"A car," Grijpstra said hopefully. "Where is the car now?"
"I don't know."
"What sort of a car?"
"A white BMW, a year old. It belongs to the Japanese company he works for. A very nice car."
"Do you remember the registration number?"
"Yes, it's an easy number to remember, 66-33-MU."
"Right," Grijpstra said briskly. "We'll investigate the case. Don't worry, miss. I don't think there is a case but we'll go into it all the same. We have your telephone numbers and address and we'll let you know."
"Soon?" she asked nervously.
"Soon," Grijpstra said, and his light blue eyes looked at her kindly. "Tonight, in fact. Maybe we'll know nothing by tonight but we'll phone anyway. And you can phone us too. Here is my card. It's got my home number too in case I am not here."
He got up and shook her hand and opened the door for her.
De Gier had finished with the phone when Grijpstra got back to his desk. He sighed.
"Yes," Grijpstra said. "The fellow ran into another girl and is having the time of his life somewhere. Or he ran into a boy. Or he got drunk and had another drink when he got up in the morning. Always the same thing, happens all the time. But the wives or girlfriends never catch on."
"Women worry a lot," de Gier said, "most women anyway."
"Doesn't Esther worry?" Grijpstra asked.
"No," de Gier said bitterly. "She just makes coffee when I come home and pats me on the head. If she is in my apartment, that is. Sometimes she isn't there, and then I worry, and talk to the cat. Silly Oliver also worries when she isn't there."
"She has her own house," Grijpstra said, "and her own cat. She has things to do. Why don't you two get married?"
"She doesn't want to."
"Very sensible," Grijpstra said, and got up and stretched. "Well, it's a nice day."
De Gier looked out of the open window. "Yes, should be. It's summer, isn't it? What are we going to do about Miss Andrews' complaint?"
Grijpstra heaved himself out of his chair and joined de Gier at the window. He looked neat for a change. His usually crumpled suit, dark blue with a thin white stripe, had been drycleaned. He even looked healthy, for the weekend at the beach had tanned his face. He was rubbing his hands briskly. "While you were chattering on the phone I got some useful information," Grijpstra said.
"Chattering?" de Gier asked.
"Chattering," Grijpstra said. "Joking and gossiping. I heard you. And while you did that I got some information. Our Japanese friend owns a car, a white BMW, registration number 66-33-MU."
De Gier whipped out his notebook and wrote the number down.
Grijpstra nodded benignly. "Good. So now we can find out if the computer knows anything about the car. Maybe it was spotted somewhere, and if it wasn't it can be spotted now. We can send out an alert."
De Gier mumbled.
"You don't think it's worth it?"
"Sure," de Gier said.
"I agree. The young lady was worried, we should try to restore her peace of mind."
"Yes," de Gier said, and dialed a number. The computer didn't know anything. He dialed again and spoke to the radio room and asked to make the alert nationwide.
"And we have that photograph which Miss Andrews left," Grijpstra said, picking up the snapshot.
"Not worth much," de Gier said. "The picture is clear enough and we can have it multiplied and passed out, but the constables are always saying that all Chinese and Japanese look alike. They wouldn't spot him."
Grijpstra had lit a small cigar. He laughed.
"What?" de Gier asked.
"Japanese," Grijpstra said. "There must be ten thousand of them in the city now. Package tours, I think. I happened to be at the airport last week and I saw hundreds and hundreds of them come in. Several groups, coming from different planes and on different tours. To keep themselves organized they had guides and the guides had flags. One group had red flags, the other blue. They were following their guides and the two lines crossed. A very funny sight. They looked so serious."
"Yes," de Gier said. "I've seen them in town. They march around, like mechanical men, and they all have leather cross-straps, camera on the left, light meter on the right. Gray slacks, blue blazers. But the women seem very nice, especially when they are dressed in kimonos. They shuffle. Very dainty women."
"Hmm," Grijpstra said. "I'll have that snapshot multiplied when we get some news about the car. So far I don't feel suspicious, do you?"
"No. Mr. Nagai is on a binge. Or he has been on a binge and feels guilty now. I think he is sitting on the side of a bed right now with his head in his hands and cursing himself."
"And wondering whether he can replace the money out of his expense account," Grijpstra said, peering into his coffee cup. "This coffee is cold. Are you going to get some more?"
"No," de Gier said. "Why?"
"Just a thought. Why don't we go out? There's a new coffee bar close by and they have Turkish coffee and meatrolls."
"No," de Gier said. "It's my turn to pay. It always is my turn to pay, and I am broke!"
"Go and get some money," Grypstra said. "I'll meet you at the main door in ten minutes. I have to go and clean my pistol. The instructor said it was full of dirt when he inspected it last night during target practice."
"Right," de Gier said, and pulled the small automatic from under his armpit. "Clean mine too, will you? And ask the sergeant if he can replace that screw on the grip plate, it's getting old. The whole pistol is getting old. It'll probably explode next time I try to fire it."
"And you'll be standing next to me and I'll get it in my face," Grijpstra said gloomily. "Why should I clean your pistol anyway? I hate cleaning pistols. I can never get them together again and I have to ask and they all snigger at me."
"Because you are very fond of me and you like doing things for other people."
"I do," Grijpstra said."Meet you in ten minutes. Fifteen minutes maybe. Don't run off. And stay away from the chief constable's secretary."
"You are sounding like the Ten Commandments again," de Gier said, as he ambled out of the room.
They were both thinking about Joanne Andrews, Grijpstra as he watched the sergeant of the arms room clean his pistol and de Gier as he was reading the announcement of a judo match pinned to the bulletin board near the main entrance. The girl had looked lost and pathetic, in spite of the glamour of her expensive clothes and her natural beauty.
"Can't have been another woman," de Gier thought. "Man must be drinking somewhere."
The loudspeakers of Police Headquarters came alive. "Detective-Sergeant de Gier, please phone 853."
De Gier picked up the nearest telephone in the hall.
"We found the car you were inquiring about, sergeant, or rather the police in Utrecht found it. They found it at four A.M. today but the computer only told us just now. It was parked in Utrecht's red light district obstructing traffic and they towed it in. It was locked and they didn't open it. They can tow cars in some modern way now; they have some sort of gadget, lift them by the nose, I think, in a grip."
"Yes," de Gier said patiently, "and then what happened? The Utrecht police told the central computer, didn't they? So there must be something special about the car."
"Yes, sergeant. Blood on the front seat and a dent in the roof. They only saw it about an hour ago, according to the type-out. They think the roof has been hit by a bullet, fired from within the car. There is no hole in the roof, just a dent, so the bullet must be inside. Their experts are supposed to come and break the car open, but I just phoned Utrecht headquarters and told them to wait for you. The car is registered in Amsterdam so maybe the case is yours."
"Do you have the address of the police garage where the car is now?" de Gier asked, taking out his notebook and flattening it against the wall. He wrote the address down. "Tell them that we'll be out there within an hour and a half."