“Your very good health. Had any adventures today?”
Cardozo nodded as he drank. “Yes, I saw Gabrielle Carnet just now. Hie commissaris wanted to know how she found the hundred thousand, you heard about that?”
“No. Tell me.”
De Gier listened. “That’s very nice, so the obvious motive has gone too, has it? What’s this now, a complication or a simplification? I had worked out a theory but the facts may still fit. I’ll have to talk to Grijpstra, maybe he thought of the theory first, I forget now.’
Cardozo tried to smile. “Does it matter? You won’t get any credit for it anyway. The case will be solved by the brigade and the chief constable will shake the commisaris’s hand in the end or not. Maybe the public prosecutor will spoil the case, or the judge, or some fool lawyer.”
But de Gier hadn’t heard him. The glass door swung open again and he was waving at the Chinese while the commissaris and Grijpstra came into the restaurant. Two more beers appeared and another ashtray.
“Sir?”
The commissaris had drunk his beer and was waiting for another. His hands moved restlessly on the bare boards of the table. “No, sergeant, Grijpstra can explain and then you three can fill each other in. I’ll listen for a change.” More beer appeared and the commissaris hid his face behind it.
Cardozo looked at Grijpstra, but the adjutant was reading the menu. “Roast pork, hmm. Fried noodles with shrimp, hmm. Wonton soup, that’s nice but it’s crossed out. Thin noodles with lobster, hmm, a little slippery but tasty. Yes.”
“Adjutant?”
“Yes. Noodles with fried chicken, I think, as always. I don’t know why I bother to read the menu. And you’ll have the same, de Gier, for otherwise we’ll have to wait too long, and you’ll have the same too, Cardozo. Sir?”
Til have the same.”
There was more beer again and then the food came and was eaten in silence. They listened to the prostitutes. The platinum blonde’s little Fiat had lost its muffler and she had been given a ticket for causing excessive noise. The small redhead’s Volkswagen had starting problems. The tall beauty with the German accent complained about a rattle in her Renault’s front door. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the black girl’s car. De Gier was interested. He leaned over. “Excuse me, miss, what sort of a car do you drive?”
“A small Citroen.”
“Aha,” the commissaris said.
“But it’s brand-new, still under guarantee.”
The commissaris turned around. “You won’t have any trouble, miss. Citroens are good cars. I’ve been driving them all my life. No trouble.” The black girl smiled and the commissaris turned back to his fried noodles.
“No, sir?” Grijpstra whispered. “I thought you had a problem with your suspension a few weeks ago.’
The commissaris’s fork came up and pointed at the adjutant’s face. “Minor. Little leak somewhere. They fixed it.”
“And aren’t they always fiddling around with the timing? The garage sergeant was telling me about that. He said it was driving him crazy.”
“Nothing wrong with the timing, the sergeant wanted something to do.”
“And…”
“Never mind. I think Cardozo wants to ask something, what is it, Cardozo?”
“I want to know everything, sir. I’ve only been working on the poisoned dog angle. I know nothing about the murder investigation. Who are our suspects, sir, and what have we found out?”
“Good. Adjutant, why don’t you tell him, and then de Gier can do his bit too. And Cardozo can finish up. I haven’t heard about Gabrielle Carnet and the hundred thousand guilders that popped up so conveniently. Go ahead, adjutant.”
Grijpstra wanted mote beer but was given coffee and the discussion started. It lasted for an hour as more coffee was consumed and Grijpstra’s small black cigars smoldered away, making the restaurant’s owner cough politely and turn on an electric fan.
“Do we know everything now?” the commissaris asked. “Yes, Cardozo?’
Cardozo seemed very ill at ease. His lips, holding the cigar that Grijpstra had forced on him, twisted spasmodically.
“Eh, sir, I would like to hear about that skeleton in the baboon’s apartment again. It had a cow’s skull, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did, uh, the skull have a hole in its forehead?”
The commissaris thought. “Perhaps it did, yes. It was masked, a purple corduroy mask leaving the eye sockets open, but it seems that there was a sort of tear that exposed part of the forehead, a tear or a hole. Do you remember, sergeant?”
“Yes, sir. There was a hole in the skull’s forehead, I remember it exactly, between the eyes but a little higher. The skull must have been very old, there was some dried-out crusted moss around that hole. But why do you ask, Cardozo?” His voice was honey sweet. “You weren’t with us, Cardozo, so how do you know about that hole?”
“Uh…” Cardozo squeaked.
“Tell us, dear boy.”
“Gabrielle was wearing a small object, on a nylon string,” Cardozo said rapidly. “The object was a cow’s skull, the size of, uh, like that.” He pointed to a button on de Gier’s denim jacket. “That size. It was carved out of walnut, I think, well done, a lot of detail. The eye sockets were quite deep and there was a third hole, I thought it was a fault of the wood.”
“Amazing,” de Gier said, still in the same sweet voice. “And how do you know that? I also saw a piece of nylon around the young lady’s neck and I also saw a small object dangling on that nylon thread, but it was stuck way down into her blouse. I couldn’t see any detail on that object and yet you describe it so accurately.”
“I saw her this evening, before I came here. I told you, didn’t I?”
“But how did you manage to see something she keeps between her breasts? She must have been naked. Why was she naked, dear boy? Did she strip, or did you forget your manners and rape the young lady?”
Grijpstra’s eyes stared; the commissaris was stirring his coffee. Cardozo had picked up a match and was digging at a noodle, stuck between the table’s boards.
“Maybe you should tell us what happened exactly,” the commissaris said gently.
“I’m sorry, sir. I did have, uh, intimate contact with the suspect. I am very sorry, sir.”
“She seduced you, did she?”
“No, sir, it was my own fault. I wasn’t alert, I’m afraid. It, uh, just happened. I just slipped into it.”
“Into what?” Grijpstra asked, frowning furiously.
“Gentlemen!” the commissaris said sternly and raised a forbidding hand. “Now, constable, you can give us some details. Try and describe exactly what happened. You can spare us the physical details, of course. She did seduce you, didn’t she? I can’t imagine that you instigated the action.” The commissaris’s voice was gentle again, he was stirring his coffee once more. Cardozo talked for a while.
“I see, well, never mind. Ah, I forgot to ask, did you see Francesco Pullini, de Gier? I want that passport.” De Gier produced the passport and the commissaris opened it and looked at the photograph. “Good, was he upset?’
“Not particularly, sir, just a little, but Italians are rather excitable, I believe.”
Cardozo picked up the passport and stared at the photograph. His eyes opened wide. “Sir!”
“What is it now, Cardozo? Don’t tell me you know the man, you haven’t met him.”
“But I do know him, sir. There’s a small portrait hanging behind the couch Gabrielle uses as a bed. An oil portrait. The face is very similar to this face, sir.”
The commissaris breathed out slowly. His small wizened hand came out, reached across the table, and patted Cardozo’s shoulder.
“Excellent, detective constable first class. You have now managed to link Gabrielle with bom the baboon and Francesco Pullini. Three suspects, one woman, two men, and each man has a sexual relationship with the woman. A lot of loose pieces should fit in now, all we have to do is find out how.” He waved for the bill. “Well, Grijpstra, how about your theory? I’m sure you and the sergeant have worked out an angle from which Mrs. Carnet’s death could be explained. Is your theory still standing?”