"Yes, not much. Something. Provided they admitted they were fools."
De Gier lit a cigarette and sat back. "Shit," he said softly.
"Pardon?"
"Never mind," de Gier said. "Your brother must have annoyed a lot of people. Did he ever admit he was a fool himself?"
"Oh, yes."
"And he really thought he was a fool?"
"Yes. He didn't care, you see. He just lived for the moment. A day consisted of a lot of moments to him. I don't think he cared when he died either."
"These friends he had, what sort of people were they? Business friends from the street market?"
Esther adjusted her hair and began to fiddle with the coffee machine. "More coffee, Rinus?"
"Please." She filled the apparatus and spilled some coffee on the floor.
"Allow me," de Gier said, and picked up a dustpan and a brush.
"Thanks. Are you married?"
"No, I live by myself, with my cat. I always clean up immediately when I make a mess."
"Friends, you said. Well, he often had friends from the street market in the house, and students would come, and some artists. And journalists, and girls. Abe attracted women. And Louis, of course, you have seen him in the corridor, haven't you. Where is he anyway?" "He is upstairs with my colleague, Adjutant Grijpstra, and the commissaris."
"That little old man is your chief?"
"Yes. Can you describe some of his friends to me? I'll need a list of them. Did he have any special friends?"
"They were all special. He would get very involved with people, until he dropped them. He wasn't concerned about friendship, he always said. Friendship is a temporary phenomenon; it depends on circumstances and it starts and ends like the wind. He would annoy people by saying that, for they tried to attach themselves to him."
"Some case," de Gier said.
Esther smiled, a slow tired smile.
"You remind me of the constables who came here a few days ago," she said. "They had the wrong number. Our neighbors had phoned. An old man was visiting them and the man suddenly got ill and collapsed. The neighbors had phoned for an ambulance but the police came as well, to see if there had been any violence, I suppose. The woman next door was very upset and I went there to see if I could be of some help. The old man was obviously dying. I think he had had a heart attack. I overheard the conversation between the constables."
"What did they say?" de Gier asked.
"The one constable said to the other, 'Hell, I hope the old bugger doesn't croak. If he does we'll have to write a report on it,' and the other one said, 'Never mind, he'll die in the ambulance and, the health officers can take care of it.'"
"Yes," de Gier said.
"That's the way you people think, isn't it?"
"Not really," de Gier said patiently. "It's the way it sounds to you. You are involved, you see. The dead man is your brother. If a friend of mine dies, or if my cat gets run over, or if my mother gets sick, I'll be upset. I assure you that I will be very upset."
"But when you find my brother in a pool of blood…"
"I am upset too, but I keep the feeling down. I won't be of much help if I crack up, will I? And this looks like a strange case. I can't figure out why your brother was killed. Perhaps Grijpstra has seen something. You were here all afternoon, weren't you? Did anybody go up to his room?"
"No. Louis came in but I heard him pass the room and go up the second staircase to his own room."
"The Straight Tree Ditch is not a very busy thoroughfare," de Gier said, "but there must be people moving about in it. It would be possible to climb into the room from the street but it would be a real risk. Nobody has reported anything to the constables in the street, for they would have come in to tell me about it."
"Perhaps someone threw something at Abe," Esther said. "He could have been looking out at the canal. He often does. He stands at the window, the window is open, and he stares. He goes into a trance that way and I have to shout at him to break it. Somebody threw a stone at him perhaps."
"The stone would have fallen in the room or bounced off and got back to the street. The constables would have found it. A bloody stone in the street. I'll go and ask them."
He was back in a minute. "Nothing. I asked the men upstairs as well. There is a man from the finger-print department. He says there is nothing in the room either. No weapon, no stone."
"Abe was a strange man and he died in a strange way," Esther said, "but there will be some technical explanation. There always is, for anything."
"Nothing is stolen, is there?"
"No. There is no money in the house, except what Abe keeps in his wallet. The wallet is still there, in the side pocket of his bush jacket. I saw the bulge. The pocket is buttoned. He usually has a few thousand guilders in it."
"That's a lot of money to keep in one's pocket."
"Abe always had money. He could make it much faster than he could spend it. He owns the warehouse next door; it's full of merchandise, and it never stays there long. There is cotton cloth in it now, bought just before the cotton price went up, and a whole floor stacked with cartons of wool, which he is selling in the street market."
"There is no connection between this house and the warehouse next door is there?"
"No."
"No secret door?"
"No, sergeant. The only way to get to the warehouse is via the street. The courtyards in the back are separated by a high brick wall, much too high to climb."
Grijpstra and the commissaris were coming down the stairs. De Gier called them in and introduced the commissaris to Esther. Two health officers were maneuvering their stretcher up the stairs, they had come with the Water Police launch.
"I'll go upstairs," de Gier said. "I think we would like to have the contents of the pockets before the body is taken away. You'll be given a receipt, Miss Rogge."
"Yes," the commissaris said. "We'll be off for a while now but we may have to come back later. I hope you don't mind the intrusion on your privacy, miss, but…"
"Yes, commissaris," Esther said. "I'll be waiting for you."
The atmosphere in the street was still eerie. A siren wailed in the square nearby. A fresh platoon of riot police came marching up the narrow quay. Two launches of the Water Police, their foredecks packed with leather-coated constables ready to disembark, were navigating carefully between the moored houseboats and the launch preparing to take Abe Rogge's body aboard.
A young man, exhausted, was being run to the ground on the other side of the canal. Gloved hands grabbed his wrists and the detectives could hear the handcuffs' click and the man's sobbing breath.
"Where to, sir?" Grijpstra asked.
The commissaris was watching the arrest. "Hmm?"
"What now, sir?"
"Anywhere, a quiet place somewhere, a pub, a cafe. You go and find it. I am going back into the house a minute. When you find a good place you can telephone the Rogge house. The number will be in the book. Terrible, isn't it?"
"What, sir?"
"That manhunt just now. These riots bring out the worst in everyone."
"They weren't manhandling him, sir, they only made an arrest. The man has probably wounded a policeman in the square. They wouldn't go to so much trouble to catch him otherwise."
"I know, I know," the commissaris said, "but it's degrading. I have seen men hunted down like that during the war."
Grijpstra had seen it too but he didn't say anything.
"Right, run along."
"Sir," Grijpstra said and tapped de Gier on the shoulder.
"So where to?" de Gier asked. "Do you know anything here? The pubs will all be closed and I wouldn't want a police conference in a pub here right now anyway." Grijpstra was staring at the policemen across the water. They were marching their prisoner to a Water Police launch. The prisoner wasn't resisting. Three men going for a walk.