"Something funny, sir?"
The commissans groaned and robbed his thighs. "Yes. I was thinking of something which happened die other day. My wife bought a newfangled type of folding chair and brought it home. She had forgotten how it worked and I fussed with it for a while but it only squeezed my hand. Then the neighbor's daughter came in. She is retarded but her lack of brain didn't stop her from having a go at the damned chair and she had it standing up in no time at all. I asked her to show me how she had done it but she didn't know. Evidently she could only solve a problem very quickly, without thinking about it."
"You think this killing device is like your folding chair, sir?"
"Perhaps," the commissaris said. "Maybe we should just concentrate on the problem and the solution will pop up. Thinking might take too long. We haven't got much time."
"Yes," de Gier said. "You are looking ill, sir, shouldn't you go home?"
"I'll go home now. I want you to check out two women sometime this afternoon or tonight. Grijpstra has their names and telephone numbers. They are call-girls and they were with Klaas Bezuur from about nine o'clock last night till about five o'clock this morning. Grijpstraf
Grijpstra came ambling up.
"Sir?"
"I am going home for a while, I don't feel so well. Telephone the two ladies we are supposed to see today; set up appointments for late this afternoon or this evening. Once you have set up the appointments you can contact my driver and he'll pick you up and then you can come fetch me. It would be best if one of the girls is available before dinner and the other after dinner. That way you and I can eat together sometime. I want to make up for calling you out today."
Grijpstra brought out his notebook and wrote down the names and addresses of the two girls.
"Yes, sir. They used to be Mr. Rogge's girlfriends, right, sir?"
"Right."
"Constable," the commissaris shouted.
"Sir."
"Home," the commissaris whispered. It was all he could say. He was almost fainting with pain.
Grijpstra found de Gier contemplating a tree trunk. The lithe body of the sergeant swayed slightly as he stood, hands folded on his back, staring moodily at the elm's green bark.
Cardozo was watching the sergeant too. "Don't disturb him," Cardozo said, holding Grijpstra back. "He is busy. He is swaying. Look."
"So he is," the adjutant said.
"He isn't Jewish, is he?" Cardozo asked.
"Not that I know of," Grijpstra said. "Although, yes, I think he told me once that he has a Jewish grandmother."
"You see," Cardozo said. "He is Jewish. If his grandmother was Jewish his mother was too and that makes him a Jew. It goes via the female line, very wisely. Nobody ever knows who his father was but you can be sure about your mother. And Jews sway, they always sway. When they have a problem, that is, or when they are concentrating on something. They do it during prayer. Back and forth, back and forth. The Spanish Inquisition used to catch us because we swayed. We couldn't help ourselves. And they'd burn us. A strange habit, isn't it?"
"No," Grijpstra said. "The sergeant is an ordinary man, like me. He is swaying because he feels like swaying. Not because he has Jewish blood. Maybe he hasn't got any, maybe somebody else told me he had a Jewish grandmother."
"Holland had only one philosopher," Cardozo said, speaking very slowly, articulating every syllable. "Spinoza. He was a Jew and he didn't even write in Dutch, he wrote in Latin."
"Why didn't he write in Dutch?"
"He couldn't do it. Have you ever tried to express subtle thoughts in Dutch?"
"I never have subtle thoughts," Grijpstra said, "but it's about time we had some."
"Yes," de Gier said and stopped swaying. "You'd better do something for a change, Cardozo, instead of proving the superiority of your race. The commissaris wants you to help me. Listen."
He explained his theory about the weapon.
"A ball and an elastic thread," Cardozo said. "Yes."
"So how did it manage to hit Rogge square in the face, from that distance?"
Cardozo folded his hands on his back, closed his eyes and began to sway. After a while he opened his eyes again.
"I'll tell you, sergeant, when I know. It'll come to me. But not when you rush me."
"Bah," de Gier said. He remembered how he had helped the Water Police constables to haul the old lady's soggy corpse from the canal. He also remembered the expression on the corpse's face. She had been killed while she was trying to pass on some information. The face had looked eager, and also rather sweet. She had been about to speak to the commissaris, her old and close friend. She had looked coy. Coy and eager.
Grijpstra's hand was on the sergeant's shoulder.
"Let's go," Grijpstra said. "You and I have things to do. You have to check out two whores and I have to telephone some nice ladies. But we have a little time. Stop looking at that tree, it has nothing to say to you. Fancy tying a corpse to a tree and then throwing it into the water. I am going to have a drink, care to join me?"
"Can I come too?" Cardozo asked.
"No. You are too young. We are going to visit a friend of mine and you won't be able to work once you have seen her. You need your strength for tomorrow. Aren't you two going to be street sellers tomorrow?"
"Then de Gier can't go either," Cardozo said. "He'll also be a street seller."
"You're right," Grijpstra said. "I'll go alone."
"Nellie?" de Gier said.
"Yes," Grijpstra was grinning. "I'll go and see her by myself. She'll change my mood. Some day this is. Another corpse. Two corpses too many. Amsterdam is a quiet city. Holland has the lowest crime rate in the world. You went to that lecture too, didn't you? That slob should be with us now. Silly bald-headed dwarf. I can't stand criminologists. Statistics, that's all they know. When that kid got raped and slaughtered last year he said that the percentage of children killed by rapists is so low that it is almost negligible. You remember what the boy looked like when he was found?"
"According to statistics we'll have another five corpses this year," Cardozo said. "There's nothing we can do about it. They'll happen."
"The hell with you both," Grijpstra said and stamped off.
De Gier ran after him.
"Hey," Cardozo shouted.
"He's not going to drink by himself," de Gier shouted back. "Come and pick me up tomorrow at eight-thirty, and make sure that van is in order and that you have the merchandise."
"Yes, sergeant," Cardozo said loudly. "I hope you choke on your drink," he added softly.
10
"Hello," De Grier said.
"Hello-oh," a sugary voice answered.
"Minette?"
"Yes, darling."
"I am not your darling," De Gier said and frowned at Nellie, who was watching him from the other end of the small bar. Nellie was smiling delightedly and Grijpstra was grinning. Grijpstra had taken off his coat and tie and was sitting in a corner of the room, near a window which he had opened and which showed a view of a small courtyard where a row of sparrows were lolling about on a wall, their tiny beaks open and their wings half-spread. Grijpstra was puffing and wiping his face with a large dirty white handkerchief. He looked happy, in spite of the heat. He had set up the two appointments with Abe Rogge's girlfriends and would be off in a little while to fetch the commissaris, and meanwhile he had nothing to do but watch de Gier.
"I am not your darling," de Gier was saying. "I am Detective-Sergeant de Gier, Amsterdam Municipal Police, and I am coming out to see you to ask you a few questions. Nothing serious, strictly routine."