'No more Ronnie Ryder,' Heul said. 'The engine on the boat blows, and the engine is close to the gas tank. A spark. Huip is good with stuff like that. He wanted to blow up Mrs. Jongs too, but she isn't home now. Burn the house down-it's falling apart anyway, and it's insured. The Society wants to construct a classy building instead, start another club.'
'Voosh,' Cardozo said.
'Voosh.' Heul leaned back. 'Give me a cigarette.'
Cardozo smoked.
'When exactly will this come about?' Grijpstra asked.
'Sunday, two o'clock. Huip and some expert are fixing the bomb now. Okay? Let me go?
'Who killed the three junkies?' Cardozo asked.
'Huip.' Heul's nose dripped, and he tried to get a handkerchief from his pocket. 'I wasn't in on that. Nobody told me. I thought the horse was regular- cut, you know? Weak shit. But Huip gave them pure junk supplied by the baron. I didn't like that at all.'
Grijpstra sucked his cigar.
'Okay,' Heul said. 'I'll give you more. I don't want to go to jail, man. I'm too sensitive for jail. Okay?'
' If it' s good,' Grijpstra said.
'Real good. There's a girl with the Society, from Calcutta. Calls herself Sayukta. Ruby in her nose. Bare belly. They're going to send her home, but she'll come straight back, carrying four ki's of horse. She doesn't want to, but she'll go, all right.'
'When?'
'Soon.'
'When exactly?'
'I don't know. Very soon. The junk isn't in Calcutta yet. It comes from somewhere else. Nepal. Okay?'
'Okay,' Grijpstra said. 'For now. If either tip isn't right, we'll get you later. In any way we know of.'
'We know lots of ways these days,' Cardozo said. 'Quick ways.' He patted his jacket. 'It's good hunting now. We can do lots of stuff. Not so many regular cops around anymore who'd bother to check. Nice.'
Heul held up his hands. Cardozo unlocked the cuffs. 'Don't forget your umbrella.'
' 'Bye,' Heul said. 'Have a good day.' He scrambled out of the car.
'He thinks we're regular cops,' Grijpstra said. 'Maybe he thinks we won't dare.'
'We dared last night,' Cardozo said.
The truck ahead moved away. Grypstra started the Citroen again. 'Heul's a little guy. Little guys scare easy. Maybe we're getting somewhere now. Pity the Vinker Lakes are out of town, we can't make the arrest.'
Cardozo was pressed back in his seat as the car shot away. 'Ha,' Grijpstra said. 'If we see it happen, we've got them anyway. We'll bring in the local cops later. Wouldn't do to call them in early. Suspects could notice.'
'Shouldn't we warn Ryder?' Cardozo asked. 'I mean…'
'Yes?'
'I mean he's going to die. He'll blow up in front of us. Can you take that?'
'I've seen Ryder go down once,' Grijpstra said. 'When de Gier pushed him over. I rather liked seeing him go down.'
'This time he'll go up.'
'Yes,' Grijpstra said. 'Where's the computer store you wanted to go to?'
\\ 23 /////
Later that day, while Grupstra was home painting in the pale green background that would set off his bare- boned ducks, and Cardozo was working with his new computer on the kitchen table that his mother needed to cut cucumbers on, and de Gier was half-asleep on his antique brass bed, the commissaris' s wife served tea.
The commissaris came down from his study, yawning and rubbing his eyes, Mrs. Jongs brought a chocolate cake from the oven, and Carl held up his image of Turtle. Turtle himself walked stiffly through the tall weeds in the rear garden on his way to fresh lettuce.
'This is like New York,' the commissaris said, sitting down on a cane chair, shielding his eyes from the late- afternoon sun that lit up the back porch. 'In the thirties. The Mafia wars. The troops would hole up in safe houses, slobber spaghetti, and gurgle wine.'
'What troops?' his wife asked.
'You're my troops,' the commissaris said. 'I need you all. Last night we won a battle. Now we rest, and later we challenge the enemy again.'
Mrs. Jongs tried to whistle, matching notes that could be the opening of a military march. Carl attempted a salute, but his hand missed his head. The commissar is's wife stamped her slippered feet and came to attention. 'As you were,' the commissaris barked.
'Really, Jan,' the commissaris's wife said. 'Eat your cake. Did you deposit that money?'
'I did,' the commissaris said. 'You should have seen the teller's face. She needed four colleagues to get it all sorted.'
'Jan.' She pinched his cheek. 'Carrying a suitcase full of banknotes around. The streets are alive with muggers. I should have gone with you.'
'I had my cane,' the commissaris said. 'Good cake.' He held out his plate. 'More? Please?'
'Goohood cahake indeeheed,' Carl said.
The commissaris's wife rubbed Mrs. Jongs's shriveled shoulder. 'You did a great job.'
'And did Grijpstra bring good news just now?' the commissaris's wife asked.
The commissaris picked up Turtle's image. 'Yes,, interesting information. I expect Fernandus to contact me soon. We could stop further trouble, he should see that by now. He'll just have to give in.'
'Oh, dear.' She shook her head. 'Fernandus will move too. He's got so much power. Look at you, Jan, bumbling about on your sore legs. Grijpstra is hurt, de Gier can't lift an arm without groaning. And look at us, we can't help you at all.'
'I made the cake,' Mrs. Jongs said.
The commissaris grinned at Carl. 'And you made another work of most expressive art. The essential turtle. You must have watched my friend well. Let's see if Turtle will acknowledge his archetype.'
Carl took his construction and carried it into the garden. The commissaris, his wife, and Mrs. Jongs watched from the porch. Carl had squatted down when the shot cracked. The bullet knocked the wire-and-shingle turtle from Carl's hands. Carl staggered back. The commissaris stumbled down the garden steps and grabbed hold of Carl. His wife screamed. Mrs. Jongs pointed at a window of a building beyond the rear of the garden and past another garden behind it. 'There. Up there.'
The commissaris and Carl, arms around each other, climbed the stairs back to the porch. The commissaris's wife pulled them both up. 'Quickly, Jan, please.'
'Phoo,' the commissaris said when he pushed Carl into the house. 'No panic, Katrien. Why don't you phone de Gier? Tell him to take a cab. Which window was it, Mrs. Jongs? Could you point it out to me?'
'Stay away from the windows!' the commissaris's wife shouted.
'That's the third floor?' the commissaris asked. 'Must be that hotel. There's a hotel there now, on Valerius Street. Do call de Gier, dear.'
'He's coming,' his wife said, dropping the phone. 'He was asleep. What can the sergeant do, Jan?'
'Not too much, I hope,' the commissaris said. 'Maybe we should have called Grijpstra. Are you all right, Carl?'
'Goohood shot,' Carl said. 'Meaheant to mihiss me.'
The doorbell rang. The commissaris's wife opened the door. 'Yes?'
'Voort,' the man in the blue blazer and the gray slacks said. 'State Detection. Could I see your husband, please?'
'Someone was shooting at us just now,' the commissaris's wife said.
'I beg your pardon, ma'am?'
