Halba recrossed his legs, leaned his arms on the sides of his chair, and tried to make his fingertips meet in a self-contained gesture. His hands slipped apart. 'I thought a delay would be too dangerous in this particular case. Terrorists plant bombs that go off in public places. The sooner we catch them, the better public order is served.'
'Just gun the fellow down?' the commissaris asked. 'If the German had been followed, he might have led us to his friends. We could have tapped the phone in that booth. Wouldn't it have been better if you had placed your men in such a way that there was a minimal risk of hitting each other?'
Halba shook his head. 'The detective who was hurt had no business being behind the booth. Police activity often involves danger. We all take chances from time to time.'
'We do have arrest teams, Chief Inspector. Military Police squads that have been endlessly trained for just such occasions.'
'There was no time,' Halba said. 'One has to make quick decisions in a crisis.' He lit a cigarette. 'Are you initiating an inquiry into the matter?'
'I might mention the matter to the chief constable,' the commissaris said. 'I never like it when one of our men is hurt.'
'The chief constable was at the party, too, last night,' Halba said. 'I was under the impression that Henri approved of the way I acted.'
The commissaris opened a file. 'Miss Antoinette gathered all available information relating to another matter I wanted to see you about, the IJsbreker case.
I'm missing the pathology report. Ballistics hasn't come up with anything either, and it seems that important evidence has been mislaid.'
Halba sighed. 'That matter has been fully discussed with the chief constable. The missing carton is the subject of a secret internal investigation. Have you seen the corpses yet?'
The commissaris shook his head.
'If you take the trouble to see IJsbreker's corpse,' Halba said, 'you'll note a discoloration of the face due to gunpowder, proving that the pistol's barrel was pressed against IJsbreker's head when the shot was fired. We definitely have a suicide here.'
'One hole in the forehead,' the commissaris said, 'and two bullets in the head. The pathologist is delaying handing in his report.'
'One bullet supposedly got lost.' Halba scratched his chin. 'That leaves one bullet again. The only real bullet, as far as I'm concerned. Perhaps you should ask Guldemeester what happened; it's really his case.'
'Adjutant Guldemeester called in today,' the commissaris said. 'He's taking the day off. You signed all the reports, I believe. You weren't at IJsbreker's house at all?'
'Only briefly.' Halba's fingers kneaded his chin furiously. 'I have no reason to doubt Guldemeester's statements. The adjutant's a very experienced colleague. Everything fitted exactly. Powder burns on the head, a letter on the table, typed and signed. I've done this myself, things got to be too much, sorry if anyone is inconvenienced, that sort of thing. Guldemeester checked the signature with papers at the bank.'
The commissaris flicked his lighter and looked at the flame.
'Cigarette?' Halba asked, offering his pack.
'Hmm?' The commissaris put the lighter back in his pocket. 'Oh no, thank you. I'm cutting down. No smoking in the morning. You know, Chief Inspector, I never trust typed suicide notes. People who work in offices are known to sign blank paper at times, because they're off somewhere and don't want to wait for the secretary to write what they dictate.'
Halba stubbed out his cigarette with excessive force. 'IJsbreker was emotionally disturbed. Guldemeester talked to the bank's vice-president, a Baron de la Faille. The baron stated that his chief had shown signs of obvious mental stress for some time.'
'Doesn't de la Faille replace his ex-superior?' the commissaris asked. 'Couldn't there be a motive there?'
Halba touched the tip of his nose. 'You wouldn't be jumping to conclusions, now? Guldemeester visited the bank too, and was told that it belongs to Willem Fernandus, the attorney, who lives farther up Prince Hendrick Quay. He called on Mr. Fernandus too, who wasn't at all sure who would replace the Banque du Credit's dead director.'
'Let's see now,' the commissaris said. 'Missing gun, missing bullet. A typed note. Ah yes. I'm reopening this case, Halba, after due deliberation, of course, so I went over to IJsbreker's house last night. Adjutant Guldemeester was good enough to give Grijpstra the key. Did you notice that at least ten paintings had been taken down from the mansion's walls? The discolored areas were quite obvious, I thought. A cabinet must have been removed too. I saw a curved outline on the wall that indicated its shape. Display cabinets often have curved tops.'
'No,' Halba said. 'As I keep saying, I rushed in and out. We were busy with the terrorist that day, a more pressing matter. Guldemeester handled the whole case by himself. I'm sure there's an explanation. Perhaps the objects were moved after the adjutant visited the house. Perhaps the heirs…'
The commissaris shook his head. 'No. The front door was still sealed when we came. Do you often do that, Chief Inspector? Sign reports describing events and situations you haven't properly observed?'
Halba glanced at his watch. 'Not normally, but as I keep explaining, there was a crisis at the time. I have to go now; there's a meeting of staff members in a few minutes. Are you coming too?'
'I think I'll skip it for once,' the commissaris said.
Halba walked quickly to the door. He paused with the doorknob in his hand. 'Yes?' the commissaris asked.
'I don't like this at all,' Halba said sharply. 'I hope you know what you are doing.'
'I think I do,' the commissaris said. He smiled when the door clicked shut. 'And I do rather like this.' The commissaris took a watering can off a shelf and casually watered the profusion of flowering plants on his windowsills before looking at his watch. 'There. That should give him enough time,' he said. He dialed a number, listened, broke the connection, and dialed again. 'Miss Antoinette? I just phoned Guldemeester's home, but the line is engaged. Would you keep trying for me? Please? If you can't get through, I'd like you to pinpoint his address on a map. I believe that the adjutant lives a few miles out of town.'
\\ 7 /////
In the detectives' office the phone rang, jingling on and on, cutting off now and then, and starting up again. De Gier, coming back from the canteen, where he'd listened to dismal conversation on the subject of State Detection's threatened investigation- nobody thought it would do more than cause further useless trouble-picked up the phone. 'Homicide,' he said pleasantly.
'Sergeant de Gier?' a muffled voice whispered.
'Yes?'
'Prince's Island,' the voice said. 'The Ancient's Cafe in an hour.' The voice was replaced by a mechanical hum.
'Yes?' Grijpstra asked from the door, seeing de Gier shaking the phone.
'Karate,' de Gier said. 'He and his co-demon are onto something. Now what? I only want to work on that dead banker. Do we allow ourselves to be sidetracked again? Karate and Ketchup have messed us up before.'
Grijpstra sat on his desk, carefully peeling the plastic off a cigar. 'In interesting ways. I could do with a laugh.'
'What's with you?' de Gier asked. 'You like the ordinary. You're a stodgy, slow, unimaginative member of the petrified old guard. Let's stick to our parts. I'm the one who's out for adventure. I wouldn't mind adventure now, but there were the corpses at the Binnenkant, and we should do some work. Have you seen IJsbreker's body yet?'
'Sure.' Grijpstra licked his cigar. 'I thought you were on your way down too. Did you chicken out again? I've seen worse bodies. A somewhat seedy but well-dressed gent, rather bald on top, a bit pudgy all over, due to soft living, of course. Remember the ladies' underwear we found in the leather couch at his house? And the traces of cocaine on the glass coffee table? According to Mr. Jacobs, there was a faint smell of perfume when they put
