De Gier was running, no, De Gier was running, no, leaping. The cyclist flew sideward, propelled by the sudden contact with the sergeant's last and far-ranging leap. The shot rang out. The bullet whistled and splashed. The red-beaked geese flapped and blew in anger. The cyclist's hat dropped, and his wig, beard, and mustache moved to the side of her face.
Titania, suddenly released by Frits Fortune, staggered, stumbled, and fell. Her skirt, much higher now, translated the indicated into the obvious until once more corrected, as Titania, unaided, struggled up. Beelema and Zhaver came forward. Kiran waved his long tail Fortune, Titania, Zhaver, and Beelema stared at the cyclist.
'Hello, Rea,' Fortune said.
'Mrs. Fortune,' Grijpstra said politely, 'I arrest you, under suspicion of repeated attempted murder or manslaughter, as the case may be, of your husband, and of ill treatment of your dog Babette resulting in its death.'
De Gier bent his knees and looked into Beelema's eyes.
'Are you the other son of God?'
'It was well meant,' Beelema whispered hoarsely.
'It usually is,' de Gier said.
'Are you coming with me?' Grijpstra asked Rea Fortune imperatively.
'Coming with me?' de Gier asked Beelema pleasantly.
'Coming?' Fortune asked Titania shyly.
Kiran embraced Zhaver, barking cheerfully.
12
'Well, well,' the commissaris said, 'and in the weekend too, in the off weekend! Will I ever understand what motivates activity? I do hope your reports will be short and limit the prosecutor's ridicule. A merry display indeed! Will you be holding Rea Fortune, adjutant?'
'I might recommend that to the authorities, sir,' Grijpstra said. 'I've charged the suspect with the illegal possession of a firearm.'
'And the attempted manslaughter, albeit murder?'
'We might drop that part of the charge, sir. The suspect is in a state of shock, the material we've come up with is somewhat garbled, and the lawyer the suspect hired seems to be rather forceful, and, eh, intelligent, sir. It seems that Mrs. Fortune was merely persuading her husband to sell his business, by manipulating circumstances, so to speak. I gather that she thought that the sudden emptiness of their apartment, coupled with her own and the dog's disappearance, would make him change his mind. By weakening his defenses by, as the lawyer puts it, not illegal means, she meant to release the victim of his fear of retirement.'
The commissaris harrumphed furiously.
'And the evidence you found? Fortune's weak heart? His susceptibility to sudden shocks? The actual death of that poor little poodle? Can't we show a sinister underground? And what about Beelema, the divine entrepreneur, surely he can be charged with complicity?'
'The evidence could be rather thin, sir.'
'And the count? That Zhaver fellow? He was her lover, wasn't he?'
'So was Beelema, sir, but the two of them stood to gain nothing. They weren't being paid and there was no promise of payment. Neither of them meant to marry Mrs. Fortune or live with her. The relationship was merely physical, it seems.'
'So what were they? Friends? Did they help the lady to move the contents of the apartment?'
'No sir.'
'Who did help her?'
'Illegal immigrants, sir, Turks and Pakistanis. There are quite a few of them in the neighborhood. They're always looking for jobs.'
'Are you sure?'
'I have no reason to disbelieve the suspect, sir, but the sergeant and I can check the point if you like.'
The commissaris whipped off his spectacles and began to polish them with his handkerchief.
'Ha! No. I won't go against your judgment. You might explain, however, why the lady did dress up as a man and cycle around in the area.'
'To see how her husband was doing.'
'Ah. And the dog?'
'Rea lived in a hotel, sir. The dog was confused. It got away from her and ran home. She picked it up the next day; she still had the key, of course, but it was still nervous, crossed the street and was killed by a car.'
The commissaris blew on his glasses.
'Hold it there, adjutant, how did the body get on
'Hold it there, adjutant, how did the body get on the roof?'
Grijpstra scratched his chin.
'She put it there, didn't she?'* the commissaris asked. 'Now why would she do that? She could have dropped it in a garbage can, but she went to a lot of trouble to hide it in an unlikely place. Would she be hoping perhaps that Fortune, who was still doing well and not suffering enough perhaps, might be disturbed by the gulls and crows, climb onto the roof, and find the torn corpse of a pet he was fond of? Another shock to shake the poor fellow's mind perhaps?'
Grijpstra scratched his chin with a little more force.
'Could be, sir.'
The commissaris frowned.
'Bad, adjutant, bad. To misuse affection. She had done it before, after all, by running away, thinking that Frits would miss her. Consistent behavior. Do you think the woman is evil?'
Grijpstra sighed.
The commissaris replaced his spectacles and managed to smile.
'Bah. But you're right not to pursue the point Her lawyer would tell the court that the means justify the end somewhat, and the end was to help. Wives are supposed to help their husbands. They rarely do. And the means never justify the end, but that's between you and me. The lawyer will also mention that the dog was already dead. So what does all this add up to?'
Grijpstra grunted. The commissaris got up, left his desk, and found the center of his carpet
'Now what caused you two to waste two free days on such a flimsy case, eh? And why didn't you spot the suspect? Isn't it hard for a woman to impersonate a man? If I understand the situation correctly, she must have shown herself to you on several occasions.'
The Oriental arrows extended from his shoes. One arrow pointed at Grijpstra, the other at de Gier.
De Gier plotted the course of the arrow. When he realized the danger, he spoke.
'The suspect used to be an actress, sir, possibly a good actress. I believe she was a professional. I saw her too and I never caught on. I only noticed that the cyclist was slender, well dressed, and overhairy. I've seen worse in the city, perhaps my mind no longer registers abnormalities. All sorts of apparitions appear these days. There was a dwarf, for instance, dressed in a yellow cape. He rode a scooter, a monkey sat on the handlebars.'
The commissaris's mouth opened as he tried to visualize the yellow-caped dwarf.
'Really? What sort of a scooter, a motor scooter?'
'No sir, a child's scooter.'
'And he wasn't a child?'
'No sir, he had a beard too, and a mustache.'
'For heaven's sake.'
Grijpstra gestured. 'Amsterdam, sir!'
Grijpstra offered a cigar. The commissaris was calmed by the sudden intake of nicotine.
'Dwarfl Well. Ah. Something else. The lady pulled a gun. She actually fired the gun. Did she aim at the kissing couple?'
