was quiet, impressed by the memory mixed with fantasy leading, perhaps, to future passion. 'Hylkje,' de Gier said, 'that's her first name. To you, as a Frisian, the name is probably common, but to me the sound is exotic. Exciting too.'
'And Jane?'
'She's exciting in Amsterdam, but I'm here.'
'You aren't even faithful to your dreams.'
'Faithful?' De Gier waved the word away. 'Women aren't faithful either. An idea from the past. You're always running up from behind, Adjutant. You really think that the modern solitary female expects her casual male company to be faithful?'
The doorbell rang. Grijpstra struggled up and looked out the window. 'A squad car outside. The corporal probably put in a complaint. What did you do to her? Never abuse a colleague.'
De Gier opened the door. 'Evening, sir.'
'Rinus,' the commissaris said. 'How nice. Once again, together in a foreign country, but this time it's mine. I can show you around. I was born here, in the city of Joure.'
'It tibben is hearlik, mynhear.'
'What's that?'
'I spoke your language, sir. A sentence from the Frisian novel I'm reading. It says that life is wonderful here.'
'Evening, sir,' Grijpstra said. 'Did you have a good journey? Please don't pay attention to de Gier. Perhaps you'll be good enough to take him with you when you return. Is it true that we can't declare expenses?'
'Where's your car?' de Gier asked, watching the squad car's taillights fade away at the end of the street.
'Lost my way a little,' the commissaris said. 'You already look like a local, Grijpstra. I got twisted out of my course in the alleys of the inner city here. One-way traffic, mostly. I did try to adhere to the rules, but the cars kept coming at me from all sides. Couldn't cope with the confusion. And when I parked, that was illegal too. The officers who told me that gave me a ride here.'
'Do you remember where you parked?'
The commissaris felt through his pockets. 'What did I do with the note? Some narrow street called Cellars or something? 'Above the Cellars'? Street names are poetic here. I want to see the chief constable at headquarters later, and the officers drew me a little map. Kind of aim out of the city, reach a circular highway, quite complicated. It was all on that little piece of paper. Can't seem to be able to find it now. I wonder if I left it in their car?'
'De Gier will take you,' Grypstra said. 'And we'll find your car. 'Cellars,' you said?'
'Or was it 'Well'?' the commissaris asked. 'A little street called Around the Well? Would that be possible? And I crossed some Gardens too, but they were canals really, with narrow quays on the side, aquatic gardens perhaps? Water lilies? Flowering reeds? I think I noticed plants.'
'We'll take care of everything,' Grypstra said. 'Please come in, sir.'
The commissaris looked about him. 'Cozy. Too much wallpaper, perhaps? I say, Sergeant, there's a rat on that chair.'
De Gier picked up the rat. 'The name is Eddy, sir.' He turned the rat over. 'Cute, don't you think?'
The commissaris scratched Eddy's pale pink skin.
'Put him away,' Grypstra said. 'He'll be rattling again.'
Eddy twisted free, jumped down, and ran to the kitchen. De Gier followed. The commissaris came along. De Gier made coffee while Eddy slurped milk from a jug. 'A dairy rat,' de Gier said. 'Fancies rare cheese too. I'd better wash that jug. So the local chief constable did contact you, sir?'
'And the colonel of the State Police and the major of the Military Police. General alarm, Sergeant. We'll be seeing some activity here. They'll bring in Arrest Teams from all over. Roadblocks manned by riot police, detectives from the capital dressed up as cattle dealers, and the chief constable himself in charge.'
Grypstra had joined them. 'Big trouble, sir?'
'There'll even be psychologists to predetermine the subjects' behavior.'
'What subjects?' Grijpstra asked.
The commissaris explained about the criminals Ary and Fritz.
•Two lone robbers?' Grijpstra asked. 'But that's easy, one just grabs them. And then one takes them to the station.'
'That's how it was done in the past,' the commissaris said.
'Grab them by the collars,' Grijpstra insisted. 'Or no, not even that. If suspects are known, they can be picked up at their homes later, when they're drinking beer and watching TV.'
'You ever heard about unemployment?' de Gier asked. 'This little job can occupy a hundred police workers. All sorts of specially trained colleagues can be active and under the impression mat they're functioning properly, which will add to their self-respect.'
The commissaris looked over his coffee cup. 'And Douwe Scherjoen?'
'I,' Grijpstra said, 'and Lieutenant Sudema of the State Police in the town of Dingjum have constructed a theory. It has to do with sheep, sir.'
'And a buyer from Morocco?'
'You were thinking along the same lines?' Grijpstra asked sadly.
'No, no, Adjutant, I'm sorry I interrupted. Sheep, you said?'
'Unregistered sheep, sir. Scherjoen bought them, but he wasn't the only illegal buyer. Scherjoen, being nasty and far too successful, destroyed his competition's chances. He made use of unacceptable tricks. Scherjoen, in league with buyers from the Middle East, managed to monopolize the market. The other dealers would transport their sheep to Amsterdam and be ready to deliver and the Moroccans or Turks or Arabs or whatnot wouldn't buy all of a sudden. Then Scherjoen bought the sheep at a loss from his colleagues and cashed in from the buyers, paying them kickbacks.'
'And Lieutenant Sudema thinks so too?'
'There are rumors, sir, to support the theory. I'll visit some suspects.'
The commissaris nodded thoughtfully.
'You and I,' Grijpstra said, 'are both Frisians. We know how stubborn our compatriots can be. They'll accept their losses, but there'll be a certain line that should not be crossed. One or more of the impoverished fellow sheep dealers will have thought of a plan to stop Scherjoen's malpractice for good. Scherjoen liked to visit the Amsterdam Red Quarter. The other or others waited for Scherjoen. You and I know how patient Frisians can be.'
'I don't know anything at all,** de Gier said. 'A pity I'm so ignorant of Frisian ways. If I knew just a little more, I might be able to help.'
'Just a moment, Sergeant. So…' Grijpstra paused for dramatic effect. 'So…a shot in the night and a burning dory.'
'Have you listed possible suspects?'
'Lieutenant Sudema is making discreet inquiries, sir. I'll have some names later tonight.'
'And Mrs. Scherjoen? As his wife, she inherits all of Douwe's possessions.'
Grijpstra rubbed the bulging blue wool of his fisherman's jersey. 'Mem Scherjoen was once a freedom fighter. During the war she was fairly heroic. She wasn't violent, however. Passed messages, transported arms, took care of fugitives that the Germans were after, and helped instructors dropped by the British. You and I know we shouldn't underestimate Frisian women. Lieutenant Sudema seems convinced, however, that she's too loving a soul…'
'That Mauser,' the commissaris said. 'I had a look at the weapon found in Scherjoen's car. Wicked looking, it seemed to me. Quite antique now, but in shape rather similar to our present automatic arms. Amazing construction, all the parts fit like a Chinese puzzle.'
'But it hadn't been fired, sir, I hear.'
'Loaded,' the commissaris said. 'Nine-millimeter, ten cartridges. Deadly. Yes.'
'Tins has nothing to do with me,' de Gier said, 'but Mem Scherjoen? Such a dear elderly lady? Her own husband? And burn the fellow afterward?'
'Where was she that night?' the commissaris asked.
'Haven't asked her yet, sir. The lieutenant said he would find out.'
