“You know,” Grijpstra said half an hour later when the decanter had appeared again, “that case will still give us a lot of work. Paper shifting. Court sessions. The bloody thing has managed to split itself into three and Bergen’s suicide is another inquiry. We’ll be running about like ants.”
De Gier looked at Grijpstra through the top of his glass. “Yes. And we’ll probably be having our skulls photographed. I mink the commissaris is all set to attack die doctors, that’ll be fun. I wonder how many X-rays my head can stand.”
Grijpstra had taken off his jacket and was loosening his tie. “Perhaps. The commissaris seemed very pleased with himself, but I hope the Havink business didn’t go the way he described it. He was provoking the doctor, and the judge will throw the case out of court.”
De Gier sat up. “Hey. You aren’t planning to stay here, are you?”
“Of course. I’m drunk. I’ll sleep in that nice big bed of yours and you can bring out the old sleeping bag. Athletes shouldn’t sleep in beds anyway.”
De Gier poured the rest of the brandy into his glass. “O.K., stay if you like, as long as you fix breakfast in the morning. It’s a strange night, I can’t get drunk, I’m as sober as when we started. And the commissaris isn’t silly. I mink I know exactly what he did. He had another X-ray taken after he had been to see Dr. Havink, by a third neurologist. He won’t mention the first photograph in court. He’ll say that he really suffered from headaches and that he went to Dr. Havink for a diagnosis and, if possible, treatment. But somehow he became suspicious of Dr. Havink’s methods and had the results of the tests checked. That first photograph was only to assure himself that there was nothing wrong with his head to start with. He is clever, our chief ant.”
The conversation flowed on in bursts and spurts while they had their showers and coffee. De Gier had arranged his sleeping bag so that he could see Grijpstra’s face through the open bedroom door.
“Didn’t you mink the commissaris was rather callous about that Bergen fellow?”
Grijpstra was talking to Tabriz, who had jumped on the bed, and de Gier had to ask again.
“No. He didn’t like Bergen, why should he? I didn’t like him either. But the slob was dealt with correctly. Shit, we took a hell of a risk in mat cemetery when we were drawing his fire, especially you with your thousand-guilder weed.”
“I took some home,” de Gier said. ‘It’s in a pot on die balcony now. I wonder if it will take; weeds are hard to transplant sometimes, especially rare weeds.”
“Bah. You’re a detective, not a botanist. You’re getting worse all the time. But Bergen can’t complain. The commissaris lost all interest once he was dead, but there isn’t much we can do for a corpse, especially in the case of suicide. We can’t avenge his own stupidity.”
“So the commissaris didn’t like Bergen,” de Gier said.
“Sure.”
“So there are people he doesn’t like.”
Tabriz had put a furry paw into Grijpstra’s hand and the adjutant was scratching the cat’s chin with the other.
“Sure, sergeant. The commissaris doesn’t like fools, certain types of fools. Especially fools who never try. There was a time when he didn’t like me and he made my life so hard that I was tempted to ask for a transfer, but that is a little while back now.”
“You didn’t ask for a transfer, what happened?”
“I started trying again.”
Grijpstra switched the light in the bedroom off. They woke up a few hours later with a start.
“What was that?” Grijpstra asked sleepily.
“Tabriz. She has got at the marmalade jar again. It broke and there’ll be a mess on the kitchen floor. You better watch your step tomorrow or you’ll have ten bleeding toes.”
“Why does she do it?”
But de Gier had sunk away again, far beyond the boundaries of his sleeping bag, which curved on the living room floor like a gigantic banana.
“Why?” Grijpstra asked the ceiling. “Why, why, why?
There’ll never be an end to it, and even when you find the answers they invariably lead to more questions.”
He sighed. Tabriz came out of the kitchen, jumped over the sleeping bag, and leaped onto the bed. Grijpstra’s hand reached out and the cat put her paw into it. It was sticky.
“Yagh,” Grijpstra said.