'The bottles are your friends?'
'Yes,' Guldemeester said clearly again. 'The goats are dead.'
The adjutant, steered along by the commissaris, flopped down on the couch. The commissaris picked up Guldemeester1 s legs and lifted them onto the couch too. 'Comfortable? Maybe you can have goats again in Spain.'
'Don't know,' Guldemeester said. 'Should have asked him.'
'Who?' the commissaris asked.
'Fernandush,' Guldemeester said sleepily, turning on his side.
The chief constable was waiting at the elevator when the commissaris walked through the lobby. 'Morning,' the commissaris said. He looked at his watch. 'Afternoon, rather.' He turned away. 'Maybe I should get something to eat.'
'Why don't you come up to my office for a minute?' the chief constable asked. 'I missed you at the meeting.'
The door slid open and they both got in. Two constables stepped into the elevator too, pointing at their caps, pushed to the backs of their heads. 'Good day, gentlemen.' The chief constable smiled. The commissaris mentioned the unusually good weather lately. He mentioned it again when they walked through the long corridor to the chief constable's office. 'Very pleasant spring, good time of the year to be about.'
The chief constable indicated a chair. 'You were out all morning, I couldn't reach you on the phone. Working on something?'
'The IJsbreker case,' the commissaris said, shaking immaculate white cuffs from his shantung sleeves. 'I think I'm getting somewhere.'
'That case has been taken care of.' The chief constable pushed a box of cigars across the top of his desk.
'No, thank you,' the commissaris said. 'Closed?'
The chief constable nodded. 'We discussed the matter again this morning. There's sufficient evidence to believe that Martin IJsbreker shot himself in a despondent mood. All conditions point to a conclusive supposition.'
'Maybe I will have a cigar,' the commissaris said.
The chief constable waited until the commissaris's cigar burned properly. 'I think the missing gun and that nonsense about a second bullet can be ignored. Powder burns on the corpse's face, the letter, testimony by employees of the Banque du Credit-we have more than enough to stop wasting time and turn to something else.'
'To what, sir?' the commissaris asked.
'To the terrorists. There may be others about.'
'Halba can work on the terrorists,' the commissaris said airily. 'He already had one shot. You approved of his method, I hear.'
The chief constable's fingers drummed on his desk. 'I'm serious. The IJsbreker case is closed.'
The commissaris got up. 'Well, that's that, then. I'll be off to lunch.' He walked to the door.
'Commissaris?'
'Sir?' The commissaris looked over his shoulder.
'What will you work on now?'
The commissaris stopped and turned. 'Oh, there's always something. The old lady, I think.'
'Which old lady would that be?'
'The old lady who is being drummed out of her cozy apartment, sir.'
'I'm not familiar with that complaint,' the chief constable said, waving cigar smoke away.
'It's in the daily file, sir, several times in fact.' 'I thought you were in charge of Homicide?' 'A drumstick,' the commissaris said, 'could be a dangerous weapon.'
The chief constable nodded. 'I didn't know.' He smiled. 'But then I've never been a member of the Murder Brigade. By the way, my name is Henri, I should have mentioned that before.'
'I know, sir,' the commissaris said. 'Chief Inspector Halba told me so the other day.' He hesitated. 'Am I excused?' The chief constable looked away. 'Yes.'
\\ 9 /////
'Yes, Mrs. Jongs,' De Gier said into his phone, 'this is the police… about your complaint… No, dear, this is Headquarters, not your local station.'
He listened. 'No, dear, I'm not kidding.'
He listened for quite a while. 'Terrible. Absolutely, Mrs. Jongs. Tell me… just a minute now… yes… Would you perhaps keep a bucket around the kitchen?'
'Couldn't this be arranged a little more simply?' Grijpstra asked when de Gier finally hung up.
'No,' de Gier said. 'You didn't want to phone, so we'll do it my way. She wouldn't believe me at first. Listen carefully now, this is the plan. We meet in the garage here tonight at seven sharp. I'll come earlier to make sure that the van, overalls, tools, and whatnot are ready. You arrange the availability of a couple of cells.'
'There are never any cells available,' Grijpstra said. 'The new jails we keep hearing about will be ready within five years. Can't we put this off till then?'
'Get cells, Adjutant.' De Gier pounded his desk. 'I don't care how you do it. Grant a rapist an all-night walk through the park. It's Thursday, so the stores will be open until ten. Let a few shoplifters off so that they can keep in practice.'
Grijpstra had cleaned his pistol and was trying to insert the clip.
'Other way around?' de Gier asked.
'Right.' Grijpstra frowned as the clip clicked into place. 'Thank you. I'll never get used to the new model.'
'Please remember that the Walther P5 has no safety device.'
'Really?' Grijpstra slid the clip out again and pushed cartridges into its open end.
'You'll kill someone,' de Gier said. 'Nontechnical types like you shouldn't be issued guns.'
Grijpstra slipped the pistol into his shoulder holster.
'You'll shoot me' de Gier said, 'But it doesn't matter. Death is the final and greatest adventure of them all. May it come swiftly, by the hand of a friend.'
'I'm not really your friend,' Grijpstra said gently. 'Fate has pushed us together. I've never cared for your company much. You're everything I detest. Your slightest action irritates me intensely. Even if you don't do anything at all, I can't stand having you around.' He sighed. 'I'll be much better off without you.'
De Gier sat at the edge of his desk, smiling down on Grijpstra. 'So why did you pick me up just now? I could still be on my bed, enjoying the final vapors of the forbidden weed, twirling my toes, listening to the meaningful purr of Tabriz, upside down in my arm, rowing her legs, assuring me of her love by a tickle of her tail.'
'Sergeant?' Grijpstra asked pleasantly.
'Yes?' De Gier crossed his long legs and turned his head a little so that he could see his profile in the mirror across the room. He adjusted his silk scarf.
'Why don't you smoke dope all the time?' Grijpstra asked. 'You never buy it. You never take any home when it comes your way. You like dope, don't you?'
'Hmmm?' de Gier asked, still looking into the mirror.
'Won't you please tell me?' Grypstra asked kindly.
'No,' de Gier said pleasantly. 'No, I most definitely won't. Why should I explain my inconsistencies to you? You would never understand. You don't see the beauty of deliberate, exceptional behavior. You're programmed to blindly follow whatever common sense prescribes. You're common, Adjutant. You're the average personified. You obediently trot along your predestined path. I detest you too, you and everything you stand for…'He looked at the door.
Cardozo came running in and froze in his tracks. 'I'm sorry.'
