De Gier nodded and produced his pistol. The glass broke with the first tap of its butt.
"Careful now," Grijpstra said. "Last time you climbed through a window you hurt yourself and bled all over your suit."
"I live and learn," de Gier said, and eased his arm through the broken window. The window swung open after a while and de Gier, supported by Grijpstra, climbed through. Within seconds the front door opened.
"You don't want me to come in?" Bart asked.
"No. Wait here. We won't be long. Hell! Watch it."
The cat, which had been with them on the boat's gangplank and had seemed to be eager to get in, had suddenly made an extraordinary sound, a deep yowl ending in a bloodcurdling shriek, and had turned in a flash and rushed off. It stopped at a safe distance and sat down. Its thick furry coat seemed twice its usual size.
Bart was shaking his head. "That's not so good. You better go in and see what's wrong. Something is wrong."
"Yes," Grijpstra said, and pushed his body into movement. He tapped de Gier on the shoulder. De Gier was still watching the cat.
They found nothing in the lower story of the boat. Everything looked in order, a bit dusty possibly. The lady had decorated her home with a strange taste. A strange but expensive taste. Persian carpets, a large stone fireplace. De Gier stopped a second in front of a statue carved out of wood, depicting three female figures standing on top of one another. Their breasts were exaggerated, pointed, with long nipples. The lips were thick and the foreheads low. The three tongues, lolling in three open mouths, had been painted red, and the very white teeth were pointed seashells. An African fertility symbol perhaps, he thought, but there was more than fertility in the three figures. They seemed to radiate some strong power.
There were other statues in the room. On a shelf he saw at least a dozen little men, varying in height from two to six inches. They were African warriors, carrying spears and other weapons. All the little men looked very intent, as if their ferocity was directed at a common goal.
"Me," de Gier thought, "they want me. What the hell do they want me for?"
But he felt comforted immediately. They didn't want just him, they would want anyone who came in their way.
"Nice place," said Grijpstra, who had gone to the next room.
"You think so?" de Gier asked politely.
"Yes," Grijpstra said, looking about him. "Lots of space. Nice comfortable chairs. A man could sit here and read his paper or one of those books and smoke a cigar. Very pleasant. Look at that painting."
De Gier looked. The painting was peaceful, dreamy. A Pierrot and his Columbine strolling through a garden lit by the moon, a pale dark garden. The background of the scene was formed by a line of poplars, bare poplars, so it would be winter. There were some strangely shaped clouds in the metallic blue sky, small clouds with sharp white edges
"You like the painting?" de Gier asked.
"Yes," Grijpstra said, "much better than all that pink flesh you see nowadays. It's very sexy but they are fully clothed. They aren't even holding hands you see, just arm in arm, respectable, pleasant."
"They must have made love to each other in that little summerhouse next to the poplars," de Gier said.
Grijpstra looked at the summerhouse. "Yes," he said slowly. "That's the sexy atmosphere I saw in it. But it's all relaxed now."
"Yes, yes," de Gier said. "How much do you think this place is worth? Complete with all the trimmings I mean."
Grijpstra was still looking at the painting. "That painting is worm about ten guilders," he said, "it's a reproduction. But the frame is worth a few hundred. It's the only cheap item I have seen so far. A reproduction of a painting by Rousseau. Rousseau the customs officer. A chap like me. A government official earning a low salary. I wish I could paint."
"I didn't know you were interested in art," de Gier said. "You can still learn to paint. There are evening classes at the university."
"I know," Grijpstra said. "Maybe when I am pensioned off. I don't know anything about art but I know about this fellow. I read a book on his life and I have seen exhibitions of his work. He is a primitive painter. You want to know how much this place is worth?"
"Yes," de Gier said.
"A lot of money. These leather chairs are worth a few thousand guilder each. There are three of them, and there is a couch. Real leather. The carpet is worth money too. And this boat is about the best houseboat I have ever seen in Amsterdam. Good solid timber, two floors, must be over twenty meters long and over six wide. Two hundred thousand maybe, or more. It's a floating palace."
They had come to the kitchen. De Gier was again impressed. He thought of his own little kitchen, a large cupboard with a mini-refrigerator and two hot plates. He had learned to cook in it with his arms pressed to his chest.
"Nice kitchen, hey?" he asked Grijpstra, who was looking at the gigantic fridge and the automatic stove with its array of switches.
"Some people are really rich," Grijpstra said, "and this is supposed to be a socialist country with die differences becoming smaller all the time. It would be interesting to find out what her source of income is."
"We will," de Gier said, "if anything has happened to her. If not, we won't."
"Maybe she inherited the money," Grijpstra said in a soothing voice.
They climbed the stairs. There was only one large room upstairs, a very large room covering the full length and width of the ship. The end of the staircase was a hole in the floor of this room, fenced off on three sides by a railing supported by carved wooden columns.
They were both careful not to touch anything, de Gier had his hands in his pockets, Grijpstra's hands were folded on his back.
Grijpstra sighed when he saw the woman on the floor. She had collapsed on the thick white carpet. She had fallen forward and they saw the long legs, the short skirt, the white blouse and the flowing black hair spread partly on the carpet, partly on the white blouse.
The blouse had a large red stain and the center of the stain was the brass handle of a knife. Three large blue-bottomed flies were buzzing through the room, their feeding disturbed by the arrival of the detectives. * An island in the North of Holland. 18 square miles, population 900.
2
They looked at the dead woman and were impressed. De Gier was also a little sick. There was a smell, of course, a heavy smell which was turning his stomach. When he walked over to a window he staggered a little. He had to reach through the plants on the windowsill to find the handle of the window. It opened easily. He had remembered to use a handkerchief and to touch the handle at its end only. When he turned around the three fat flies were still buzzing about; there was an angry whine in their buzz. They had been feeding nicely and now there was movement in the room. They wanted to get back to the wound and the thick crusted blood.
"You phone," Grijpstra said hoarsely, and coughed. He had lowered his body into a low chair, close to the corpse. "I'll wait here."
De Gier rushed down the stairs, to the phone which he had seen in the large sitting room downstairs. He reported, put the phone down, and looked through the window. The small square-set figure of Bart de Jong was waiting at the end of the gangplank. He went outside.
"And?" Bart asked.
"I am afraid your neighbor is dead," de Gier said.
Bart said nothing. The beady black eyes showed no expression at all.
"Knife in her back," de Gier said.
Bart shook his head. "Violence," he said slowly, "that's wrong. We shouldn't hurt each other. Not even when we ask for it."
"Was she asking for it?" de Gier said.
Bart nodded.
"Why?"
"You don't know anything about her?" Fart asked.
"No. You tell me. You are her neighbor. Did you know her?"