"I was, sir, in Harlingen."
"I was born in Franeker," the commissaris said.
"One should never underestimate the provincials," de Gier said.
7
"Go on, hit him!" Grijpstra said.
De Gier stepped back, coolly eyed his opponent, and hit him. He rubbed his hand while the coffee machine obediently released a paper cup which had got stuck somewhere in its mysterious insides and filled it with a foaming thick liquid.
"Now it hasn't got enough water," Grijpstra said disgustedly. "Why can't we have a proper canteen like the one we used to have, with a nice elderly sergeant behind the bar who would forget to ask you for money sometimes?"
"We have run out of nice elderly sergeants," de Gier said. Grijpstra poured the contents of his paper cup into the plastic waste basket and began to look through his pockets.
"I have run out of cigarettes."
There's another machine," de Gier said. "Put two guilders into it and push the button of your choice."
Grijpstra snarled at the machine. "No," he said. "I did it yesterday and it ate my two guilders and gave me nothing."
"You should have looked for the man; he has a key."
"The man," Grijpstra said. "What man?"
"The little fellow with the goat beard and the gray dustcoat. He is always scuttling about in the corridors."
"Not when / need him. I am going out to the shop. What shall we do while we wait for our friend Holman? We have more than an hour."
De Gier was combing his curls and observing his face in a mirror. He didn't answer.
"Beautiful man," Grijpstra said. "I am talking to you. In fact I am asking you a question."
"More than an hour," de Gier repeated, "an hour full of opportunities. An hour which we can use for some real purpose. An hour which is part of today, the most wonderful day of our lives."
"Yes," Grijpstra said. "An hour. What shall we do with it?"
"Have a cigarette," de Gier said.
"Thank you." Grijpstra lit the cigarette, inhaled, and managed a smile. De Gier put his comb back and adjusted his scarf.
"Let's go to my flat," de Gier said. "We can take the car. It'll only take ten minutes. I'll make you some real coffee and put on a record I bought at a sale last week for three guilders. A man playing church music on a recorder."
"Modern church music?" Grijpstra asked. "With drums in it?"
"No," de Gier said.
Grijpstra considered the proposition. He shook his head.
"No," he said, "there isn't enough time. Some other day perhaps. I don't mind listening to church music but if we have to rush out there and rush back we won't have a chance to concentrate. Good music needs concentration. Besides, your cat will get at me again. He got me this morning while you were having your shower. You should give that cat away, you know."
De Gier jumped as if he had been stung. "Why don't you give your wife away?" he asked in a sudden loud voice.
"Nobody wants her," Grijpstra said. "But somebody will want your cat. He is a beautiful animal, I'll say that for him, but I would have loved to wring his splendid neck this morning. You know what he did?"
"I hope he scratched you," de Gier said.
"No. He is more subtle than that. He did a number of things. First he jumped on my lap and growled a little. He has got a lot of teeth and a lot of claws and I didn't know what the growl meant so I just waited. Then he put his snout into my armpit and sniffed. He sniffed for half a minute. It was a very funny feeling."
"Ha," de Gier said. "You were wondering what it would be like to be bitten in the armpit?"
"Exactly. I am sure Oliver wanted me to wonder about that. He likes to create a sensation. Why did you call him Oliver?"
"That's his name," de Gier said. "Oliver Kwong. He is a pedigreed cat. His father came from the Far East."
"Kwong," Grijpstra said. "I might have known. I suppose old Kwong was owned by a mountain chief who would boil people alive if they didn't kneel down in his presence."
"Go on," de Gier said. "What else did he do?"
"He finally finished sniffing and climbed on my shoulder. Then he jumped into your bookcase and disappeared so I forgot about him until a lot of books dropped on my head."
"Yes," de Gier said, "he does that. He wrings himself through a small hole somewhere and gets behind the books. Then he stretches out to his full length and shoves. He can move as many as twenty books in one shove. He does it to me too and then he looks down and grins."
"You should hit him when he does that."
"No," de Gier said. "I never hit him. I think he is an intelligent cat. I have never heard of cats shoving books onto people. Did he do anything else?"
"Yes," Grijpstra said. "He jumped on that antique cupboard you have and stalked about for a while, pretending he was a tiger, but he annoyed me so I suddenly clapped my hands and yelled and he got a fright and forgot his act. Haha, you should have seen him, he tried to jump in two directions at once and fell off the cupboard. He really fell and he looked bloody silly when he scrambled about on the floor."
"Frightening a poor little animal," de Gier said contemptuously.
"Yes," Grijpstra said. "I frightened him out of his royal wits. About time somebody did."
"He'll bite you next time," de Gier said.
"If he bites me," Grijpstra said solemnly, and patted the large automatic pistol attached to his belt, "I will shoot him right between the eyes."
"If you shoot him," de Gier said solemnly, and patted the small automatic pistol stuck into a shoulder holster, "I will shoot you, right through the heart."
"Yes," Grijpstra said, "let's do that. I hope Sietsema and Geurts will be sent to investigate."
"They'll never catch me," de Gier said.
"Of course they will catch you," Grijpstra said.
They had walked back to their office and were now sitting down, each behind his own gray steel desk.
"They wouldn't, you know," de Gier said.
"You have thought of some brilliant strategy of escape?"
"Yes," de Gier said.
"Would you tell me?"
"Why should I?"
"Because I am your friend," Grijpstra said sweetly.
De Gier nodded. "Yes, you are my friend. I don't believe in friendship because, as Mr. IJsbrand Drachtsma explained this afternoon, nothing lasts and everything comes to an end and is, therefore, illusionary and without any real substance. But, for the time being anyway, you are my friend."
"So tell me how we wouldn't catch you."
"You would be dead," de Gier said.
"Ah, true. How Sietsema and Geurts wouldn't catch you."
"Because I know how the city computer works. I would put on a white coat and mix with the other white coats and press a few buttons and I would have a new name. And then I would hire another flat. And then I would get a job as a trashman and the city would give me one of those clever motorized carrier cycles and a broom and I would be out in the sun all day and loaf a lot and talk to people and I would be happy."
"And we would never spot you?"
"You would be dead," de Gier said reproachfully.
"I keep forgetting. So the police would never spot you?"
"Never," de Gier said.
"They probably wouldn't," Grijpstra said. "Good idea. Thank you."
"You are going to try it out?" de Gier asked.
Grijpstra had picked up his drumsticks and sounded a hesitant roll.
"Good," de Gier said, and took out his flute. They played until the telephone rang.
"Mr. Holman has arrived," Grijpstra said, softly hitting the side of his drum. 'The commissaris is waiting for us; he had him taken to his own room."
"What's all this?" de Gier asked. "I thought we were supposed to work on this case."
"Allow an old man his pleasure," Grijpstra said.
Mr. Holman's hand was flabby and moist but he tried to put some power in his grip. He was putting on a brave show. The commissaris had placed his guest in a low chair and the three policemen were looking down at their victim, who squirmed.