yesterday I was in the canal, Rea left Thursday. I come home and it's all gone. I fall, Mrs. Cabbage takes me to the doctor. I do some shopping. Babette is at the door when I come back, pleased to see me, yapping, affectionate. I go in with the dog. On Friday I leave the dog in the house. It isn't there when I come home.'
'The dog could only leave through the door?'
'Door, communal staircase, front door, there's no other way.'
De Gier pointed at a wall built out of rough bricks. 'Solid wall.'
'Yes, the building used to be a warehouse, everything is solid. You see the holes in that wall? I drilled them and drove in cast-iron bars to support my book shelves. She even removed the bars.'
'Do you miss your books?'
'Not really. A few perhaps but they can be replaced. Books become stuffing after a while, something to collect; another circle.'
'What subjects did you read yourself?'
'Some novels, travel, horror.'
'Any particular horror?'
'Poe.'
'Poe,' Grijpstra said helpfully. 'I've heard of him. What's he like?'
De Gier pressed his hand against the wall. 'I'll tell you a Poe story. There was a couple. They weren't happy. They lived in the country on an estate. It cost them all they had to keep the estate going. The estate wasn't profitable and the lady couldn't buy what she wanted. She would screech at her husband and one evening he picked up the poker and brained her.'
'That was bad,' Grijpstra said.
'Not too bad. It solved the squire's problem. But the corpse was still there, he had to remove that as well. Wait, I almost forgot, they also had a cat. The cat was around. Okay. The gentleman was a handy fellow and he got some tools and made a hole in the wall. A big hole, big enough to hold the corpse. He put the corpse in the hole and closed it up again.'
'I've never done any masonry,' Fortune said.
'But the squire had, you see. He was handy, as I said just now. He did an excellent job. Another thing about this gentleman, he had a sense of humor. He waited a couple of days, a week maybe, and invited the local constable for a glass of wine. Wait, I forgot that cat again. The cat disappeared. The squire looked for the cat but it had gone. Right. The constable comes and gets his wine and the squire pours himself some, too, and tells jokes. After every joke he laughs, loudly, haha, hoho, and knocks on the wall with the poker. Harder and harder.' De Gier hit the brick wall with his fiat hand. 'like this. The squire kept on laughing, haha, hoho.' De Gier shouted. A reaction on the roof became audible. There were screeches and cackles, a rustling and a flapping.
'Sea gulls,' Grijpstra said.
'And crows,' Fortune added. 'There are always crows on the roof, but they are noisier now than usual.'
'Let's have a look.'
Fortune showed de Gler a trap door and the sergeant stepped into Grijpstra's hand and hoisted himself nimbly through the hole.
'How does that story finish?' Grijpstra asked Fortune. 'Or don't you know how it goes?'
'Yes, I know the tale well. When the squire banged the wall with his poker, something inside the wall screeched back at him. An earsplitting screech, unnerving him and the constable. The constable had the wall opened and found the lady's corpse standing up. On her disheveled head sat the cat, the cat that your colleague kept forgetting. The cat was alive, and it screeched.'
De Gier's head popped back. 'Come up here, I found something.'
'A corpse?' Grijpstra asked.
The corpse was on the other side of the roof, partly hidden by a chimney. It had neither ears nor eyes and its skin was badly torn, but it was still recognizable as the remains of a small poodle. Around its neck were the remnants of a red silk collar.
'Babette,' whispered Fortune. 'Poor little thing. Whatever happened to you?'
Grijpstra sat on his haunches and studied the dog's head. 'Got a bit of a blow, the skull is broken. The birds didn't do that, they've only worked on the softer parts of the body.'
De Gier walked away until he reached the roofs edge. He looked down and staggered backward.
'I'm nauseous,' he said softly, 'and dizzy.' He held his stomach. 'If I don't absorb some nicotine into my blood quickly, I'll lose control. I'll be mumbling and I'll never stop. Til be gesticulating too. I'll be mentally ill. Maybe they'll let me do something in therapy. I could sweep the path, somewhere in the rear of the asylum, in the cemetery, between the gravestones of the medieval disturbed. Nobody'll come to look for me.'
'Talking to me?' Grijpstra asked.
'Yes. I'm telling you that I'm no good as a policeman.'
'You never were,' Grijpstra said, 'or I wouldn't have asked for your transfer to the murder brigade ten years ago. Look at Fortune.'
Frits Fortune had cradled Babette's head in his hands and peered into its empty sockets. His pursed lips were whispering endearments. He was also crying.
5
'Now what kind of a man is Frits Fortune?' Grijpstra asked. 'If we don't answer that question, we don't answer anything. Is he a comedian? Is he a nice guy? Is he a murderer? He could be a nice guy but I think that he is a murderer.'
Grijpstra leaned on the railing of the bridge. De Gier leaned next to him. A municipal barge, its lone skipper using the helm as a support for his back, approached slowly through the Brewerscanal. The skipper's legs were spread, he had his hands in his pockets, and he gazed straight ahead. The bent bodies of the detectives underwent a slight tension. It could just be possible that the barge would turn and sail under the bridge into the Emperorscanal. If it did, it would hit the elm tree straddling the water. The resulting accident would be spectacular and cause considerable damage to houseboats. There would be bodies in the water and appreciable commotion. The all-pervading silence of a late Saturday afternoon in the inner city, underlined by the monotonous growl of the barge, would be ripped into a thousand shreds.
But the barge didn't turn and the detectives returned to their quiet questioning. The red-beaked geese appeared majestically. The hairy well-dressed cyclist turned up; his pedal still clanged against the chain guard. The shiny Mercedes parked in front of Hotel Oberon and the fat German got out. The door of Cafe' Beelema opened and closed. Kiran, the Great Dane, romped about the quayside, slowed down and left drops on trees and lampposts.
'Stupid dog,' de Gier said, 'I hope he doesn't see me.'
Kiran saw him and barked cheerfully.
'What kind of a man is Frits Fortune?' de Gier asked. 'And what kind of question do we have here? Is it the right question? What sort of a man are you? What sort of a man am I? Sometimes I've been known to be like this, at other times, however, I'm more like that.'
'This and that are limited ideas,' Grijpstra said. 'They're the extreme limits that hold the habitual behavior of a suspect. If he did something before, we know that he may do it again. If he was a comedian yesterday, chances are he'll be a comedian today.'
'I used to smoke but I don't smoke anymore. What does that make me? A nonsmoker who smoked? A former smoker turned the other way? A nonsmoking former smoker who will smoke again? Finished once, done forever? Once started, on forever?'
'You are a nicotineur,' Grijpstra said, 'and you have a weak character. But as you aren't a suspect, I don't care what sort of a man you are.'
'No?' de Gier asked. He raised his voice. The old man, feeding the geese on the board attached to his houseboat, looked up. 'Shshsh!'
'What sort of a man are you?' shouted de Gier.
