veering off to attack. 'Shoo!' Grijpstra yelled. The ram didn't listen. He was in charge of the meadow and aware of an opportunity to show off to his wives. Horns lowered, the ram chose Grijpstra for his target. 'Help!' Grijpstra yelled.
De Gier helped. He jumped the ram from the side, pulled a front and a hind leg, and rolled smoothly over the enemy, holding him down.
Grijpstra climbed a fence, groaning. De Gier jumped the fence after him, one leg forward, one leg to the rear, arms stretched, head straight.
'And now?' Grijpstra asked.
De Gier pointed at a State Police sign displayed under two lime trees that had grown into each other, their branches cut artfully into a raised square, shielding a low building. Grijpstra gathered his thoughts, straightened his bulk, stepped through the door, and beckoned the sergeant to follow.
A corporal welcomed his colleagues from the south. Grijpstra stated the purpose of his visit.
'Are you in charge here?' de Gier asked.
'Lieutenant Sudema is in charge, but the lieutenant has the day off.'
'So you're in charge.'
The corporal wasn't sure. He left a message on the telephone's tape recorder and invited his guests to join him in his Land Rover. He locked the station's door. The journey took them to a greenhouse. A tall man in faded overalls was packing large tomatoes in small plastic boxes. 'Lieutenant Sudema,' the corporal said.
Grijpstra explained his presence.
The lieutenant filled another three boxes. 'Douwe Scherjoen?'
'Yes.'
'Our Douwe. In an Amsterdam dory? Shot and burned?'
'His skull looked at me,' de Gier said. He curled his fingers around his eyes and dropped his head a little. 'Like this, but worse, of course, for he was staring at me from some distance.'
'Subject wasn't known to us,' Grijpstra said. 'Do you have something on subject here?'
The lieutenant stacked his boxes. 'Mrs. Scherjoen is a good friend of my wife, Gyske. The tax detectives have been after Douwe for a while; they were about to bring charges, and if they had, he might have been in serious trouble.'
'Do you personally know the tax detectives who are working on subject's case?'
'Please,' Lieutenant Sudema said. His long dark eyelashes flicked up, and cold light flashed from his steely blue eyes. 'Please. I don't want to know them.'
'Was Mr. Scherjoen hiding income?'
'You understate,' Lieutenant Sudema said. He guided his visitors to two chestnut trees behind the greenhouse. A small house was hidden under the trees. Gyske Sudema poured tea in the house while the lieutenant changed into a spotless uniform. Gyske was tight underneath, in leather pants, and well-filled above, in a taut white blouse. Her face was noble and her eyes sedate. De Gier was much impressed. So it was true about the beauty of Frisian women; he had heard tales, but then he had heard a lot of things.
'Our Douwe is deaV Gyske whispered in sorrow.
'So we may assume,' Grijpstra said, and explained about the orl and the expensive teeth. De Gier wanted to comfort Gyske and tried to prove that nothing can ever be proved conclusively, that there might be an incorrect turn of deduction somewhere, that what seemed to have happened might be altogether off. 'Dea or not deaV Gyske Sudema asked.
'Dea' said de Gier.
Gyske's sadness became anger. 'They can have the sjoelke. Douwe is a snyunt'
'Who?' asked Grijpstra, suddenly aware of possible suspicion. 'Who can have our Douwe?'
She pointed to the floor. 'The Helliche duvels'
'Oh, those,' Grijpstra said.
Gyske talked on for a while.
'Mrs. Sudema,' Grijpstra asked, 'what are you saying?'
Gyske switched into Dutch. 'I'm saying that Douwe was no good. He was a chauvinist, too. I won't miss our Douwe.' Tears ran down Gyske's high cheekbones. 'Now Mem will be free.'
'Mem?'
'Mem means 'mother,'' Lieutenant Sudema said. 'Mrs. Scherjoen's first name is really Krista, but she's rather motherly, you see, so everybody calls her Mem.'
'Krista, as in female 'Christ'?' de Gier asked.
'Yes,' Gyske said. 'Christ suffered too, to redeem the sins of all of us. Mem suffered to redeem Douwe. Same thing. Douwe was as bad as all of us together.'
'Douwe is dea,' de Gier said, glad that he could comfort the young woman after all. Gyske looked unsure. 'Is Douwe punished now?'
De Gier wasn't certain. 'Is death a punishment?' He tried his best smile. 'But he has been taken away from us; death did remove the subject. If the subject was bad, the removal would be all to the good.'
'Douwe has to be punished,' insisted Gyske.
'I wouldn't know,' de Gier said. 'Do you? What denomination do you belong to, ma'am?'
Gyske was Dutch Reformed. 'And you?'
De Gier was nothing. 'Of nothing,' he added as clarification.
Lieutenant Sudema fastened his belt and arranged his pistol. In his uniform he was even more handsome.
'On foot, by bicycle, or by car?' the lieutenant asked. 'Would you prefer to walk? A quarter of an hour? We can talk on the way. The Scherjoens live in a stately mansion just outside the village, on the most magnificent estate of the region. The landhus dates back centuries.'
Lieutenant Sudema marched next to de Gier. Both were equally tall. Grijpstra ran after them, an unacceptable situation. He pushed between the two men. 'What is a sjoelke?' 'An asshole,' the lieutenant said. 'A grabber for himself. One who never thinks of others. A sour self-spoiler. A sjoelke is a smjunt.'
De Gier looked up at the splendor of elm trees that protected the path. He pointed out a variety of natural beauty. 'Great land you have here.'
'Over there is a forest of beeches,' Lieutenant Sudema said. 'Douwe wanted to cut the trees down. He had no need of beauty. Look there, see that oak on the meadow? That oak is dead, the cows have been ripping the bark. When there's a tree in a meadow, we take the trouble to protect it with a little fence; too much trouble for Douwe.'
Grijpstra admired a cluster of hawthorns and a moat in the shadow of alders. 'Why cut beeches? Don't they hold the silence? Isn't silence healthy for the mind?'
'You know what a foot of beech board sells for?' the lieutenant asked. 'Beeches are thousand-guilder notes.'
'A little grabby?' asked de Gier. 'Our Douwe?'
'To him it was all green,' Lieutenant Sudema said sadly. 'But he preferred the green of money.' He grinned ferociously at his joke.
'The tax detectives,' Grijpstra said brightly, for he was now enjoying the walk; his slow-moving weight kept the others back. 'Did they come up with some proof of evasion?'
'Not yet,' the lieutenant said. 'Good for Douwe.'
'You've changed sides?' asked de Gier.
'Tax'-the lieutenant spat the word-'is even worse than Douwe. I don't wish tax-hounds on the worst of us.' He shivered. 'The country's curse.'
'Right you are,' said de Gier. 'They clip my wages. Forty percent it was, last month.' He shook a fist. 'Must I be punished because I work? Must lazy officials in The Hague fatten on the spoils of my labor? Is it my fault that bums on welfare sneer at me through cafe windows while they swill beer at my expense?'
'You must be Frisian,' the lieutenant said with pleasure.
'I'm Frisian,' Grijpstra said. 'He's a mere Dutchman. I'm in charge of this case. He's a mere tourist.'
'We detest taxes here,' Lieutenant Sudema said, 'and we always have. We prefer to be free of the greed of others. We pay for the foolishness of the other provinces. Are they ever grateful? Sales tax! Bah! Ever try to buy a
