"Huip will deny the charges, you see," Grijpstra said patiently.
Heul waved his cuffed hands. "Catch him on other charges. Better."
Grijpstra pressed his horn again. A man carrying cartons to the truck came over, dropped his load, and banged on the Citroen's roof. "Quit honking, you're making me nervous."
"Like what charges?" Cardozo asked.
Heul rattled his handcuffs. "Give me a cigarette."
"No," Cardozo said. "I don't like you. What charges?"
"Murder?"
"Huip didn't shoot IJsbreker," Cardozo said. "I don't believe it."
"Huip didn't waste IJsbreker," Heul said. "De la Faille did, I saw that happen. Huip saw it too. If you get Huip, he'll tell you,"
Grijpstra had left the car and was arguing with the truckdriver and his mate.
"This is too complicated," Cardozo said. "What's the charge against Huip? Has he murdered someone else?"
"He will," Heul said. "I'll tell you who and how, if you let me go."
Grijpstra came back. "This is interesting, Adjutant," Cardozo said. "Suspect wants to trade."
"You've got nothing on me," Heul said. "So I was Huip's flunky. So I put tarpaper on a street. So I picked up some paintings. You want Huip on real stuff, right?"
"Do I?" Grijpstra asked. "I've got you. Maybe you're enough. The city is short of cells."
"Ryder," Heul said. "Ronnie Ryder. Next Sunday, in a boat, they'll blow him up. If you're there, you can see it happen. Huip will do it by radio, watch Huip push the button."
"Nah," Grijpstra said. He put his arm on the top of the front seat and put the car in reverse. "Move your head to the side, I'm going to back up."
Another truck entered the alley behind the Citroen. Grijpstra switched the engine off again. "Stuck."
"All you have on me," Heul said, "is old stuff. Shaky stuff. It's not a good charge. None of it. Won't hold. But if you see Huip blow up Mr. Ryder…"
"Why would Huip do that?" Cardozo asked.
"Some shit," Heul said. "I heard him talk to his father on the phone. Ryder wants money out of the bank or out of the Society or something. Fernandus and de la Faille cleaned him out, and Ryder wants his dough back. He knows about some big deals-coke from Bogotd, heroin from Calcutta, all sorts of shit. He's got them over a barrel. There's a meeting Sunday at the Vinker Lakes to talk it out. They've got speedboats there, Mr. Ryder likes that. He'll take out a boat and then Huip will blow him up. The gas tank will explode. A little plastic bomb that won't leave a trace. Voosh!"
"Voosh," Grijpstra said.
"No more Ronnie Ryder," Heul said. "The engine on the boat blows, and the engine is close to the gas tank. A spark. Huip is good with stuff like that. He wanted to blow up Mrs. Jongs too, but she isn't home now. Burn the house down-it's falling apart anyway, and it's insured. The Society wants to construct a classy building instead, start another club."
"Voosh," Cardozo said.
"Voosh." Heul leaned back. "Give me a cigarette."
Cardozo smoked.
"When exactly will this come about?" Grijpstra asked.
"Sunday, two o'clock. Huip and some expert are fixing the bomb now. Okay? Let me go?
"Who killed the three junkies?" Cardozo asked.
"Huip." Heul's nose dripped, and he tried to get a handkerchief from his pocket. "I wasn't in on that. Nobody told me. I thought the horse was regular- cut, you know? Weak shit. But Huip gave them pure junk supplied by the baron. I didn't like that at all."
Grijpstra sucked his cigar.
"Okay," Heul said. "I'll give you more. I don't want to go to jail, man. I'm too sensitive for jail. Okay?"
" If it' s good," Grijpstra said.
"Real good. There's a girl with the Society, from Calcutta. Calls herself Sayukta. Ruby in her nose. Bare belly. They're going to send her home, but she'll come straight back, carrying four ki's of horse. She doesn't want to, but she'll go, all right."
"When?"
"Soon."
"When exactly?"
"I don't know. Very soon. The junk isn't in Calcutta yet. It comes from somewhere else. Nepal. Okay?"
"Okay," Grijpstra said. "For now. If either tip isn't right, we'll get you later. In any way we know of."
"We know lots of ways these days," Cardozo said. "Quick ways." He patted his jacket. "It's good hunting now. We can do lots of stuff. Not so many regular cops around anymore who'd bother to check. Nice."
Heul held up his hands. Cardozo unlocked the cuffs. "Don't forget your umbrella."
" 'Bye," Heul said. "Have a good day." He scrambled out of the car.
"He thinks we're regular cops," Grijpstra said. "Maybe he thinks we won't dare."
"We dared last night," Cardozo said.
The truck ahead moved away. Grypstra started the Citroen again. "Heul's a little guy. Little guys scare easy. Maybe we're getting somewhere now. Pity the Vinker Lakes are out of town, we can't make the arrest."
Cardozo was pressed back in his seat as the car shot away. "Ha," Grijpstra said. "If we see it happen, we've got them anyway. We'll bring in the local cops later. Wouldn't do to call them in early. Suspects could notice."
"Shouldn't we warn Ryder?" Cardozo asked. "I mean…"
"Yes?"
"I mean he's going to die. He'll blow up in front of us. Can you take that?"
"I've seen Ryder go down once," Grijpstra said. "When de Gier pushed him over. I rather liked seeing him go down."
"This time he'll go up."
"Yes," Grijpstra said. "Where's the computer store you wanted to go to?"
\\\\\ 23 /////
Later that day, while Grupstra was home painting in the pale green background that would set off his bare-boned ducks, and Cardozo was working with his new computer on the kitchen table that his mother needed to cut cucumbers on, and de Gier was half-asleep on his antique brass bed, the commissaris' s wife served tea.
The commissaris came down from his study, yawning and rubbing his eyes, Mrs. Jongs brought a chocolate cake from the oven, and Carl held up his image of Turtle. Turtle himself walked stiffly through the tall weeds in the rear garden on his way to fresh lettuce.
"This is like New York," the commissaris said, sitting down on a cane chair, shielding his eyes from the late-afternoon sun that lit up the back porch. "In the thirties. The Mafia wars. The troops would hole up in safe houses, slobber spaghetti, and gurgle wine."
"What troops?" his wife asked.
"You're my troops," the commissaris said. "I need you all. Last night we won a battle. Now we rest, and later we challenge the enemy again."
Mrs. Jongs tried to whistle, matching notes that could be the opening of a military march. Carl attempted a salute, but his hand missed his head. The commissar is's wife stamped her slippered feet and came to attention. "As you were," the commissaris barked.
"Really, Jan," the commissaris's wife said. "Eat your cake. Did you deposit that money?"
"I did," the commissaris said. "You should have seen the teller's face. She needed four colleagues to get it all sorted."
"Jan." She pinched his cheek. "Carrying a suitcase full of banknotes around. The streets are alive with muggers. I should have gone with you."
"I had my cane," the commissaris said. "Good cake." He held out his plate. "More? Please?"
"Goohood cahake indeeheed," Carl said.
The commissaris's wife rubbed Mrs. Jongs's shriveled shoulder. "You did a great job."
"And did Grijpstra bring good news just now?" the commissaris's wife asked.
The commissaris picked up Turtle's image. "Yes,, interesting information. I expect Fernandus to contact me soon. We could stop further trouble, he should see that by now. He'll just have to give in."
"Oh, dear." She shook her head. "Fernandus will move too. He's got so much power. Look at you, Jan, bumbling about on your sore legs. Grijpstra is hurt, de Gier can't lift an arm without groaning. And look at us, we can't help you at all."