"Something surrealistic, you mean? But his whole life was like that. He lived a dream, even when he was being practical. He never gave expectable answers to sensible questions and he always seemed to be changing his mind. There was no set pattern in his life. The man was like a wet bar of soap."
She suddenly sounded exasperated. She looked at the commissaris in desperation. "Once he was here, at night, in the early hours of the morning. There was a gale on. The windows were rattling and I couldn't sleep. I saw him get up and told him to get back to bed. A hard wind always makes me nervous and I wanted him to be with me. But he said he was going sailing, and Louis Zilver told me later that the two of them took that small plastic yacht right out onto the big lake and they very nearly drowned."
She put down the tray. "The Germans killed his parents during the war, you know. Dragged them across the street and threw them into a cattle track and gassed them. But he didn't seem to blame the Germans; he even took German as a second language at the university."
"The Germans must have meant to get him too," Grijpstra said.
"Yes, but the SS patrol missed him. He happened to be playing at a friend's house that morning. He didn't blame the Germans, he blamed the planets."
"Planets?"
"Yes. He thought that the planets, Mercury and Neptune and especially Uranus-he was very interested in Uranus, and all the others, I forget their names-control our lives. If the planets form certain constellations there is a war on earth, and when the constellations change again war stops and there is peace for a while. He had a very low opinion of human endeavor. He thought we are witless creatures, pushed into motion by forces entirely beyond our control. He often told me that there is nothing we can do about anything except perhaps to stop fighting fate and to try and move with it."
"But he was a very active person himself," the commissaris said.
"Exactly. I would say that to him too, but he only laughed and said his activity was due to Uranus, which happened to be very powerful at the time of his birth. Uranus is the planet of change."
"So he was hit by a cosmic ray when he was bora and it made him the sort of person he was," the commissaris said. "I see."
"Made him jump about like a squirrel, eh?" Grijpstra asked.
She laughed. "More like an ape, a large hairy mad ape. An ape with strange gleaming eyes."
"Your friend must have been rather unreliable," the commissaris said.
She picked up the tray again but the commissaris' question seemed to sting her. "No. Not at all. He was trustworthy. He always paid his debts and kept his appointments. If he promised anything he would do it."
"Well, we've got to know him a little better," the commissaris said. "Thank you very much. We are ready now. All I would like to ask before we leave is if you remember where you were yesterday afternoon and last night."
She looked frightened. "You don't suspect me do you?"
"Not necessarily, but we'd like to know all the same."
"I was here, all afternoon and all evening. By myself. I was working on some examination papers."
"Did you see anyone? Speak to anyone? Did anyone phone you?"
"No."
"Would you have any idea who could have wanted to kill Abe Rogge?"
"No."
"Do you know what killed him?" Grijpstra asked.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Was it jealousy? Revenge? Greed?"
She shook her head.
"I am sorry," the commissaris said. "One more question has occurred to me. You have described your friend as a rather negative sort of superman. Never got upset, thought that nothing mattered, did everything well, sailed in storms and came back safely, read unusual books, and in French of all languages. Was he really that marvelous? No weaknesses at all?"
The woman's facial muscles, which had been working nervously, suddenly slacked.
"Yes," she said. "He had his weakness. He cried in my arms once, and he cursed himself while he was shaving, here in my bathroom. He had left the door open and I could hear him."
"Why?"
"I asked him on both occasions and he gave the same answer. He said it was very close to him, so close that he could reach it, he thought, but then he couldn't."
"What?"
"He said he didn't know what it was."
They were almost at the door when Grijpstra, feeling that he hadn't been very helpful, tried again. "We met two of Mr. Rogge's friends, miss. Louis Zilver and Klaas Bezuur. Do you know how he was involved with them?"
She sighed. "He spent a lot of time with Louis. He even used to bring him here for dinner. Mr. Bezuur, I don't know very well. Abe used to talk about him. They were partners once, I think, but Bezuur has his own business now. Abe took me to Bezuur's factory one day, or his garage. I don't think they make the machinery over there; they just keep it around and rent it out, I think. Heavy trucks and all sorts of mobile machinery to make roads and move earth and so on. Abe was driving a bulldozer that afternoon, all over the yard. Louis was there too; he had a tractor. They were racing each other. Very spectacular. Later on Klaas joined them; he also drove a machine, with a big blade attached to it. He was rushing them, pretending to attack but he would reverse at the last moment. They frightened me."
"There was no bad feeling between Abe and Klaas?"
"No, apparently they had drifted apart but that was all. They were very affectionate when they met that afternoon. Embracing each other and shouting and calling each other names."
"When was that?"
"A few months ago, I think."
"Did he have any other close friends?"
She sighed again. "He knew thousands of people. Whenever we were in town together he seemed to be greeting every other person. Girls he had slept with, suppliers, customers, arty types, people he knew from the street market or the university or boating trips. It made me feel on edge, like I was escorting a TV star."
"Probably annoyed them all at some time or other," Grijpstra said gloomily holding the door open for the commissaris. Corin was crying when he closed the door behind him.
12
"Let's eat," the Commissaris said.
"They always cry, don't they?" Grijpstra said. "Or they just look dumb, like animals, stupid animals, loads, snails…" He was going to mention mote stupid and slippery animals but the commissaris interrupted him.
"Snails," the commissaris said and leaned back into die foam rubber seat. "Yes, snails. I wouldn't mind having some snails for dinner. Constable!"
"Sir," the constable said.
"Do you remember that old windmill, the restaurant you took me to some time ago, with the public prosecutor?''
"Yes, sir."
"We'll go there again, that is, if the adjutant has nothing against eating snails."
Grijpstra looked dubious. "Never ate them before, sir."
"Oh, you'll like them. The French have been eating them for thousands of years and they are supposed to be more intelligent than we are. Did you say the lady struck you as stupid?"
"Not the lady in particular, sir. Most people behave stupidly when they connect with death."
"You aren't criticizing, you mean, you are observing."
Grijpstra looked hurt. "The police never criticize."
The commissaris reached out and patted Grijpstra's solid shoulder with his thin almost lifeless hand.
"Right, adjutant. You've remembered your lessons. We observe, connect, conclude and apprehend. If we can. The suspect always tries to get away, and when we do manage to catch him the lawyers will criticize and excuse him in turns and our observations will be made to fit in with whatever the lawyers say, and in the end nobody will really know what happened or why it happened." The commissaris' hand was back in his lap again. It suddenly became a fist and hit the seat.