"Adjutant Buisman," the square-looking man said. "Pleased to meet you, sergeant. I heard some stories about you when Grijpstra spent his holiday here."
"What sort of stories?"
"Good stories," Grijpstra said. "You can join us if you promise not to tear the felt, and you have to chalk the cue before you play."
"All right," de Gier said, "is it my turn now?"
"Go ahead."
De Gier studied the position of the two white balls and the single red one.
"Which ball?"
"The one closest to you."
It was an easy shot and the two adjutants waited for de Gier to spoil it. De Gier chalked the cue and studied the balls again.
"Go on," Buisman said.
De Gier flicked the cue and his ball shot away, hitting the red ball on the side and the white ball full on. It was a rude shot but he had made a point.
Buisman looked at Grijpstra.
"Good," Grijpstra said, "but you won't make the next one."
The balls were well apart now and de Gier began to chalk his cue again. He would have to work out the right angle and use the table's elastic sides. He tried to remember what he had learned at the police school where one of his friends had always insisted that he should play, refusing to buy him a beer if he didn't, and de Gier had been forced to play more often than he wanted to, for his friend had a good allowance from home.
He played and made another point. Buisman showed his approval by stamping his cue on the floor, and ordering three glasses of old cold jenever. De Gier made a third point and a fourth, and Grijpstra began to sweat but then he missed.
"Not bad," Grijpstra said. "I thought you hated all sports except judo?"
"Ach," de Gier mumbled modestly, "it's all a matter of concentration, isn't it?" but he shouldn't have said it. He managed only the easy shots after that and Grijpstra patted him on the shoulder. "Beginner's luck, matey."
Adjutant Buisman shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "The sergeant played well, he needs more practice that's all. How long will you be staying?"
"Not long," Grijpstra said, and he explained the purpose of their visit.
"IJsbrand Drachtsma," the adjutant said softly, "well, I never. I know him well, you know. I have been out on his yacht and he comes here to play billiards sometimes and he has been on the police launch with us. He is a big man on the island, he could be the mayor if he wanted to but he's got other things to do, and you think he is involved with your dead lady?"
"She was his mistress," de Gier said.
"Yes, yes," the adjutant said, "he would chase the ladies in Amsterdam, of course; it's another world out there. Here he goes for walks on the beach and sits near the fire with his wife. She knits. I have a scarf she knit. A beautiful fireplace, I have often been to the house."
He was silent for a while. "But he has an alibi you say?"
"Yes," Grijpstra said.
"So what are you bothering about then?"
Grijpstra told him.
The adjutant was shaking his head. "No evidence at all. Not a shred of it, but you have your suspicions. Christ almighty, you really think he would have paid somebody to kill a nice-looking woman?"
"He may have."
"Sure, he may have and he may not have. You are detectives, maybe you know. I don't, we have never had a killing on the island, not even with the tourists around and there are more of them every year. Running over the island like rats over a body-if we don't stop them one day they'll take all the sand home in their shoes-but we haven't had a crime. They mill about, like lunatics. When the moon is full they are worse than ever. We organize games for them, and walks and competitions. We have to keep them busy you know."
De Gier was grinning.
"Yes, you laugh, but this used to be a lovely quiet island, beautiful with the birds and seals. We still have them but it has taken a lot of protection, fences and signs, and we have to patrol the reserves. People don't mean any harm and they are obedient enough if you tell them in a nice way but if you aren't watching them every minute of the day they'll stamp on the last egg and tear out the last flower and then they'll look about and wonder why the place is bare."
"Yes," de Gier said, "I know. We have them milling about Amsterdam every summer."
"They can't pull the buildings apart. Haven't you got any other suspects, without an alibi?"
"We have," Grijpstra said, and he explained the situation but the adjutant kept shaking his head.
"I see what you mean," he said in the end. "He is a strong person, our Dsbrand, and he would be ruthless if somebody went against him. He was a hero during the war I am told, rowed all the way to England and fought his way back, and he is probably as tough as nails in business, but here he is different, very gentle and relaxed. His father was born on the island and I think he considers Schiermonnikoog his real home. He is here most weekends and he doesn't go abroad like other people. When the place gets too full he gets on his yacht, and he has a big garden with a stone wall around it."
"We are not too sure of his alibi," de Gier said. "We have only the word of two German businessmen, and the commissaris spoke to them on the phone."
"The war is over," the adjutant said.
"Sure."
"You can trust the Germans nowadays."
"Sure."
"When did you say the lady was murdered?"
"Saturday a week ago."
"It's Sunday now," the adjutant said. "IJsbrand will be in his villa. He was here last weekend, I remember, I saw him in town in the afternoon, after the ferry left, the last ferry. He couldn't have gone to Amsterdam that evening. There's no way to get off the island, no airport, nothing."
"His yacht?" Grijpstra asked. "Surely the yacht is fast, it could get to the coast as quick as the ferry, and it only takes two hours in a fast car to Amsterdam. He has a fast car, a Citroen. He could have been back in his villa the same evening."
"Yes," the adjutant said, "but I think the yacht was here. I'll have to ask my colleague, he was out in the launch that evening. It was a nice night I remember, he often goes out, just for the fun of it. But Drachtsma could have used another boat, of course. There are a lot of boats in the harbor and anybody would lend him a boat if he asked for it."
"Maybe he didn't ask," de Gier said. "If he knew the boats he could have used one and the owner would never know."
Adjutant Buisman thought for a while. "He could have. But these German chaps say they spent the evening at his house and he was there with them. Your commissaris will have their names and addresses and he has probably asked the German police to check. Contacts with the foreign police are good nowadays, they tell me."
"Yes," Grijpstra said.
Buisman ordered another round and they drank for a while and smacked their lips and looked at each other.
"Suppose he did send a man to do the job for him, how will you go about proving it? You would have to find the man, wouldn't you?"
"He might be from the island, an old friend from the war days perhaps, somebody who could use a lot of money or somebody who admired him."
"Ah," Buisman said. "The knife. A fighting knife it was, a soldier's knife, and it was thrown. I could find out who knows how to throw a knife. I wouldn't know offhand. The rangers of the reserves have knives but they wouldn't throw them, and we have knives, we are often on the sea and a knife is always handy in a boat."
"'We, the police,' you mean?" de Gier asked.
"No," Buisman laughed. "I mean "we, the people who sail boats.' I have a sailing boat of my own, you know."