Hard Rain (7 page)

While the commissaris and the sergeant waited for the adjutant to return from the car, parked in an alley farther along, de Gier reported. The commissaris looked at the giant carp below the bridge. "Amazing, Sergeant."

"Alleged deliberate loss of evidence," de Gier concluded brightly. "There may be witnesses, however, and we could still work on possible suspects. I daresay we can still find some."

"It's the Japanese," the commissaris said. "I can't understand why they're getting such a bad press in the West. We should be grateful to those dexterous people."

"Japanese suspects, sir?"

"You too?" the commissaris asked. "Why should we blame their diligence for our woes?" He smiled as the mouth of a large fish broke the surface and smacked its shiny fat lips. "I'll have to bring some bread next time we're here. That carp wants to be fed. No, Sergeant, I think we should see the Japanese as our benefactors. Now that they're taking over the world's industry and our factories are slowly grinding to a stop, pollution here is bound to decrease dramatically. You see the signs everywhere. Nature is coming back. We can breathe fresh air and truly enjoy ourselves again."

"Were you listening to me at all?" de Gier asked.

"Yes," the commissaris said. "Most of what you said had come to me while I was indulging in a little reverie in that unfortunate floating coffin, but your old lady is new. Her presence may open up a new avenue, I think. And I'm glad you mentioned the musicians who have been bothering her. We're badly in need of suspects, don't you agree?"

"You want Grijpstra and me to go after them, sir?"

The commissaris was absorbed in the spectacle of the carp again. De Gier cleared his throat. "What?" the commissaris asked. "Right, no, Sergeant, just to go after them won't be good enough. Catch them at their infernal drumming. Trying to chase an old woman out of her home seems a fiendish offense. If you can catch them at that perfidious activity, you have a better hold. Don't even mention IJsbreker's death for now. With skillful treatment, our suspects might trip themselves up."

"The downstairs apartment was empty just now, sir."

"Try tomorrow." The commissaris looked at the alley. "There's the adjutant. That rhino's head inspired me, Sergeant, I spent a long time looking at it when I was in the boat. Odd to see such good work mixed up in such a foul mess."

Grijpstra joined them and together the three men walked to IJsbreker's mansion. De Gier played his cassette recorder on the way. The commissaris nodded when the machine clicked off. "Why did you phone IJsbreker's number?"

"I thought there might be someone in the house," de Gier said. "A girlfriend, perhaps. We could have questioned her."

"Didn't you say IJsbreker was divorced, sir?" Grijpstra asked.

"So my wife heard," the commissaris said. "I haven't seen Martin in years. We should talk with his ex-wife; perhaps she was still in contact with her husband."

IJsbreker spoke again from de Gier's cassette.

"Doesn't sound at all like the voice of a man who is about to shoot himself," the commissaris said. "The possibility of murder is shaping up nicely, I would say."

"A multiple murder," Grijpstra said.

The commissaris lightly touched the adjutant's arm. "But we have no indications yet that the bodies are connected. You're referring to the junkies, Adjutant?"

Grijpstra pointed at the houseboat. "In sight of IJsbreker's house? Three simultaneous overdoses? It happened the same night?"

"Nan," de Gier said. "The shots weren't fired from that boat. It's too low. IJsbreker got hit on the third story of his house. You mean that the junkies might have been witnesses and had to be removed?"

"I don't know what I mean yet," Grijpstra said.

"If we keep looking," the commissaris said, "we'll find some meaning soon, but perhaps we're not supposed to look. I do get that impression."

\\\\\ 6 /////

"A
H, CHIEF INSPECTOR," THE COMMISSARIS SAID the next morning. "Had a good press party? I haven't seen the
Courier
yet. Are the journalists pleased with your elimination of that German terrorist?"

Halba, looking shabby even though his suit appeared to be brand new, stood uncomfortably on the commissaris's splendid Persian rug.

"Please sit down." The commissaris dialed. "Miss Antoinette, could you bring in that elegant thermos flask? I have a visitor." He smiled at Halba. "If you please, Miss Antoinette?" The commissaris replaced his phone. "Got to say that now. The ladies around here are getting stronger on proper etiquette."

"Bitches," Halba said, almost inaudibly. His thin lips curved. "Yes, quite. I'm sorry I didn't show up yesterday, but the mayor was in a rather boisterous mood. Took us to a pub close to City Hall and kept us there until the wee hours."

Miss Antoinette came in and poured coffee. She passed Halba's cup. "Mr. Halba, the bank phoned again. Your wife called, too. Some trouble about your credit card, the man at the bank said. He insisted that you call him as soon as possible, and your wife seemed very upset. The problem is insufficient funds, I believe."

The chief inspector's left eye twitched. "Yes, I will take care of the matter." Miss Antoinette swiveled her hips triumphantly as she swung her tight body through the door.

The commissaris's eyebrows were still raised as he addressed his visitor again. "Uh. Yes. There was something that has escaped me for the moment." He stared at his hands, spread neatly on his desk. "Ah, I've got it again. Your colleague Rood telephoned just now. About his man in the hospital. Poor fellow isn't doing at all well. But how did that melee with the German go, exactly? It's still unclear to me. The terrorist was shot dead in a telephone booth?"

"Very tricky," Halba said, "I'm still amazed we didn't have more trouble. Terrorists are really exceedingly hard to handle. We found him because a woman who rents rooms alerted us, saying she had a German-speaking guest who had dropped several cartridges between his bed and the wall. She let us in when the fellow was out. The woman said the German was always telephoning from a booth further along in the street, although there was a phone in her hall. We found several clips that fit an Uzi machine gun, hidden between the German's shirts in a drawer. Since we couldn't find the gun, we assumed that subject was carrying the weapon about. The short-barreled version of the Uzi can be easily hidden under a jacket. The woman's description of her guest fitted one sent to us by the West German police of a well-known terrorist."

"Were you in charge of the initial investigation?" the commissaris asked.

"No, Rood was," Halba said. "Rood located the suspect in the street, but hadn't made the arrest, so I took over. Rood is mostly Narcotics now, and since I was then in charge of the Murder Brigade—"

"You murdered the suspect," the commissaris said, "and the investigation, according to Rood. Chief Inspector Rood had planned to follow the suspect to detect possible ramifications. We're after the entire terrorist organization, after all. Couldn't you have waited with the arrest?"

Halba recrossed his legs, leaned his arms on the sides of his chair, and tried to make his fingertips meet in a self-contained gesture. His hands slipped apart. "I thought a delay would be too dangerous in this particular case. Terrorists plant bombs that go off in public places. The sooner we catch them, the better public order is served."

"Just gun the fellow down?" the commissaris asked. "If the German had been followed, he might have led us to his friends. We could have tapped the phone in that booth. Wouldn't it have been better if you had placed your men in such a way that there was a minimal risk of hitting each other?"

Halba shook his head. "The detective who was hurt had no business being behind the booth. Police activity often involves danger. We all take chances from time to time."

"We do have arrest teams, Chief Inspector. Military Police squads that have been endlessly trained for just such occasions."

"There was no time," Halba said. "One has to make quick decisions in a crisis." He lit a cigarette. "Are you initiating an inquiry into the matter?"

"I might mention the matter to the chief constable," the commissaris said. "I never like it when one of our men is hurt."

"The chief constable was at the party, too, last night," Halba said. "I was under the impression that Henri approved of the way I acted."

The commissaris opened a file. "Miss Antoinette gathered all available information relating to another matter I wanted to see you about, the IJsbreker case.

I'm missing the pathology report. Ballistics hasn't come up with anything either, and it seems that important evidence has been mislaid."

Halba sighed. "That matter has been fully discussed with the chief constable. The missing carton is the subject of a secret internal investigation. Have you seen the corpses yet?"

The commissaris shook his head.

"If you take the trouble to see IJsbreker's corpse," Halba said, "you'll note a discoloration of the face due to gunpowder, proving that the pistol's barrel was pressed against IJsbreker's head when the shot was fired. We definitely have a suicide here."

"One hole in the forehead," the commissaris said, "and two bullets in the head. The pathologist is delaying handing in his report."

"One bullet supposedly got lost." Halba scratched his chin. "That leaves one bullet again. The only real bullet, as far as I'm concerned. Perhaps you should ask Guldemeester what happened; it's really his case."

"Adjutant Guldemeester called in today," the commissaris said. "He's taking the day off. You signed all the reports, I believe. You weren't at IJsbreker's house at all?"

"Only briefly." Halba's fingers kneaded his chin furiously. "I have no reason to doubt Guldemeester's statements. The adjutant's a very experienced colleague. Everything fitted exactly. Powder burns on the head, a letter on the table, typed and signed.
I've done this myself, things got to be too much, sorry if anyone is inconvenienced,
that sort of thing. Guldemeester checked the signature with papers at the bank."

The commissaris flicked his lighter and looked at the flame.

"Cigarette?" Halba asked, offering his pack.

"Hmm?" The commissaris put the lighter back in his pocket. "Oh no, thank you. I'm cutting down. No smoking in the morning. You know, Chief Inspector, I never trust typed suicide notes. People who work in offices are known to sign blank paper at times, because they're off somewhere and don't want to wait for the secretary to write what they dictate."

Halba stubbed out his cigarette with excessive force. "IJsbreker was emotionally disturbed. Guldemeester talked to the bank's vice-president, a Baron de la Faille. The baron stated that his chief had shown signs of obvious mental stress for some time."

"Doesn't de la Faille replace his ex-superior?" the commissaris asked. "Couldn't there be a motive there?"

Halba touched the tip of his nose. "You wouldn't be jumping to conclusions, now? Guldemeester visited the bank too, and was told that it belongs to Willem Fernandus, the attorney, who lives farther up Prince Hendrick Quay. He called on Mr. Fernandus too, who wasn't at all sure who would replace the Banque du Credit's dead director."

"Let's see now," the commissaris said. "Missing gun, missing bullet. A typed note. Ah yes. I'm reopening this case, Halba, after due deliberation, of course, so I went over to IJsbreker's house last night. Adjutant Guldemeester was good enough to give Grijpstra the key. Did you notice that at least ten paintings had been taken down from the mansion's walls? The discolored areas were quite obvious, I thought. A cabinet must have been removed too. I saw a curved outline on the wall that indicated its shape. Display cabinets often have curved tops."

"No," Halba said. "As I keep saying, I rushed in and out. We were busy with the terrorist that day, a more pressing matter. Guldemeester handled the whole case by himself. I'm sure there's an explanation. Perhaps the objects were moved after the adjutant visited the house. Perhaps the heirs . . ."

The commissaris shook his head. "No. The front door was still sealed when we came. Do you often do that, Chief Inspector? Sign reports describing events and situations you haven't properly observed?"

Halba glanced at his watch. "Not normally, but as I keep explaining, there was a crisis at the time. I have to go now; there's a meeting of staff members in a few minutes. Are you coming too?"

"I think I'll skip it for once," the commissaris said.

Halba walked quickly to the door. He paused with the doorknob in his hand. "Yes?" the commissaris asked.

"I don't like this at all," Halba said sharply. "I hope you know what you are doing."

"I think I do," the commissaris said. He smiled when the door clicked shut. "And I do rather like this." The commissaris took a watering can off a shelf and casually watered the profusion of flowering plants on his windowsills before looking at his watch. "There. That should give him enough time," he said. He dialed a number, listened, broke the connection, and dialed again. "Miss Antoinette? I just phoned Guldemeester's home, but the line is engaged. Would you keep trying for me? Please? If you can't get through, I'd like you to pinpoint his address on a map. I believe that the adjutant lives a few miles out of town."

\\\\\ 7 /////

I
N THE DETECTIVES' OFFICE THE PHONE RANG, JINgling on and on, cutting off now and then, and starting up again. De Gier, coming back from the canteen, where he'd listened to dismal conversation on the subject of State Detection's threatened investigation— nobody thought it would do more than cause further useless trouble—picked up the phone. "Homicide," he said pleasantly.

"Sergeant de Gier?" a muffled voice whispered.

"Yes?"

"Prince's Island," the voice said. "The Ancient's Café in an hour." The voice was replaced by a mechanical hum.

"Yes?" Grijpstra asked from the door, seeing de Gier shaking the phone.

"Karate," de Gier said. "He and his co-demon are onto something. Now what? I only want to work on that dead banker. Do we allow ourselves to be sidetracked again? Karate and Ketchup have messed us up before."