'I know, sergeant, but she wasn't rough when we refused. That's something.'
The stores had changed. They were Chinese now and displayed food, mostly red carcasses of birds hanging side by side above constellations of 'cans that looked as if they could fall over any moment. They came to an intersection where policemen, dressed in long orange plastic coats, were attempting to sort out the traffic. A woman on their side of the street suddenly yelled, turning away from her escort, a big, well-dressed man.
'Bitch!' the man shouted and slapped the woman's face. She staggered and began to fall, but the man grabbed her by the collar of her coat and yanked her upright again. He swore at her in a guttural language with four-letter English words thrown in. He raised his arm again and de Gier stepped forward, but the commissaris held on to the sergeant's sleeve. Two of the orange-coated policemen walked up to the man.
'Mister!'
'You know what she just told me, officer?'
The commissaris pushed de Gier toward the nearest restaurant. The sergeant looked over his shoulder. He could only see the coats of the policemen. The woman was whimpering.
'Not our business, sergeant.'
'What would that woman have said to the man, sir?'
The commissaris' long teeth reflected the street's garish light. 'That she prefers the man's best friend to the man. Love, sergeant, the case of much violence. Let's go in.'
When they walked through the park again their mood had improved. Fortified by a six-course meal, they hardly noticed the looming trees, reaching down threateningly, and they almost casually avoided staggering drunks and shuffling junkies. It was dark now and the young lady singing Christmas carols was coming to the end of her program. The police sirens hadn't. They tore at the chanting voice and blotted out most of the twittering of a flock of starlings shifting from tree to tree. The commissaris plodded on with the sergeant striding at his side.
'Coffee,' the commissaris said, 'and then to bed, but we should make an effort to waylay Astrinsky, although I don't really feel like work.'
De Gier spotted Astrinsky a few minutes later in the hotel's coffee shop and pointed him out to the commissaris. The commissaris sat down at the next table and smiled at his suspect.
'Good evening, Mr. Astrinsky. How are you tonight?'
Astrinsky lowered his magazine. It took a few seconds before he recognized the man who greeted him. He dropped the magazine and got up. When his elbow hit his coffee cup it fell off the table.
'You!' The word was both an exclamation and an acknowledgment.
'Yes, you remember? Suzanne Opdijk's brother. You remember Sergeant de Gier too?'
'Yes.'
'Have you been in touch with Jameson at all lately, Mr. Astrinsky?'
'No. Why?'
'Perhaps you should go back. All sorts of things have been happening. Mary Brewer's boat was found, and the sheriff is very active. You knew Mary Brewer, didn't you?'
'Yes.' Astrinsky's eyes stared. His half glasses had slid to the end of his fleshy nose, and his hands were crumpling the magazine.
'Of course you remember her. You bought her house. Ah!' The commissaris' little fist hit the table. 'That's right. I knew there was something I wanted to discuss with you. Suzanne's house! You offered me thirty thousand, but after you left so suddenly I asked another realtor, a friend of the sheriff's, wasn't he, sergeant?'
The sergeant nodded helpfully.
'Right. I asked this realtor to appraise the property, and he came up with a figure three times as high. Are you sure you didn't miscalculate, Mr. Astrinsky? Suzanne thinks very highly of you. You were a good friend of my brother-in-law's, but I don't think she should give the property away just because you are a friend.'
Astrinsky's mouth gaped briefly and closed with a snap.
'Perhaps we can look into the proposition again sometime. The sergeant and I will be flying back tomorrow morning on that nice airplane. But weren't you supposed to be in the Bahamas?'
'I'll see you tomorrow,' Astrinsky said. 'I've had a long day. Good night.'
'Good night, Mr. Astrinsky.'
'Well, how do you feel about our investigation now?' the commissaris asked when he switched off die light. The sergeant grunted sleepily. 'Something is moving, don't you think?' The sergeant grunted twice. 'What was that, Rinus?' But the sergeant had nodded off and no longer heard the creaking of the sheets, while the commissaris was moving about finding comfort for his aching legs and hips.
The dream was amazingly clear. Events passed quickly and he couldn't remember them all afterward, but it seemed that the case had been solved and the New York police general, accompanied by other dignitaries, was shaking his hand. He was being offered a commission and he accepted and found himself in uniform. The uniform was crisp and white, with very long trousers and a tight tunic. And a cap of course. A naval uniform-he was now a seaman. His assignment seemed most logical. He was being posted to a battleship in Rotterdam harbor. The battleship was American of course, the flagship of a combined fleet, and he was to be a liaison officer. He was being whistled aboard, with men standing at attention everywhere. And then he was being shown around. He was in a fast-moving motorboat, cutting through the murky water of the port, and he saw various warships, of different nationalities. They each had a purpose and a specialty. Gradually the ships were becoming smaller. The last ship was no more than a small boat, a twenty-foot wooden vessel like he had seen on the Maine coast. The explaining voice next to his ears dropped to a whisper. 'Swimdogs,' the voice said. 'A secret weapon. See them?' He saw the animals, but there were seals, the seals of Jeremy's Island. There were dozens of them, swimming leisurely around their floating base. He saw their intelligent eyes and long silver whiskers. The voice was giving him more details. The animals were highly trained and equipped with electronic gear.
But then he was back on the battleship again, alone in his luxurious quarters, smoking and thinking. Something was worrying him. He couldn't be in the American navy because he was Dutch. He would need permission, the queen's permission. The scene changed at once. He was now in the state police jet, landing on the lawn in front of the queen's castle. Dutch military police, in parade uniforms with bearskin hats and curved sabers, greeted him smartly and marched him to the main building. The queen waited for him on a low couch and inclined her head as he stood stiffly, stating his name and former rank. He also stated his new rank and apologized for not asking for her approval before. His clipped phrases came out neatly. He was staring at the ground but raised his eyes when the queen answered.
'Permission granted.'
Thank you, ma'am.'
He turned on his heels and marched out. He had seen the queen's face. Madeira's face, but mellowed and dignified, Madelin's beauty softened with the grace of royalty.
So far so good, but the terror of the dream came at the end. He was back in Rotterdam port, in the water this time, struggling, being dragged down by the weight of his uniform and boots. The seals came for him, but they changed as they approached. The round, smooth faces grew hairy protuberances; the eyes receded and were slanted and cruel. Their coloring changed too. They were black on top and white underneath.
He woke up because the commissaris was shaking him by the shoulder. The commissaris had switched on his bedside light.
'Rinus!'
'Sir?'
'You were dreaming. Do you remember your dream?'
De Gier told him what he remembered, and the commissaris nodded, smiled, and lit a cigar, puffing peacefully.
'That's it?'
'Yes, sir. There may be more, but it is all fading out now. The meeting with the queen was very important, and the end.'
'Do you know what orcas look like, sergeant?'
'Not really, sir. The sheriff described them to me, but I wasn't paying too much attention at the time. Black and white. Large. Dangerous.'
'They are of the whale family, sergeant, with smooth faces. Not hairy or lumpy. But we will meet them I think, or rather their human counterparts.'
