But, de Gier was thinking happily, if we simple policemen pick up a phone men like Drachtsma come to see as. We manipulate the manipulator.
"Glad you could come," the commissaris was saying. IJsbrand Drachtsma inclined his bald head slightly to acknowledge the remark. De Gier knew that Drachtsma was nearly sixty years old but the body sitting so close to him now radiated more energy than its age should allow for. Drachtsma's pale blue eyes had an eager glint in them as if this interview was a new experience he was planning to enjoy.
Drachtsma had taken a cigar out of the box on the table in response to the commissaris' hospitable suggestion and his strong suntanned hands were lighting it now, using a solid-looking gold lighter. His movements were sparse as if he was controlling his activity. The lighter burst into flame at the first flick. De Gier thought of his own lighter, which never worked properly and had to be coaxed to come to life in a different way each time.
"Just a few questions," the commissaris was saying and "we won't detain you any longer than we have to," and Drachtsma had inclined his bald head again. The thin fringe which framed the polished skull hadn't gone altogether gray yet.
"Last Saturday night," Drachtsma answered in a deep voice, reverberating in his wide chest, "I was with my wife, on Schiermonnikoog. I often spend the weekends on the island. We had guests, business friends from Germany. I took them sailing during the afternoon and we listened to music during the evening. I'll give you their names and addresses if you like."
"Please," the commissaris said.
Drachtsma scribbled on a page of his notebook, a leather-bound notebook which came from his inside pocket. He tore out the page and gave it to the commissaris.
"Would you mind telling us what your relationship with Mrs. van Buren was?" the commissaris asked.
"She was my mistress."
"I see. I wonder if you could give us some details about the lady's life. Somebody killed her and he must have had a good reason. If we know who the lady was we may know who killed her."
"Yes," Drachtsma said. "I would also like to know who killed her. She didn't suffer, did she?"
"I don't think so. She was killed from the back and the knife went right in. She probably died immediately without knowing what had happened to her."
"Good," Drachtsma said.
The three policemen were watching him.
"Please tell us," the commissaris said.
"Ah. I am sorry. I was thinking about Maria. What can I tell you? I knew her when she was still married, her husband runs a textile plant which is part of the organization I work for. I met her at a party and I think I fell in love with her. She had her own boat and we would meet on the lakes. She got a divorce."
"I am sorry," the commissaris said, "but I will have to ask personal questions, I hope you don't mine the presence of my two assistants. They are charged with the investigation of this murder and I like them to be part of its various stages."
"That's all right," Drachtsma said, and smiled at the two detectives. The smile was pleasant. Drachtsma knew how to handle the lower echelons.
"Why didn't you marry Maria van Buren?" the commissaris asked.
"I didn't want to marry her," Drachtsma said, "besides, I was married already. I have a son and a daughter and they are very fond of their mother. I am fond of their mother myself. And I don't think Maria would have married me. She liked her privacy. I bought a houseboat for her because she liked being on the water. At that time her boat was the only one in that part of the Schinkel River. There are a lot of boats around her now and I often suggested that she should move but she got used to living there."
"If she was your mistress living on your boat I presume that you were sending her a monthly check."
"I was," Drachtsma said.
"Did you know that she had other lovers?"
"Yes. I didn't mind. I always telephoned before I came to see her and she would telephone me at my office."
"I hope you don't mind my saying so," the commissaris said gently, "but you don't seem upset at her death."
There was no answer.
"You don't mind that she is dead?"
"It is a fact now, isn't it?" Drachtsma asked. "I can't change it. Everything comes to an end."
The blunt statement took some wind out of the commissaris' sails and it was a little while before the conversation found its course again.
"The knife," the commissaris said, "worries me. I have it here, let me show it to you."
Drachtsma handled the knife." A fighting knife," he said thoughtfully.
"Do you know what sort of a knife it is?" Grijpstra asked suddenly.
Drachtsma turned and looked Grijpstra in the eyes. "Yes," he said, "it is a British commando knife."
"Very few people would know how to throw such a knife, I think," the commissaris said hesitantly.
"I think I can throw it," Drachtsma said. "We were trained with knives like this during the war. I had one when I landed in France and I killed a German with it."
"Would you know anyone who knew Mrs. van Buren and who could throw a knife like that?"
"No," Drachtsma said. "With the exception of myself," he added almost immediately.
"Would you know anyone who wanted her dead?"
"No," Drachtsma said again. "I don't think she had any enemies, and her lovers weren't jealous. I think she had only three, including myself, and one of them I know personally, an American colonel called Stewart. The other man is a Belgian. I have met him at a party but only for a few seconds; he seemed a very careful polished type, not at all the sort of man who would throw a knife into a woman's back."
"We have already questioned the two gentlemen," the commissaris said.
"I suppose they both have alibis?"
The commissaris ignored the question. "Just one more thing, Mr. Drachtsma," he said, "would you mind telling us how much you paid Mrs. van Buren?"
"Twenty-five thousand a year," Drachtsma said. "I was going to pay her a little more because of inflation. She never asked for money."
"Any extras?"
"Yes, I have bought her some jewelry and clothes and twice a year I would give her a ticket to . Her parents live near Willemstad."
"Did you ever go with her?"
"I have little time," Drachtsma said. "The only island I really like is Schiermonnikoog."
"Thank you," the commissaris said, and briskly rubbed his hands. "The final question: we found that Mrs. van Buren was interested in plants and herbs. I wonder if…" He didn't finish the question.
"Plants," Drachtsma said, and began to laugh. "Yes, I know about her plants. She always took me to special little shops where medicinal herbs are sold and she used to read a lot about her weeds as well. It was a source of irritation to me for often she would talk about herbs all night, and I didn't visit her to hear about herbs. We had a few fights about it and I have threatened to leave her if she wouldn't give up her silly witchcraft, but it was an empty statement, I don't think she would have cared if I had left her. She was a strong woman."
"A strong woman who got killed," the commissaris said. "Thank you, Mr. Drachtsma, I hope we won't have to bother you again."
"I don't think anybody could rattle fern," Grijpstra said after Mr. Drachtsma had left.
"We'll see," the commissaris said quietly. "He is a Frisian, and Frisians have strong heads. And he isn't the only Frisian in the world. Weren't you born in the North, Grijpstra?"