be laughed at, sir.'
Grijpstra and de Gier were pointing at Cardozo, laughing and slapping each other's shoulders.
'Enough,' the commissaris said. 'It's time for an official meeting. And dinner meanwhile. We brought the alcohol.' He produced small bottles, wrapped in linen, out of his pocket. 'Present from Chief Constable Lasius of Burmania, a most helpful nobleman who gives them out to tourists.'
De Gier tore the linen bags containing the bottles, and Grijpstra unscrewed the caps. Cardozo found glasses. The commissaris raised his. 'To Cardozo, who can report first.'
Cardozo talked.
'Are you done now?' de Gier asked. 'The business with the herons is clear, but how did the Chinese in front know about the Chinese to the rear?'
'Sir?' Cardozo asked.
The commissaris laid out his theory for them. 'I can't prove any of this,' he added, 'for all parties are dead. Whether I'm right or wrong, I suggest that Wo Hop, provided his papers are not in order, leave the country forthwith. We can see what happens later. We just might have some peace.'
'But how could they presume that the police are corrupt?' Grijpstra asked. 'That if one of us cycles on a dike, he carries heroin in his lunch box?'
'The papers keep accusing us,' de Gier said, 'so the public believes the lies.'
'Your turn,' the commissaris said.
'I'm not in on this,' de Gier said. 'Not being Frisian, sir.'
'Grijpstra?'
Grijpstra reported.
'Same with my investigation, so far,' the commissaris said. 'Mem Scherjoen is a first-class suspect. She won't admit that fact. Neither do your sheep dealers. They shouldn't volunteer information at this point, for they know we have no tangible evidence. All we can do is inquire politely.'
'While Cardozo cycles through death and damnation,' de Gier said.
'Shouldn't you keep out of this?' Cardozo asked.
'Sir?' Grijpstra asked. 'How did the Arrest Team know that Cardozo would be cycling through death and damnation?'
'They didn't,' the commissaris said. 'Remember the Indonesian revolutionary immigrants who ran berserk in the east of the country one pleasant Sunday not so long ago? The local State Police came marching by, on their way to some festival. Luck favors us at times. Fate won't let us lose forever, for if it did, we would give up and there would be nothing for Fate to watch. You should have seen the aggressive exhibition on the dike today. Supermen in combat clothes firing their futuristic weapons. If I dared to tell my wife, she'd never let me out again. War in a galaxy of a parallel universe. A commander knocking off foreign peons without the slightest emotion. A machine- man, an inhuman computer. Automatic horror released by secret training camps spawned by our own organization. A most effective and interesting show.' The commissaris held up his glass. 'Not that I liked it.'
'No,' de Gier said, his voice muted by enthusiasm barely controlled.
'Doesn't the idea 'proportion' figure largely in our laws?' the commissaris asked, emptying his glass again. 'What will Bald Ary and Fritz with the Tuft be thinking when they're jumped by mechanical humanoid destruction from all sides at once? Their successors will adapt to the situation we are creating and attack in army strength, supported by missiles. When the punks attack in Amsterdam again, they'll be in armored vehicles.'
'Really?' de Gier asked, slowly rubbing his hands.
'Get away,' Grijpstra said. 'You, of all people. One drop of blood and you faint away.'
'Me?' de Gier asked, jumping from the couch, grabbing a machine gun from the air, and mowing down all available criminal elements. 'Me? I'm a warrior. Aggression is in my genes. Times have been too soft for a long while now. The knight, the samurai, the mercenary are in me. Tanks in the streets. Submarines in the canals. Howling crowds attacking Headquarters. The last fight, with my back to the last crumbling wall. The life of the hero.'
The doorbell rang, and de Gier answered it.
'Hello, Hylkje,' de Gier said. Hylkje thought that Car-dozo looked funny too. She sobbed with pleasure in de Gier's arms. She doubled up when he stepped back. She dried her eyes.
'I'm off,' Cardozo said. Grypstra's hand dived down. Cardozo fought in Grijpstra's grip.
'I'm sorry I had to laugh,' Hylkje said. 'Wherever did you get that suit?'
'Mem Scherjoen gave it to him,' the commissaris said. 'From Douwe's legacy.'
Cardozo had to explain about the herons again. Hylkje blew her nose furiously. Her eyes sparkled above her hand- kerchief. 'Think of something else,' de Gier said. 'It'll probably pass.'
'I just came from Dingjum,' Hylkje said. 'After riding the dike on patrol. Lieutenant Sudema has demolished a good part of his house. Gyske came back from visiting Mrs. Scherjoen.' She looked at the commissaris. 'You don't seriously suspect Mem?'
'A mere formality,' the commissaris said. 'A technical possibility, however slight.'
'Gyske says,' Hylkje said, 'that it would be absolutely impossible for Mem to hurt anyone at all.'
'So says Gyske,' the commissaris said. 'But Mem's motivation might be just fine. Perhaps Mem would be interested in protecting the world against the type of evil that someone like her husband is likely to commit. In our literature such cases are known, in studies on extenuating circumstances. I remember the case of the American father of a psychopathic small daughter who-in Massachusetts, I believe- was killing off her teachers. The child was, unfortunately, a genius in evil. Only her father knew she was the killer, and he murdered his own child to prevent further trouble.'
'Didn't he give himself up?' de Gier asked. 'Is Mem Scherjoen giving herself up?'
Grypstra kept coughing. 'Sorry,' de Gier said. 'I'm out of this, but I couldn't help being curious. Sorry, Adjutant.'
'Gyske says,' Hylkje said, 'that Mem loved Douwe dearly. You're all men, you cannot possibly identify with a woman in such a relationship.'
'The female attitude is changing,' the commissaris said.
'Only lately, sir. Mem is from the past.'
'Dinner?' the commissaris asked.
De Gier fried the soles, flipping them over with smart flicks of his fork. The crunchy fish were served in a ring of fresh lettuce. There was a tomato salad, with a dressing flavored with herbs from the garden. The commissaris ate the last golden fried potato. Cold beer foamed.
De Gier brought out strawberries, under a cloud of whipped cream.
'You're good,' Hylkje said.
'The sergeant lives alone,' the commissaris said helpfully.
'In contrast,' Grypstra said, 'to all of us who fail in marriage or are manipulated in other unfortunate relationships, de Gier lives well. He may not be a Frisian, but he's still an example.'
'Exactly,' sneered Cardozo. 'Who needs women, anyway?' 'Because I laughed?' Hylkje said. 'Because you looked funny?'
'Yes,' Cardozo said, 'for I had been laughed at already, and I wouldn't expect a woman to sink that low. Maybe I'm an exception too. I began by adoring all women. I'm still young, my views could change again. I'm not saying you're all bad. No, I won't go that far yet.'
'He's weakening,' Grypstra said. 'Keep it up, Cardozo.'
'So how far would you like to go?' Hylkje asked, adjusting a golden lock. Her eyes had grown larger. Her lips were moist. She sat up straight. Her bosom pointed at Cardozo.
'To get back to our subject…' the commissaris said.
'Yes, what shall we do now?' Grijpstra asked.
'Please tell me,' Hylkje said. 'Soon I'll be too old for the motorcycle brigade, and I'm planning to apply for a position as a detective. Do you have a plan, sir?'
De Gier brought the coffee in.
'Patience,' the commissaris said. 'Perseverance. No loss of enthusiasm now. Arrange our facts. Connect all causes and effects and study the points where the lines meet. Ignore what doesn't make sense, and keep working on what will hold under scrutiny. I see only four connections so far. We have one abused spouse and three conflicts
