Death of a Hawker (10 page)

"Were you sorry?"

"Yes," Bezuur said and drained the bottle. "I am still sorry. Wrong choice, but there was nothing else to do. There's more money in bulldozers than in colored string."

"You cared about money?"

Bezuur nodded gravely. "I did."

"You still do?"

Bezuur didn't appear to hear.

"One last question." Grijpstra said brightly. "About this party last night. When did it begin and when did it end?"

Bezuur scratched the stubbles on his bloated cheeks. The small eyes looked sly in their greasy sockets. "Alibi, hey? And I don't even know when Abe was killed. Zilver didn't tell me. Party started at about nine in the evening. I can get the girls to testify if you like. I should have their names and phone numbers somewhere."

"Callgirls?"

"Yes. Sure. Whores."

He was looking through the pockets of a jacket which he had taken from the couch. "Here you are, telephone numbers, you can copy them. The names are fancy, of course. Minette and Alice, they call themselves, but they answer their phones if you need them. Better try tomorrow, they'll be asleep now. I had them driven home in a taxi at five o'clock this morning. They had a gallon of champagne each, and another gallon of food."

Grijpstra jotted down the numbers. "Thank you."

"Excuse me, sir," the constable said. He had been standing in the open door for some time.

"Yes, constable?"

"You are wanted on the radio, sir."

"Well, we have finished here, I think," the commissaris said. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Bezuur. Contact me if you think I should know something which you haven't mentioned now. Here is my card. We would like to solve the case."

"I'll let you know," Bezuur said and got up. "God knows I'll be thinking about it all the time. I have done nothing else since Zilver phoned."

"I thought you were having a little party here, sir," Grijpstra said, keeping his voice flat.

"I can think while I have a party," Bezuur said, taking the commissaris' card.

"Another dead body in the Straight Tree Ditch, sir," the female constable from the radio room said. "Water Police found it. It was dangling from a rope tied to a tree, half in the water and partly hidden by a moored boat. The Water Police suggested we should contact you. They had seen the telegrams* reporting the other murder last night. Same area, sir. Sergeant de Gier is there now. He's got Detective-Constable Cardozo with him. They are in their car waiting for instructions. Would you like to speak to them, sir?"

"Put them on," the commissaris said, gloomily looking at the microphone which Grijpstra was holding for him.

"Cardozo here, sir."

"We are on our way to you now," the commissaris said, nodding to the constable at the wheel who started the car. The constable pointed at the roof and raised his eyebrows. "Yes," the commissaris mouthed silently.

The siren began to howl and the blue light flashed as the car shot away. "Anything you can tell us at this stage, Cardozo?"

"Sergeant de Gier knows the dead person, sir. An old man dressed up as a lady. Used to be on the force, sir." Cardozo's voice had gone up, as if he was framing a question.

"Yes, I know her, Cardozo. How did she die?"

"Knife in his back sir. He must have been killed in a public telephone booth here; we found a track. He was dragged across the street and dumped into the canal. The killer used a short rope, strung under the corpse's armpits and attached to an old elm tree. The rope didn't kill him. The knife did."

"Do you have the knife?"

"No, sir. But the doctor said it was a knife wound. Penetrated the heart from the back. A long knife."

"When did she die?"

"Early this morning, sir, the doctor thinks."

"We'll be there soon."

"The Water Police want to have the corpse, sir. Can they take it? It's quiet now but the riots may start any minute again and we are blocking the street with our cars."

"Yes," the commissaris said tiredly, looking at a city bus which was trying to get out of the Citroen's way. The constable at the wheel was attempting to pass the bus and several cars were coming from the opposite direction. The siren was screaming ominously directly above them. The commissaris put a restraining hand on the constable's shoulder and the car slowed down obediently.

"They can have the body, Cardozo. Over and out."

Grijpstra was watching the oncoming traffic too and sighed happily when the Citroen nosed back behind the bus. "Bloody fool," he said to the constable. "What are you trying to do, be a hero?"

The constable didn't hear him. The bus pulled to the side of the road, having finally found a spot free of cyclists, and the Citroen jumped off again, careening wildly.

"Oh, shit," Grijpstra said softly.

"Quite," the commissaris said.

"Pardon, sur?"

That wasn't very clever of me," the commissaris said, "asking that poor old lady to be on the force again. I might as well have shot her on the spot."

The commissaris was leaning back into his seat.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"No," the commissaris said softly, so that de Gier had to bend over to hear him. "It's this pain. It's been with me all day and it isn't getting any better. Riots, you say. The riot police will only make it worse. We don't want a show of force, sergeant."

"No, sir. But what else can we do? They'll be throwing bricks and there are some bulldozers in the Newmarket Square, and cranes and machines. They can destroy a fortune's worth in a few minutes."

"Yes," the commissaris said softly.

A platoon of riot police came tramping past. The commissaris shuddered.

"There they are," de Gier said.

"I hate that sound, tramping boots. We heard it during the war. All the time. A stupid sound. We ought to be more intelligent now."

"Yes, sir," de Gier said. He was watching the commissaris' gray tired face. A spasm moved both cheeks and the commissaris' yellowish teeth were bared for a moment in a grin of agony. "You'd better take him home, constable," de Gier said to the driver. The constable nodded.

"In a minute," the commissaris said. "Tell me what happened, sergeant. Is the corpse still here? Did you manage to organize yourself for tomorrow's marketing?"

"We'll take care of that later today, sir. I was at home when the Water Police telephoned. I came straight out. Cardozo happened to phone as I was leaving, so he came out as well. I have had the corpse moved to the mortuary. There may be street fighting here soon and I didn't want them to trample all over it. Cardozo said that would be O.K. with you. He spoke to you on the radio."

"Yes, yes. Did you find out anything? And have you taken Miss Rogge home?"

"Esther Rogge should be home by now, sir, she caught a bus."

"She stayed at your apartment all night, de Gier?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see. And the corpse, did you get any clues?"

"Just what Cardozo must have told you, sir. A knife killed him. I think he was trying to contact you by telephone, in the booth over there. It must have been early this morning, around four o'clock, the doctor said. Maybe he saw the killer walking about in the street here. Perhaps he thought he was safe, dressed up like an old lady, and all. He got into the telephone booth and got a knife in his back."

"Yes," the commissaris said. "She was trying to telephone me but she didn't get through. Poor Elizabeth. She must have been dialing my number as the killer knifed her. Elizabeth was a 'she,' de Gier, you shouldn't refer to her as a 'he.' She was a nice old lady, and courageous too. I should never have asked her to help us. She should have been in bed last night, with Tabby warming her old feet."

"She wasn't," de Gier said. "She was right here, watching the killer return to the scene of the crime. And I should have been here too. And Grijpstra. She was dragged from that booth to the water; we found blood traces on the cobblestones. The killer had all the time in the world. He didn't just dump the body. If he had it would have floated and somebody would have found it almost immediately. He tied it up with a bit of string. It's amazing the Water Police found it so quickly. It was welt hidden between the quay and the houseboat over there."

"So you didn't notice anything special, did you? Apart from the blood traces?"

"Yes, sir. The knots in the string. They were professional knots, made by a sailor or an experienced fisherman. Which reminds me, sir..."

"Yes?"

"I think I know a little more about the spiked rubber ball which killed Abe Rogge."

Tell me."

"I saw some kids playing with a ball attached to an elastic string once, sir. The string was held by a weight placed on the street. I think the ball which killed Rogge was attached to a string too. The killer pulled it back afterward, which explains why we didn't find it. And I think the killer wasn't in the street; he was on the roof of the old houseboat moored opposite the Rogges' house. Perhaps he had hidden himself behind the chimney. You can see it over there, sir." De Gier pointed to the other side of the Straight Tree Ditch.

"Yes," the commissaris said. "So the riot police in the street didn't see him maybe. That's what you mean, don't you? But there were riot police patrolling this side of the canal too. Shouldn't they have seen him?"

"He must have been quick, sir. Hid himself in the houseboat, sneaked through one of its windows at the right moment, threw the ball, pulled it back, sneaked back into the boat's window and disappeared later when the constables were at the other end of the street. They would have let him through easily enough. He probably looked like an ordinary citizen and they wouldn't have thought that he was a rioter. I think they took him for someone who lived in the street and who had come out to do a little shopping or go somewhere."

The killer could have been a woman," the commissaris said. "Abe Rogge had a lot of girlfriends. A jealous woman or a humiliated woman. I am supposed to see two of them today. You gave me the names and addresses, remember? I am sure they are both young and strong and capable of throwing balls."

De Gier shook his head.

"You don't think the killer might have been a woman, sergeant?"

"Could be, sir, why not? But I can't understand the deadly aim of the ball. Even from the roof of that houseboat there's quite a distance to cover and the ball hit Rogge smack in the face. Now if the ball had been shot... I think we are dealing with a hellish machine, sir.''

The commissaris grimaced.

"Well, it could be, couldn't it sir?"

The commissaris nodded.

"But a machine which throws or shoots a ball makes a sound. Or would it have used a spring perhaps? A crossbow maybe? But then there is still some sort of twang. A loud sound, I would say. The patrolling constables should have heard it."

"A person on the roof of a houseboat handling some strange noisy device while riot police are close..." The commissaris' voice sounded doubtful.

"Perhaps not," de Gier agreed.

"But I agree with your thought of the ball being connected to string, elastic or otherwise," the commissaris said. "Very clever to think of that, sergeant. You started off right, all you have to do now is continue your line of reasoning. I'll help. And so should Grijpstra and Cardozo. It's probably quite simple. Everything is simple once you understand it." He grimaced again.

"Something funny, sir?"

The commissans groaned and robbed his thighs. "Yes. I was thinking of something which happened die other day. My wife bought a newfangled type of folding chair and brought it home. She had forgotten how it worked and I fussed with it for a while but it only squeezed my hand. Then the neighbor's daughter came in. She is retarded but her lack of brain didn't stop her from having a go at the damned chair and she had it standing up in no time at all. I asked her to show me how she had done it but she didn't know. Evidently she could only solve a problem very quickly, without thinking about it."

"You think this killing device is like your folding chair, sir?"

"Perhaps," the commissaris said. "Maybe we should just concentrate on the problem and the solution will pop up. Thinking might take too long. We haven't got much time."

"Yes," de Gier said. "You are looking ill, sir, shouldn't you go home?"

"I'll go home now. I want you to check out two women sometime this afternoon or tonight. Grijpstra has their names and telephone numbers. They are call-girls and they were with Klaas Bezuur from about nine o'clock last night till about five o'clock this morning. Grijpstraf

Grijpstra came ambling up.

"Sir?"

"I am going home for a while, I don't feel so well. Telephone the two ladies we are supposed to see today; set up appointments for late this afternoon or this evening. Once you have set up the appointments you can contact my driver and he'll pick you up and then you can come fetch me. It would be best if one of the girls is available before dinner and the other after dinner. That way you and I can eat together sometime. I want to make up for calling you out today."

Grijpstra brought out his notebook and wrote down the names and addresses of the two girls.

"Yes, sir. They used to be Mr. Rogge's girlfriends, right, sir?"

"Right."

"Constable," the commissaris shouted.

"Sir."

"Home," the commissaris whispered. It was all he could say. He was almost fainting with pain.

Grijpstra found de Gier contemplating a tree trunk. The lithe body of the sergeant swayed slightly as he stood, hands folded on his back, staring moodily at the elm's green bark.

Cardozo was watching the sergeant too. "Don't disturb him," Cardozo said, holding Grijpstra back. "He is busy. He is swaying. Look."

"So he is," the adjutant said.

"He isn't Jewish, is he?" Cardozo asked.

"Not that I know of," Grijpstra said. "Although, yes, I think he told me once that he has a Jewish grandmother."

"You see," Cardozo said. "He is Jewish. If his grandmother was Jewish his mother was too and that makes him a Jew. It goes via the female line, very wisely. Nobody ever knows who his father was but you can be sure about your mother. And Jews sway, they always sway. When they have a problem, that is, or when they are concentrating on something. They do it during prayer. Back and forth, back and forth. The Spanish Inquisition used to catch us because we swayed. We couldn't help ourselves. And they'd burn us. A strange habit, isn't it?"

"No," Grijpstra said. "The sergeant is an ordinary man, like me. He is swaying because he feels like swaying. Not because he has Jewish blood. Maybe he hasn't got any, maybe somebody else told me he had a Jewish grandmother."

"Holland had only one philosopher," Cardozo said, speaking very slowly, articulating every syllable. "Spinoza. He was a Jew and he didn't even write in Dutch, he wrote in Latin."

"Why didn't he write in Dutch?"

"He couldn't do it. Have you ever tried to express subtle thoughts in Dutch?"

"I never have subtle thoughts," Grijpstra said, "but it's about time we had some."

"Yes," de Gier said and stopped swaying. "You'd better do something for a change, Cardozo, instead of proving the superiority of your race. The commissaris wants you to help me. Listen."

He explained his theory about the weapon.

"A ball and an elastic thread," Cardozo said. "Yes."

"So how did it manage to hit Rogge square in the face, from that distance?"

Cardozo folded his hands on his back, closed his eyes and began to sway. After a while he opened his eyes again.

"I'll tell you, sergeant, when I know. It'll come to me. But not when you rush me."

"Bah," de Gier said. He remembered how he had helped the Water Police constables to haul the old lady's soggy corpse from the canal. He also remembered the expression on the corpse's face. She had been killed while she was trying to pass on some information. The face had looked eager, and also rather sweet. She had been about to speak to the commissaris, her old and close friend. She had looked coy. Coy and eager.

Grijpstra's hand was on the sergeant's shoulder.

"Let's go," Grijpstra said. "You and I have things to do. You have to check out two whores and I have to telephone some nice ladies. But we have a little time. Stop looking at that tree, it has nothing to say to you. Fancy tying a corpse to a tree and then throwing it into the water. I am going to have a drink, care to join me?"

"Can I come too?" Cardozo asked.

"No. You are too young. We are going to visit a friend of mine and you won't be able to work once you have seen her. You need your strength for tomorrow. Aren't you two going to be street sellers tomorrow?"

"Then de Gier can't go either," Cardozo said. "He'll also be a street seller."

"You're right," Grijpstra said. "I'll go alone."

"Nellie?" de Gier said.

"Yes," Grijpstra was grinning. "I'll go and see her by myself. She'll change my mood. Some day this is. Another corpse. Two corpses too many. Amsterdam is a quiet city. Holland has the lowest crime rate in the world. You went to that lecture too, didn't you? That slob should be with us now. Silly bald-headed dwarf. I can't stand criminologists. Statistics, that's all they know. When that kid got raped and slaughtered last year he said that the percentage of children killed by rapists is so low that it is almost negligible. You remember what the boy looked like when he was found?"

"According to statistics we'll have another five corpses this year," Cardozo said. "There's nothing we can do about it. They'll happen."

"The hell with you both," Grijpstra said and stamped off.

De Gier ran after him.

"Hey," Cardozo shouted.

"He's not going to drink by himself," de Gier shouted back. "Come and pick me up tomorrow at eight-thirty, and make sure that van is in order and that you have the merchandise."