'Can I go with you, sir? You were ill last week, sir. I am sure your wife doesn't want you to travel alone. I have some leave due and I'd like to go to America.'
It wasn't the right thing to say. The commissaris frowned. 'My wife? I tell you, sergeant, my wife does fuss, you know. If she had her way I would never leave my bed or my bath. And you know what that will do to me?' The commissaris' forefinger pointed at the sergeant's stylish denim jacket. 'It will kill me. Anything will kill me. Nonactivity will and activity will too. Whatever way I go I am faced by disaster.'
Adjutant Grijpstra raised his bulk from the low chair and ambled over until he stood opposite the commissaris' frail figure. 'But perhaps you shouldn't go alone, sir.' The adjutant's deep voice was polite, soft, reassuring. 'I would like to go too, but my English is bad. The sergeant speaks the language well. He could do the legwork while you sort out the job.'
The commissaris stepped back until his back touched the wall. 'Yes?'
'Yes, sir.'
'No,' the commissaris said. 'No, no. Not at all. The sergeant should spend his leave in the sun somewhere. This is private business, and unpleasant too. A wailing old lady and a blizzard around the house. And what about the money? The trip'll cost a few thousand per person, a waste of good money if there are two of us. No, adjutant. It's a kind thought and I appreciate it.'
The door closed. The sergeant hadn't moved from the straightbacked chair opposite the commissaris' desk. Grijpstra sighed and looked out the window. A streetcar splashed through a puddle on the other side of the street. Two cyclists, huddled in plastic yellow coats, caught its wave of muddy water and nearly capsized.
'Look at that,' Grijpstra said. 'I would rather see snow. Snow is nice and white, all I have seen for the last few weeks is gray water and brown mud. Maybe you should go all the same. He can't stop you, you know. It'll be a private trip. My young cousin spent his holidays in America. He said he had a good time, and it wasn't all that expensive either, but he got some sort of discount, a student's ticket. You may have to pay full fare. Do you have any money?'
'No,' de Gier said and studied his new suede boots. 'I could get a bank loan.'
'It might not be enough. They won't lend much against your salary. I don't have any cash either. Hmm.'
There was some cheerfulness in the 'hmm' and de Gier looked up. 'Hmm what?'
'An idea,' Grijpstra said. 'A good idea. I'll see the chief constable.'
'That high?'
'That high,' Grijpstra said as he left the room. 'The top. It's hard to go higher than the top.'
De Gier left too and wandered through the building. He stopped at the canteen, where a sergeant from the garage showed him how to obtain a free cup of coffee by pressing certain buttons in a certain combination on a recently installed machine, and at the typists' room, where his presence evoked some smiles and at least one wistful sigh. He reached his own office an hour later and found Grijpstra sitting on his desk. The adjutant beamed.
'Yes?' de Gier asked suspiciously.
'On your way.' The adjutant's smile was triumphant.
'On my way where?'
'To the American consulate. They're waiting for you. I have a name. Ask for the name and you will be shown straight through and your passport will be stamped right-away. There is no fee.'
'A visa?'
'Yes. The chief constable was most impressed.'
The adjutant's smile was now both triumphant and mysterious, and de Gier sat down on the visitor's chair, stretched his long legs, and put his feet on the desk. 'Tell me,' he said patiently. 'I won't go anywhere if you don't tell me.'
'What is there to tell? You are going to America. I saw the address of the commissaris' sister in his notebook. The town of Jameson in the county of Woodcock in the state of Maine, USA. We've been friendly with the American police ever since the junkies began to arrive here. Only last week I had to show a New York police lieutenant around, remember? Took me two days.'
'Yes. You took him to the restaurants.'
'That's where he wanted to go. I do as I am told. But it works both ways. We can go over there-there's a fund in The Hague* somewhere and there's money in the fund, American money and Dutch money. When they come over here their expenses are paid by the fund, and if we go over there our expenses are paid by the fund, only we never go over there.'
'That's for crime detection, Grijpstra, not for private adventures. Detection of crimes and apprehension of criminals. I saw something about it in the Police Gazette.'
Grijpstra waved a magazine. 'You didn't read the text properly. It also says that the fund is set up for the mutual benefit of the various police organizations. We can study each other's methods. That police lieutenant I had to take out to dinner wanted to know how we manage to catch suspects without harming them. It seems that most of the criminals brought into his precinct bleed. And he can't stand blood. He hung around one of our stations in the inner city and noted that all our suspects just walked in. Most of them weren't even handcuffed. Over there they have to carry them in.'
'Did you tell him we try to be polite?'
'Yes. But he worried about the safety of the police officers. I told him about the constable who got shot and killed last year because he happened to stop an armed robber on a routine traffic checkpoint. The lieutenant said that that wouldn't have happened in America. They are very careful, even during routine checks. They walk up to the driver from the rear and hold on to their pistols. That's a good approach, I've been thinking about it. If you approach a driver from the rear he can't pull a gun on you so easily. Maybe we can learn something.'
'Wait a minute,' de Gier said and dropped his legs. 'You mean that fund…'
'Yes. Go to the consulate. Once you have your passport stamped you can leave. You can leave tonight. The commissaris is also leaving tonight, but you can take a different plane. I have his flight number.'
'He doesn't know?'
'No. I told the chief constable that the commissaris doesn't want you to go, but the chief agrees that the commissaris shouldn't go alone. Amazing, the whole thing was fixed in half an hour. He telephoned The Hague to clear you with the administrator of the fund. That only took a minute. You can pick up money with the cashier here, up to three thousand, and you have to bring back the change and a stack of vouchers. That fund is a faucet; if you know how to turn it it'll flood you with money. And then he phoned New York. He called the man 'general'-maybe he was a police general. The general said he would call back. He did within twenty minutes. You are invited to serve under the sheriff of Woodcock County, Maine. The general spoke to the sheriff. The sheriff will meet your plane once you tell him when it will arrive.'
'Shit,' de Gier said.
'Beg pardon?'
'Shit. You aren't serious, are you, adjutant? What does the chief want me to do there? Catch poachers? We don't have any poachers in Amsterdam-the rabbit that lived in the park behind my apartment building was run over last week and nobody wants to shoot the blue herons, they have a fishy taste.'
Grijpstra got off the desk, pulled de Gier up by the lapels of his tailor-made jacket, and shoved him to the door.
'Off you go, dear boy. Nobody cares what you do out there as long as you bring back the commissaris alive. That fund is to be wasted, waste it pleasantly. Off you go.'
'Thanks,' de Gier said on the threshold.
'A pleasure. Be sure the commissaris doesn't find out until it's too late.'
'What do I tell him when he does find out?'
'Blame it on me,' the adjutant said. De Gier was in the corridor. The door closed slowly.
De Gier grinned.
•The ranks of the Amsterdam Municipal Police are constable, constable first class, sergeant, adjutant, inspector, chief inspector, commissaris, chief constable. A commissaris is usually in charge of a division. Sergeants and adjutants are noncommissioned officers.
*The Hague houses the various government centers of the Netherlands. Amsterdam is the country's capital.
