"Not really, dear."
"You'll make them hand in the treasure somehow? But they're spending the money, Jan. There won't be much left."
The commissaris shook his head. "The treasure has been growing, dear."
"So it's you again," Katrien said. "How come you're always behind every mystery I run into? So that's what you've been advising Grijpstra about. All that talk about investments. I couldn't figure it out, why you were discussing shares and foreign exchange and interest and whatnot with Grijpstra of all people. Oh dear, oh dear."
"I was always good with numbers," the commissaris said. "I almost doubled the original value of Grijpstra's haul."
Katrien gaped.
The commissaris smiled proudly. "That's after what they were both spending is deducted, ofcourse. We did well with the dollar's fluctuation. I bought and sold Deutsche Marks then, and buying Philips at nineteen and selling at over thirty helped too, of course. Then there was Gillette. We went short on gold for a bit. We also bet that the British Labor Party would lose, so that the British Stock Index would go up, and, Katrien, didn't it ever?" He shook his head. "It's all in bonds now. I'm out ofinspiration, but there's twice as much as there was."
"What if those two start spending again?" Katrien asked. "Nellie says de Gier is buying a car."
The commissaris shrugged. "An old Citroen Deux Chevaux. Something he can leave in the street without its getting stolen. The agency makes good money, I hear. By now they're eager to get rid of their burden."
"You have something in mind?"
"Don't know yet, dear. Support the buccaneers who shoot up whalers? Give away anticonception devices in starving nations? Advertise euthanasia and sterilization? Help NASA to transport Homo sapiens to far away places, one way? You know of something better?"
"Hospitals for crippled kids," Katrien said. "I'll do some research, find us an organization where the staff isn't off on donation-supported cruises."
"Katrien?" the commissaris asked later that day. "I have this leaflet here, about this cruise. It's a small vessel belonging to some biological society, quite luxurious, with staterooms, leaving next month. Bird watching. On the coast of Maine. And as I've been feeling much better lately… all we have to do is catch a Concorde."
Chapter 26
Some weeks later a rubber boat was lowered down the side of the biological cruise ship Lazy Loon, out of New York, now anchored in Jameson Bay, Maine. Autumn was almost over, and the boat's passenger wore a sheepskin coat. He wasn't Katrien's favorite person that day but she could still stand at the Lazy Loon's railing and wave down at him.
The rubber boat's operator, a marine biology student, insisted on showing his passenger harbor seals, a gray seal, the dorsal fins of dolphins, an immature bald eagle, ajellyfish, and two loons, before dropping him off at Beth's Diner.
"Akiapola'au?" the commissaris asked as she brought him a menu. He mentioned his last name.
"That's Algonquin?" Aki asked. "But you have a Dutch accent. You must be the chief from Amsterdam. How are Rinus and Krip? Beth! Look who we have here."
Beth brought blueberry muffins on the house.
Aki and Beth sat at his table. "We are going to Hawaii soon."
"For good?" the commissaris asked.
"Just to winter a while," Aki said, "We can afford to now. Are you going to see what Ishmael has done with his canning factory? All those colors and corridors and depth and 'perspectives.' Something about emptiness and space. If you get it, will you tell us?"
"Bad George?" the commissaris asked. "Flash Farnsworth?"
Beth brought more muffins and filtered Kona coffee.
"The Kathy Four is sailing down Eggemoggin Reach just now, Flash radioed in. They're going mackerel fishing. Ishmael flew down yesterday. His new Cessna has sea floats. There'll be the three of them there, sharing good times."
"The four of them," the commissaris said.
The women laughed. "You've been told about Kathy Two?"
Kathy Two was doing just fine.
"Lorraine?" the commissaris asked.
Lorraine was back in New York, lecturing on her loon research. She was seeing her former husband, who was telling her about his wife. She was seeing his wife too.
"Bildah Farnsworth?"
Beth drove the commissaris to Bildah Farnsworth's hilltop residence, formerly the property of Hairy Harry.
Bildah was home. Beth introduced the commissaris. "You two should talk," Beth said. She drove off.
Bildah, a small-sized older man with neat sharp features, faded blue eyes behind rimless glasses, bald under his felt hat, and wearing a sheepskin jacket ("You know, we look alike?"), took the commissaris for a walk.
"You know," Bildah said, "when someone is indicted here, he always says, 'I didn't do anything wrong."'
"I'm not indicting you," the commissaris said.
Bildah looked glum. "You might still be my conscience."
The commissaris explained his theory about conscience, that it was a fickle thing, tiedloosely together by the strings of habit and memory, inflicted by impressions received early on in life, far too relative to be trusted.
"You're retired, I hear," Bildah said. "I had you checked out somewhat. You knew our previous sheriff, Jim. Jim spoke highly ofyou. He became a game warden, you know, in the Florida Keys. Trying to protect some small type of deer that gets hit by traffic."
"Good," the commissaris said, "and I'm glad you think you did nothing wrong."
They walked slowly, to keep time with the commissaris's limp, under maples in autumn colors along a picket fence overgrown with scarlet vines. Jameson Bay was below.
"A beautiful place," the commissaris said.
Bildah nodded. "We are lucky." He touched the commissaris's sleeve. "Technically I did nothing wrong either."
"The lady was dead when she was found in the Macho Bandido's cabin?" the commissaris asked.
"Hairy Harry said so." Bildah looked out over the bay where the yacht was tied up to a mooring. "I didn't want the Bandido then so he registered the boat in his own name. I never saw the lady."
"The boat is in your name now?"
It was. Bildah explained that Hairy Harry had been married and was childless. His widow had wanted to cut her ties and go. She sold the house to Bildah.
"For what Hairy Harry paid you? Half its value?"
It was more than what the sheriff's widow had expected. Bildah didn't pay much for the Macho Bandido either. All the widow wanted was out. Things always came to Bildah that way-investments, property, deals. "I don't even have to put out my hand," said Bildah.
"You accept all bounty?" the commissaris asked pleasantly.
"You bet." Bildah smiled. "As they say-living well is the best revenge. You're rich yourself?"
The commissaris excused his own luck. "Rich wife, good wages, a pension, lucky with numbers."
They looked at hills on the horizon.
"I don't believe in guilt," Bildah said. "I believe in philosophical curiosity, and in putting things together so as to enjoy some simple comforts, in continuity, for the duration, so to speak."
The commissaris looked down at Jameson Bay, the islands, the foliage in color, the endless ocean, the yacht ready to sail.
"You picked a good spot."
"I should be sailing now," Bildah said, "I wanted to take a look atyour cruise ship today but Little Max had to go to the dentist and I have trouble handling Macho Bandido alone."
They walked on. "Your men did a good job here," Bildah said. "Hairy Harry and Billy Boy were hiding a lot of cash. Your men must have told Ishmael and friends where they should look. The dead men's treasure made up for all pain and losses."
"The tunnel on Jeremy Island, guarded by the corpse and Mr. Bear?" the commissaris asked.
Bildah thought that was the location.