police, but I hear that it's hard to establish contact with them. We had some illegal Colombian immigrants the other day who had fallen afoul of the law and we couldn't raise any information at all. I'll see if I can contact somebody on the teletyper, perhaps the Ministry of Foreign Affairs can assist; they've been helpful before. Anything else you noticed?'
'Yes,' Asta said, 'I think I see something. The woman is in love. The man isn't. She is good looking, he's showing her off, but he only wants to bed her and be rid of her again.' The girl's voice was flat but trembled slightly on the last part of her sentence. The room became silent.
'Very well,' the commissaris said, 'you can open the curtains again, dear.'
De Gier helped the commissaris to rearrange the projector into its case, and Grijpstra rolled up the screen. The commissaris limped to the door.
'How's your leg, sir?'
'Worse,' the commissaris said, 'and it shouldn't be in summer. The heat usually stops the pain. And I have my wife after me, she wants me to rest; maybe I should listen to her.'
Asta and de Gier had left.
'What do you think of this case, sir?'
'What do I know, Grijpstra? I haven't seen the corpse, I'm not doing my job well these days. What do you think?' He closed the door and indicated a chair. 'I have a few more minutes before my wife will call.'
'Do you know the morgue attendant who is called Jacobs, sir?'
'Yes. He has been with the morgue a long time, but he's often ill. The man survived Auschwitz. It's strange that he selected such a morbid profession after all he went through. He came back alone, all his relatives died. Did you meet him today? I'm glad he is sane again, he was institutionalized for a while.'
'He was talking about the dead this morning, sir, when we investigated the corpse. The way he talked interested me. He said that the dead sometimes hang about the morgue and are frightened, and that he talks to them and tries to reassure them and send them on their way. I went to see him again, just before I came here. The morgue is close and there was something I wanted to ask him.'
Grijpstra fumbled with a cigar. The commissaris flicked his lighter and waited.
'I didn't like that corpse, sir. I've always paid special attention to corpses, it's part of the job; usually you get some sort of impression that's helpful. Do you remember the case of the blond baboon, sir?'
'Yes. Mrs. Carnet?'
'Yes. She looked victorious, as if she had pulled something off, just before she was killed. There have been other cases where the corpse hinted at something. This Boronski was different, he died of natural causes, but I had a distinct impression of evil, secretive evil, extreme egotism. There was also fear, but you feel that with most corpses. Nobody is courageous when it's all over and he is about to enter the unknown.'
'So you went back to Jacobs? Why?'
'I wanted to know what he felt about the corpse.'
'Did he tell you?'
'Yes. He said it was giving him trouble. He said Boronski was still around in the morgue; hating, cursing, frantic with rage.'
'Was Jacobs bothered by that?'
'Not too much. He had protected himself.' Grijpstra smiled. 'He said he had made a transparent egg around himself, and that Boronski's spirit wouldn't be able to get through it. He said he always makes the egg when he has a troublesome client. I found him in his little office, peacefully sucking on a pipe and reading some holy book in Hebrew.'
'Jacobs is a wise man,' the commissaris said.
Grijpstra lumbered to the door. He turned before he left. 'You know that we haven't really got a case. We are chasing phantoms again, just as we did during the weekend, but this time de Gier insists on going on.'
'Are you with him, adjutant?'
'I am, sir.'
'Good. The sergeant is developing, but he should still be watched.'
Grijpstra walked back to his office and addressed the empty corridor. 'I'm with him,' he said loudly, 'but I overdo it. I've even given him the loveliest girl I've seen in a long time, a girl, moreover, who prefers men my age to men his age. Now she's all his, to mess up as he likes.'
He got into the open elevator, didn't pay attention, and went all the way round before he got off at the proper floor.
He was still mumbling. 'A lovely girl with the right perversion. A pearl, for a pig.'
He forced himself to think of something else and evoked the thought of hot water and a sharp razor. He found his shaving gear in his desk drawer and walked over to the rest room. Ah, to shave at ease, for there wasn't much to do, just a leisurely walk to Hotel Oberon to find out what the woman's name might be and another pleasant walk back to Headquarters to check her with the computer.
Then his mood changed again. He no longer saw the smooth lines the shaver traced through bubbly foam but the pond that had been in his vision when he was an angel, giving Asta away. The pond was filled with murky water now and sinister tiny animals tore at each other in the greenish slime. The sight unnerved him, the shaver caught his skin and a thick trickle of blood formed a fat drop and stained his shirt.
5
Managers are all the same, Asta thought as she sat opposite the man in an office that could have been any office. The man was still looking at her police card. His face was blank.
'I'm a police officer, as you can see. The photograph is of my face, right? I'm not here to apply for a position in this establishment, I'm here to find out whether a certain Mr. Karl Mttller, a fat German businessman, came here last night and I want you to tell me at what time he arrived and at what time he left.'
'Yes,' the man said.
They make them in a machine, she thought. The other one ran a hotel, this one runs a brothel. They are employees, there are others behind them who may be alive. This man isn't. He either came out of the metal mouth of some fantastic gadget or he grew in a big bowl of warm fluid. When he was done they fished him out, dried him, put him on his legs, slipped him into a plastic 161 envelope, and brought him here. He was already programmed so nothing could go wrong. All he has to do is greet the visiting lechers, take their money, pour them full of alcohol, and steer them to the right girl. I don't fit his formula, and he doesn't know what to do now.
'Are you alone?' the man asked.
'Yes, but don't get any ideas. If you touch me, I'll tie you into a knot with both your feet in your mouth.'
The man smiled. 'Really?'
Asta smiled too. 'Really. Now will you tell me about that German or do you want me to get help? I trust your license is in order. If it is, I could still charge you with living on the profit of prostitution of another person or persons, that article hasn't been revoked, you know. We still use it occasionally.'
'Quite,' the man said. 'I'm sorry, officer. I have been trying to remember that German you mentioned. We had a busy night yesterday, there's a convention in the hotel across the street, of politicians. We were a bit crowded. Quite a few of the gentlemen were fat, and some of them were German. Muller, you said the name was?'
'Karl Muller, man in his forties, obese, bald on top and a long fringe below, a lot of gold teeth, a heavy gold watch, light-color suit and a red tie.'
'Ah. Yes. I remember the tie. Red is my favorite color. Let me check the credit card slips.'
He opened a neat file and turned small rectangular slips, wetting his finger.
'Here we are, Karl Muller, the address is in Hamburg. Yes, I remember him. He complained, the girl hadn't been cooperative, he wanted a discount. I asked the girl what was wrong and she said she refused to get into the bath with him. The more expensive rooms have baths, you see, with gold-plated faucets, special feature of the house. The baths are king size; even so, there was little room left for the girl. He also complained about the quality of our snacks, we serve free snacks with the drinks. They're good. I've never had anybody criticizing them
