He gave her the address. She turned through a red light and put her foot down. A patrol car's siren howled behind them. She parked in front of the apartment building. The patrol car screeched to a halt and two constables came running up. Asta got out and showed her card. De Gier got out too.
'Evening.'
'Evening, sergeant.'
'Are you busy tonight?' de Gier asked.
'No, sergeant. Maybe later. There's a thriller on TV, all the crooks are watching it. Maybe later we'll find something to do.'
'Good hunting.'
'Thank you. You wouldn't be taking this constable home for pleasure, would you, sergeant?'
'He's thinking of it, but he won't get anywhere,' Asta said. 'Good night.'
The patrol car drove off, the constables grinned and waved.
'Would you come up for a drink?' de Gier asked.
'I would.'
They drank on the balcony; it was only a small balcony, but she kept away from him. He went inside to feed his cat. The cat purred and ran to the balcony. Asta picked it up. 'You're ugly, you have too many colors.'
De Gier came out to water his geraniums. 'She's got the colors of a Persian carpet, that's why she's called Tabriz. Can I make you a meal? I've got some noodles and frozen soup, they might go well together. I could toss a salad, too.'
They ate and washed up together. De Gier thought he should be flirtatious but couldn't think of suitable words. The girl was quiet and efficient. He didn't have to tell her where to put the dishes; she opened the cupboard and found the right places.
'Coffee?' he asked.
'No, sergeant, I think I
'No, sergeant, I think I should go.' She raised her head and he kissed her lightly. When he tried to embrace her, she stepped out of his arms. 'No. I'll see you tomorrow.'
He pulled his only easy chair onto the balcony and sat with the cat on his lap. The cat turned over and he pulled at some hair that had matted together. The cat groaned. 'I won't do it if you don't want me to.' The cat didn't move. He tugged. Suddenly the cat jumped away and a sizable cluster of hair stayed in his hand. 'Bothered you, did it? Used me as a tool, did you? Clever Tabriz.' The cat wanted to come back, but he got up. 'I don't want to work, Tabriz, I want to stay here and be with you, but I think there may be something to do.' He looked at the sky; heavy clouds floated toward each other. 'No car and it'll be raining.' He put on a round cotton hat and took the elevator down to the basement where he extracted an old bicycle out of the clutch of another.
Half an hour later, a lone cyclist entered the inner city. The dying sun touched the lining of clouds that were lowering themselves on the spires of medieval churches. He left his cycle under a tree at the Brewers-canal and became a pedestrian. The herringstall on the bridge across from Hotel Oberon was doing a brisk business. He bought a herring, liberally sprinkled with chopped onions, and retired under the awning at the side to eat it in peace.
'Evening,' a portly gentleman said.
'Evening,' de Gier said. 'I thought you had gone home.'
'I didn't. I've been here for an hour and a half. I've eaten six herrings. He hasn't come out yet. Stay here, I'll have a beer at Beelema's. I'll be right back.'
6
'There,' Grijpstra said.
They moved simultaneously, each taking a side of the man, keeping well back. Mtiller waddled ahead, carrying a flat case. It was dark by now and the ornamental street lights, spaced far apart, played with the fat man's shadow. They also played with another shadow, slim and sharp, darting in and out of the lights. The shadow was attached to a girl, dressed in faded jeans and a trim jacket, bouncing on high-heeled sneakers. De Gier, on the waterside, and Grijpstra, inconspicuously merging with the walls of small and narrow houses, lagged even farther behind. Two more shadows joined the procession; they had sneaked from a side alley. They moved as gracefully as the girl. They were tall and thin, as black as their owners, who were both in their late teens or early twenties, with shaved skulls, sporting leather jackets and tapered dungarees.
Rapists, Grijpstra thought.
Robbers, de Gier thought.
Can't have that, they both thought. Neither man was concerned about the girl's safety at that moment. They were hunting and Miiller was the prey. If the boys caught up with the girl, there would be a scuffle, some noise, a scream maybe. Miiller would be distracted and not do what he was supposed to do, or do it in a different manner, adding complications to the simple situation that now faced the original pursuers. One of the muggers followed the line of trees bordering the canal, the other adopted Grijpstra's tactics. Neither of them was aware of the danger behind. De Gier ran, Grijpstra lumbered. De Gier drew his knife faster than Grijpstra.
'Hey.'
The boys stopped and turned. They were well trained. They did the right thing, their knives were out too, but they were at a disadvantage.
'Drop it.'
The knives fell. They were light and didn't clatter much on the cobblestones.
Grijpstra's catch muttered four-letter words, the other stared at de Gier. Of the two, the adjutant's prey was the most surprised. Grijpstra could not be in the same profession as the boy, yet he was. This well-dressed elderly man with the kind face, complete with tie, cuff links and neatly folded white handkerchief in his breast pocket, was asking a black street mugger for his money. The boy's deepest mind was disturbed. Facts no longer fitted reality. There was the stiletto, its cruel point pressing against his throat, there was the hand on the shoulder of his leather jacket, there was the pleasant voice, asking for money.
The other boy could accept his particular set of circumstances more easily. The tall man in the round cotton hat looked somewhat odd. He could, if the imagination were stretched just short of the breaking point, perhaps be lurking in dark streets, prowling for loot.
'Give,' Grijpstra said.
De Gier didn't speak. He hissed. He supported the boy's bare skull with his left hand, pressed the knife with the other. The skin on the boy's throat was about to break. The boy fumbled in his pocket and came out with crumpled bills. De Gier grabbed the money and swung the boy round. The boy held on to a tree while de Gier patted him down. The sergeant's foot pushed the boy's knife into the water, it splashed softly. Grijpstra picked up the other boy's knife.
'Give!'
The boy gave.
'Off with you, that way!' Grijpstra pointed over his shoulder. The other boy was running already.
There was a second splash as the other knife hit the canal's calm surface.
The detectives waited for the boys to slip into the alley that had emitted them a few moments ago and turned.
They should have kept the knives. Muller, alerted by the splashes, looked around. Asta stopped short.
'You?' Muller asked. The arm that carried his case swung back. The girl ducked and pulled her gun, aiming the pistol as it came out of her pocketbook. The pistol's click immobilized Muller.
'You're under arrest; drop your case, turn round, and hold your arms behind your back.'
Asta shifted the gun to her left hand and produced her handcuffs. She had some trouble trying to fit them around Muller's fat wrists. He kicked twice, forward and backward. The case shot into the canal and Asta staggered.
When Muller turned, clawing at the a, ir separating him from the girl, de Gier jumped. The sergeant's flat hand came down, hitting Mtiller in the neck. The man's thick skin and spongy blubbery tissue absorbed the impact,
