'The Frisian case,' the commissaris said. 'Right. You've come up with something?'
De Gier had entered in Grijpstra's shadow. The adjutant and the sergeant placed their material on the commissaris's desk. 'Teeth,' Grypstra said. 'Orl,' said de Gier.
'I'll adhere to order of rank,' the commissaris said. 'Report, Adjutant.'
'The corpse's teeth,' Grijpstra said, 'checked by an expert. My dentist says that these small charred objects are the remains of a fully restored set of teeth. Very well done. Very expensively done. A most efficient construction, attached to a few roots. My dentist estimates that the restoration cost a small fortune, a laborer's yearly wages, more likely a multiple thereof. Our pathologist insists that the corpse is that of a laborer who pushed a wheelbarrow. A contradiction, perhaps? Conflicting facts that may shed some light?'
Two streetcars, passing each other in Mamix Street, below, greeted each other with a harsh clamor of bells. Grypstra was still talking, or so it seemed; his mouth was moving.
'What was that?' the commissaris asked.
'A wealthy pusher of wheelbarrows, sir?'
'Who?' the commissaris asked.
'I thought we didn't know.'
'I meant the dentist,' the commissaris said, 'who makes his living in the mouths of millionaires. There can't be too many millionaires' dentists about.'
Grijpstra's blunt index finger turned a page in a small, crumpled notebook. 'According to my tooth-puller, there's only one,' the adjutant said, 'and his answering machine informs that he's out of town today. Tomorrow I'll see him.'
'Show him the teeth and he'll remember the name of our corpse. Tomorrow will do. Haste is often unseemly. What does the sergeant have to tell us?'
De Gier smiled.
'Let's have it, de Gier.'
'Or/,' de Gier said, 'is horloge, without beginning or end, and because I found those letters on the molten remains of a ballpoint found in the corpse's boat, I visited the watch dealers of the Inner City. At the fifth I was lucky. That seller of clocks runs a store in Haarlemmer Street, and gives a free pen to each customer who spends some money-with a high minimum, for even ballpoints aren't free.'
'Don't tell me,' Grypstra said, 'that you're about to tell us something solid.'
'Aren't we lucky,' de Gier asked, 'that the watch dealer is a tightwad who remembers the names of the clients to whom he gives free ballpoints?'
'You do have something,' Grypstra said, and frowned.
'Douwe Scherjoen,' de Gier said. 'Name of the corpse.'
Grijpstra thumped his thigh. 'Don't jump to conclusions.'
'Frisian name?' de Gier asked. 'Right?'
Grypstra shrugged. 'Wild guess. Tomorrow we'll know. Just let me see that super dentist.'
'He'll come up with the same name.'
'Tell us all,' the commissaris said gently.
'Mr. Scherjoen,' de Gier said, 'bought an expensive watch last week. It broke down the next day. He returned it to the store, insisting on a fast repair. He should have picked it up this morning, but he didn't show.'
Grypstra whistled a fairly complicated tune.
'What was that?' the commissaris asked. 'That sounded most despondent.'
'Mahler, sir. Fifth Symphony. Majestic but doubtful. The trumpets make a statement, but the other instruments don't believe it yet.'
'And then,' de Gier said quickly, 'this Mr. Scherjoen was described to me as a man in his fifties, farmer type, who spoke little Dutch and preferred to express himself in the lingo that Frisians use for private communication. Also,' de Gier said quickly, 'subject walked bent forward, as if pushing a wheelbarrow, and the watch dealer informed me,' de Gier said, falling over his words, 'that Scherjoen wore an expensive-looking suit and carried a well-filled wallet.'
'The hell with you,' Grijpstra said.
'The hell with subject,' de Gier said, 'and I'm almost sure that he can in fact be found in hell at this moment, and that he got there by being shot and subsequently burned in an aluminum dory seen last night by Constable First-Class Algra, and found this morning by Chief Wiarda.'
'A Frisian,' the commissaris said. 'And where does subject live, or rather where did he live? Has he got a wife? Did you talk with her?'
'In the village of Dingjum,' de Gier said. 'What a name. Dingjum. The watch dealer gave me the address. I telephoned, and Mrs. Scherjoen says that her husband is away on business and that she doesn't know when he'll return.'
'You left it at that?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Did you tell her she was speaking to the police?'
'No, sir. I gave her my name and said I would phone again.'
'Older lady?'
'A middle-aged voice. She said doeg before she hungup.'
'Meaning what?'
'Meaning 'good-bye,' didn't you know, sir? You're Frisian, aren't you? Born in Joure? I do remember that you mentioned that fact a few times. Frisians aren't like us, you said, they're better.'
'Of course, Sergeant. Poor lady.'
'Not necessarily,' Grypstra said. 'So what has de Gier given us so far? Ill-assorted balderdash? Unchecked coincidences that might just fit?'
The commissaris caressed his stomach. 'Unless your tooth-replacer comes up with the same name, Adjutant.'
The dentist came up with the same name the next morning.
'Easily recognizable work, Adjutant. The best of the best. My talent, for all to see.'
'The price?'
'A lot of money.'
'But who do the teeth belong to?'
'To one of my clients.'
'Scherjoen?' whispered Grypstra.
The dentist pulled an index card from his filing cabinet. 'Douwe Scherjoen, yes indeed.'
'Can you describe your client?'
'Smallish man,' the dentist said. 'Looked even smaller, for he stooped a bit. Energetic, however. Nasty little devil. Growled every time he had to pay, which was before each visit, for I rather mistrusted him. Unpleasant individual, with a mean little face.'
'Paid cash?'
'Notes of maximum denomination, taken from a leather purse attached by a brass chain under his waistcoat. The man has been murdered?'
'Yes.'
'Messy lives,' the dentist said. 'Don't pay attention. I give them my best work, I spend a hundred hours on their miserable jaws, and they rush out and get themselves killed.'
'Would you have a look at my teeth?' Grijpstra asked.
The dentist looked. 'You can close your mouth now.'
'Can you fix that?' Grupstra asked.
'No.'
'What about your superior talent?' Grijpstra asked.
'What about your miserable wages?' the dentist asked. 'Any more questions? Will you be leaving now? I still have a few things to do.'
