Grijpstra made room for him and shone his torch on the girl's face. The Health Serviceman pulled the blanket down and grunted.
"Dead," he said. "Suffocated in her own vomit. Nice. If that clot had turned her over she would have been all right, but he probably didn't notice she couldn't breathe. Too busy, of course. You see, her pants haven't been fastened. Must have covered her up later, when he saw that there was something wrong."
"Stretcher," the officer said to his mate.
De Uier didn't hear. He was outside, in the street, leaning against a lamp post and trying not to be sick. Grijpstra joined him.
"I can't stand that sort of thing," de Gier said.
"Who can?" Grijpstra asked.
"I'll never get used to it," de Gier said.
"Who will?" Grijpstra asked.
"Did you see her arms?" de Gier asked.
"Of course. Pricks all over, what would you expect? Probably has three or four shots a day. Doesn't eat anymore, just drinks a bit. Thin as a rake. She would have died anyway, another year at the most." The Municipal Health men maneuvered past them, very carefully, and carried the stretcher toward the ambulance and blocked the street.
'Where are you taking her?" de Gier asked.
"City hospital," said the officer who had talked to them before. "We left her bag in the boat; perhaps there'll be some identification in it. Your doctor happens to be in the city hospital; the post mortem will probably be done before you get there."
De Gier waved and the ambulance started. They didn't use their siren; a corpse has all the time in the world.
"Let's get on with it," Grijpstra said and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come into the boat with us, we'd like to ask a few questions."
They asked the usual questions and the young man answered, but on another level, perhaps from another dimension. He talked in circles and commented on what he said. De Gier remembered another boy he had arrested once in the middle of Leidse Square where he was jumping up and down, waving, shouting and disturbing traffic. In the station he had chased something, something invisible and had run with his head against the wall and collapsed bleeding. Whatever he had been chasing had gone through the wall.
"He is in another world," Grijpstra said to de Gier when the youth went into another long monologue.
"Yes," said de Gier, "but we have to find out what we have to find out," and patiently they continued their questions and slowly some understandable answers were produced. They learned his name and profession. A student.
"What do you study?"
"I study life."
"Psychology?" de Gier asked. "Philosophy?"
"Sociology."
Grijpstra looked through the boat. There wasn't a scrap of a paper to be found, no ballpoint, no books.
"Did you ever pass any examinations?"
"Yes, a long time ago now. I am a candidate."
"You stopped?"
The boy began to ramble again. He hadn't stopped, but he hadn't gone to lectures anymore.
"The needle?" de Gier asked.
The boy sneezed a few times.
"He needs the needle now," Grijpstra said.
They turned to the crime. There was no crime, the youth said, he had met the girl in the Dam square. He had asked her to come to his boat with him. They had slept together, she had died. De Gier admitted to himself that there had been no crime. The girl must have been over nineteen years old, and crime stops at the last day of a minor's fifteenth year, unless, of course, in case of rape. They couldn't even prove that he had seduced the girl. She must have come of her own free will, nobody had dragged her to the boat. And he had reported her condition as soon as he had become aware of it. No, no crime. So there would be no arrest.
Grijpstra looked through the girl's handbag. It contained a pack of cigarettes, a dirty handkerchief and a purse with less than twenty guilders. And a needle, and some heroin in a small plastic bag.
"Can I have that?" the boy asked.
"Is it yours?"
"No."
"You couldn't have it even if it was yours, we'll need it as evidence."
"Of what?" the boy asked.
"Death," Grijpstra said.
"So you have no idea who she is?" de Gier asked again.
The youth shook his head. He knew her first name, and that was all.
"Well, de Gier said, "we'll find out who she was, in due course. Goodbye for now, don't leave town for the time being. Here is my card, if there is anything else you think of, let me know."
"Do you think he cared?" Grijpstra asked in the car.
"No," de Gier said. "He may have been afraid for his own sake, frightened of arrest, I mean, but he didn't care about the girl. Life and death don't matter much where he is."
"Where do you think he is?"
"No idea," de Gier said, "and the only way to find out is to take opium."
"Shit," Grijpstra said.
De Gier agreed. He drove slowly and carefully.
"Do you care?" Grijpstra asked suddenly and de Gier was surprised. In all the years he had worked with Grijps-tra the question had never come up. He looked at his chief but Grijpstra's expression was the same as ever, quiet, patient, noncommittal.
De Gier found himself talking at length.
"Yes," he was saying, "I care. I do care. I didn't like the way that girl died. We are supposed to maintain order so that society can live peacefully and rightfully and is protected against disturbing forces. Drugs disturb. That girl shouldn't have suffered, she should have some job or other, a boyfriend or a husband, a child perhaps. She shouldn't be wandering around the city, thin as a knitting needle and full of little pricks and scars, and full of poison. But what can I do? The opium law is a joke, and whoever contravenes it is released as soon as he is caught."
"Now, now," Grijpstra said.
"O.K. Some of them go to jail. For how long?"
"For a little while," Grijpstra said.
"In Persia they are shot," de Gier said.
"Would you like to live in Persia?" Grijpstra asked.
"Let's do some work," Grijpstra said.
"No patrol duty," de Gier said. "I don't want to see another dead girl."
"No, we still have our case. We'll go and see what happened to those nice young people of the Hindist Society."
They found the boat the nice young people were living in but nobody was home and a card on the door said that they would be back at five thirty.
They tried again at five thirty.
Eduard opened the door and smiled. "Look who we have here."
"The police," Grijpstra said. "May we come in?"
"Sure. You can have some coffee. We are here, all of us."
The detectives said good evening, to Eduard, to Johan, to the fat girl Annetje and to the beautiful girl Therese.
"I thought you were with your mother in Rotterdam?" de Gier asked.
"I was, but I came back. I prefer Amsterdam and I can live on this boat."
"We found work," Annetje said proudly, "real work for real pay. We assemble art-needlecraft kits in a factory and we make as much in a day as we used to make in a week, and we only work seven hours."
"Not bad," de Gier said, "where do you work?"
He wrote down the address.
"You going to check?" Johan asked. "Don't do that. We are still on trial and they'll fire us for sure if they know the police are interested in what we do."
"We'll be discreet," Grijpstra said and sipped his coffee.
"Why do you want to check?" Johan asked.
"I won't have to check if you are honest with us," de Gier said. "Will you be honest?"
"Why not?" Johan said. "We have nothing to hide."
"I hope not," de Gier said, "but we may have reason to suspect you of this and that. A tin of hash disappeared from the Hindist Society, a large tin of hash. Where is it?"
Grijpstra noticed that Annetje had become very red in the face.