"And then?"
Fernandus shook his head. "Then nothing. I'm looking forward to that. My body is old now, I'm getting rid of a faulty instrument, and my mind can go too. I had fun with it, but it's getting slow. It didn't get me out of the damned airport. The hell with my mind." He pounded the mattress. "And the hell with you."
"No," the commissaris said. "I'll go to heaven." He sighed. "Maybe you did right after all, Willem. Hell could be exciting. Heaven will be dull. Hell is probably like your club and I'd be forever looking at half-naked women and eating caviar on toast."
"You're serious?" Fernandus asked. "I also think hell will be like the Society's club, or like the motel at the lakeside. I wouldn't mind that. Being young again. I'll swim. I used to enjoy that."
"In boiling tar," the commissaris said. "And I'll be on an aromatic cloud. You hurt and I float in boredom." He emptied the bottle into the cup. "I hope the angels will send me down to relieve your pain."
"I'd pull you into the tar too," Fernandus said. "You'd be very welcome."
The commissaris got up. "You did that during our final adventure. I lost a lot of face. My men thought I was this detached eternal father who could be shaken by nothing earthly at all. Now they're bad-mouthing what's left of my image. De Gier broke away. Grijpstra gets cleverer by the day. Cardozo sees through my veils. Katrien.. ." The commissaris groaned.
"I'm sorry," Fernandus whispered.
The commissaris didn't hear.
Fernandus whispered louder.
"You're sorry?" the commissaris asked. "You?"
"I'm human," Fernandus said. "You're right. I lose. I see that now. You'd better go."
The commissaris got up.
Fernandus stirred weakly. "Help me up again, Jan, the pillows keep slipping down."
"You should rest," the commissaris said.
"I'll sit up," Fernandus said, glancing at the phone. "I'd better receive death properly."
"That'll be tomorrow," the commissaris said. " 'Bye."
The commissaris walked slowly to the elevator. He wasn't too drunk. The bottle had only been half full, and Fernandus had drunk half of that. But he wasn't sober, either. My judgment is impaired, the commissaris thought, remembering a lecture on alcoholism. Drunks have impaired judgment. Should I forgive Willem? the commissaris thought. Do I accept his humanity after all? Or am I too mellow now?
He crossed the hospital's parking lot, on his way to his car. Why had Fernandus wanted to sit up? Why had he glanced at the phone? Whom did he want to contact so urgently?
No, the commissaris thought, taking time to admire an ominous dark gray cloud filling in a piece of blue sky. Sure, policemen habitually go for the lowest motive when they analyze a suspect's activity, but Fernandus was no longer a suspect. And, under present circumstances, he himself should no longer act as a cop. Cops are human too, they forgive and forget. Hadn't Fernandus admitted to his humanity after all? Even said he was sorry?
The commissaris put his hand on the Citroen's door. Then he let go of the handle again and turned around. Behind him the hospital stared silently, through its many window eyes.
Perhaps, the commissaris thought. Yes, perhaps. There had been a case in Rotterdam where a high-ranking police officer, out of uniform, driving home after a party where he had been manipulated by a colleague into overindulging, was arrested by officers trailing him in a patrol car. The Rotterdam commissaris had lost his job, the officers who made the arrest were promoted ahead of time. The colleague had taken the ex-commissaris's position. A clear motive in that case.
Again?
Why not? the commissaris thought sadly. Criminals never have too many choices as to how they will materialize their petty schemes.
The commissaris walked away from the Citroen and crossed the parking lot, in spite of the sudden downpour released by the ominous cloud. He reached the avenue that passed by the hospital. There was a tram shelter and he sat on its hard bench. A coincidence, no doubt, but there was a patrol car across the road, partly hidden behind a parked truck. Two cops were staring at the hospital's parking lot.
The commissaris stood up and located Fernandus's window in the large building behind him. He thought he saw a pajama-clad figure, partly hidden by curtains. He waved, but Fernandus wouldn't be able to see him through the dirty glass of the shelter's wall.
A tram came riding up, harshly clanging its bell. The commissaris stepped outside, shivering as cold raindrops hit him sharply in the neck. The rain was coming down so hard that drops ricocheted from the pavement, lashing at his hands and cheeks. He shivered, thinking of his warm dry car. Well, he would pick it up later. The commissaris boarded the tram.
"What are you doing out of bed?" a nurse asked Fernandus. "Here, let me help you." She was too late. Fernandus had fallen over already. She frowned as she pulled the muttering patient up. Such a nice little gentleman. Such horribly foul language.