'Yes,' de Gier said. 'I really liked that Peter.'
'Biased,' Grijpstra said. 'You are biased, Rinus. You like midnight-black-skinned men because they remind you of Miles Davis, who plays trumpet the 'way you want to play trumpet but can't.'
De Gier shrugged.
Grijpstra looked critical. 'Unacceptable associations. Preconceived ideas, the wrong way round. Peter could still be unreliable. You agree, don't you?'
'Cut it out,' de Gier said. 'The opposite isn't true either. Although I dislike most pink-skinned folks who don't play the trumpet the way I would like to but can't, I can still appreciate reliability in you.'
Grijpstra blinked.
'Sentence too complicated?' de Gier asked.
'Okay,' Grijpstra said. 'Complainant's partner, Peter, checks out. So does Termeer.' Grijpstra paused. 'Workwise too?'
'As a hairdresser, you mean?'
'Please,' Grijpstra said. 'As a cop.'
De Gier read his notes, made that afternoon at Warmoes Street Police Precinct, in Amsterdam's Red Light District. Termeer, as auxiliary, had served there for some years now, doing evening duty and also working weekends. Two Warmoes Street Precinct uniformed sergeants, interviewed separately, stated that Termeer would show up two or three times per week. Such zeal, they declared, was unusual for voluntary policemen, who aren't expected to put in that much time on active duty.
'Did you hear about his participation in the arrest of a Yugoslav gangster?' Grijpstra asked.
De Gier found the note. Firearms were used. Termeer jumped the suspect after a professional cop had been wounded and brought down. Suspect struggled free. Termeer ran Suspect down after a long chase along alleys and canal quays. The spectacular arrest earned the reserve constable-first-class a special mention for bravery beyond the call of duty.
'Outperformed the professionals, yes?' Grijpstra asked.
'Yes,' de Gier said.
'What do you know,' Grijpstra said. 'A disciple of mine, Rinus. It's me who guided this good man for years. By my example, experience, expertise…'
De Gier read on. On another occasion Termeer arrested an armed and violent whoremonger.
'Details?'
Seventy-year-old German suspected of abusing a prostitute. Suspect, flashing a handgun, resisted arrest but was disarmed by Termeer using judo.
'Gestapo Untergruppenfuehrer on weekend leave from a federal prison in Bonn, Germany, nostalgically reenacting World War II atrocity,' Grijpstra said. 'And you were home, watching a video of cannibals from New Guinea. Wasn't Herr Muller lucky? You would have pulled out his toenails.'
'Yeah,' de Gier said. 'Hurting an old man with a personality problem.' He scratched behind Tabriz's ears. 'What was Termeer like as a police school student?'
'Good,' Grijpstra said. 'Passed the final exam summa cum laude.'
'Any fawning? Bending over backwards?'
Grijpstra nodded. 'Some. Sure.'
'Tough guy syndrome? Bought special equipment and clothes in the police store? Nazi boots? Leather coat? Expressed interest in arresting young sailor types on bicycles without proper rear lights?'
Grijpstra shook his head.
'Negative observations?'
Grijpstra recalled a neatly dressed soft-spoken student who paid attention, made neat notes, didn't ask silly questions, arrived on time, didn't miss lessons, drove a clean and undented Volkswagen Golf.
'Not a nutcase?' de Gier asked.
'No.'
De Gier's head moved closer to Grijpstra's. 'Why,' de Gier asked, 'would, if you please, a non-nutcase desire to voluntarily join the Amsterdam Police to serve without pay?' De Gier dropped his voice dramatically. 'Henk, listen. Isn't that, in itself, suspicious behavior? What we policemen are dealing with is human filth, misery any decent being would want to stay away from. And this good guy volunteers?'
Grijpstra grinned. 'You mean that the very idea of wanting to be a cop is despicable in essence?'
'You disagree?' de Gier asked.
'Ask complainant,' Grijpstra said. 'I'm not being investigated here, okay?'
'I did ask complainant.'
'You got a clear answer?'
'Termeer said he liked our type of work.'
The detectives had more tea. Tabriz was turned upside down and kneaded by Grijpstra this time. The cat purred dutifully.
'Why,' de Gier asked, 'did you join the police yourself?'
Grijpstra cited stupidity, ignorance of choices, a slavish desire to serve the ruling class, a sadistic inclination. Uniform, badge, the right to carry arms are ways to indulge power.
He stared into de Gier's eyes. 'And you, my dear?'
De Gier said that he wanted to serve the queen and that one could see the queen, or her symbol, the crown, as a kind of opening, a tunnel through which the aware and diligent disciple could approach divinity, even here on earth.
'That's nice,' Grijpstra said.
De Gier poured boiling water into his teapot. 'So what else do we know?' de Gier asked. 'The commissaris mentioned that Termeer, according to Antoinette, appeared to be a 'young fellow of forty.''
'Some young fellow,' Grijpstra said. 'Six foot two, a sporting type, physically not unlike yourself but mentally more pure. Less cynical, I mean.'
De Gier had the same impression. Termeer could be described as childlike. As 'nice.'
'You told that to the commissaris?' Grijpstra asked.
De Gier said he had but that, in spite of the possibly authentic complaint, now sustained by a profile drawn up by an experienced criminal investigator…
('Meaning you?'
'You too somewhat,' de Gier said.)
…he didn't think it was fair that because of Grijpstra, via his pushy introduction of his star student, complainant Jo Termeer, the commissaris was now more or less forced to jump into a risky set of circumstances. In a dangerous city like New York of all places. Right before the rheumatic little old gentleman was to be retired.
Grijpstra felt bad.
Chapter 3
'Grijpstra should feel bad,' Katrien said.
The commissaris was having breakfast-a Sunday morning ritual comprising a choice of three cheeses, fruit juices in antique tumblers, perking coffee, which set him up for the day.
Since Katrien no longer smoked she had done away with breakfast. Her sudden gain in weight distressed Katrien. The commissaris kept saying he liked her 'ladylike figure.'
'You like nothing better than being a hero in America,' Katrien said, 'another ruse that you hope will make your image live forever.'
The commissaris, squeezing a fresh roll, spilled crumbs.
'Or would this case be somehow special?' Katrien asked. 'A nasty twisted puzzle requiring your exclusive genius perhaps?'
The commissaris butchered a new piece of Gruyere.
'What is so peculiar about an Amsterdam book dealer found dead in Central Park, New York?'
