The Rattle-Rat (4 page)

The pilot saluted. De Gier was outside already, and caught his tumbling superior. The helicopter wafted away and pointed its round nose southward.

Grijpstra expressed his liberation in a short series of jubilant curses.

"Weren't we in a hurry?" de Gier asked. "You kept saying that, and I passed the message to the goddess on the bike to make her believe in our haste. If she hadn't, we would have a ticket now, and three times the maximum legal speed is an inexcusability that will even drag you into jail. You would have lost your license. Ever met an adjutant-detective without wheels? I saved you again."

They were on a meadow, at the center of a circling flock of sheep. One sheep was male, and was even now veering off to attack. "Shoo!" Grijpstra yelled. The ram didn't listen. He was in charge of the meadow and aware of an opportunity to show off to his wives. Horns lowered, the ram chose Grijpstra for his target. "Help!" Grijpstra yelled.

De Gier helped. He jumped the ram from the side, pulled a front and a hind leg, and rolled smoothly over the enemy, holding him down.

Grijpstra climbed a fence, groaning. De Gier jumped the fence after him, one leg forward, one leg to the rear, arms stretched, head straight.

"And now?" Grijpstra asked.

De Gier pointed at a State Police sign displayed under two lime trees that had grown into each other, their branches cut artfully into a raised square, shielding a low building. Grijpstra gathered his thoughts, straightened his bulk, stepped through the door, and beckoned the sergeant to follow.

A corporal welcomed his colleagues from the south. Grijpstra stated the purpose of his visit.

"Are you in charge here?" de Gier asked.

"Lieutenant Sudema is in charge, but the lieutenant has the day off."

"So you're in charge."

The corporal wasn't sure. He left a message on the telephone's tape recorder and invited his guests to join him in his Land Rover. He locked the station's door. The journey took them to a greenhouse. A tall man in faded overalls was packing large tomatoes in small plastic boxes. "Lieutenant Sudema," the corporal said.

Grijpstra explained his presence.

The lieutenant filled another three boxes. "Douwe Scherjoen?"

"Yes."

"Our Douwe. In an Amsterdam dory? Shot and burned?"

"His skull looked at me," de Gier said. He curled his fingers around his eyes and dropped his head a little. "Like this, but worse, of course, for he was staring at me from some distance."

"Subject wasn't known to us," Grijpstra said. "Do you have something on subject here?"

The lieutenant stacked his boxes. "Mrs. Scherjoen is a good friend of my wife, Gyske. The tax detectives have been after Douwe for a while; they were about to bring charges, and if they had, he might have been in serious trouble."

"Do you personally know the tax detectives who are working on subject's case?"

"Please," Lieutenant Sudema said. His long dark eyelashes flicked up, and cold light flashed from his steely blue eyes. "Please. I don't want to know them."

"Was Mr. Scherjoen hiding income?"

"You understate," Lieutenant Sudema said. He guided his visitors to two chestnut trees behind the greenhouse. A small house was hidden under the trees. Gyske Sudema poured tea in the house while the lieutenant changed into a spotless uniform. Gyske was tight underneath, in leather pants, and well-filled above, in a taut white blouse. Her face was noble and her eyes sedate. De Gier was much impressed. So it was true about the beauty of Frisian women; he had heard tales, but then he had heard a lot of things.

"Our Douwe is
deaV
Gyske whispered in sorrow.

"So we may assume," Grijpstra said, and explained about the orl and the expensive teeth. De Gier wanted to comfort Gyske and tried to prove that nothing can ever be proved conclusively, that there might be an incorrect turn of deduction somewhere, that what seemed to have happened might be altogether off.
"Dea
or not
deaV
Gyske Sudema asked.

"Dea"
said de Gier.

Gyske's sadness became anger. 'They can have the
sjoelke.
Douwe is a
snyunt"

"Who?" asked Grijpstra, suddenly aware of possible suspicion.
"Who
can have our Douwe?"

She pointed to the floor. "The
Helliche duvels"

"Oh, those," Grijpstra said.

Gyske talked on for a while.

"Mrs. Sudema," Grijpstra asked, "what are you saying?"

Gyske switched into Dutch. "I'm saying that Douwe was no good. He was a chauvinist, too. I won't miss our Douwe." Tears ran down Gyske's high cheekbones. "Now Mem will be free."

"Mem?"

"Mem
means 'mother,'" Lieutenant Sudema said. "Mrs. Scherjoen's first name is really Krista, but she's rather motherly, you see, so everybody calls her Mem."

"Krista, as in female 'Christ'?" de Gier asked.

"Yes," Gyske said. "Christ suffered too, to redeem the sins of all of us. Mem suffered to redeem Douwe. Same thing. Douwe was as bad as all of us together."

"Douwe is
dea,"
de Gier said, glad that he could comfort the young woman after all. Gyske looked unsure. "Is Douwe punished now?"

De Gier wasn't certain. "Is death a punishment?" He tried his best smile. "But he has been taken away from us; death did remove the subject. If the subject was bad, the removal would be all to the good."

"Douwe has to be punished," insisted Gyske.

"I wouldn't know," de Gier said. "Do you? What denomination do you belong to, ma'am?"

Gyske was Dutch Reformed. "And you?"

De Gier was nothing. "Of nothing," he added as clarification.

Lieutenant Sudema fastened his belt and arranged his pistol. In his uniform he was even more handsome.

"On foot, by bicycle, or by car?" the lieutenant asked. "Would you prefer to walk? A quarter of an hour? We can talk on the way. The Scherjoens live in a stately mansion just outside the village, on the most magnificent estate of the region. The
landhûs
dates back centuries."

Lieutenant Sudema marched next to de Gier. Both were equally tall. Grijpstra ran after them, an unacceptable situation. He pushed between the two men. "What is a
sjoelke?"
"An asshole," the lieutenant said. "A grabber for himself. One who never thinks of others. A sour self-spoiler. A
sjoelke
is a
smjunt."

De Gier looked up at the splendor of elm trees that protected the path. He pointed out a variety of natural beauty. "Great land you have here."

"Over there is a forest of beeches," Lieutenant Sudema said. "Douwe wanted to cut the trees down. He had no need of beauty. Look there, see that oak on the meadow? That oak is dead, the cows have been ripping the bark. When there's a tree in a meadow, we take the trouble to protect it with a little fence; too much trouble for Douwe."

Grijpstra admired a cluster of hawthorns and a moat in the shadow of alders. "Why cut beeches? Don't they hold the silence? Isn't silence healthy for the mind?"

"You know what a foot of beech board sells for?" the lieutenant asked. "Beeches are thousand-guilder notes."

"A little grabby?" asked de Gier. "Our Douwe?"

"To him it was all green," Lieutenant Sudema said sadly. "But he preferred the green of money." He grinned ferociously at his joke.

"The tax detectives," Grijpstra said brightly, for he was now enjoying the walk; his slow-moving weight kept the others back. "Did they come up with some proof of evasion?"

"Not yet," the lieutenant said. "Good for Douwe."

"You've changed sides?" asked de Gier.

"Tax"—the lieutenant spat the word—"is even worse than Douwe. I don't wish tax-hounds on the worst of us." He shivered. "The country's curse."

"Right you are," said de Gier. "They clip my wages. Forty percent it was, last month." He shook a fist. "Must I be punished because I work? Must lazy officials in The Hague fatten on the spoils of my labor? Is it my fault that bums on welfare sneer at me through cafe windows while they swill beer at my expense?"

"You must be Frisian," the lieutenant said with pleasure.

"I'm
Frisian," Grijpstra said. "He's a mere Dutchman. I'm in charge of this case. He's a mere tourist."

"We detest taxes here," Lieutenant Sudema said, "and we always have. We prefer to be free of the greed of others. We pay for the foolishness of the other provinces. Are they ever grateful? Sales tax! Bah! Ever try to buy a tomato in a store? I exchange mine; barter is the only decent commerce. I swap my tomatoes for sole. My brother fishes from Midlum. We keep our profits here.
Gjin
sales tax,
nit
income tax." He blew a bubble of spittle.

"I really like your language," said de Gier. "So you
nit
like us?"

"Dutchmen have to be about, too," the lieutenant admitted, "but not at our cost."

The sheep that had been running along with them on the other side of the moat had reached a fenced bridge and now pointed their long snouts through its boards. Grijpstra touched one of the woolly faces but pulled his hand back when a coarse tongue licked his fingers. "Filthy beast."

"Do they belong to Douwe?" de Gier asked.

"Douwe dealt in sheep," the lieutenant said. "He used to export cows, but all cows are registered now by computers. Sheep can't be identified, they look too much alike."

"Good mid dei, Mem"
the lieutenant said.

The woman tried to smile. "You bring bad news, don't you, Sjurd?" Her wooden clogs scratched across the gravel as she moved away from the three men; the rake fell from her hand.

De Gier picked up the rake. Grijpstra introduced himself and the sergeant. Mem didn't see their outstretched hands. She pushed silver hairs away from her forehead as her light brown eyes receded between tightening wrinkles. Her gnarled hands plucked at her coarse skirt. "Is Douwe
deal"

"Perhaps," Lieutenant Sudema said, but his head nodded.

De Gier produced his handkerchief, but Mrs. Scherjoen didn't cry.

"Colleagues from Amsterdam," the lieutenant said.

She took them inside and offered them coffee poured from a jug that had been waiting on the stove. The kitchen was spotlessly clean under low, blackened beams. "Mind your head," Mem said, but it was too late. De Gier robbed his curls. "Did you hurt yourself?" Mem asked softly.

"No ma'am. You have children?"

She poured coffee. "No."

She lifted the lid of a cookie jar. "How did it happen?"

"A shot," Grijpstra said. "So we think. It didn't show too well."

Mem didn't understand.

"He was burned too," Grijpstra said, lowering his voice, smiling his apology sadly. Lieutenant Sudema touched Mrs. Scherjoen's shoulder. "Mem," the lieutenant said, "we're sorry, Mem."

"The
duvel,"
Mrs. Scherjoen said, "he's got him now. Douwe was always frightened of fire. He dreamed about flames that came to take him. I had to wake him up then and make him turn over, but the flames would return and he'd yell and yell. He was afraid of the devil."

Lieutenant Sudema coughed. "Yes."

"Thank you for the coffee," Grijpstra said from the door. "We'll come back another time—tomorrow, will that suit you? We have a few questions."

"Gyske'U be along soon," the lieutenant said. Mrs. Scherjoen didn't hear him. Sudema got up and walked over to Grijpstra. "I'd better stay. Could you tell Gyske to hurry over? I'll join you as soon as I can, in the café perhaps. My corporal will take you there, you must be hungry."

Grijpstra and de Gier walked back to the village.

"Even here," Grijpstra said, waving an arm. "How can that be? Within the peace of unspoiled nature?"

"Even here, what?"

"The
duvel
,"
Grypstra said. "And a marriage that was no good. Couldn't Scherjoen be nice to his wife? She's a great person, it seems to me."

De Gier studied wildflowers growing at the side of the moat.

"I was nice to my wife," Grijpstra said. "In many marriages, at least one partner is good. She released me. Douwe could have given Mem her freedom. The bad side lets the good side go."

De Gier ambled on.

"Hey," Grijpstra said.

"I'm confused," de Gier said. "Your comparison isn't clear. You mean you're a good side?"

"Aren't I?"

"Let's do some work," de Gier said.

"You work," Grijpstra said. "I'll enjoy the walk."

"I thought I was just going to be company."

"You're here," Grijpstra said. "You can talk to me."

"Right," de Gier said. "Douwe Scherjoen was no good. A selfish grabber. Bought and sold for cash and evaded taxes. Had his good times in Amsterdam while his wife slaved at home. A fortune in his mouth, and his wife is the maid, the gravel raker, the free help in his mansion. Douwe is too much of a skinflint to build a little fence around a glorious oak. But he did know he was bad, for the devil pursued him."