"Yes?" Grijpstra said, struggling upright in the Citroen's backseat. "Any luck?"
The sergeant and the constable got into the car. They both held up papers. "Signed and sealed," Constable Ramsau said. "Two witnesses. Your lady and another one who lives at the corner opposite. Here you are. Nice statements."
"Read them to me," Grijpstra said. "Only the relevant parts, if you please."
" 'I saw,' " Constable Ramsau read, " 'a large, low, green car parked in front of my house. A young man in a duckbilled cap got out. He had a beard. He walked over to a truck loaded with tarpaper that was stuck in the mud. He took a sheet of tarpaper off the truck and placed it on the tarmac at the intersection of my road and the dike. I found the sheet of tarpaper the next day in the bushes at the side of the road, torn up and crumpled. It must have been swept up by the white compact that hit the large green car that afternoon and was busted up. The large green vehicle had been waiting in front of my house and started to move when the small white car came out of my road. The green car was driven by another young man with a beard and a duckbilled cap. This man was tubby; the other, the one who put the tarpaper down, was thin. I didn't understand what those two young men were doing.' "
"Not so clever, this lady," Sergeant Biersma said. "The one I found in the house opposite hers, a woman with her hair done up in a bun, wasn't too smart, either. She phoned for the ambulance and this is her statement: " 'I saw a young man with a beard and a duckbilled cap wandering around at the intersection. I couldn't see what he was doing. I wasn't paying much attention, as I was busy keeping house. I did see him bend over, doing something or other in the street, and his hat fell off. He had orange hair, cut in the shape of a narrow brush. Then he put on his hat again.' "
"Thank you," Grijpstra said.
"Suspect covered the stop sign on the road with a sheet of tarpaper," Sergeant Biersma said. "You therefore didn't see the marks, and since you were coming from the right, you assumed you had the right-of-way. The green car placed itself in your way deliberately. The punk who dragged the tarpaper about knew you would be hitting the green car from the right, so he stayed out of the vehicle to avoid getting hurt himself. The punk must have been picked up by his mate later on. That's an attempted-murder charge. Do you recognize suspects from these witnesses' descriptions?"
"The paper-dragger is called Heul," Grijpstra said. "The driver of the car is probably Huip Fernandus. The car, a Daimler, belongs to his father, Willem Fernandus. Sergeant de Gier and I arrested young Fernandus and Heul on a charge of harassing a helpless old lady, and they must have taken their revenge."
Sergeant Biersma whistled. "Isn't Willem Fernandus the attorney who runs the Society the papers have been going on about?"
"The very same man."
"Some shit," Constable Ramsau said. "Tell us more."
Grijpstra explained.
"And you're working on that IJsbreker case now?" Sergeant Biersma asked. "Sick leave and all? Your commissaris too, even if he is relieved of his duties, and this Sergeant de Gier who got suspended without pay?"
"We could be," Grijpstra said. "So could a few others. But you wouldn't be too interested in our attempt to clean up this city. You're working against us."
"I think we could be interested," Constable Ramsau said. "Don't you think so, Sergeant?"
"Hoohoo."
The sergeant and the constable ducked.
"Why are you so nervous?" Grijpstra asked. "I just laughed a little. You? You would be interested in bothering dangerous criminals? You might get hurt. You're slick, sleazy government types from The Hague." He gave Sergeant Biersma the Citroen's keys. "You can drive back, I'm still a little tired. You have no idea who we're up against. Remember IJsbreker? He got shot. Remember the junkies I told you about? They got injected to death. We have two witnesses staying in the commissaris's house, where they can be protected." He pointed at the bandage on his forehead. "See what happened to me? Sergeant de Gier has two cracked ribs."
"So?" Sergeant Biersma asked.
"So you want to stay out of this," Grijpstra said, settling back in the luxurious upholstery of the Citroen. He closed his eyes.
The Citroen turned quietly and followed the dike back to Amsterdam, gliding easily through tight curves on its wide radial tires. Downy clouds hugged hazy fields. A windmill turned slowly, pushed by a soft breeze. A heavily loaded barge trailed lazily behind a tugboat, hardly turning its engine because of the current pushing it along. Ducks, quacking contentedly, glided by.
"Adjutant?" Sergeant Biersma asked. "How could we be of help?"
Constable Ramsau looked around, waiting for an answer. Grijpstra slept peacefully, burbling moistly through parted fat lips.
\\\\\ 20 /////
De Gier, ahead of his arrival time, walked slowly to the adjacent gabled mansions that housed the Society's club for prominent members and their affluent guests. There were still a number of blocks ahead. Pleasant spring weather, crisp and clear under a starry sky, did not improve the sergeant's mood. The elegance of Gelder Quay, a long, quiet backwater in the inner city, lined on both sides by silver-colored buildings and partly shrouded by majestic elm trees, didn't soothe him either.
"Sergeant?"
"Now what?" de Gier asked the young man in the maroon velvet suit and the flamboyant necktie, stepping under a streetlight ahead. The young man wore a hat, which he took off. "Like my haircut? The barber must still be sweeping his floor. I lost kilos of hair. The suit belongs to my brother Samuel." He pulled de Gier's sleeve. "Where the hell were you? I've been in and out of the club three times, looking for you. Celine is in the roulette room. I had to keep ducking away, she might recognize me even in this outfit."
"The others haven't arrived?"
"They'll be here soon, I came early. Are you going in now?"
"Sure," de Gier said. "I'll do my part. Leave it to the gigolo, that's all I'm good for."
Cardozo ran alongside de Gier, keeping up with the sergeant's long strides. "Do you know that IJsbreker's paintings are in the club's hallway? They didn't bother to sell the loot. There's a million's worth of art inside-Mondrians, Eschers, Appels, anything. Great shit. They just kept it."
"How do you know it's IJsbreker's stuff?" de Gier asked. "We never saw it."
"Got to be," Cardozo panted. "The Peruvian vases are there too, lined up on a long shelf in the hall. I asked the manager. He says the display only came in a few weeks ago. He doesn't know where from. He says the owners put it up."
"Who are the owners?"
"He didn't say, and I couldn't ask too much. Got to be Fernandus, and that baron, de la Faille, the guy who took IJsbreker's place at the bank."
"Hardly conclusive evidence."
"Good enough, Sergeant. We don't work by the book anymore. Shall we take the art too? That would be fun."
De Gier stopped and admired the three tall mansions ahead, reaching up into the sky from the narrow quaysides and the canal in between. He checked his watch. "I'm still early."
"I'm nervous," Cardozo said. "This is different. Nothing to back us up. You think we can do this?"
"Sure," de Gier said. "You can do it. I'll be upstairs holding Celine's hand. Smothering her with my charm. May be I should knock her down."
"No," Cardozo said.
"Got to knock somebody down," de Gier said. "Where's my black knight? Now the final moment is close. The last goodbye."
"To what?" Cardozo asked.
"To this part of the quest," de Gier said. "I now need to perform a symbolic act. In style. Fight my man. Myself maybe, some form of suicide."
"I'm going crazy too," Cardozo said. "There's quite a crowd inside. City councilmen, that Ronnie Ryder character that the commissaris mentioned, with his dogs and sycophants. Stacks of cash on the table, gambling everywhere, associated hoodlums in suede leather and cowboy boots, a nice selection of lovely ladies. Some show. Posh. A lot of jewels on the ladies. Do we rip them off too?"