said. "It took forever, too. She must have practiced. She had special music for her act. 'Pyramid' by the Modern Jazz Quartet. You know the piece? It takes quite a while."

"Good composition," Grijpstra said. "We should try that sometime. Some very tricky passages, though; maybe you won't be able to follow."

"No," de Gier said. "I'll be thinking of that party again."

"From what I hear," the commissaris said, "the experience might have had some pleasant aspects. De Gier, you've been here from time to time while we were away. Have you heard anything about reorganization at Headquarters here?"

"I hope there won't be," Grijpstra said. "Reorganization makes the mess worse."

"There'll be an investigation, sir," de Gier said. "State detectives have been called in by the mayor. They're supposed to concentrate on corruption and on cases that have been recently handled in an unprofessional way."

"I hope they won't ask for my cooperation," the commissaris said. "I wouldn't like to intrigue against colleagues."

De Gier stared at the commissaris.

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"No, sir." De Gier shook his head. "I was just thinking. Anything else you have in mind? I'd like to send that message off and see what Halba and Guldemeester have done, exactly. Shall we meet here tonight?"

"I'll meet you at Martin IJsbreker's house," the commissaris said. "At seven. No, make that eight. I'd like to look around the area a bit first, I think."

\\\\\ 5 /////

"V
ERY NICE," ADJUTANT GRIJPSTRA SAID. "BEAUtiful, in fact. Lovely example of Golden Age architecture." The adjutant stood solidly at the extreme edge of the quay, his head tilted to obtain an optimal view. De Gier leaned against a tree. Together they observed a slender four-story gable built up out of varnished bricks, holding tall windows in bright white frames. A seagull had just landed on the gable's tip and was silhouetted sharply against the sky, which was still sparkling blue, but tinged with the first hue of coming darkness.

"Got the key?" de Gier asked.

"Sure," Grijpstra said. "He wouldn't give it, of course. Wanted to know why and so forth. Colleague Guldemeester can be quite awkward when pressed."

"So you had to press him, eh?"

"Leaned on him with my full weight," Grijpstra said. "Threatened and cajoled. Still had to find the key myself, in the end." Grijpstra lowered his head. "You know Guldemeester is a squirrel? He must keep a hundred ballpoints in his desk, filched from everywhere. He had a hundred keys, too."

"So how do you know you got the right one?"

Grijpstra held up the key. "Labeled. See? Guidemeester just stood there while I searched his desk. Wouldn't play at all."

"Did you see his notes, too?"

"No notes," Grijpstra said. "No gun. Remember that carton filled with weapons that disappeared from Ballistics, the one you told me about?"

"No," de Gier said. "Not our gun. You mean the Walther PPK that IJsbreker shot himself with went out in the missing carton?"

Grijpstra nodded. "Lifted by a Turkish charwoman, or so they claim at Ballistics. It's all hushed up. The chief constable doesn't want the papers to know. There was a dismantled machine pistol in that carton, too, and a couple of Magnums. Weapons taken from a Turkish drug-running gang. There's a thought that the Turks pushed some of their women into Headquarters to retrieve the guns."

De Gier was still admiring the gable. "Cops sell guns, too. My neighbor bought a pistol from a constable who stopped him for drunken driving. As it would be his second conviction, the sucker paid a small fortune in cash and the cop took pity and.threw in the gun. My neighbor told me about it when I asked him to take care of my cat. I had to stay overnight up north."

"Makes you proud of your profession," Grijpstra said. "So, no gun to check with the bullet in IJsbreker's head. Did you see the pathologists?"

"That was another negative," de Gier said. "Notice how the entire gable was rebuilt, not just patched up somehow, as you usually see in a restoration. Must have cost a pretty penny. I wonder if IJsbreker owned the house."

"We can check with the Registry of Deeds tomorrow." Grijpstra walked around parked cars. "The Banque du Credit may own the place. If IJsbreker has shares in the bank, he may have wanted to avoid property tax. No businessman in his right mind owns anything in his own name anymore. Personal property is mere weight these days. All you want is to have the use of the stuff."

"At no cost," de Gier agreed. "Borrowed interest-free wealth that will last until one's death. In IJsbreker's case, death came rather early. Want to hear something?"

De Gier produced a small cassette recorder and held it near Grijpstra's ear. He clicked its switch. "Hello," a rich baritone voice said, "this is Martin IJsbreker's answering machine. Please leave a message. I'd just love to have your message. I'll answer as soon as I can. Wait for the beep."

Grijpstra looked surprised. "When did you get this?"

De Gier pocketed the little machine. "Just now. IJsbreker's phone is still connected. Doesn't he sound jolly?"

"A good powerful voice," Grijpstra agreed. "Arrogant, strident, authoritative, I would say. Not depressed at all. Perhaps the tape is old. Maybe he has been using it for years."

"Old tapes are usually scratchy." De Gier turned away from the house. "I say there's a hint here that IJsbreker was in no way depressed. Let's cross the bridge and have a look at that houseboat where the junkies were found. I'll tell you about the pathologists on the way."

De Gier stopped on the bridge linking the two quays that framed the canal. Some little boys were paddling an old canoe along. They wore folded paper hats, and the boy in the bow waved a wooden sword, ordering his crew onward. His thin shouts were drowned in the rumble of a heavy diesel engine propelling a cargo vessel along. Its bow wave made the canoe bob jerkily. The boys screamed with joy. "I used to do that," de Gier said.

"You still do that," Grijpstra said. "That's your trouble. We aren't playing games, you know."

"That's
your
trouble." De Gier patted Grijpstra's shoulder. "You won't see the fun. Did you read that bit in the paper about a whole new cluster of galaxies that some wise-ass discovered? A billion new worlds to choose from? Anything you can imagine will be out there, any game you can possibly play."