"Scene," the sheriff said. "Yes, sir, it's rough. But it goes with the mood of the country. We haven't been civilized very long and we still acknowledge every man's right to carry arms. And we have strict ideas about property, exaggerated ideas perhaps, so they can be perverted easily. It's lawful here to shoot a burglar through the head."
The commissaris felt his impeccably shaved chin. "Yes, another type of society altogether perhaps. I saw a license plate on a car yesterday, not from this state I think. It had a slogan printed into the metaclass="underline" LIVE FREE OR DIE. 1 was most impressed. 1 hope you don't think I was criticizing. We've gone too soft on our side of the ocean. The big wars started in Europe and when we choked on our viciousness we had to yell for help, which you provided, thank heaven. Still, I would hate to see the people of Amsterdam wear six guns on their belts."
"Our license plates just say VACATIONLAND, sir." The sheriff had sharpened a match and was poking it around between his strong teeth. He took the match out of his mouth and studied it. "We are still where we were, gentlemen. I don't see that there's anything we can do now. We may have managed to reconstruct the various events, but there's no proof. There are no witnesses. Jeremy saw Janet drive her car at him, but he'll never say so in court-he won't even say so to us. If I remember my lessons correctly we should now start to work on our remaining suspects- interrogate them, manipulate them, and so forth. Given time they may break down and not only confess but produce sufficient circumstantial evidence so that we won't look foolish in court. This state has some very smart lawyers. At this point the D.A. wouldn't even bother to listen to me."
"We could get at Reggie," de Gier said.
"We could, and he would tell us about his woodchucks and azaleas and white pine reserve while he basks in Janet's motherly warmth. We might try to keep Janet away from him and pour him full of bourbon, but I'm not sure whether the D.A. would like that. And I wouldn't even try Janet. She'd wave the general's medals at me and telephone Washington. We're quite stuck, gentlemen. We know what happened and that's it."
"Perhaps not."
"You have an idea, sir?"
"Yes," the commissaris said. "I made an appointment with Janet, but I'll cancel it if you don't approve. The appointment is for this afternoon, for tea and cookies, just her and me."
"You think she will tell the truth, sir?"
"If suitably provoked, yes. I plan to approach her from a different angle. I've no authority here so I can be, eh, nasty."
The sheriff carried his match to Beth's stove and opened one of its many lids. He dropped the match onto the glowing coals and watched it flare and crumble. The lid fell back with a clang.
"The interview will have to be witnessed somehow, sir. Can't you take the sergeant?"
"No, because she'll have to talk freely. I was thinking that we could use some mechanical means perhaps."
"Radio," the sheriff said. "I don't have a bugging device, but the state cops do. Their nearest barracks are too far to drive to and be back on time, but there's an airstrip. I think I'll have the pleasure of Madelin's company this time, if the sergeant doesn't mind of course."
The sheriff grinned at the sergeant and the commissaris smiled paternally. De Gier didn't notice; he was studying the tabletop.
"And how will this equipment work, sheriff?"
"It'll be a small microphone, sir, bidden under the lapel of your jacket. The transmitter is very small too. It won't make a bulge. I'll receive you via my cruiser's radio and I have another radio for the sergeant. He could carry it about with him. The state cops will have to provide me with a tape recorder too."
"Splendid. Yes. Now if you could park your cruiser somewhere near the mansion and the sergeant could make himself inconspicuous on the grounds nearby I would feel reasonably safe, I imagine."
The sergeant had gotten up. "I don't like the plan at all. Reggie will be loose and he is crazy. If he feels that you are antagonizing Janet…"
"A small risk, Rinus," the commissaris said. "I've taken small risks before. So have you."
The sheriff cleared his throat. "Perhaps the sergeant is right. You're not exactly a fighting man, if you'll excuse me being frank."
"I may have other skills, sheriff. And thank you and Beth for a very good breakfast. You did me a true favor. You saved me from Suzanne's porridge."
21
Janet Wash dropped her long graceful hands to her lap and sat up a little straighter. Her tongue found a small morsel of chocolate-covered cookie that hadn't quite crunched yet. She pushed it between her teeth, chewed, and swallowed. Her eyelashes fluttered down and swept up.
"No," she said. "I don't believe it. You'll have to tell me again, my little man. Are you trying to blackmail me?"
The commissaris stirred his tea. He didn't want to look at his hostess. Her pose and general acting were quite good, of course, but any performance that contains too many repetitions tends to become monotonous. His eyes wandered about and studied his surroundings. The porch was vast, equaling the combined floor space of the entire first story of Suzanne's house. Its furniture was all cane, old and gracious. There were simple chairs and elaborate couches, blossoming out into great ovals and side wings, thickly padded and upholstered in linen. The linen was richly embroidered, by Chinese artists probably, in the days that James D. Symons' tea clippers waited for their cargoes in the harbors of Canton and Hong Kong. The porch was well heated by tall woodstoves. He counted three, each with its own supply of logs, split neatly, stacked meticulously. Reggie's handiwork no doubt. Whatever Reggie did he did well.
"So," the icy delicate voice said. "Let's go through all this again. You claim that you know that I murdered all these people, or had them murdered. Now what were their names again? I forget so easily when I am not interested. Jones, you said? And Davidson? And that ridiculous Brewer woman who tried so hard to be the arty, sporty type? And good old Pete Opdijk? I do remember his name. He always tried to stay for dinner when he was only invited for a drink. And such a crushing bore. Now, that's what you said, wasn't it? I did murder all these people?"
"That's right, madam."
"Well, really. Wasn't it clever of you to have found out. And wasn't it clever of you not to want to tell anybody but me. Now why was that again?"
The commissaris folded his hands on the silver handle of his cane and rested his chin on top of them.
"Ah yes. How superbly intelligent! You went all the way to Boston to talk to my nephew, young Jimmy. And Jimmy Symons manages my holding companies. Well, that much is true. I do own the family's land again. But I bought the land quite legally you know."
The commissaris shook his head patiently.
"Didn't I buy it?"
"At give-away prices, madam."
She snorted. "What nonsense. You said that before. You suggested that I contrived and schemed and managed to use Michael Astrinsky so that he would buy me the vacated land, and the miserable hovels on the land, for next to nothing."
"That's correct, madam."
"More tea?"
"Oh yes, please."
"More tea you will have. I'll pour it into your cup, not into your face as you deserve. We must remember our manners. Here you are."
Janet poured and the commissaris sipped.
"A most delicate taste," he said pleasantly. "Not at all like Suzanne's tea."
She clapped her hands. 'Taste? You dare to use that word? My God! And you have the bad taste to tell me that I am a criminal but that you'll forget that fact if I pay a hundred thousand for Suzanne's bourgeois monstrosity!"
"That would be the proper market value of Suzanne's very comfortable home, madam. If you want her land you should pay the price. And I promise you that once I have the check, Suzanne and the sergeant and I will leave and that I will not pass my information to the sheriff. The sheriff is an ambitious young man, but he hasn't made a name for himself yet. With my, and the sergeant's, help he can take you to court and obtain your conviction. It will be a good start for his career."