cigars like that; de Gier was vain. A vain male visitor. But who isn’t vain?
I am not vain, Grijpstra thought, looking down at his crumpled suit. The suit was made of excellent British material, pure wool, dark blue with a fine white stripe. He was vain enough to buy expensive suits, always of the same type, but he treated them badly. All right, he would admit to some vanity. Still, he wouldn’t smoke sissy cigars with imitation mouthpieces. No, perhaps he would. If he could afford them. They would go with his suit. He breathed heavily so that the air burbled past bis pressed lips. Nothing was ever easy. Suspects lie and hide their emotions. Clues aren’t seen or get lost. De Gier thought the girl was lying and he was following the sergeant, but why should he? The sergeant’s impressions were sieved through the sergeant’s own perceptions, forced into shapes, twisted out of truth perhaps.
A man visits Elaine Carnet. Elaine is all dressed up in a long flowered dress. A summer evening. She has done everything possible to doll herself up. She is a woman and she won’t admit to getting old. How old would she be? Early fifties? Yes, most likely. She waits for the man in the intimacy of her porch. She gets up, walks around carefully, her dress rustles. A whiff of perfume pervades the room. The azaleas are blooming behind her. The setting sun touches the tops of the poplars and elms and drooping willows. That’s what she had anticipated but instead there is a storm, a horrible oppressive atmosphere that creeps into everything, into her very soul, into the mind of the man. They drink wine together, a strong Beaujolais, and die storm gets into the wine too and turns it into a violent brew that seeps into their thoughts. She talks to him. Her voice is raw and cutting. She talks about the past. She twists off her wedding ring and flings it on the floor. A sudden accusation hurts the man to the quick, and he throws his cigar into the ashtray and jumps up and grabs her by the neck and shakes her. The garden door is open and he sees it and pushes her and lets go. And then he leaves.
The girl’s eyes were resting on Grijpstra’s face.
“Yes, miss?”
“The coffee is ready. I’ll take it to the porch.”
“Please, miss.”
He sipped the coffee and went through the fabricated scene again. It fitted all the facts. But he wouldn’t ask any more questions now. The girl seemed in a steady frame of mind again.
The bell rang and the girl went to open the door. She came back followed by de Gier, who introduced her to die commissaris and Cardozo. Grijpstra got up and offered his chair to the commissaris, who accepted gratefully and lowered his frail body carefully into its rumpled cushions. Cardozo, looking even more boyish and flushed than usual, brought in a chair from the living room and gave it to Grijpstra and went back to fetch stools for de Gier and himself.
“Well, miss. This is a bad business.” said the commissaris. “My sergeant has been telling me about it in die car We are sorry to bother you, but do you feel you are ready to answer some questions? We’ll be as quick as we can.”
His pale, almost colorless eyes glinted behind the round gold-rimmed spectacles. His thin hands were holding his knees. He looked neat and harmless in his worn but recently pressed three-piece suit. A gold watch chain spanned his slightly protruding stomach, and the perfectly knotted tie and thinning hair combed into two equal halves perfected the image of a kind but exact person of authority, a headmaster, a miniature patriarch even.
“Perhaps you would like some coffee, sir, Miss Carnet has just made some. Excellent coffee.”
“That would be very nice but perhaps Miss Carnet shouldn’t bother. Cardozo can get it.”
Gabrielle got up to show Cardozo the kitchen and the commissaris turned quickly. “Anything of interest, Grijpstrar
He listened as he was told about the wedding ring, the second wineglass, and the cigar stubs.
“Any theory, adjutant?”
“A visitor, male presumably. An argument. We don’t know about Mrs. Carnet’s marital status yet.”
“You haven’t asked?”
“The girl was very nervous, sir. I waited for you.”
“Good.”
The commissaris’s hands moved up and squeezed his thin thighs.
“How are you feeling, sir?”
“It was a bad attack, adjutant, rheumatism in its pure and vilest form, but I think the crisis has passed. The sergeant thought the girl was lying. What do you think?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
The coffee came. The commissaris talked about the gale. De Gier’s car had been the only vehicle on the trip back. Fallen trees and overturned cars everywhere. Cap-sized trucks even. And die gale still in full force.
“Did you hear the news, sir?”
“Yes, it’s bad, but the dikes are holding so far. The army is moving out to help, but we may be flooded by tomorrow. How far are we below sea level here?”
The opinions ranged from ten to thirty feet. The commissaris tittered. He seemed truly amused. The titter loosened the room’s murky atmosphere. De Gier laughed and the girl smiled. Cardozo looked surprised and pulled his long curly hair.
“Well. I believe that Detective Constable Cardozo and Miss Carnet have already met. A matter of a poisoned dog. How is your dog now, Miss Carnet?”
It was the right thing to say and the commissaris moved with the girl’s welcoming reaction. The dog was upstairs in her apartment and he wanted to see it. The bell rang again.
“That’ll be the doctor, or the photographers, perhaps. De Gier, why don’t you answer the door. Grijpstra can take charge here, and Cardozo and I will go up with Miss Carnet.”
Grijpstra nodded. He had wanted to take the girl upstairs too, to keep her near her mother’s corpse was a mistake, she would never talk easily that way, but he had wanted to stay near the front door and to keep the girl in sight at the same time. The commissaris, Cardozo, and the girl were on their way up by the time de Gier let in the photographers and the doctor. The men didn’t say much, their usual ribaldry suppressed by the sinister howling of the gale. They all seemed intent to do the job as soon as possible and get away.
“Beautiful, beautiful,” the commissaris said as he saw the Oriental rugs, the cushions with simple geometric designs thrown about in charming disorder, the low couch, the modem paintings. A small white terrier, whimpering softly, was trying to get out of its basket. The commissaris bent down and scratched the animal between its pointed eats. “Sick, are we?”
“He’s much better now,” Gabrielle said softly. “Would you like more coffee? I can make some in my kitchen here.”
“Lovely, lovely,” the commissaris said, and he sat down on a cushion near the dog’s basket. He was still talking to the dog in a low voice. “Feeling better, eh? Somebody gave us some poison, did he? Somebody who isn’t right in the head. We’ll find him and talk to him.”
The dog put out a paw and the commissaris held it. Cardozo had knelt down near the basket too. The dog turned his head and licked the young detective’s hand.
“What do you know about this, Cardozo?” the commissaris whispered fiercely.
“Miss Carnet came to see us day before yesterday, sir. I went home with her. The dog was in a bad state, but the vet was taking care of him. Pumped out his stomach. I took a sample and had it tested by the laboratory. It contained arsenic, a big dose. The particulars are in my report.”
“Yes? And then?”
“Miss Carnet said that the dog usually plays by himself in the garden when her mother and she are out. They had been out for lunch, and when she came back she found Paul, that’s his name, in the kitchen. He seemed very sick, retching and whining, and she called the vet, who came immediately and told her that Paul had been poisoned and that she should go to the police. She took her car and came to see us at once. When I had spoken to the vet I checked the houses that have gardens bordering the Carnet garden, five in all. Everybody seemed sympathetic and upset about the poor dog except the man who owns the house directly behind this one. A man called de Bree, an engineer, fat fellow, bald head, fifty years old, I think.”
“And what did Mr. de Bree say?”
“He didn’t say very much. sir. He slammed the door in my face after telling me not to bother him and that he had had nothing to do with the damn dog.”
“Hmm.” The commissaris still looked fierce. “Ah, there we are. Nice fresh coffee, I can smell it. Just the thing
