'We can check his alibi. And Albert's alibi, and Tom's. It couldn't have been Madelin, could it? She's a good shot too.'
'No. I saw her while the gunman was getting away in the woods.'
The cruiser stopped in front of Robert's Market. The sheriff got out, opened the rear door, and let the three men out. Leroux groaned.
'Cuffs too tight again, Leroux?'
'Yes.'
'They'll be off in a minute. I'll be holding you for the night. You had your warning. You're in trouble now.'
The cruiser shot off, a little too quickly, and the rear wheels spun in the road.
'Well,' the sheriff said softly. 'This thing is getting out of hand, sergeant. They're making fun of us. First the trick with the door. Then you get shot at. But you are me-you are part of my outfit now. I'll have to get busy or I'll never get anything done again. You're still with me?'
'I am.'
'You don't have to be. You don't live here. You live a long way off. There's no reason why you should get yourself killed here.'
'It's all right,' de Gier said. 'I am enjoying it, I think.'
'You should so far. She was a good lay, was she?'
'Yes.'
'I haven't had the pleasure, but I believe you. Maybe I'll have it later, but I'll have to get in her way. You sure got yourself in her way.'
They reached the jailhouse and Bernie came out and took the prisoner. The sheriff made coffee while de Gier cleaned and polished the shotgun with a piece of cloth he had found in the cruiser.
Bernie came back from the jail and held his mug under the coffee machine.
'We're sure busy these days, Jim.'
'We sure are, Bernie.'
'I've been thinking today. You want to hear, Jim?'
'Yes.'
'About Cape Orca, Jim. Five people died, right, and one ran away, right?'
'Sure, Bernie.'
'I know who killed one of them. The fox did. Old Paul Ranee drank himself to death and he was singing and carrying on when he croaked, and the fox was with him. I know that for sure. Liquor was poison for old Paul and the fox fed it to him, by the half gallon. Right, that's one murder and there's nothing we can do about it. Captain Schwartz ran away because the fox paid a friendly call. That isn't homicide, but it's something else that ain't right. Terrorism or something. Young Albert made me rip my cruiser to pieces. That's terrorism again. Right?'
'Let's say you're right, Bernie. Then what?'
'So maybe we should do something, Jim. We're the law, we got power. Let's make sure we cripple them before they do something else, like take a shot at us.'
The sheriff held up his mug. 'I'll have coffee too, Bernie, and maybe the sergeant would like some. Somebody shot the tail off his hat tonight.'
Bernie dropped his mug. It broke.
'I want to hear about that, Jim.'
'It was the sergeant's hat, Bernie.'
'Sergeant?'
De Gier looked up from his cleaning. 'As Jim says, Bernie, I stood on Madelin Astrinsky's driveway, halfway between the Dodge and the front door, and whop. The tail is in the cruiser. The hat is on the hook over there.'
'You see who did it?'
'Something in the woods. A silhouette, black, maybe six feet high, on snowshoes. It went away.'
Bernie stared at the shards near his feet. He looked up again. 'That's right, you're a cop too. You tell us what you saw, not what you think you saw. But I'll tell you what you saw, you saw the BMF gang. They knew you were on your way to Madelin's because you said so on the radio. The fox and young Albert and Tom were listening in Robert's Market. The CB radio is under the counter. Or maybe you were set up from the start. Madelin is bad too. One of the boys, or all of them, got in a car and raced over to Madelin's while you were talking to us under the elm trees. The fox has snowshoes in his jeep. We've got to cripple them, Jim. They'll have us next. I don't know about you, but I'm not going to have myself shot at.'
Bemie's voice had become shrill.
'Coffee, Bernie.'
'Yeah, coffee.' He took the sheriff's mug and got two more from the shelf.
'Here you are, Jim. Here you are, sergeant. When did it happen, sergeant?'
'Eight-forty.'
'Okay, can I go around and check alibis, Jim?'
'Sure, Bernie.'
'And can I run them in?'
'On what charges?'
Bernie sat down. 'Theft. I've had complaints about the fox and Albert stealing lumber off people's land. Vague complaints, but I can shake the complainers and get good complaints. Theft is a crime, and mat's all we have on them now. All the other stuff is nothing. You won't find that boat either, Jim. I had the Coast Guard on the phone just now. Your friend is on leave, and he'll be away for a while. I can't get the game wardens to cooperate either because they're mad at me about old Bill Thompson's dog and the ten sixty-fours.'
'I'll find the boat, Bernie, or the sergeant will. Madelin has a little Cessna, in excellent repair. How about phoning your girlfriend and asking her to fly you over the bay tomorrow, sergeant? The number is in the book. I'll look it up for you.'
The sergeant phoned. The call didn't take long. He put the phone down. 'Sure, Jim. I suggested that the commissaris come too. He might like a chance to get away from his sister. She says tomorrow morning ten o'clock is fine. It'll be a clear day.'
Bernie had been moving the shards of his mug with his foot. 'I'll check the alibis tomorrow morning, Jim. What are you going to do? Maybe we should get them from all sides at once.'
The sheriff got up. 'I'm going to my room to think. Sometimes I come up with something if I think long enough. There's Carl Davidson's death, the guy who froze in the woods. Some time ago I ran into an Indian who was telling me about Carl. They used to go out hiking together. I could go and find that Indian tomorrow. He'll be in the reserve. Sergeant?'
De Gier woke up. He had drifted away. The horse of death had floated through his dream, brushing the snow with its hoofs. It had been ridden by Madelin, in her long purple skirt. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, Jim.'
'Go to bed, sergeant. You've had a long day. I'll wake you for breakfast. We'll have eggs. I'll make an omelet. How about asking your chief to come out for breakfast?' He looked at his watch. 'It's close to midnight. You think I can still phone him?'
De Gier was on his way to the door. 'Yes. I am sure he would like to come out.'
'Okay. We'll have a good long breakfast and go through the case with him. I can use some advice it seems.'
Bernie's round red head turned away from the sink where he was washing the mugs. 'You got terrorists in Amsterdam, sergeant?'
'Yes.'
'What do you do with them?'
'We bring them in, if we have arrestable charges against them.'
'I say you should shoot them, by accident like. Lots of people get shot in the woods, especially now, in the hunting season. Old Jones got shot through the head two years ago. That was the season too. If you shoot them first they can't shoot you afterward, can they?'
'We don't have woods in Amsterdam, Bernie.'
'Europe is soft,' Bernie said. 'That's why we had to come out twice to help you people.'
