Carl was looking through his magnifying glass at the dead fly.
'We'll take you to a private home,' Grijpstra said. 'Mrs. Jongs is there already. We believe her to be in danger too.'
Carl looked around. 'Mayhaybe you're the kihillers.'
De Gier put his police card on the table. Carl read it. 'Mayhaybe you're poholice killers.'
'Police killers,' Grijpstra said, still looking at Carl's father scrutinizing the Financial Times. 'You think a cop shot the banker?'
'Dohon't know fohor shuhure.'
'Weren't you in IJsbreker's house?'
'Wohon't say.'
'So you were,' de Gier said. 'We thought you weren't. Did you want to help the lady? Where did the paintings and vases go?'
'Dohon't know.'
Grijpstra studied a wolf's head about to chomp down on a fluffy toy bunny that was peering innocently from between its captor's ferocious fangs. 'This is fantastic. We should get you an exhibition somewhere. The Museum of Modern Art would be interested, I think. Doesn't the commissaris know the director there?' He looked at Carl. 'The commissaris likes your work. He's seen the rhino's head and Mouse. Those pieces are safe.'
'The comm… comm…'
Grijpstra mentioned the commissaris's name.
'Hah,' Carl said.
'You've heard of our chief? You'll be staying at his house, in Queen's Lane, not far from here. That's where Mrs. Jongs is now.'
'The commissaris has a nice wife,' de Gier said, 'but she doesn't care for art. The adjutant here paints. She hangs his painting in dark corners. They're sort of gruesome.'
'You payhaint?' Carl asked Grijpstra. 'What?'
'I'm not very good,' Grijpstra said. 'A Sunday dabbler. I'm always mixing up the wrong colors. Like now, I'm doing this waterscape, it needs canal greens. The ducks are all right, I've got the ducks drawn in.'
'The ducks haven't got any flesh on their faces,' de Gier said.
'I got the ducks right,' Grijpstra said, 'but I need this pale green for the water and I can't mix it.'
'Greeheens?' Carl asked. 'I got some.' He led Grijpstra to a shelf holding an array of jam jars, each filled with dried shredded plants. 'Seehee the frog there?' The frog, assembled from scrap wood, had been sprinkled with green dust.
'That stays on?' Grijpstra asked. 'Do you glue it?'
'Yehes.'
Grijpstra picked up the frog gingerly.
'Why not?' de Gier asked. 'You can fish up some water weeds, dry them, and glue them on. You can do anything you like.'
'Perhaps,' Grijpstra said slowly. 'Yes, that might be an idea.'
Carl smiled. 'You're welcohome.'
'Yes.' Grijpstra touched Carl's shoulder. 'Thanks.'
'We'll be going, then,' de Gier said. 'Please come along. If you don't like it at the commissaris's house, we'll bring you back. Okay?'
'Yehes,' Carl said.
\\ 15 /////
'So far, so good,'Grijpstra said while De Gler turned the Volkswagen into a lane leading to the Amstel River. 'Carl liked the commissaris's wife, don't you think?'
'I thought Mrs. Jongs and he did a great hug,' de Gier said. 'I like unlikely hugs. I find them inspiring. The half-burned horse he had up in his loft was inspiring too. That's the horse the knight rides into heaven, when he has smashed the other knight on the field at dawn, after a long and exhausting duel. I'm looking forward to that final feat.'
'We did that right,' Grijpstra said. 'You think we're getting better, Sergeant? Dealing with a genius who uses a body that's almost completely out of whack? I noticed that I kept wanting to talk to Carl as if he were retarded, even though the fellow is more intelligent than the two of us put together.'
De Gier glanced at his rearview mirror. 'Would you mind leaving me out of your equation? Did you notice we're being followed? No? Who did notice?'
'You,' Grijpstra said. 'My heartfelt congratulations. Very clever of you, especially as you're the only one who can look at the rearview mirror.'
The car reached the dike. De Gier checked the mirror again. 'Two bearded types in comic hats, driving a Daimler. Are we being honored with a State Detection escort too? Don't they have regular vehicles in The Hague? Did you see that Corvette parked in front of the commissaris's house?'
The Daimler flashed past them, low and sleek, the smooth hum of its powerful engine controlled by a chrome-plated angel stretching its wings on the radiator cap.
'Classy car,' Grijpstra said. 'Why do they pass us if they're following us? Nobody follows us. You're getting nervous again.'
De Gier laughed carelessly. 'Me, nervous? I wouldn't know the meaning of the word. White knights have no nerves. They did follow us, because I didn't take the regular route from the city to the river, but a scenic roundabout, deliberately chosen while continually aware of anything going on around us. And the Daimler kept following.'
'What are we doing on this road?' Grijpstra asked. 'Get off it. I want to drive on the dike, contemplating river water.'
'I chose this road too,' de Gier said. 'I feel adventure here. It may lead to an ancient castle. A noble lady waits for us on the ramparts. She is dressed only in a veil. She waits for me, but she won't take off the veil until I have slain the black knight.'
'Do turn around,' Grijpstra said. 'I have bad nerves, and your knightly talk jangles them. This road is a dead end, and I want to watch ducks.'
The Volkswagen bounced as it hit a pothole. 'Hold it,' Grijpstra said. 'Stop.' He reached for the microphone under the dashboard. 'Headquarters? This is…' He held the microphone in front of de Gier's face.
'Two-sixteen,' de Gier said.
'I'm listening,' a young female voice said.
'Amstel Dike, maybe three kilometers south of the city line, an abandoned truck with a cargo of what looks like sheets of tarpaper, stuck in the soft shoulder. I'll read you the license number. Looks like the truck is ready to slide into the moat. Nobody around the vehicle. Please alert the local police.'
'Can we go again?' de Gier asked when the message had been repeated and acknowledged.
Grijpstra nodded. 'Find some ducks.'
The Volkswagen was still on the country road and had begun to turn onto the dike when the Daimler, parked just behind a curve, started and approached the Volkswagen at speed, coming from the left. De Gier, knowing he had the right-of-way, accelerated. The Daimler accelerated too. Grijpstra shouted. The Volkswagen hit the Daimler broadside and began to crumple. Grijpstra's head shot forward and broke the windshield. The steering wheel pressed hard into de Gier's chest. The heavy Daimler, carried by the Volkswagen's momentum, steered to the left but managed to shake the little car off. The Volkswagen hobbled on, crossed the dike, nosed into the opposite shoulder, and was held by a poplar. Grijpstra's head snapped back. The skin of his forehead was sliced in three places and began to fold over.
I'm looking into Grijpstra's head, de Gier thought. How revealing to be able to look into another man's head. He reached into his pocket to find a handkerchief that might serve as a bandage. He leaned over, trying his other pocket.
