“Gabrielle was wearing a small object, on a nylon string,” Cardozo said rapidly. “The object was a cow’s skull, the size of, uh, like that.” He pointed to a button on de Gier’s denim jacket. “That size. It was carved out of walnut, I think, well done, a lot of detail. The eye sockets were quite deep and there was a third hole, I thought it was a fault of the wood.”
“Amazing,” de Gier said, still in the same sweet voice. “And how do you know that? I also saw a piece of nylon around the young lady’s neck and I also saw a small object dangling on that nylon thread, but it was stuck way down into her blouse. I couldn’t see any detail on that object and yet you describe it so accurately.”
“I saw her this evening, before I came here. I told you, didn’t I?”
“But how did you manage to see something she keeps between her breasts? She must have been naked. Why was she naked, dear boy? Did she strip, or did you forget your manners and rape the young lady?”
Grijpstra’s eyes stared; the commissaris was stirring his coffee. Cardozo had picked up a match and was digging at a noodle, stuck between the table’s boards.
“Maybe you should tell us what happened exactly,” the commissaris said gently.
“I’m sorry, sir. I did have, uh, intimate contact with the suspect. I am very sorry, sir.”
“She seduced you, did she?”
“No, sir, it was my own fault. I wasn’t alert, I’m afraid. It, uh, just happened. I just slipped into it.”
“Into what?” Grijpstra asked, frowning furiously.
“Gentlemen!” the commissaris said sternly and raised a forbidding hand. “Now, constable, you can give us some details. Try and describe exactly what happened. You can spare us the physical details, of course. She did seduce you, didn’t she? I can’t imagine that you instigated the action.” The commissaris’s voice was gentle again, he was stirring his coffee once more. Cardozo talked for a while.
“I see, well, never mind. Ah, I forgot to ask, did you see Francesco Pullini, de Gier? I want that passport.” De Gier produced the passport and the commissaris opened it and looked at the photograph. “Good, was he upset?’
“Not particularly, sir, just a little, but Italians are rather excitable, I believe.”
Cardozo picked up the passport and stared at the photograph. His eyes opened wide. “Sir!”
“What is it now, Cardozo? Don’t tell me you know the man, you haven’t met him.”
“But I do know him, sir. There’s a small portrait hanging behind the couch Gabrielle uses as a bed. An oil portrait. The face is very similar to this face, sir.”
The commissaris breathed out slowly. His small wizened hand came out, reached across the table, and patted Cardozo’s shoulder.
“Excellent, detective constable first class. You have now managed to link Gabrielle with bom the baboon and Francesco Pullini. Three suspects, one woman, two men, and each man has a sexual relationship with the woman. A lot of loose pieces should fit in now, all we have to do is find out how.” He waved for the bill. “Well, Grijpstra, how about your theory? I’m sure you and the sergeant have worked out an angle from which Mrs. Carnet’s death could be explained. Is your theory still standing?”
Grijpstra touched de Gier’s sleeve. De Gier was staring at the black girl at the other table.
“Yes,” de Gier said, “yes, sir. The theory still stands, but it isn’t strong enough to hold a suspect. I was thinking of doing some more work, tomorrow morning. I can’t do it tonight.”
The commissaris paid the bill and complimented the Chinese on the quality of his food. He got up, scraping his chair energetically, but bent down to feel his thigh. His thin lips tightened.
“I won’t ask you what your theory is, sergeant. I have my own, but it doesn’t stand up too well either as yet. I’ll have to go further too. I may be away tomorrow, possibly the day after tomorrow. Meanwhile you can go ahead, but I would appreciate your not making an arrest until I’m back. Ideally our theories should be identical and we should arrive at the same results, but we have been pushing the case and perhaps we should go slower now.”
His pale eyes made contact with each of the three men in turn.
“Good.”
The dog was licking her private parts again as they left the restaurant. Cardozo tripped over her and stumbled into the prostitutes’ table. The black girl caught him.
“Clumsy fellow, aren’t you?” de Gier asked.
Grijpstra grinned. “Ignore him, Cardozo. I’ve seen the sergeant make such a mess here once that it took two waiters an hour to clean up after him.” Cardozo looked grateful.
“I was making an arrest then,” de Gier said. “You always tell part of the story. We were trying to catch a fellow with a knife as long as your arm.”
“Tut-tut-tut.”
“Did he have a knife or didn’t he?”
“We each had a pistol.”
“Gentlemen,” the commissaris said from the open doorway, “it’s getting late. The door is open, there is a draft, me ladies will catch cold.”
“Sir,” they said as they trooped into the street.
\\ 15 /////
It was nearly eleven o’clock when the Commissaris came home and his wife was waiting for him in the corridor.
“Dear…”
“Yes?”
“You shouldn’t be out so late. I wish you would stay in, at least during the evening. You know what the doctor said.”
“Yes. Rest. But I did rest.”
“Just for two days, he said two weeks. Your bath will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Good, any messages?”
“Just one, a telephone call at nine o’clock. A Mr. de Bree.”
“You have the number?”
She pointed to the pad next to the telephone and he walked over to it and began to dial.
“Mr. de Bree?”
“Commissaris, I would like to come and see you if possible, something has come up.”
“You could tell me over the telephone.”
There was a pause. “I would rather come and see you. I have some information.”
“Now?’
“I can be with you in five minutes, I have my car.”
“Very well.”
The commissaris hung up. His wife was standing next to him, her arm around his shoulders. “Please, dear, not now, call him and tell him to come tomorrow. You’ve had such a long day and you look so pale. Why don’t you go and have your bath, surely the matter can wait till tomorrow.”
“No, dear, it’s a bad case and I’ve been pushing it, it’s my own fault. The man won’t stay long, I promise.”
The doorbell rang and the commissaris peeked from behind a curtain before he went to open the door. Mr. de Bree had arrived in a brand-new Mercedes and had left the car in the driveway. He had forgotten to close the car door and its lights were on.
The bell rang again. The commissaris didn’t hurry. He opened the door and looked down on de Bree’s sweaty, bare skull, gleaming under the light of the driveway’s lantern.
“Yes, Mr. de Bree?”
“I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, sir, but my information may be of interest to you and I thought…”
“That’s quite all right, I hadn’t gone to bed yet. Please come in.”
They walked through the long corridor and the commissaris led the way into his study. It was a hot evening and the garden doors were still open.
