"When did she die?"
"Early this morning, sir, the doctor thinks."
"We'll be there soon."
"The Water Police want to have the corpse, sir. Can they take it? It's quiet now but the riots may start any minute again and we are blocking the street with our cars."
"Yes," the commissaris said tiredly, looking at a city bus which was trying to get out of the Citroen's way. The constable at the wheel was attempting to pass the bus and several cars were coming from the opposite direction. The siren was screaming ominously directly above them. The commissaris put a restraining hand on the constable's shoulder and the car slowed down obediently.
"They can have the body, Cardozo. Over and out."
Grijpstra was watching the oncoming traffic too and sighed happily when the Citroen nosed back behind the bus. "Bloody fool," he said to the constable. "What are you trying to do, be a hero?"
The constable didn't hear him. The bus pulled to the side of the road, having finally found a spot free of cyclists, and the Citroen jumped off again, careening wildly.
"Oh, shit," Grijpstra said softly.
"Quite," the commissaris said.
"Pardon, sur?"
That wasn't very clever of me," the commissaris said, "asking that poor old lady to be on the force again. I might as well have shot her on the spot."
^• All Amsterdam police stations are connected by teletype. Important events are immediately recorded and distributed. The messages are known as "telegrams."
9
"You'll have to get out of here, sir," De Gier said. He had gotten into the car as Grijpstra got out. "The riots will be starting all over today. I don't know what's gotten into these people but they are thronging about again and warming each other up. The riot police will be out any minute now."
The commissaris was leaning back into his seat.
"Are you all right, sir?"
"No," the commissaris said softly, so that de Gier had to bend over to hear him. "It's this pain. It's been with me all day and it isn't getting any better. Riots, you say. The riot police will only make it worse. We don't want a show of force, sergeant."
"No, sir. But what else can we do? They'll be throwing bricks and there are some bulldozers in the Newmarket Square, and cranes and machines. They can destroy a fortune's worth in a few minutes."
"Yes," the commissaris said softly.
A platoon of riot police came tramping past. The commissaris shuddered.
"There they are," de Gier said.
"I hate that sound, tramping boots. We heard it during the war. All the time. A stupid sound. We ought to be more intelligent now."
"Yes, sir," de Gier said. He was watching the commissaris' gray tired face. A spasm moved both cheeks and the commissaris' yellowish teeth were bared for a moment in a grin of agony. "You'd better take him home, constable," de Gier said to the driver. The constable nodded.
"In a minute," the commissaris said. "Tell me what happened, sergeant. Is the corpse still here? Did you manage to organize yourself for tomorrow's marketing?"
"We'll take care of that later today, sir. I was at home when the Water Police telephoned. I came straight out. Cardozo happened to phone as I was leaving, so he came out as well. I have had the corpse moved to the mortuary. There may be street fighting here soon and I didn't want them to trample all over it. Cardozo said that would be O.K. with you. He spoke to you on the radio."
"Yes, yes. Did you find out anything? And have you taken Miss Rogge home?"
"Esther Rogge should be home by now, sir, she caught a bus."
"She stayed at your apartment all night, de Gier?"
"Yes, sir."
"I see. And the corpse, did you get any clues?"
"Just what Cardozo must have told you, sir. A knife killed him. I think he was trying to contact you by telephone, in the booth over there. It must have been early this morning, around four o'clock, the doctor said. Maybe he saw the killer walking about in the street here. Perhaps he thought he was safe, dressed up like an old lady, and all. He got into the telephone booth and got a knife in his back."
"Yes," the commissaris said. "She was trying to telephone me but she didn't get through. Poor Elizabeth. She must have been dialing my number as the killer knifed her. Elizabeth was a 'she,' de Gier, you shouldn't refer to her as a 'he.' She was a nice old lady, and courageous too. I should never have asked her to help us. She should have been in bed last night, with Tabby warming her old feet."
"She wasn't," de Gier said. "She was right here, watching the killer return to the scene of the crime. And I should have been here too. And Grijpstra. She was dragged from that booth to the water; we found blood traces on the cobblestones. The killer had all the time in the world. He didn't just dump the body. If he had it would have floated and somebody would have found it almost immediately. He tied it up with a bit of string. It's amazing the Water Police found it so quickly. It was welt hidden between the quay and the houseboat over there."
"So you didn't notice anything special, did you? Apart from the blood traces?"
"Yes, sir. The knots in the string. They were professional knots, made by a sailor or an experienced fisherman. Which reminds me, sir…"
"Yes?"
"I think I know a little more about the spiked rubber ball which killed Abe Rogge."
Tell me."
"I saw some kids playing with a ball attached to an elastic string once, sir. The string was held by a weight placed on the street. I think the ball which killed Rogge was attached to a string too. The killer pulled it back afterward, which explains why we didn't find it. And I think the killer wasn't in the street; he was on the roof of the old houseboat moored opposite the Rogges' house. Perhaps he had hidden himself behind the chimney. You can see it over there, sir." De Gier pointed to the other side of the Straight Tree Ditch.
"Yes," the commissaris said. "So the riot police in the street didn't see him maybe. That's what you mean, don't you? But there were riot police patrolling this side of the canal too. Shouldn't they have seen him?"
"He must have been quick, sir. Hid himself in the houseboat, sneaked through one of its windows at the right moment, threw the ball, pulled it back, sneaked back into the boat's window and disappeared later when the constables were at the other end of the street. They would have let him through easily enough. He probably looked like an ordinary citizen and they wouldn't have thought that he was a rioter. I think they took him for someone who lived in the street and who had come out to do a little shopping or go somewhere."
The killer could have been a woman," the commissaris said. "Abe Rogge had a lot of girlfriends. A jealous woman or a humiliated woman. I am supposed to see two of them today. You gave me the names and addresses, remember? I am sure they are both young and strong and capable of throwing balls."
De Gier shook his head.
"You don't think the killer might have been a woman, sergeant?"
"Could be, sir, why not? But I can't understand the deadly aim of the ball. Even from the roof of that houseboat there's quite a distance to cover and the ball hit Rogge smack in the face. Now if the ball had been shot… I think we are dealing with a hellish machine, sir.''
The commissaris grimaced.
"Well, it could be, couldn't it sir?"
The commissaris nodded.
"But a machine which throws or shoots a ball makes a sound. Or would it have used a spring perhaps? A crossbow maybe? But then there is still some sort of twang. A loud sound, I would say. The patrolling constables should have heard it."
"A person on the roof of a houseboat handling some strange noisy device while riot police are close…" The commissaris' voice sounded doubtful.
"Perhaps not," de Gier agreed.
"But I agree with your thought of the ball being connected to string, elastic or otherwise," the commissaris said. "Very clever to think of that, sergeant. You started off right, all you have to do now is continue your line of reasoning. I'll help. And so should Grijpstra and Cardozo. It's probably quite simple. Everything is simple once you understand it." He grimaced again.