back. Now we're still in Vienna.'
'For the cartoons?' the commissaris said. He took the paper.
'Since when do you read cartoons?' his wife asked. 'Oh, didn't we have a lovely holiday? Don't you feel rested?'
The commissaris grunted as he scanned the headlines.
'Do you, Jan?'
'I feel dehydrated,' the commissaris said. 'All those medicinal steam baths dried out my legs. And I'm overstuffed. The cooking was too rich.'
'You drank too much,' his wife said. 'Your brother and you are a bad combination. He brings out the worst in you.'
'I bring out the best in him,' the commissaris said. 'But even his best is a bit boring.'
'I wish you wouldn't drink,' his wife said, and to the stewardess, 'No, thank you, we won't have any.'
'I'll have a gin and tonic,' the commissaris* growled, and read, 'Martin IJsbreker? That must be Peter IJsbreker's son. Yes, here it is, a director of the Banque du Credit. But I know Martin.'
'So do I,' said his wife. 'What did he do? Wasn't he involved in that nasty business of the Society for Help Abroad?'
'Thank you,' the commissaris said to the stewardess. 'Martin shot himself.'
'Ach,' his wife said. 'Wasn't Martin divorced some years back? He had such a nice wife.'
'Halba took care of it,' the commissaris said, and folded the paper. 'I'm glad I didn't have to go. A self- inflicted pistol shot finished Martin off. Your health.'
'Your health,' his wife said. 'I wish you would drink beer.'
The commissaris drank. 'There's just as much alcohol in a bottle of beer as in a glass of gin, I keep telling you that. I wish you'd stop harping, my dear; even with my brother I didn't overindulge.'
'You had four last night, Jan, two when I wasn't looking.'
'Two,' the commissaris said. 'If you weren't looking, you didn't see the other two.'
'I peeked,' his wife said. 'I'm sorry about Martin, even if I haven't met him since he was a boy, but Fleur talks about him from time to time.'
'I didn't know you were seeing the baroness, Katrien.'
'We meet in the supermarket sometimes, and have tea afterward. Fleur has gotten very fat.'
The commissaris smiled.
'Of course, Fleur was always kind of pudgy,' his wife said, 'but you liked that, didn't you?'
'That was a hundred years ago.'
'Don't gulp your drink, Jan. I know all about you two, even if you won't admit it.'
'What's there to admit?' He looked at her over his gold-rimmed spectacles. 'You were still engaged to Willem Fernandus at the time. I was free, wasn't I?' 'You were about to be engaged to Fleur.' 'Was I? So how come she married Willem?' 'Because you married me. Fleur would have preferred you, she told me so herself.'
The commissaris mused, tinkling the ice in his drink.
'And Fernandus made Fleur very unhappy. He isn't even paying alimony anymore, now that Huip is over twenty-one, but she must have money, she always wears something new.'
'Fleur inherited shares in the bank too,' the commissaris said. 'Fernandus must have gotten hold of them. The bank is doing well. It has all the Society's business, of course.' The stewardess took his glass. 'Another one, sir?' 'No, thank you, dear.' He looked back at his wife. 'That bank is more evil than ever now. It sits right in the pleasure quarter. Fernandus is probably banking for the drug dealers too.' 'You think that's why IJsbreker got shot?' 'Suicide.' The commissaris put his hand on the paper. 'According to what it says here, Chief Inspector Halba already closed the case.' 'I don't like Halba, Jan, he has shifty eyes.' 'He was good in narcotics, so I was told, Katrien. His promotion was due to that. His transfer to the Murder Brigade, too.' 'Do you like Chief Inspector Halba?' 'No,' the commissaris said, 'but I don't know him too well yet. You were right, I shouldn't have looked at that paper. The other news is bad, too. Three dead junkies in a houseboat.' He shook his small head. 'I know that sort of thing shouldn't upset us anymore, but I'll never get used to it. Halba refuses to work on dead junkies. He claims they aren't worth the trouble -good riddance and so forth. I don't agree.'
'You work on them?'
'If I can, Katrien, but this lot died of an overdose, with the needles in their arms, so what can we do? If they kill themselves…'
'Fleur says that her son Huip Fernandus is a druggie too,' his wife said, 'but he only uses the soft stuff. Huip is a musician, Fleur says. Musicians are often on drugs, aren't they?'
'I don't know,' the commissaris said. 'I haven't seen statistics. You know, in a way I'm glad young IJsbreker shot himself while I was away. Now I won't have to see his employer, Willem Fernandus. Halba probably saw the big boss. The chief inspector must have been busy. He made front-page news, too, something about a German terrorist shot in a telephone booth. One of our men got wounded.'
'Badly?'
'The detective is in the hospital,' the commissaris said, 'not in intensive care.'
'Oh my,' his wife said. 'Not Sergeant de Gier, I hope, he's such a daredevil. Does the article give a name?'
'No,' the commissaris said. 'It won't be de Gier, for the sergeant had to go north, to supply testimony for the court on that murder case we had earlier this year. Adjutant Grijpstra took his girlfriend to do some camping. Cardozo is on holiday, too-in Spain, I believe.'
'Jan,' his wife said, 'didn't your father have shares in that Banque du Credit, too? You didn't inherit part of the bank, I hope.'
The commissaris looked out of the window. 'Black clouds over Holland. The paper said there have been thunderstorms and hard rain. We didn't miss much, Katrien. No, Dad sold his shares. There were four shareholders then, Fernandus Senior, Willem's father, who was president then, Baron de la Faille-that's Fleur's father-IJsbreker Senior, and Dad. Old Fernandus was the evil genius. Dad sold out to his partners-at a loss, I believe.'
'I thought your dad and Willem Fernandus's father were close?'
'Because they married wives who were related.' The commissaris frowned. 'My mother is Willem's mother's distant cousin. Twice removed, maybe.'
'Willem and you are family?' his wife gasped. 'I never knew that.'
'Too far to mention,' the commissaris said. 'Willem didn't harp on the subject, either. We disliked each other.'
'And you went to the same schools. You even studied together.'
'Law,' the commissaris said. 'I studied the articles and Willem studied the holes between the articles. He was always like that. Even in kindergarten he found an illegal way to the teacher's lap. Willem'- the commissaris stared solemnly at his wife-'is the most deliberately evil man I ever had the misfortune to know.'
His wife giggled.
'What's funny?' the commissaris asked. 'Is evil funny?'
'What was Willem doing on the teacher's lap?'
'Feeling her breasts, of course.' The commissaris took off his spectacles and polished them with the tip of his silk tie. 'Pretending to slide off Miss Bakker's lap and then grabbing hold. Willem was never very subtle. That time he got slapped.'
'How old was Willem then?'
'We were both four. I used to sit on Miss Bakker's lap, and Willem got jealous. The teacher had pet mice, in a terrarium with a wheel. We could look at them doing their tricks for two minutes, if we asked. There was a clock above the terrarium, and we were supposed to time ourselves.' The commissaris grinned. 'When I see a mouse now, I still think about that stupid clock. Crazy education. You're supposed to learn, and all you do is pick up useless associations.'
'So how did Willem get you off that woman's lap? Was she beautiful, Jan?'
'A goddess,' the commissaris said. 'There was a rocking horse in kindergarten, and whenever I rode it I fantasized that I was saving Miss Bakker from dragons, or from the principal of the school, whom she married later. I really lost out then.'
