down.'
The commissaris looked hopeful. 'Does everybody want coffee?'
The five men agreed they all wanted coffee, eagerly, like small children asking for a treat. Nellie changed with them. Her smile was motherly, she wanted to care for them. The feeling in the pink whore's hole changed; the soft-shaded lights, the chintzy chairs, the two low tables with their plastic tops decorated with frilly doilies, the sickening disharmony of pinks, mauves and bloody and fleshy reds no longer inspired the urgency of sex but softened down into an unexpected intimacy; five male disciples adoring the goddess and the goddess cares and gives and flows and oozes and goes upstairs to make coffee in a percolator. Grijpstra reached across the bar and grabbed the stone jar of jenever. The glasses were refilled.
The commissaris sipped. 'Yes,' he said, and looked over his glass. 'Strange place this. So all we have is questions. That remark of yours interested me, de Gier.'
De Gier looked up, his thoughts had been far away. 'Sir?'
'About Abe Rogge trying to make fools out of his friends. A powerful personality no doubt, even the corpse looked powerful. So he humiliated his entourage. The king and his court. One of the courtiers killed the king.'
'We only met one courtier,' Grijpstra said, 'that young anarchist. Another strong personality.'
'Intelligent young man,' the commissaris agreed, 'and with a grudge. But a grudge against us, the police, the State.'
'Against power,' Grijpstra said hesitantly.
'And Abe meant power to him?' the commissaris asked. 'No, I don't think so. It seemed to me he liked Abe. Did that young lady you talked to like her brother, de Gier?'
De Gier hadn't been listening. The commissaris repeated his question. 'Oh yes, sir,' de Gier said. 'She liked him, and they weren't in each other's way. They lived separate lives, each on a separate floor. They only had an occasional meal together.'
'She wasn't dependent on him?'
'No, sir, she works for the university, has a degree.'
'We might check her clothes for blood spatters.'
'No, no,' the commissaris said. 'I saw her; she isn't the type to jump about waving a good-day.'
'That young fellow you were talking about?'
'No, not him either.'
The fingerprint man shrugged.
The commissaris felt obliged to explain. 'A man who has killed another man an hour ago will be nervous. Louis was nervous. The corpse, the crying sister, the police tramping about. He was suffering from a slight shock, but I didn't see any signs of a real mental crisis.'
'You are the man who knows,' the fingerprint man said.
'No,' the commissaris said, and drained his glass a little too quickly. 'I don't know anything. Whoever says he knows is either a fool or a saint, a blithering fool or a holy saint. But I have observed a number of killers in my life. I don't think Louis has killed a man this afternoon, but I could be wrong. In any case, he has handled the corpse, he has been in the room. There'll be some blood on his clothes, explainable blood, not enough to raise a serious suspicion. The judge won't be impressed.'
Nellie came back with a full percolator and five mugs. They drank the coffee in silence.
'Thank you,' the commissaris said, and wiped his mouth with his hand. 'We'll go now. You have been very helpful, Nellie.'
'Any time,' Nellie said graciously, 'but not when I have clients.'
'We won't bother you. Grijpstra, would you mind asking about in the street? Perhaps the neighbors saw something. De Gier!'
'Sir.'
'You come with me, I have another call to make tonight. I should take Grijpstra but you have more to learn.''
They shook hands with Nellie and trooped out. De Gier was last.
'You are lovely,' de Gier said quickly. 'I would like to come back one evening.'
'A hundred and seventy-five guilders,' Nellie said, and her face looked cold and closed. 'That'll be for the topless service, and the same for another bottle of champagne if you want more.'
'Three hundred and fifty guilders?' de Gier whispered incredulously.
'Sure.'
He closed the door behind him. The commissaris was waiting for him but at some distance. Grijpstra was closer.
'Did you try?' Grijpstra asked.
'Yes.'
'Any luck?'
'Three hundred and fifty guilders.'
Grijpstra whistled.
'What's the matter with the woman?' de Gier asked fiercely.
Grijpstra grinned.
'Well?'
'Her husband was a handsome man. Same size as you. Thick curly hair and an air force mustache. Could have been your brother. He invented that bar for her and lived off the spoils. Until he got knifed one night, by a Canadian sailor who wasn't used to jenever.'
'De Gier,' the commissaris called.
'Coming, sir,' de Gier said.
5
The sudden transition shocked De Gier into consciously registering his surroundings. The small bar, in spite of its cheap gaudiness, had protected him somewhat and the lush femaleness of the hostess had lulled and excited him simultaneously, but now he was outside again, exposed to the clamor of shrieks and thuds and revving engines on the Newmarket and the plaintive wail of ambulances taking battered bodies to hospitals and racing back again. The clamor was far away, and half a mile of solid buildings, gable houses and warehouses and a few churches and towers shielded him from immediate violence, but the conflict's threat was all around him. His fear surprised him because he had never disliked violence before and he had certainly never run away from a fight, so why should he be glad to be out of it now? There would be plenty of opportunity on the square to practice his judo throws, to dodge attacks and have opponents floor themselves by their own weight and strength.
Perhaps it was the intangibility of the threat that unnerved him; the Straight Tree Ditch was quiet enough, guarded as it was by leather-jacketed riot police in pairs, strolling up and down, respectfully greeting the commissaris by either saluting or lifting their long truncheons. The elm trees were heavy and peaceful, their fresh foliage lit by street lights, and the ducks were asleep, floating about slowly, propelled by subconscious movements of their webbed feet, well out of the way of flying bricks, and the human shapes which had been diving into the cold dirty water to get away from charging constables and the relentless approach of police trucks and patrol cars-a common occurrence that night in the waterways closer to the Newmarket.
Grijpstra had marched away and the doctor and the fingerprint man were already on the launch. The commissaris, limping slightly, was a hundred yards ahead when de Gier finally shook himself free from his muddled thoughts. He sprinted and caught up with the commissaris, who looked approvingly at the sergeant.
'Nice,' the commissaris said.
'What's nice, sir?'
'The way you sprint. If I run I get out of breath and the nerves in my legs play up.' He looked at his watch. 'Ten o'clock, we haven't wasted much time so far.'
The commissaris turned into a narrow alley which led to another canal. They crossed a narrow footbridge. The commissaris was now walking briskly and his limp was less noticeable. De Gier ambled along, alert because
