'I watched him go into Hotel Oberon, after he staggered out of the cafe'
'Ah,' Grijpstra said and continued to rub his chin. 'I see. Fat German who owns Mercedes stays at Oberon. So does Jim Boronski. Mr. Boronski is dead in fat German's car. We'd better do something. You'd better do something. Find that German. Ask him questions. He's a foreigner without a fixed address and if he won't answer you satisfactorily, you can arrest him. Why don't you do that? Bring him over to Headquarters. By that time I'll have gone through the dead man's papers. You want to see the maggots?'
'Please!' de Gier said, withdrawing farther into his corner.
Grijpstra pulled the next drawer. He didn't look long. As he stepped away, the attendant pushed the drawer back into the wall.
'Did you see them?'
'Just the eggs, clusters in the corners of her mouth, as the doctor said. She's pretty, all right, although corpses never are, really. They're too dead.'
'How old?'
'Hard to say. How young, rather. Nineteen, twenty-five, somewhere in between.'
'Death,' the attendant said. 'I was reading about a place: Calcutta. Up there they have men like me who deal with the dead. They've got a name which I forget. They have long hair and a loincloth and when they don't work, they meditate. They sit quietly and reflect on the nonsense of it all. When they work, they burn fires and put the dead on the firewood, carefully, it's a ceremony, every movement has to be right. There are vultures to help the men, they're always there too. They get what falls out of the fire maybe, and they pick through the ashes. It's a better system than what we have. Here it's all mechanical. When the corpses are here awhile and nobody has come and the police don't care, they're cleared out and blasted in a huge oven with pressured fire. It should be done slowly, I think, with care, and there should be birds about.'
'Crows and sea gulls,' Grijpstra said. 'We saw what they do a few days back. You take the car, sergeant, I'll walk. Don't be too long.'
Grijpstra thought as he walked. He now knew that the stomach cramps he had been suffering from wouldn't be caused by ulcers. Mrs. Grijpstra was the way she was and had been so for a great many years. He concluded that ulcers could be avoided if nothing is relied on. If there are no points of reference, the framework the mind rests on cannot be destroyed, for there is no framework. He also knew that Jim Boronski died of natural causes; there should be no reason to pursue the search or even start it. However, the German and Boronski lived in the same hotel and they used the same car, be it for different purposes. Grijpstra saw a terrace with a view of a busy thoroughfare. He found a chair and ordered coffee. He promised himself a ten-minute rest while the trusty sergeant worked.
But he can't be trusted, he thought, for he is without his drug. Perhaps Asta would look after him. He remembered that Asta couldn't be trusted either. He forgot his fears while he watched young girls crossing the street, with sharply outlined bodies dressed in tight jeans or in narrow frocks, not quite narrow enough for the wind not to play with.
The adjutant had either picked the wrong place or the wrong time, for suddenly the crossing girls were all fat. He looked at the surrounding buildings and didn't like them either, they were square and gray. The sky was gray too. He sipped his coffee, put the cup down, and closed his eyes. Once again he saw himself bestowing the divine gift on de Crier. He wondered how the sergeant would react to his new companion.
The vision faded, and he got up and found canals and narrow streets lined with old and stately gable houses that rested his mind. He stopped to scratch a cat, spoke to a dog which changed its snarl into a pathetic grin, and picked up a shopping bag dropped by an old lady. While he listened to her complaint about rising prices, he saw the dead face of Jim Boronski again. It hadn't been a pleasant face, although the man was undoubtedly handsome. A villain, Grijpstra thought, and forgot the definition as he had to jump for his life to avoid a careening truck.
3
The address where Asta lived turned out to be a boarding house. The landlady directed the sergeant to the top floor, but when he got there, he had forgotten on which door he should knock. The second, he thought. There was no answer, and he opened the door. He was in a large bathroom and Asta was in the bath on her knees adjusting the faucets, her small, round bottom faced him. She looked over her shoulder.
'Excuse me,' de Gier said, 'I'll wait downstairs.'
He went down and waited awhile, constructing theories to pass the time. None of the possibilities would hold. Why would the fat German kill expatriate Boronski, temporarily back in the old country? Were they businessmen fighting over a deal? What sort of a deal warrants violent death? Were they lovers of the same woman? Why would the German dump his enemy's body in his own Mercedes and then report the car as stolen? The ulcer seemed to rule out all thought of murder, but there were still mysterious and accusing facts. He left the building, bought chewing gum, chewed for a while, spat the gum out, and rang the bell again.
'Third door on the left, sir, but the ladies in this house are not supposed to have male visitors.'
'Yes,' de Gier said and ran up the stairs. The painful need of nicotine made him forget to knock. He saw Asta in the middle of the room. She still had no clothes on. She was on her knees again, looking over her shoulder into a mirror.
'Excuse me,' de Gier said.
The girl jumped up, snatched a towel from the bed, and wrapped her slight body in it.
'For heaven's sake, don't you ever knock?'
'I did the first time, but the water of the bath was running.'
'Are you wondering about my strange position?'
'Yes.'
'I wanted to know what I look like when I'm on my hands and knees and somebody looks at me from the rear.'
'Oh.'
'What do I look like from the rear?'
'Nice.'
She sighed. 'Nice? Is that all?'
'Very nice,' de Gier said patiently. 'Appetizing. Irresistible. Please dress. The adjutant is waiting at Headquarters for his new detective and we have to see that German. I'll wait outside.'
'You'll wait right here. You've seen everything already, but I would prefer you to look out of the window while I dress. What should I put on? I've never worked out of uniform. A dress? Jeans and a blouse?'
'A dress, Hotel Oberon is a classy place.'
'Shouldn't you be wearing a tie then?'
'I never wear a tie. Hurry up.'
'I like the way you wear your clothes,' Asta said while her cotton dress rustled. 'A scarf is elegant, you're an elegant man; they are rare in the police, I've never seen one except you. Even Sergeant Jurriaans isn't elegant.'
'You like him, do you?'
'Yes.'
'Is it true that the two of you went out one night and got drunk and that you stripped on a table and played on an Oriental rug with a girlfriend?'
'What?'
'Is it true?'
'Who told you that?'
'I heard,' de Gier said.
'Me and Sergeant Jurriaans?'
'That's right.'
'I had a drink with him once; he came into Beelema's and was distraught. He had a fight with his wife. I know his wife, she's charming. Jurriaans can be grumpy at times. He shouldn't talk about his private life to another
