'Calm down, Bernie,' the sheriff said quietly. 'Calm down. We've got to get proof and we're going to get proof. And when we have it we'll arrest them and give them to the judge.'
'Maybe you're soft too, Jim,' Bernie said and turned back to the sink.
11
'Very good of you, Sheriff,' the Commissaris said and feasted his eyes on the table offering a profusion of choice in a strange assortment of bowls and covered-up dishes. 'Can I look?'
'Go ahead, sir.'
The commissaris lifted lids. 'Sausages, mmm! Bacon, a-ha! An omelet, splendid! The sergeant was telling me about your home-baked bread. Is that it?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Came out very well, didn't it? Looks like the bread I buy from the Jewish baker on Sundays. Still warm, just like yours. You know, sheriff, the Dutch have never learned that breakfast is the one important meal in the day. We try to get by on stale bread that never had any taste in the first place, and maybe some jam, and a cup of weak tea. And sometimes porridge, bah! Disgusting, absolutely. My sister has retained the habit, of course.'
'Go ahead, sir. It'll get cold.'
The sergeant cut bread and the sheriff served. The commissaris began to eat.
'Amazing,' the commissaris said some time later. 'I didn't know I could eat that much. The stew was delicious. Lamb stew, wasn't it?'
'Yes sir, a dog got the lamb and we got the dog. The lamb was our prize. The subject gave it to us. I had it slaughtered and we kept it in the freezer. It's about finished now, but we'll have a deer next. The pay is poor, but we still manage to live well, thanks to the prisoners mostly. They keep the greenhouse going, and we have clams from the beach and there's a vegetable garden. The old sheriff was very good at organizing, and I'm planning to continue the tradition. The deputies are married and have their own homes, but I have to live in the jailhouse.'
The meal was over and an old man came from the jail to clear the table. He poured more coffee.
'Shall I do the dishes now, sheriff?'
'No, later. I'll call you, Mac.'
The old man nodded and went back into the jail. The heavy door closed behind him.
'What is he in for, sheriff?'
'For nothing in particular, sir. We picked him up because he was drunk and wandering around. He didn't want to go home. Mac lives by himself and he's out of firewood. I don't have too many prisoners just now. When I get some I'll make them cut a few cords for Mac. Then he'll want to go home again. He's one of the town drunks, okay for the first two weeks of the month, but when they drink their way through the welfare check they become a nuisance.'
'And Mac makes himself useful here?'
'Oh yes, he likes being told what to do, like most of us. In a way that's why you're here, sir. To tell me what to do. The sergeant may have told you that homicide isn't really the sheriff's business, but it seems we've got ourselves into the situation now and I'll have to go on.'
'But you are doing very well, sheriff. We aren't, I am afraid. We must be a burden to you, what with our inexperience and clumsiness. The Dodge is stuck on the estate again. We had to go back and fetch the station wagon and it isn't even snowing.'
'I am not doing so well, sir, and I feel guilty about having given so little protection to the sergeant. My trouble is that I'm new too and the deputies aren't trained for this type of investigation. My chief deputy is showing signs of panic already, and the other two are young, converted rowdies who were hired because of their availability. They are good at fistfights and racing around with the siren going, but this thing is quite beyond their capacities.'
The commissaris cleaned his mouth with his handkerchief and lit a cigar. 'A homicide investigation has simple rules, sheriff, and I am sure you know them all. Name the suspects and question them and sniff about for information. Follow up any clue and try to fit it into a theory. If a clue doesn't fit, discard the theory. As I happened to be here I've taken the opportunity to talk to some of the people who seem to be involved with Cape Orca. That location is the center of it all, don't you agree?'
'Yes, sir.'
'So who do we have? My dear sister, Suzanne, who prattles on and on but has never really lived here and knows nothing. Even so she did manage to tell me something last night. I'll bring that up later. Then there is Mrs. Wash and her gentleman-servant, Reggie. Then we have Michael Astrinsky, and last but not least Jeremy, the friendly hermit. The BMF gang is in and out of the whole unfortunate business too, but they are posing certain problems. I can't fit them in at all. Can you, sheriff?'
'They do consider the cape their private property, sir.'
The commissaris raised a thin finger. 'True. That's the part I can fully understand. When I was a boy I grew up in a small town near some woods. The woods were private property, but the owner lived somewhere else and he never showed up. I knew every tree in those woods. I even named some of them. There was the camel, for instance, a tree with an enormous branch growing a few feet above the ground. I would sit on that branch for hours and have all sorts of adventures. And there was another tree, a log really, quite dead, that was the rhinoceros. The rhinoceros was my dearest friend for many years. It was a strangely shaped log, very fat, resting on broken-off branches and with a big sort of head. It really looked like a rhino. It took me into the jungle. I fought black warriors who attacked from all sides. It was great, sheriff, absolutely great!'
The sheriff grinned.
'You understand that sort of thing?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good. But then the woods were sold and cut down, and I hated the men working there. I saw the camel and the rhino die and disappear. The rhino was just burned. The wood was too punky to serve any useful purpose. It was very sad. I was ten years old then, but I would have killed the laborers if I had been able to. The BMF gang may have similar feelings about their cape, and when the retired people came and built their homes and spoiled the landscape…'
'We know the gang got rid of two of the occupants, sir.'
'Yes, but there may have been other reasons. The sergeant has reported fully to me. Captain Schwartz was a Nazi, and Nazi ideas will provoke strong reactions in many minds. Paul Ranee was a dying man, miserably alive because of medical care. Some people believe that the old should be allowed to die, happily if possible. I've met the fox once and I must say I was rather impressed by him.'
The sheriff nodded. 'He is very much together, sir.'
The commissaris looked surprised. 'Together?'
The sheriff gestured. 'Well organized, sir, practical, a tight person, no holes.'
'Ah, I see. Together, eh? That's a good word.'
'And immoral,' de Gier said. 'He suggested to his girlfriend that she work in a porno studio at two hundred dollars a day. He killed a man in a provoked gang fight. He left the corpse of his own friend in a New York slum street. He likes to experiment.'
'What?' the sheriff asked. 'Did Madelin tell you all that? Is she the girlfriend who was supposed to do the porno work?'
'Yes.'
The sheriff shook his head. 'Madelin isn't the fox's girlfriend. I've seen them together but not in that way. I know she has lovers, university students who come up for the weekend. Her father has been complaining about that. But Madelin is on her own.'
'Her car registration is BMF ZERO,' de Gier said.
The commissaris waved his cigar excitedly. The sheriff smiled. The commissaris looked very neat in his old- fashioned three-piece suit, carefully knotted tie, and gold watchchain.
'There we have it!' the commissaris said. 'The inconsistency that has been bothering me. Or fascinating me.
