my name is Mrs. Fujitani. My husband and I manage this restaurant. He will be up in a few minutes, but there is a special dish to prepare and he can't leave it alone just now. I assume that you are inquiring into Joanne Andrews' complaint about her missing fianceT'
'Yes, madam,' Grijpstra said. She spelled her name and he carefully wrote it down.
'Perhaps nothing is the matter,' Mrs. Fujitani said hopefully. 'Perhaps Mr. Nagai is enjoying himself somewhere and will show up soon.'
'We thought so too,' Grijpstra said, 'but we don't anymore. We found his car, you see, and there is blood in the car and a fragment of human skull with black hair attached to it. Somebody was shot in the car.'
He looked at her carefully. The fright reaction seemed genuine. He didn't think Mrs. Fujitani expected the man to be dead. Her eyes were staring at him, she had sucked in her breath sharply and her hands were clasping each other with such force that the knuckles showed white centers.
'Do you have any idea who would have wanted to kill Mr. Nagai?' Grijpstra asked gently.
'So that's why Joanne didn't show up today,' Mrs. Fujitani said. 'I telephoned her landlady. She said Joanne had been nervous the last few days, very nervous.'
Grijpstra repeated his question. She shook her head, but there were tears in the small dark eyes.
'Did you like Mr. Nagai?'
She nodded. 'Yes, he was such a nice quiet man. Once, a year ago, I think, he drank too much in the restaurant here and bothered people. You know, went up to their tables and tried to talk to them. My husband had to show him the door but he didn't make a fuss. He just went and then he didn't dare to come here again. I went to his hotel and he was almost crying with embarrassment.'
'Did he come back again?' Grijpstra asked.
'Yes. He brought me flowers and he gave us a little statue, very valuable, I believe. It's over there.'
She pointed at a low lacquered table. Grijpstra got up from his cushions, rubbed his legs which had gone to sleep under him and stumbled toward the table. The statue depicted a stocky old man with a large bald head, bushy eyebrows which pointed aggressively forward and enormous eyes, bulging ferociously. The small, hunched-up body seemed to exhale tremendous strength. 'Hey,' Grijpstra said, and stepped back.
Mrs. Fujitani giggled. 'Daruma-san,' she said, 'the first Zen master, very powerful.'
'A priest?' Grijpstra asked doubtfully. 'Aren't priests supposed to look holy?'
'Very holy,' Mrs. Fujitani said, and bowed reverently toward the statue. 'Daruma means 'teaching,' san means 'mister, Mister Teaching.''
'So what did he teach?' Grijpstra asked, looking at the fury on the old man's face.
'Buddhism,' Mrs. Fujitani said. 'But I don't know about Buddhism. My husband and I are Christians, Methodists, but I like to look at this statue. It was very good of Mr. Nagai to give it to us; it is the center of this room now.'
The girl brought in a large tray with the sushi, and Grijpstra was told how to mix a sauce in a small dish and dip the raw fish and rice into the dish, using chopsticks. He had no trouble with the chopsticks; he had used them many times before, in the cheap Chinese restaurants of the old city. After the sushi she offered a bowl of hot noodles topped with fried vegetables and poured sake, the Japanese rice wine, from a small heated bottle.
Mr. Fujitani came in twice, but excused himself each time after a few minutes. The restaurant had filled up and he was kept busy behind the counter, preparing special dishes and supervising. He was a small man, in his forties, glancing nervously through his steamed-up spectacles.
'Very good girl,' he kept on saying when Grijpstra questioned him about Joanne Andrews. 'She won't come back, you think? Very good hostess, quiet and efficient.' He spoke quickly, firing the words as if from a gun, and keeping the tone of his voice on the same high pitch.
'No,' Grijpstra said. 'I don't think she will come back. She is very unhappy about the death of her boyfriend. She seems sure that he has been killed, although so far we haven't found his body yet. Who would want to kill him, do you think, Mr. Fujitani?'
But Mr. Fujitani only bowed and said 'Saaaaah,' shaking his head and looking utterly bewildered.
'When did you see Mr. Nagai last?'
But Mr. Fujitani went on saying 'Saaaaah' and shaking his head.
Grijpstra looked at Mrs. Fujitani, but she was imitating her husband's behavior. They looked like two toys, moved by clockwork.
'Try to remember,' Grijpstra said gently.
'No,' Mrs. Fujitani said. 'I don't know. Some days ago, I think, he came in here, but we are always so busy and so short of staff and the food takes so much time to prepare and there are only two young boys in the kitchen for the washing up and they never catch up so we have to help out. Many Japanese come here, we know most of them and we say a few words but then we forget again. Too much work.'
'Yes,' Grijpstra said. He was thinking of the drug-brigade detectives who would be having a lot of Japanese meals soon, while they looked for the Dutch and Japanese ship's officers Joanne Andrews would have described to them. They would have to set some sort of trap to catch the heroin smugglers. He wondered what detectives would be chosen, wishing he could be one of them. The food was excellent, he thought, as he looked at his bowl, fishing out a large mushroom with his lacquered chopsticks.
One of the serving girls came in, speaking rapidly to Mrs. Fujitani.
'You have a telephone call,' she said. 'Will you take it in here?'
'Please,' Grijpstra said, and took the telephone, which she had taken from a side table, pushing one of its buttons for him.
'De Gier,' the voice said. 'How is the food? Enjoying yourself?'
'Yes,' Grijpstra said. 'This is a beautiful place. I can't believe I am in Amsterdam. This must be the perfect Japanese room. You should come and see it.' He looked at Mrs. Fujitani who was smiling, although her eyes were still moist. He wondered whether she had any special attachment to Mr. Nagai? Or to Joanne Andrews?
'We have those two jokers,' de Gier was saying. 'They were sitting in their hotel room watching television. They say they don't know what the hell we are talking about. One of them speaks a little English; maybe we can get an interpreter tomorrow. There was nothing in their room, no firearms, no paintings or sculptures, no drugs. Their papers are in order, they say they are on holiday, two weeks in Amsterdam.'
'And their jobs? What do they do?'
'Salesmen,' de Gier said. 'They sell chemicals in Kobe, work for some large company, I've written the name down. They were given the trip as a sort of prize, sold more than they were supposed to, or something.'
'Did you arrest them?'
'Sure,' de Gier said cheerfully. 'The State Police found a little evidence. A Japanese man bought a shovel in a store close to the speedway to Utrecht. He was driving a white BMW; the storekeeper noticed the car. And some people in the same village noticed that a Japanese man was trying to clean the upholstery of a white BMW. He had parked the car on a field near a pond and was rubbing the front passenger seat with a towel or a large dustcloth. He had dipped it in the water of the pond.'
'They only saw one man?' Grijpstra asked.
'Yes, but the other one was around, I suppose. Maybe waiting in the car. The witnesses aren't too clear. They are coming in tomorrow to see the suspects. I have the jokers here in Headquarters.'
'Are they upset?' Grijpstra asked.
'Not very. They want to see their consul. I have phoned him. He is out but I'll phone again tomorrow morning. They smile and nod a lot and say 'Saaaaah.''
'Yes,' Grijpstra said. 'I have heard the word. I wonder if it means something.'
''Don't know' probably,' de Gier said. 'Are you finished up there? Want to meet me for a drink?'
'No,' Grijpstra said heavily. 'I am going to walk home and nothing is going to disturb me.'
'Thanks,' de Gier said.
'A little further down this street there is somebody playing Bach on a clavichord,' Grypstra said happily. 'Something sad, but there is a lovely gliding rhythm in it. It starts up and dies out and starts up again. Very fresh, I think you can play it. You have it on a record, but I can't have been listening properly when you played the record. The music is delicate, starting off with a tee-taa pom pom and then some sadness comes into it, played with the left hand, a sort of slide, I think I can do it on the middle drum.'
'Yes,' de Gier said. 'I remember, a prelude it was. You said you liked it at the time. But later on it gets
