Cardozo coughed and sneezed.
'No one there?' the commissaris asked his phone. 'The Military Police commander is Major Singelsma? They'll all phone me back? Thank you, my dear.'
'Now what's this with the sheep?' the commissaris asked. 'Douwe dealt in sheep. Where did he sell them? Was he exporting them to Amsterdam?'
'You'd have to ask Grijpstra, sir.' De Gier wrote down a number and handed it to the commissaris.
The number didn't answer. 'I'm asking you now,' the commissaris said to de Gier.
'I'm not in on this,' de Gier said.
'Rinus,' the commissaris said.
'Are you asking me in my function as an outside observer? Yes,' de Gier said, 'that'll be different, then. Grijpstra took care of the inquiry, but I was with him a lot and I happened to hear this and that. Dealing in sheep appears to be an unregistered and therefore tax-free and therefore illegal commerce. As all sheep look alike, their descriptions do not fit into the memory of a computer.'
'Beg pardon,' the commissaris said from behind his hand. 'Had to laugh. Computer. Ha ha. Carry on, de Gier.'
'Cows fit into a computer's memory because their spots are different. Sheep have no spots. Births of lambs are not registered. The nonexistent lamb turns into a nonexistent sheep and is sold and nobody knows anything. No sales tax, no income tax, nothing.
'Sheep are visible,' Cardozo said.
'You register a few,' de Gier said, 'but they run about all the time. The Dingjum corporal explained the procedure to me. The average sheep has three lambs, but not in Fries-land. Frisian lambs drown in moats a lot, or the fierce neighbor dogs maul them to death, or they die young of tuberculosis. You have a hundred lambs and you register maybe nine. The other ninety-one are hidden during checks.'
'So Scherjoen bought the ninety-one sheep and sold them to the Middle East?'
'For cash,' de Gier said. 'Cash isn't registered either.'
Cardozo blew the remnants of his influenza into his handkerchief and smiled at the sergeant. 'That's where I caught on. There are ships moored in the Inner Harbor here. Scher-joen pushed a thousand unregistered sheep onto a ship. What's the price of a sheep?'
'Three hundred guilders.'*
That's a three-hundred thousand-guilder load. To be paid for in cash. Now the Moroccan, a buyer, doesn't pay. There are no invoices, no bills of lading, no proof of any sort. The Moroccan says he has paid already. Scherjoen loses his temper. The Moroccan loses his temper too. He whips out a gun. Bang. No more Scherjoen asking for money. The Moroccan, a dangerous Arabian freedom fighter, isn't satisfied yet and burns Scherjoen's corpse. Oh, they're wicked in the Middle East. Beirut!' *One guilder is equal to about thirty cents in U.S. currency.
The phone rang. 'For you,' the commissaris said.
'Jane?' de Gier asked. 'The Volkswagen is repaired? You arranged it not for me, but because you serve the Service? You're such a wonderful woman, Jane. No? Well, I think you are.' He observed the buzzing phone. He put it down.
'Something is bothering Jane,' Cardozo said. 'She's making everybody nervous. Some dissatisfied vibration oozes out of her and puts the colleagues on edge. Do you have plans with her or don't you?'
'I never have any plans,' de Gier said. 'Things just happen to me in spite of my defenses, or not, as in the case of Jane.'
'I'll be looking for a Moroccan sheik,' Cardozo said. 'And once I have a photograph of Scherjoen, I could show it around along Prince Henry Quay. The woman in the health-food store recognized him as some sort of farmer, and others must have seen him too.'
'You do that,' de Gier said. 'That'll keep you out of trouble.'
'Will you get me a photo?' Cardozo asked. 'Of Douwe? Please?'
'Ah,' the commissaris said, 'I keep forgetting to tell you, Sergeant. Tell Grypstra that the chief constable here gave permission for you two to operate in Friesland, but you can't declare costs. The administration is tightening up. Since you have to eat anyway, you pay for your own meals, and any extras are at your own expense too.'
'The photo,' Cardozo said.
'Theoretically you couldn't even take the Volkswagen,' the commissaris said, 'but the vehicle was written off a long time ago and is no longer recognized by the administration, so take it along.'
'That's understood, sir.'
'I won't be declaring costs, either,' the commissaris said. 'I haven't declared anything for a while. Officers of my rank are considered to be a useless weight these days.'
'But you will be around?'
'Of course,' the commissaris said. 'As a Frisian, I'm supporting the cause. I was born in Joure. A good opportunity to return to the land of my birth. What matters these days is to be able to combine circumstances in a propitious manner. I'm supposed to be home at night, so I can drive up and down the dike.'
'Living well is the best revenge,' de Gier said.
'You want to get even?'
'Me?' de Gier asked.
'You're not in this,' Cardozo interrupted. 'I am. I'll be doing something. I'll be doing something now. Don't forget the photo.'
'I'll be going now,' de Gier said.
'I'll be going later,' the commissaris said, 'once the Frisian authorities have contacted this office.'
'A truly splendid country, sir,' de Gier said. 'I kept meeting you out there. You have something that I thought to be quite rare, but in your country it is offered from all sides.'
'What something, Sergeant?'
'It's all so oars' de Gier said. 'Beg pardon, that's Frisian, sir. So otherwise, I meant to say. How shall I express that exotic feeling?'
The commissaris pointed at the books under de Gier's arm. 'You really managed to make sense of Frisian literature?'
'I did.'
'Read me a little.'
De Gier opened the novel and cleared his throat. 'Are you ready?'
'Go ahead.'
'Female thought, sir, thought by a certain Martha.'
'Go ahead, Sergeant.'
De Gier read in Frisian. ''I have to go to the bathroom now/'
'Translate.'
De Gier translated.
'A deep thought,' the commissaris said. 'And well expressed. Very different. Exceptional, are they?'
De Gier looked for a better quote.
'Never mind,' the commissaris said. 'Go join Grijpstra, he'll be needing the car. I'm quite sure he won't be needing you'
\\ 7 /////
De Gier rang the doorbell. A man opened the door. He wore a fisherman's jersey that followed his ample belly along a wide curve, and he had tied a bright red bandanna around his neck. A flat fanner's cap sat on his head.
'Is it you?' de Gier asked.
'It is,' said Grijpstra. 'How do you like me in Frisian?'
'Yes,' de Gier said. 'Are you living here?'
