'Do you want me to come home with you?'
De Gier scratched his bottom.
She giggled through her tears. 'You are scratching your bottom, are you nervous? Don't you want me to come home with you? I'll go to the police hotel if you have one, or you can lock me in a cell for the night.'
De Gier adjusted his scarf and buttoned his jacket.
'You look a bit scruffy,' Esther said, 'but you have had a hard day. You are still handsome. I'll come home with you if you like. The house makes me nervous. I keep on thinking of Abe's face and that spiked ball you keep talking about. A good-day you said. It's all too horrible.'
De Gier brushed his mustache with his thumb and index ringer. The hairs were sticking together, he would have to wash it. He grimaced. He would get soap in his mouth. He always got soap in his mouth when he washed his mustache.
'You aren't a sexual maniac, are you?' Esther asked. 'It'll be safe to go home with you?' She laughed. 'Never mind. If you are a maniac you'll be a very tired maniac. I'll probably be able to handle you.'
'Sure,' de Gier said. 'Why were you standing at the window?'
'I heard a splash. I thought the killer had come back and that he had dropped his ball into the canal.'
'So why go to the window? It's the most dangerous place in the house. Abe got killed at the window, or, rather, we think so now.'
'I don't mind.'
'You want to die?'
'Why not?'
'You are alive,' de Gier said. 'You'll die anyway. Why not wait?'
Esther stared at him. He noticed that she had a thick underlip and a wide nicely curved upper lip.
'All right,' de Gier said. 'I'll take you to my sister's place or anywhere else you want to go. You must have friends in town. This Corin lady you mentioned just now, for instance. Or relatives. Or I can take you to a hotel; there are lots of hotels. I have a car, it's parked near the Newmarket. I'll go and pick it up and you can pack a bag. I'll be back in five minutes.'
'I'll go with you and come back tomorrow. Perhaps it'll be better tomorrow. I have washed the floor of Abe's room. I won't stay here tonight.'
'I have a cat,' de Gier said as he opened the door of the car for her. 'He's very jealous. He'll probably want to scratch you and he'll wait for you in the corridor in case you want to go to the toilet. Then he'U jump you suddenly and yowl. He may also piss on your clothes.'
'Maybe I should go to a hotel after all.'
'If you want to.'
'No,' she said and laughed. 'I don't mind your cat. I'll be nice to him and my clothes will be in my bag. It's a plastic bag and it's got a zip. I'll pick him up and turn him over and cuddle him. Cats like to be cuddled.'
'He can't stand it if people are nice to him,' de Gier said. 'He won't know what to do.'
'There'll be two of us,' Esther said.
De Gier was on the floor, trying to adjust to the hardness of his camping mattress. Esther was standing in the open door of his small bedroom, her finger on the light switch.
'Good night,'' Esther said.
'Good night.'
'Thanks for the use of your shower.'
'You are welcome.'
'Your bed looks very comfortable.'
'It's an antique,' de Gier said from the floor. 'I found it at an auction. The man said it came from a hospital.'
'I like the frame,' Esther said. 'All those ornate metal flowers. And it's very nicely painted. Did you do it yourself?'
'Yes. It was a hell of a job. I had to use a very fine brush.'
'I am glad you didn't use a lot of colors. Just gold, lovely. I hate these new fads. Some of my friends have used all the colors of the rainbow to decorate their houses, and those horrible transfers! Butterflies in the toilet and animals on the bath and funny pictures in the kitchen and you are forced to read the same jokes over and over again. Bah!'
'Bah!' de Gier said.
'This must be a good place to live in. Just a bed and a bookcase and a lot of cushions and plants. Very good taste. Why do you have the one chair? It doesn't seem to fit in.'
'It's Oliver's. He likes to sit on a chair and watch me eat. I sit on the bed.'
She smiled.
Beautiful, de Gier thought, she is beautiful. She had turned the switch now and the only light in the room came from a lantern in the park. He could only just make out her shape but the light caught the white of her breasts and face. She was wearing his kimono but she hadn't tightened the sash.
She can't feel like it now, de Gier thought. Her brother died today. She must still be in a state of shock. He closed his eyes, trying to destroy the image in his bedroom door but he could still see her. When she kissed him he groaned.
'What's wrong?' she asked softly.
He groaned again. The commissaris will find out. Grijpstra will find out. And Cardozo, the new detective on the murder squad, will find out and make sly remarks. And Geurts and Sietsema will know. The murder squad will have something to discuss again. De Gier the ladykiller. A detective who goes to bed with suspects. But he hadn't planned it. It had happened. Why will they never accept that things happen? Oliver yowled and Esther jumped.
'He bit me! Your cat bit me! He sneaked up to me from behind and bit me! Ouch! Look at my ankle!'
The light was on again and de Gier rushed to the bathroom and came back with a bandage. Oliver sat on the chair and watched the scene. He looked pleased. His eats pointed straight up and his eyes looked bright. His tail flicked nervously. Esther tickled the cat behind the ears and kissed him on the forehead. 'Silly cat, aren't you? Jealous cat! It's all right, I won't take him away from you.'
Oliver purred.
She switched the light off and took de Gier by the hand.
The kimono had dropped to the floor. Oliver sighed and curled up.
'He doesn't watch, does he?' Esther whispered on the bed.
De Gier got up and closed the door.
7
'No, dear,' theCommissaris' wife said sleepily, and turned over. 'It's still early, it's Sunday. Til make the coffee a little later, let me sleep awhile, sleep sleep…'
The rest of the sentence was a mumble, a mumble which changed into a soft pleasant polite snore. The commissaris patted her shoulder with a thin white hand. He hadn't asked for coffee, he hadn't said any* thing at all. She had probably noticed that he was awake and her sense of duty had been aroused. Dear Katrien, the commissaris thought, dear excellent soul, soul of souls, you are getting old and weak and tired and there are more lines in your face than I can count. Have you ever shared my thoughts? Perhaps you have.
He patted her shoulder again and the gentle snore changed into deep breathing. He sat up and pushed the blankets away and crossed his legs, straightening his spine. He lit a small cigar and inhaled the first smoke of the day, blowing it away toward the open window. In the garden his turtle would be rowing about in the grass. It was eight o'clock and Sunday morning. The city was silent without the growl and clank of traffic. A thrush sang in the garden, the sparrows had left their nests above the drainpipe and were rummaging about in the hedge, twittering softly, and the magpies were looking for more twigs to reinforce their domed nest in the poplar. He could hear the flap of their wings as they wheeled about just outside his window. He grunted contentedly.
There had been a dream and he was searching for its memory. It had been an interesting dream and he
