The commissaris's wife fidgeted with her handkerchief.
"Ernst…" Fleur clasped her hands together. "Do you know that he asked me to go sailing with him? A hundred years ago? Around the world? And I, like an idiot, refused. We could be living on Mauritius now, and I would have been a nature woman, eating coconuts off trees, splashing about in lagoons, listening to his rhymy wordage." She grinned at her guest. "I have no ear for the stuff, poetry passes me by completely, but I'm good at pretending. I'll bet Ernst's present woman doesn't give half a hoot for his poetry, either."
"Ernst has a woman?"
"Bah." Fleur offered a tray of bonbons. "Have one, they're expensive. Yes. Some native wench who works as a waitress. Ernst was here a month ago, actually looked me up. He sailed in from Mauritius to ask Willem for a loan to buy his girlie a restaurant. Didn't get a penny. Willem tried to interest him in smuggling drugs, but Ernst is too naive for the real world. I bought him dinner, a few times, and clothes so that he could take me out; he dresses rather sloppily."
The commissaris's wife's teeth broke through a thin coating of chocolate. She winced at the oversweet taste. "Not attractive?"
"Very attractive," Fleur said. "Sun-bleached jeans, big pectoral muscles, a tattered shirt, straw sandals, unkempt beard. The depth of the sea is in his eyes and he wears a golden earring. Katrien, Ernst is a dream. But I couldn't get him into one of my favorite restaurants looking like that."
"Fleur?"
"I tried to seduce him."
"Fleur?"
Fleur stroked the armrests of her chair. "With money, of course." She kneaded her thighs. "These won't work anymore. I would have liked to keep him here. I wonder if he noticed. Tried to get him to stay here with me, but he'd rather sleep in his boat. Crummy boat."
"Fleur?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," the commissaris's wife said, "but your son is dead."
"Huip?"
"You only have one son."
"Good," Fleur said. "The hateful monster. I could never stand him; he didn't even have his father's amusing side. Graspy little baby, hurt me a lot, and when he grew up it was even worse. How did he die? Got killed by his cronies? Huip never kept good company. You should have seen the human offal he dragged home from school."
"A boating accident," the commissaris's wife said. "Jan heard about it. I think he even saw it, on the Vinker Lakes earlier today."
"Good," Fleur said. "I always hated those damned lakes. That's where Willem enjoyed himself. Did Willem die too?"
"No, Fleur."
Fleur pushed a large bonbon into her mouth.
"Fleur?"
Fleur swallowed. "So Willem is still out there, making trouble? Why don't you send Jan after him? Jan could catch the miserable sod. Willem isn't all that clever, you know, he does have weak points."
"I think that Jan considers Willem a suspect in a murder case," the commissaris's wife said.
Fleur's eyes bulged. She sucked in her lips. "Hm. He does? Wasn't there something about Jan in the papers? An investigation of some sort? Did your husband turn out badly too?"
"No," the commissaris's wife said. "The other way around. Corrupt officials tried to get him out of the way, but that's all right now, Jan is working again."
"Shouldn't eat these," Fleur said, pushing the bonbons away a little. "Perhaps just one more. Jan should get at Willem's money. Do you know that Willem figures out every night just how much he is worth? To the penny? If it's less than the night before, he has a fit. He would pick up things and throw them."
"At you?"
"No, because I would throw them back." Fleur chewed. "Katrien, tell Jan he should get Willem fined somehow. For nonpayment of taxes-that shouldn't be too hard. Suck his money away, and Willem will be like a deflated scumbag. Jan might work on Willem's drug dealing too, he's been doing that from the day heroin came into the country. Willem was never too normal, but the drugs drove him crazy."
"Does he take drugs, too?"
"No," Fleur said. "It's like his womanizing. I think Willem likes to watch, doesn't get into fun stuff himself."
"Drugs aren't fun."
"No?" Fleur selected another bonbon. "I wonder. They're too expensive for me. They calm you down, I hear. I do get quite nervous."
"Well," said the commissaris's wife, rising and moving toward the door, "nice to see you again, I really love your apartment."
Fleur waddled to the door with her. "Come again."
\\\\\ 30 /////
Izzy Sanders switched the computer screen on. "Where do you want the money to go, sir?"
"Just a minute." The commissaris took out his note pad. "This is the number of an account. A welfare organization in Calcutta."
Sanders punched in the number. "All of it goes?"
"Yes." The commissaris peered at the screen. "Clean out the accounts of the Society, the bank itself, Willem and Ernst Fernandus, and Baron Bart de la Faille."
"Can I leave something in? It would look better. Zero accounts might draw early attention."
"Now how does this work?" Grijpstra asked. "It's Sunday today."
"I've delayed the commands." Izzy worked his keyboard. "The transactions will take place tomorrow afternoon. With all the bank's computerization, it could take a while before anyone catches on. No human eyes will see this happen."
"Until it's too late?"
"Right," Izzy said. "Shall I leave a few hundred guilders in each account, sir?"
"Fifty guilders will be enough," the commissaris
265 said. "The more devastating the cleanup, the better. Go ahead, friend. We do appreciate your help."
"There's no risk?" Cardozo asked.
"No." Sanders grinned. "The way I'm working this, it will seem as if the commands were given in the bank's administration, by order of the account holders themselves. I have all the codes."
"And the nun won't give the money back?" Karate asked.
"I'm a Catholic," Ketchup said. "I know nuns. Nuns never give anything back. Finders keepers."
"But she's such a holy nun," said the commissaris's wife.
Sergeant Biersma grunted. "The holier the better. The Lord is the holiest of all, and He never gives anything back, either."
"You know that?" the commissaris asked.
"Yes, sir, I was raised as a member of the Dutch Reformed Protestant Church. We know God at His grimmest."
The computer's keyboard clicked away. Luminous figures flashed on and off.
"There," Sanders said. "Done."
"Grand total?" the commissaris asked.
"Maybe thirty million, sir. I don't know what the shares and bonds will be worth tomorrow. Could be more, the stock market is turning bullish again."
Miss Antoinette's knuckles rapped against the glass door of the porch. Carl held up his ark. The commissaris's wife opened the door and the artwork was shown around. The toy animals inside had been glued together in copulating positions.
"I'll tahake them ouhout again," Carl said. "It's only ajohoke."
"They're yours," the commissaris said.
"Then you keeheep the whole thing here, sir. My pleaheasure."
"Why, thank you, dear boy. It's a beautiful piece of work." The commissaris set the construction on the mantel. "Drinks all around, Katrien?"
The commissaris's stock of liquor was soon depleted, together with all the food in the house, transformed into snacks by his wife and Mrs. Jongs. Ketchup and Karate giggled a lot, patting the computer. Sergeant Biersma and Constable Ramsau swore they would apply for transfers to the Amsterdam Murder Brigade. Grijpstra described his paintings to Miss Antoinette, stressing the importance of background colors. Mrs. Jongs discussed lizards with Carl. Izzy and Cardozo played a war game on the computer, a giveaway from the store that had supplied the equipment, scoring most by hitting ambulances and a platoon of medics. The commissaris found de Gier.