"Now then," the chief constable said. "How about some coffee first? No? In that case, let's come straight to the point."
"Corruption," rumbled Voort. "Rumors. Unpleasant. Start straight at the top, called in by the mayor. You've heard, I'm sure."
"Flattered," the commissaris said. "Very. I'm the top now? You've already dealt with the chief constable here?"
"No," the chief constable said. "I'm of no interest to Paul Voort."
Voort nodded invitingly at the commissaris. "Paul."
"Aha," the commissaris said. He looked at the chief constable. "No interest in your doings, or non-doings, perhaps?"
The chief constable shook his head, trying to hold on to his welcoming smile. "No, you see, I've only been recently transferred to Amsterdam, but you've served here all your life. A formality, of course. We all have to play the game, isn't that right, Paul?"
"Absolutely, Henri," Commissaris Voort rumbled.
"I see." The commissaris nodded helpfully. He began to get up. "Well, we met. Good luck with your investigation. I have some work to do."
"No." Voort put both his hands up, palms toward the commissaris. "No. Sorry, old chap. Got to do this properly, you know? Full reports and whatnot." He thought. "And so forth. The whole caboodle. You're off duty for a while. Bit of a holiday." He closed his eyes and chuckled.
"Is something funny?" the commissaris asked.
"In a way," the chief constable said. "We all have to play the game. In your case, it shouldn't take more than a week or so. The first part of the investigation" -he looked at Voort-"is financial, am I right?"
Voort nodded briskly. "Absolutely, that's the proper procedure, I always like to work this way. I have some pointed questions here." He brought out a notebook and poised his ballpoint. "Income?"
The commissaris mentioned a figure.
Voort wrote it down, then crossed it out. "Impossible, you should earn at least double that."
"Twelve times my monthly check," the commissaris said.
Voort nodded and wrote. "All right, you were deducting taxation."
"Half my income is taxed away?" The commissaris shook his head. "Incredible, doesn't leave much, does it now?"
"You do have a free car," Voort said accusingly. "What's it worth?"
The commissaris shook his head. "The car is mine. The car the police bought had to be repaired after my recent investigations up north. I had some criticism from the administration about costs, so I replaced it at my own expense."
"Hah," Voort said, noting the fact down. "A new Citroen, I believe. You paid cash? Where did you get the cash?"
"I wrote a check," the commissaris said.
"You can prove that?" Voort raised an eyebrow. "The car wasn't a present?"
"Maybe my wife paid for the car," the commissaris said. "I don't remember now. Yes, perhaps she did. She has savings. Always investing in this and that. Likes to dabble in the stock market, Katrien does. Very clever, I'm always amazed. Wait a minute." He scratched his nose. "I may have used my own check after all, I can sign on both accounts. She too, of course. Or did Katrien pay now? Because I paid for her fur coat two years ago? Why do you ask?"
"This is no good," Voort said, crossing out what he had written so far.
The commissaris smiled. "Shall we try your next question?"
Voort turned a page. "Mortgage. Do you have your house mortgaged?"
The commissaris's smile widened. "You'll have to ask Katrien. The house is in her name. You see, that's because of my affairs."
"Affairs?" Voort asked loudly. "With women, you mean? Other women?"
"I could explain," the commissaris said.
"Please." Voort narrowed his eyes. "Please do."
"I could have affairs," the commissaris said. "My wife and I discussed that possibility many years ago. If I had these possible affairs, she would ask me to leave the house. I can't be asked to leave my own house, so I had the title transferred to her name." The commissaris crossed his legs and studied his well-polished shoe, which moved jerkily at knee height. "Of course, she could have affairs too, in which case I would not ask her to leave the house. Hmmm." He studied his shoe again, as if its rhythmical half-turns surprised him. "Couldn't ask her to leave her own house. Don't you find the ramifications within the concept of marriage complicated, Mr… uh
…"
"Voort," Voort rumbled. "Paul, to you, if you like. I don't bother with marriage anymore."
The commissaris's pale blue eyes concentrated on the copper buttons of Voort's blazer. He suddenly slapped his forehead. "Paul Voort, the yachtsman, how silly of me! You have this wealthy lady friend who keeps you in boats. Won a prize crossing the Channel, didn't you? And you lost it again because of foul play? What a shame. Poor fellow."
The chief constable spoke loudly. "Now, please."
"Just read it in the paper," the commissaris said to Voort. "I'm not professionally interested. You'd have to commit murder for that, and in Amsterdam, of course." He smiled. "You can operate nationwide? How very convenient for you."
"Let's get back to what we're supposed to be doing here," the chief constable said, waving at Voort, who showed signs of wanting to say something. "So you don't have affairs."
"No," the commissaris said. "But I could, maybe. You know what men are like, especially when they are a little older. How old are you now?"
The chief constable shrugged impatiently. "My age is not under discussion here."
The commissaris adjusted his glasses and peered intently at the chief constable's face. "Early fifties, I would say. That's when we lose confidence, but we gain it at the same time, if we do well in our careers. I know I was sorely tempted at your age. I was thinking, 'Suppose this beautiful blonde photo model comes along, in a Porsche. ..' " He took his spectacles off and pointed them at the chief constable. "You like Porsches, don't you?"
"Just another type of car," the chief constable said.
"Don't know that for sure," the commissaris said. "No, there's perhaps a special glamour there. To me, the Porsche has a female shape. Now suppose that type of car is driven by a luscious human female and I could ask her to ride me around town, do a few night spots, show her off a bit. Say she admits to a tendency to love older, powerful men-and we are powerful in a way, highly placed police officers do wield a certain clout-yes, I might be tempted. Wouldn't you?"
"Excuse me," Voort said.
"You're excused." The commissaris waved invitingly. "Next question, please."
"Has your house been remodeled?" Voort asked in a threatening bass voice.
"Oh boy," the commissaris said. "Oh boy. You got me there. I do believe it was. Windows painted, ceilings fixed up, water pipes ripped out of the walls and replaced, a new porch in the back. Katrien thought I didn't notice."
"But you paid for the repairs?"
"Not that I know of." The commissaris replaced his spectacles, taking his time. "No, sir. It was meant as a surprise, you see, so I think I was only supposed to notice when the job was done. Bills would surprise me ahead of time. But there won't be any bills, I'm sure."
"Because someone is presenting you with surprises?" Voort rumbled.
"I think it's Katrien again," the commissaris said, "paying in cash. You know that all-well, let's say most-workers in the building trades are unemployed these days. So they're on welfare. Welfare doesn't pay for their cars and other necessities. So they work anyway, for cash. You don't deal with these problems in The Hague?"
"But where does your wife get the cash?"
"I wonder," the commissaris said. "She has private investments, as I said. You could ask her. Can you ask her?"