"The day of the Lord of Vengeance," the commissaris said.
She looked away.
"What's wrong?"
"Never mind," she said. "Mrs. Jongs and I will bake more cakes."
"What's wrong? Do tell me."
"I don't like it," his wife said, "when you talk about revenge. It hurts me. You should be above all that. You just want to destroy Willem Fernandus, you were talking about him in your sleep again. I've never seen you so upset, thrashing about, kicking me, snoring, mumbling."
"It's got to be done, dear."
"Why?"
"It's my job," the commissaris said triumphantly.
"But you're relieved, Jan, you don't have a job."
"I got it back last night."
"Oh, dear," said the commissaris's wife. "Aren't you clever? I do wish you'd take the trouble to find out what you're really trying to do." She leaned over to kiss him. "You busy little bumbler."
\\\\\ 27 /////
It was a regular Dutch summer, with heavy rain and fog, but that Sunday afternoon the sun broke out. The commissaris sat quietly in the passenger seat of his Citroen, steered by de Gier on its way to the Vinker Lakes. They had avoided the speedway and were following a country road paved with red bricks and lined on one side with tali poplars, protecting fertile fields. Brown sails topped the dike, moving slowly, cracking when the invisible flat-bottomed vessels that carried them went through the wind. Swans and white ducks moved about in the tall grass, and a cormorant flapped by, struggling with a large eel that had wound itself around its beak.
"So pleasant," the commissaris said. "I wonder why we can't just enjoy ourselves on this planet of plenty, but we keep banging each other in the head. We've raised the defense budget again, I hear."
"We're warriors, too," de Gier said. "We'd get bored if we didn't live in peril."
"Oh, come now, Sergeant, you faint when you see blood."
"Makes it more fun," de Gier said. "The controversy within. Maybe that's why I joined the police, to overcome my fear. I'm going to get him, sir."
"The baron?" the commissaris asked.
De Gier stared straight ahead. "I know you won't let me, but I'll arrange the showdown discreetly. I feel better about it now that he has murdered Celine."
"You can't be sure, Sergeant. All we know is that the killer drove a black car. Does de la Faille drive a black vehicle, perhaps?"
"A black Porsche, sir, Cardozo checked on the computer."
"Yes," the commissaris said. "Very clever, these technical wonders. But if Cardozo and that expert friend of his can break into the police system through a computer that's hooked up to my phone, then anyone else has access to our files too. That's rather frightening, I think."
De Gier cursed as an open sports car overtook the Citroen, blowing its horn. "Ryder, sir. Did you see him? That fat blob? In a Ferrari?"
The commissaris nodded. "Not a sympathetic man, but speeding toward his death. We'll have to prevent that killing, Rinus. I thought about it. It would be tempting to let young Fernandus press his button to strengthen our charge, but there's been enough murder for now. Ridiculous. We've had six corpses so far, all because of a weakening in the Murder Brigade."
"Suicide of the Society," de Gier said. "Who cares? IJsbreker and Heul were criminals, and the junkies wouldn't have lived long anyway. I'm only concerned about Celine. Ryder can go too."
"A capitalist?" the commissaris asked. "Capitalists are still legal and should enjoy our protection."
"Woosh," de Gier said, lifting his hand from the wheel. "There goes Ryder. I grab young Fernandus."
"You grab him before the woosh," the commissaris said. "That's an order, Sergeant. Huip could be anywhere when he sets off the bomb, that's my worry, anywhere within sight of the lake. We only have six men out there."
"Six fishermen," de Gier said. "Grnpstra was all upset about his fishing gear. I saw them getting into the Camaro and the Corvette, with Grijpstra's complete fishing rod collection. You really won over those State detectives; they gave up their free weekend to help us out again. Ketchup and Karate were all gung-ho, of course."
"Unbridled energy," the commissaris said. "Only useful if we can contain that youthful zest. I'm surprised that you're not losing your adventurous streak, you should be maturing by now. Obtain some distance. I urge you to follow my orders closely."
De Gier grinned. "I'm still suspended, sir. I haven't received word that I'm on the force again."
"I give you the word."
"No, sir, you can't. You haven't been officially reinstated either. The chief inspector's word doesn't count, he's lower in rank than you."
"Next turn," the commissaris said. "That'll be the Society's motel. I don't want you to be seen. We could hide in the bushes, perhaps, and find some vantage point that'll look out on the motel's marina and the lake, and as close as possible to Huip Fernandus."
The motel was surrounded by ornamental gardens. De Gier parked next to Ryder's Ferrari. "I'll be off," the commissaris said. "Meet you behind the rhododendrons over there."
De Gier looked in the Ferrari and saw a jacket on the seat. He picked it up. Something rattled. He removed a bunch of keys and a wallet from the jacket's pockets. The uniformed driver of an old-model Rolls-Royce parked farther along was watching. "Friend of mine, Ronnie Ryder," de Gier told the driver. "Shouldn't leave his keys and valuables in the car. I'll give them to him. Is this Mr. Fernandus's car?"
"No," the driver said. "All mine. Fernandus has been renting my Rolls by the day."
"I thought Fernandus drove a Daimler."
"Then he should be driving his Daimler," the chauffeur said. "I'm getting mighty tired of Fernandus. Here, sir, my card. I'm available. Pass on the news to your wealthy friends."
"You don't like Willem Fernandus?" de Gier asked pleasantly.
"Can't stand him, sir. He's with his son today, and the son is even worse. I need a change."
"Where were you?" the commissaris asked when de Gier showed up.
"Just checking, sir. Fernandus came with his son today, I thought you'd like to know."
They walked past tennis courts where fresh young ladies in short skirts missed balls, and past a lawn where old men in checkered pants drove about in golf carts. The commissaris muttered.
"Don't care, for ball sports, sir?"
"Balls have always infuriated me," the commissaris said, "probably because I could never catch them, except on my head. Here, this might be a good spot." He adjusted his binoculars, aiming them at the motel's terrace. "That's Fernandus, sitting with Ryder and an unknown subject. Here, take these, you have better eyes."
De Gier looked through the glasses. "The young fatso is Huip. I can see his pimples. Yagh, must weigh two hundred pounds and he's as short as his father."
"Can't spot the baron," the commissaris said.
"On the far end, sir, sitting by himself."
"Right." The commissaris grunted. "He does look like a darker version of you. Wavy hair, hooked nose, same posture. You even dress alike."
"The black knight," de Gier said. "Waiting for his rightful fate."
"Are we close enough, you think?" the commissaris asked. "As soon as Ryder takes off in the boat, you'll have to make a dash for the terrace and grab Huip. Get the infernal gadget that'll set off the bomb away from him as soon as you can. Huip won't blow up the boat if it's too close to the terrace. Get hold of his arms and twist them up."
De Gier was looking at the baron.
"Rinus?"
"Yes, sir."
Fernandus and son were chatting and drinking. Ryder ate. A waiter brought a bottle of wine.
"Taking their time," the commissaris said. "I hope we got this thing right and that Heul wasn't trying to impress us."
"Heul is dead," de Gier said. "He got killed because he was seen being arrested by Grijpstra and Cardozo. They didn't want to take any chances when Heul popped up again. They leaned on him and he betrayed his betrayal."