'Yes, and I thought that you might be able to help me. Piet Verboom gave you a much larger sum, not so long ago and I am sure that you didn't bank the money. That money should still be around and available, I thought.'
The microphone was quiet and Grijpstra and de Gier studied the small gadget, made of gray plastic.
'It's covered by a grid,' de Gier thought, 'like the town's sewers are. There are rats under the grids of the town's sewers.'
'Quite, quite,' de Kater's voice said. It didn't sound as civilized as before. It sounded hoarse as well. 'Yes, yes.' Grijpstra sucked his cigarette, de Gier had closed his eyes. Van Meteren's voice sounded very pleasant and relaxed, as if he were talking to a friend or a very close acquaintance.
'The amount isn't all that large,' van Meteren said.
'Perhaps not,' de Kater said, 'but I was thinking what you would be prepared to do in exchange.'
'Oh, I'll do something in exchange all right,' van Meteren said.
'What?'
'I'll explain it to you. You delivered some merchandise to Piet Verboom, shortly before Piet died, as you will remember. The merchandise was paid for and the money was received by you, and the transaction came to an end, a satisfactory end to all parties concerned. But the goods still represent a certain value, perhaps more than Piet paid at the time, for prices are rising.'
'Yes, you are right,' de Kater said. There was a slight tap, followed by a sound of de Kater breathing in.
'He lit a cigar,' Grijpstra thought, 'a nice long fat cigar.'
'And I thought that you might be interested in buying the goods back again,' van Meteren said.
'For twenty thousand guilders?' de Kater asked.
'Yes, indeed. A small part of the value, but the goods aren't altogether mine, although I might say that I have inherited them.'
'Ha,' de Kater said, 'If you have possession of the goods you could say that you are the owner as well. Why didn't the police find the merchandise?'
'They didn't look in the right place.'
'Quite,' de Kater said, 'but tell me, why sell them to me? Supposing of course that you have them. You were Piet Verboom's assistant, surely you know who he intended selling the goods to, and if you do know, why, you can get the right price, I suppose.'
Grijpstra looked up. Van Meteren raised a hand and smiled.
De Gier's eyes were still closed.
'I know the buyers,' van Meteren said, 'but I am not going to take the risk of approaching them. Piet's death woke the police and they are sniffing around everywhere.'
'I see.'
'And I am in somewhat of a hurry,' van Meteren said. 'I want to leave the country. The police are sniffing around me too, or they were, rather. I think they have stopped suspecting me and they stopped shadowing me.'
'You are sure?'
'Absolutely sure.'
'You were in the police yourself, weren't you?'
'I was,' van Meteren said, 'and I know when I am being shadowed. Any Papuan knows, he needs no police training for that.'
'Twenty thousand,' de Kater said.
'Twenty thousand.'
'Well, your idea interests me. When and where, Mr. van Meteren?'
'Tonight, in your own property, the old house in the Haarlemmer Houttuinen, nine o'clock. I'll meet you in the street outside.'
'And you will have the goods with you?'
'No goods, no money, Mr. de Kater.' The silence returned. De Gier opened his eyes and stretched. Grijpstra screwed the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray. He was using a lot of force and the paper of the cigarette disintegrated and mixed with the tobacco grains. Van Meteren's eyes glittered.
'I don't like to rush into things,' de Kater said, 'but I am rather interested. If I don't show up tonight you may ring me again.'
There was a click and the line died. Van Meteren carefully replaced the receiver on the hook.
'Do you think he will come?' Grijpstra asked.
'Sure,' van Meteren said. 'His greed will drive him straight into our hands. He'll be here tonight and you can grab him with the heroin under his arm.'
'I'll take you back to your cell,' de Gier said.
Grijpstra was shaking the Papuan's hand. 'See you tonight. Christ Almighty, if we pull this one off it will be medals for everybody.'
'I already have two medals,' van Meteren said.
\\ 17 /////
De Gier squatted between the bushes that grew against the side of the railway-dike on the other side of the Haarlemmer Houttuinen and watched the front door of number 5 and his watch at intervals of about five seconds. Two. other detectives had hidden themselves close by. They were sitting on dog turds and both were complaining. De Gier had managed to keep himself clean but his legs hurt and he was squatting down with some difficulty.
'Bah,' de Gier whispered to himself. Their position wasn't ideal. They were on the wrong side of the railway dike's fencing and he doubted that they would be able to get through the hole, which he had cut in the fence's chicken wire, quickly enough. But there had been no other place. He hoped the youth-gangs that were bound to roam the area wouldn't discover them. Fortunately the street was empty, only an occasional car passed.
De Gier studied the lonely pedestrian on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He had recognized the chief inspector, dressed in an old worn duffelcoat and talking to his Alsatian, a young dog that by wagging his tail and barking, was asking to be released from his leash. De Gier looked at the chief inspector with admiration. The chief inspector shuffled along, dragging his feet, and seemed some twenty years older than his real age.
'You see that fellow over there?' he whispered to the detective next to him.
The detective looked.
'I see him. The old chappie with his dog. There was another man some minutes ago, with two dachshunds. Anything the matter with him?'
'That's the chief inspector,' de Gier whispered.
The detective looked again.
'You are right. What's with his hair? Is he wearing a wig?'
'No,' de Gier said. 'Why would he be wearing a wig?'
'He looks different,' the detective whispered.
De Gier produced a small pair of binoculars, his private property for which he had paid a lot of money once. The chief inspector's hair did appear different, curly, not slicked down with fat as it usually was.
'Must have washed and ruffled his hair,' de Gier thought. 'Very effective. Goes with the old duffelcoat and the shuffling gait. He looks like one of the old unemployed characters who live around here, by themselves mostly. Misfits, drunks, potential suicides.'
He looked at his watch again, five to nine. Van Met-eren had arrived and was waiting near the front door of number 5, leaning against the wall. The chief inspector had allowed the Alsatian to drag him away. Around the corner an old car should be parked with two detectives in the front seat, and two uniformed constables were supposed to patrol the Haarlemmer Street. The Haarlemmer Street is regularly patrolled by cops on foot so de
