Grijpstra touched de Gier’s sleeve. De Gier was staring at the black girl at the other table.
“Yes,” de Gier said, “yes, sir. The theory still stands, but it isn’t strong enough to hold a suspect. I was thinking of doing some more work, tomorrow morning. I can’t do it tonight.”
The commissaris paid the bill and complimented the Chinese on the quality of his food. He got up, scraping his chair energetically, but bent down to feel his thigh. His thin lips tightened.
“I won’t ask you what your theory is, sergeant. I have my own, but it doesn’t stand up too well either as yet. I’ll have to go further too. I may be away tomorrow, possibly the day after tomorrow. Meanwhile you can go ahead, but I would appreciate your not making an arrest until I’m back. Ideally our theories should be identical and we should arrive at the same results, but we have been pushing the case and perhaps we should go slower now.”
His pale eyes made contact with each of the three men in turn.
“Good.”
The dog was licking her private parts again as they left the restaurant. Cardozo tripped over her and stumbled into the prostitutes’ table. The black girl caught him.
“Clumsy fellow, aren’t you?” de Gier asked.
Grijpstra grinned. “Ignore him, Cardozo. I’ve seen the sergeant make such a mess here once that it took two waiters an hour to clean up after him.” Cardozo looked grateful.
“I was making an arrest then,” de Gier said. “You always tell part of the story. We were trying to catch a fellow with a knife as long as your arm.”
“Tut-tut-tut.”
“Did he have a knife or didn’t he?”
“We each had a pistol.”
“Gentlemen,” the commissaris said from the open doorway, “it’s getting late. The door is open, there is a draft, me ladies will catch cold.”
“Sir,” they said as they trooped into the street.
\\\\\ 15 /////
It was nearly eleven o’clock when the Commissaris came home and his wife was waiting for him in the corridor.
“Dear…”
“Yes?”
“You shouldn’t be out so late. I wish you would stay in, at least during the evening. You know what the doctor said.”
“Yes. Rest. But I did rest.”
“Just for two days, he said two weeks. Your bath will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Good, any messages?”
“Just one, a telephone call at nine o’clock. A Mr. de Bree.”
“You have the number?”
She pointed to the pad next to the telephone and he walked over to it and began to dial.
“Mr. de Bree?”
“Commissaris, I would like to come and see you if possible, something has come up.”
“You could tell me over the telephone.”
There was a pause. “I would rather come and see you. I have some information.”
“Now?’
“I can be with you in five minutes, I have my car.”
“Very well.”
The commissaris hung up. His wife was standing next to him, her arm around his shoulders. “Please, dear, not now, call him and tell him to come tomorrow. You’ve had such a long day and you look so pale. Why don’t you go and have your bath, surely the matter can wait till tomorrow.”
“No, dear, it’s a bad case and I’ve been pushing it, it’s my own fault. The man won’t stay long, I promise.”
The doorbell rang and the commissaris peeked from behind a curtain before he went to open the door. Mr. de Bree had arrived in a brand-new Mercedes and had left the car in the driveway. He had forgotten to close the car door and its lights were on.
The bell rang again. The commissaris didn’t hurry. He opened the door and looked down on de Bree’s sweaty, bare skull, gleaming under the light of the driveway’s lantern.
“Yes, Mr. de Bree?”
“I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, sir, but my information may be of interest to you and I thought…”
“That’s quite all right, I hadn’t gone to bed yet. Please come in.”
They walked through the long corridor and the commissaris led the way into his study. It was a hot evening and the garden doors were still open.
“Perhaps we can sit outside, it’ll be pleasant in the garden.”
They faced each other in two old cane chairs. The commissaris offered his flat tin and lit his visitor’s cigar. De Bree puffed nervously.
“You said you had some information?”
“Yes. You remember Paul, the terrier that belongs to the Carnets?”
“The information has to do with the dog?”
“No, but…”
De Bree’s cigar showed a red-hot end; the commissaris could hear the tobacco crackle as more air was sucked into it.
“Go ahead, Mr. de Bree, take your time.”
“The dog. I went to see my lawyer as you suggested and he says it is a bad business…”
“It is a bad business, Mr. de Bree.”
“Yes. Quite. But I have some information, as I said just now, and it has to do with Mrs. Camet’s death. My lawyer said I should give it to you and…”
“Maybe I would forget about the bad business with the dog?”
“Yes.” De Bree looked much relieved. He was smiling broadly. The glowing cigar hung in his limp hand.
The commissaris’s thin eyebrows met above the bridge of his nose. “No. Absolutely not. We won’t forget about Paul. You’ll go to court, Mr. de Bree, and get your verdict And I still want your information. If you don’t give it you will be in even more trouble. I am surprised your lawyer didn’t tell you that. I am sure he did tell you but perhaps you weren’t listening. If you have information mat concerns the Carnet death, and if a crime is involved in that death-and there is a crime involved, I assure you, Mr. de Bree-and if you withhold that information, men you are committing a crime yourself.”
De Bree was sucking on his cigar again. “Really?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“But if I don’t tell you about what I saw then there is no information, commissaris. You won’t know what I saw. Maybe I saw nothing. You can’t accuse me because of something that does not exist.”
“Your information does exist. You have told me twice already, once when I opened the door for you and once just now. Beg your pardon, you told me three times. You also told me on the phone. I am a police officer, I don’t need witnesses. If I write a report and state that you told me three times that you had information about the Carnet death and that you refused to give it to me afterward, then you are withholding evidence and my report, signed under oath, will be irrefutable proof, acceptable to the court.”
“Is that so?” de Bree asked softly.
There was an uneasy silence, accentuated by a slight rustle as a turtle came out of the weeds near the commissaris’s feet. De Bree looked down at the small armored creature that was plodding steadily forward. “A turtle!”
“He lives here. Well, Mr. de Breer
De Bree breathed out sharply; his nostrils widened and pointed threateningly, like the barrels of a miniature shot-gun.
“Very well. That night, the night of the gale, the night of Mrs. Carnet’s death, I was in my garden. I was looking for Tobias. He hadn’t come in, and I was also worried about the trees, a lot of trees fell that night. While I was outside I heard a terrible screaming and shouting coming from Mrs. Carnet’s porch. There were several people shouting at the same time, but her voice was the loudest. I couldn’t hear what she said, but she appeared to be hysterical, completely out of control. And then the door of her porch opened and I saw her fall. She had a flowered dress on, which made her body stand out against the lights coming from the porch. Mrs. Carnet fell with such force that she must have been pushed, ‘shoved’ might be a better word. She came hurtling down and a man fell with her. He rolled over her, it seemed. He was holding on to her, so he must have pushed her to the door and the momentum of his push made him fall with her. I saw the two at the top of the stairs. I couldn’t see the complete fall for there were bushes in the way, and the hedge and some small trees, and the gale was blowing everything about. It happened very quickly, of course. There were more than two people in the Carnet house for I saw a shadow, a silhouette, move behind the windows of the porch, not very clearly, again, for there are curtains that are draped in such a way that more than half the surface of the windows is obscured.”