suspect.
'What didn't he show you?' Katrien asked on the phone.
'But he did show me,' the commissaris said, 'in that very building's dank dungeons.'
What Charlie showed the detectives in the badly lit basement was Bert Termeer's second activity, another mail-order business, also complete with all it needed: an antique press, an obsolete but functional labeling machine, shelving, boxes, packing paper, rolls of packing tape, stocks of product.
The piles of imported magazines Charlie kicked around in the basement-while Kali crouched, growled, even howled with fury-the imported videotapes Charlie roughly pushed off their shelving, the posters and pictures he picked up and tore in half mostly showed small children being tortured.
Chapter 22
De Gier, agreeing with the commissaris that the job was done, spent the night at Horatio Street after losing at playing darts with Antonio and Freddie. He also telephoned Maggie, apologized for making a mess of a potentially beautiful experience and invited her to dinner the next day at the Italian restaurant. She said she didn't think so but to phone her in the morning. He slept well, phoned Maggie again, was told by her answering machine that if it was he it was okay, walked to Bleecker Street and took the subway. The commissaris invited him to breakfast at Le Chat Complet, where no cats walked past the high windows and where nobody sang.
Grijpstra's report on Termeer's alibi, faxed to the Cavendish and brought along for de Gier to read-the commissaris had trouble with the fax's faint lettering- confirmed that Jo Termeer was no longer a suspect.
De Gier said that he knew Charlie was involved when Charlie, the suspect, asked de Gier, the investigating officer, to translate Daumal's poetry, which said, 'I go toward a future that doesn't exist, leaving behind me, at every instant, a corpse.'
'A corpse, sir.' De Gier cut his French toast. 'Why bring up a corpse, for Christ sake, and he left it behind, and at every instant, like he couldn't get rid of it, like he kept dragging Termeer's body with him?'
The commissaris nodded although he could think of quite a different interpretation. The quotation could refer to another level. The poet Daumal could have referred to man's continuous change, leaving behind him used thoughts, used actions. The commissaris was going to tell de Gier that when Mamere came by to pour more coffee.
'You dream better now?' Mamere asked. She rushed off before he could answer. The commissaris sighed. He dreamed worse. The tram driver had been back that night like every night, and the hellish presence was more persistent than ever. Although he felt better physically- the coughing and sneezing attacks had stopped, even his hipbones smouldered less-he dreaded falling asleep, knowing the tram driver would be waiting, talking infantile gibberish while she showed her long legs and pursed her luscious lips. The gibberish was more high-pitched now. The phantom was getting impatient, the sacrifice she needed was long overdue.
The commissaris had to attend one more lecture, and he invited de Gier to accompany him to One Police Plaza. The subject was child molestation. The lecturer was a medical doctor as well as a clinical psychologist. The black Philadelphia-based expert started off with simple cases featuring bruises and broken bones. She progressed to the more nebulous area of strange stories accompanying urinary tract infections and bed-wetting. She spoke about the inability of the victims to testify. She mentioned the customary reluctance of family and concerned parties to cooperate.
'Most of what is out there,' the doctor said, 'we'll never know about, unless we learn to pay attention.'
After the lecture de Gier went off to spend the afternoon with his Papuan statues at the Metropolitan and to see Maggie afterward, and Chief O'Neill and Detective-Sergeant Hurrell took the commissaris out to lunch at a Korean restaurant on Columbus Avenue in the upper nineties.
O'Neill had closed the Bert Termeer case, 'if there ever was one.' He did regret the way the corpse had been ripped up by raccoons. O'Neill had heard that the Urban Park Rangers meant to start hunting raccoons. He raised his glass. 'To the Rangers.'
Central Park, Hurrell said, was known for its begging squirrels. Squirrels had learned to sit up for peanuts, and some had even mastered the art of shaking hands.
And Central Park was also known for its rats. Rats looked like squirrels; their lack of plumed tails was not noticeable when they faced little old ladies. Rats liked peanuts too, he said. Rats had learned to join squirrels when little old ladies handed out peanuts.
Rats didn't shake hands, though. Rats bit.
So many little old ladies had been bitten by rats that another admonition was to be added to the park's notice board:
DON'T SHAKE HANDS WITH RATS
The commissaris raised his glass again at the end of Hurrell's topical story.
The commissaris was taken back to the Cavendish. He thanked his hosts for their hospitality and assistance.
'Any time, Yan,' O'Neill said.
'Glad to be of help,' Hurrell said.
Lying back in his hot bath, the commissaris reconsidered his and de Gier's recent reasoning.
There was sufficient psychological motive to justify accusing Charlie of murder. Termeer's shadow side had disgusted Charlie. Charlie had learned that his tenant didn't just operate the catalogue business but actively participated in perversions.
After he showed them the basement, Charlie had told the detectives that Teddy had complained about Termeer's insistence on sadistic/masochistic acts that, even for good money, were too painful. 'The man is a meanie,' Teddy said.
Teddy had also seen boys enter by Termeer's separate entrance and had tried to warn them off, but the boys had to finance their habits. Charlie finally learned why Kali whined and growled when Termeer was entertaining company in his part of the building.
Charlie told the detectives that, after having listened to Teddy, he had checked Termeer's premises, using his duplicate keys.
'We heard that you sometimes helped Termeer with his holy book mail-order business,' the commissaris said. 'But you say you had no idea of what was going on in the basement?'
Charlie said that he hadn't spent much time with Termeer in the last few years, that his fantasy of working with a kindred spirit had come to an end long ago. Termeer, although maybe able to perceive further than most, had turned out to be dour, twisted into himself, hardly civil most of the time, moody, even boring.
'You were unaware of Termeer's dark side?'
Charlie had no idea until he lunched with Teddy at New Noodletown in the Bowery.
'Recendy?'
'Yes.'
'How long before Termeer died?'
Charlie calculated. 'A week? Ten days?'
'You confronted your tenant?'
Charlie had been considering a confrontation, but then there was no need.
'Where were you when Termeer died?'
Charlie said that he might have been in the park, or else on his way home. The park had been too busy that day.
'Did you see Termeer in the park that Sunday morning?'
'Yes.'
'Did you talk to him?'
'No.'
'Why did you inquire about Termeer at the Central Park Precinct the next day?'
Because, Charlie said, Kali had been restless all night, pacing and whining. Charlie himself also had a bad feeling. He had let himself into Termeer's part of the building early the next morning. There was no one there,
