The Rattle-Rat (8 page)

"So Scherjoen bought the ninety-one sheep and sold them to the Middle East?"

"For cash," de Gier said. "Cash isn't registered either."

Cardozo blew the remnants of his influenza into his handkerchief and smiled at the sergeant. 'That's where I caught on. There are ships moored in the Inner Harbor here. Scher-joen pushed a thousand unregistered sheep onto a ship. What's the price of a sheep?"

"Three hundred guilders."*

That's a three-hundred thousand-guilder load. To be paid for in cash. Now the Moroccan, a buyer, doesn't pay. There are no invoices, no bills of lading, no proof of any sort. The Moroccan says he has paid already. Scherjoen loses his temper. The Moroccan loses his temper too. He whips out a gun. Bang. No more Scherjoen asking for money. The Moroccan, a dangerous Arabian freedom fighter, isn't satisfied yet and burns Scherjoen's corpse. Oh, they're wicked in the Middle East. Beirut!"

*One guilder is equal to about thirty cents in U.S. currency.

The phone rang. "For you," the commissaris said.

"Jane?" de Gier asked. "The Volkswagen is repaired? You arranged it not for me, but because you serve the Service? You're such a wonderful woman, Jane. No? Well, I think you are." He observed the buzzing phone. He put it down.

"Something is bothering Jane," Cardozo said. "She's making everybody nervous. Some dissatisfied vibration oozes out of her and puts the colleagues on edge. Do you have plans with her or don't you?"

"I never have any plans," de Gier said. "Things just happen to me in spite of my defenses, or not, as in the case of Jane."

"I'll be looking for a Moroccan sheik," Cardozo said. "And once I have a photograph of Scherjoen, I could show it around along Prince Henry Quay. The woman in the health-food store recognized him as some sort of farmer, and others must have seen him too."

"You do that," de Gier said. "That'll keep you out of trouble."

"Will you get me a photo?" Cardozo asked. "Of Douwe? Please?"

"Ah," the commissaris said, "I keep forgetting to tell you, Sergeant. Tell Grypstra that the chief constable here gave permission for you two to operate in Friesland, but you can't declare costs. The administration is tightening up. Since you have to eat anyway, you pay for your own meals, and any extras are at your own expense too."

"The photo," Cardozo said.

"Theoretically you couldn't even take the Volkswagen," the commissaris said, "but the vehicle was written off a long time ago and is no longer recognized by the administration, so take it along."

"That's understood, sir."

"I won't be declaring costs, either," the commissaris said.
"I haven't declared anything for a while. Officers of my rank are considered to be a useless weight these days."

"But you will be around?"

"Of course," the commissaris said. "As a Frisian, I'm supporting the cause. I was born in Joure. A good opportunity to return to the land of my birth. What matters these days is to be able to combine circumstances in a propitious manner. I'm supposed to be home at night, so I can drive up and down the dike."

"Living well is the best revenge," de Gier said.

"You want to get even?"

"Me?" de Gier asked.

"You're not in this," Cardozo interrupted. "I am. I'll be
doing something. I'll be doing something now. Don't forget the photo."

"I'll be going now," de Gier said.

"I'll be going later," the commissaris said, "once the Frisian authorities have contacted this office."

"A truly splendid country, sir," de Gier said. "I kept meeting
you out there. You have something that I thought to be quite rare, but in your country it is offered from all sides."

"What something, Sergeant?"

"It's all so
oars"
de Gier said. "Beg pardon, that's Frisian, sir. So
otherwise,
I meant to say. How shall I express that exotic feeling?"

The commissaris pointed at the books under de Gier's arm. "You really managed to make sense of Frisian literature?"

"I did."

"Read me a little."

De Gier opened the novel and cleared his throat. "Are
you ready?"

"Go ahead."

"Female thought, sir, thought by a certain Martha."

"Go ahead, Sergeant."

De Gier read in Frisian. "'I have to go to the bathroom now/"

"Translate."

De Gier translated.

"A deep thought," the commissaris said. "And well expressed. Very different. Exceptional, are they?"

De Gier looked for a better quote.

"Never mind," the commissaris said. "Go join Grijpstra, he'll be needing the car. I'm quite sure he won't be needing
you"

\\\\\ 7 /////

D
E GIER RANG THE DOORBELL. A MAN OPENED THE DOOR.
He wore a fisherman's jersey that followed his ample belly along a wide curve, and he had tied a bright red bandanna around his neck. A flat fanner's cap sat on his head.

"Is it you?" de Gier asked.

"It is," said Grijpstra. "How do you like me in Frisian?"

"Yes," de Gier said. "Are you living here?"

"You are too," Grijpstra said, "for you will be staying
with me. Do try to be tidy, for it's most kind of Adjutant Oppenhuyzen to let us live here for free. He forgot Eddy.
Mrs. Oppenhuyzen just telephoned about Eddy."

De Gier walked into a long corridor. "How police-like to forget your own son. Confirms my theory. Police-people do not function well within normal society. They therefore allow themselves to be cast out. Once they're cast out, they turn on society. The police are criminal in essence."

"Not his son," Grypstra said. "His rat. The rat lives upstairs, I haven't seen him yet. Let's go look together.
You'll have to take care of Eddy."

"A pet rat?" de Gier asked. "My hypothesis stands confirmed. Only the perverted will pet a rat. Cast out because of perversion, the policeman attacks the society in which he does not fit."

"Don't carry on so," Grijpstra said, dragging his feet on the staircase. "The adjutant was ill. Something wrong with his face. He kept grabbing at his cheeks. His wife was all worried. They suddenly had to move to their summer house, and they had to get everything together in a rush; surely the circumstances permitted forgetting a mere rat."

De Gier wandered in and out of rooms. 'Too many roses
on the wallpaper, and I don't care for the furniture either.
Bought at sales throughout the centuries. Can we get rid of it? Stack it in the garage? Okay if I whitewash the walls?
This jumble of colors should be an insult to your painter's perception. Where is this rat?"

"Here," Grijpstra said. "In the terrarium. By the way, he lives on a diet of Frisian cheese. Adjutant Oppenhuyzen has already phoned me twice. He left a pound of cheese. You think he got away?"

De Gier studied more wallpaper.

"In the sawdust?" Grijpstra asked, lifting the glass top of the terrarium and digging about with his finger. "Hey!" He jumped back.

A white pointed snout protruded from the sawdust. Red eyes peered out shyly. Long yellow protruding teeth extended beyond a receding bald chin. Ragged mustache hairs trembled. "And we've got to hold that?" Grypstra asked nervously.

"Hi, Eddy," de Gier said.

"Got to hold him once in a while. Mrs. Oppenhuyzen's instructions. Put the top down." Grijpstra's voice broke into a squeak.

The rat rattled.

De Gier lifted Eddy from the terrarium, turned him over, and held his ear to Eddy's belly. "He must be hungry."

"Let go of that beast," Grypstra said. "I don't want to
engage in a relationship with a rattle-rat. I'll make a phone call. The Oppenhuyzens are in Engwierum. Has to be around here somewhere. Drop the rat and cover the terrarium. They'll have to pick him up."

"It's hunger that makes him rattle. Here, listen for yourself." De Gier held Eddy close to Grijpstra's ear. Grijpstra backed up against the wall. "Nice little animal," de Gier said, and buried his nose in Eddy's fur. "You come along with your Uncle Rinus."

Eddy hung over de Gier's flat hand. De Gier carried him downstairs, and together they looked into the refrigerator.
Eddy waited on the table while de Gier sliced the cheese.
"Here you are." Eddy ate. "You see?" de Gier asked. "Ravenous, the poor little sucker."

"You take care of the beast," Grijpstra said. "And of the plants. I've got a list here. All plants are numbered, and each plant has different watering times. The required quantities are listed in cubic centimeters, right here. You have to pour carefully, not slosh the water into the pots; there's a note
to
that effect. The plants marked with an A are fed crystals from this can, and the £'s are fed from the can over there."

"What?" de Gier asked.

"And here are cleaning instructions," Grijpstra said. "What cleaning product does what, and where the containers can be found. And here's some paper for the administration of our expenses. Make careful notes, for we can claim them afterward."

"We can't claim anything," de Gier said, "compliments of the commissaris. New regulations for out-of-town police officers on the job. It doesn't matter where we operate. No declarations."

"What?" Grijpstra asked.

De Gier stroked the rat.

"Leave the varmint alone," Grypstra said. "Rats are loaded with disease. Ah, that's another thing, we've got to wash him too."

"Consider it done." De Gier turned on a faucet. The rat rattled excitedly. "You like that, do you?" De Gier mixed soap suds with hot water in a bowl. "Can you get in by yourself?" Eddy clambered into his bath. His head hung over the edge while de Gier kneaded the wet little body gently. The rat's rattle became louder.

"Now what?" Grijpstra asked. "He just ate a quarterpound of cheese. Hungry again?"

"Limited program," de Gier said. "Probably expressing positive emotion now. Rats can't talk, you know." De Gier dried Eddy with a dishcloth and took him to the living room, where he jumped on the couch.

"Are you going to cook now?" Grijpstra asked. "And do some shopping first?"

"Will you be doing something too?"

Grijpstra prepared for a nap on the couch, after shooing Eddy away. The rat climbed a chair, wrapped his naked tail around his bare feet, and sighed contentedly. The sigh contained a vague shadow of a rattle.

"Rats are supposed to squeak," Grijpstra said.

"Maybe a cold?" de Gier asked. "Cardozo is suffering too. He found Scherjoen's car, a Citroen like the commissaris's, and there was an old-model Mauser in the door pocket, loaded but clean."

Grijpstra opened an eye. "Douwe didn't feel safe?"

"And drove an expensive car," de Gier said. "My conclusions are as limited as yours."

"Let's hear more."

"The car was parked halfway on the pavement. Locked."

"I often park halfway on the pavement," Grypstra said.

"When you're in a hurry?"

"Nah," Grijpstra said. "When I feel like it. Lazy. Don't
feel like parking the vehicle properly between others. Why bother? Nobody bothers in Amsterdam."

De Gier tickled Eddy's head.

"Do hurry up," Grijpstra said. "The stores are about to close."

De Gier came back with canned pea soup, bread, and butter.

Grijpstra opened the door. "I can't sleep with that rat."

They sat at the living room table. Eddy stood on a cushion placed on a chair, so that he could lean his head on the table.

"Can he go home now?" Grijpstra asked. "He's got a home. Take him upstairs."

"No," de Gier said. "Three is a party. Things are looking
up again. I was about to get depressed. On the dike the exhaust fell off the car, and the traffic was clogged up again because of checkpoints stopping trucks suspected of transporting animals carrying the plague."

Grijpstra ladled out thick soup. "So what made the change?"

"Corporal Hilarius," de Gier said. "Remember her? With
the hoarse voice and the golden hair under the orange helmet? She showed up again and guided me through the checkpoints and along to her father in the town of Tzum."

"Tzum," Grijpstra said. His knuckles beat out a rhythm on the tabletop. "Tzam. Tzom." The rhythm sped up, holding several patterns of a fairly complicated beat. De Gier sang and whistled in turn. Eddy's chin trembled as he rattled in the pauses.

"Tzum?" Grijpstra's hands stopped in middair.

"Her father runs a garage and was willing to exchange favors. The exhaust is back on the car again."

"What was your favor?"

"Admiration of his daughter. Some woman, that corporal.
Did you hear her voice, added to a multitude of other charms?"

"That mechanized robot at a hundred and fifty miles an
hour?"

"Okay," de Gier said, "she is that too, but she's mostly beautiful and female. She'll be taking me out later tonight, to a beer house—that's what they call cafes here. I'm sure she's well formed under all that leather." De Gier was quiet, impressed by the memory mixed with fantasy leading, perhaps, to future passion. "Hylkje," de Gier said, "that's her first name. To you, as a Frisian, the name is probably common, but to me the sound is exotic. Exciting too."

"And Jane?"

"She's exciting in Amsterdam, but I'm here."

"You aren't even faithful to your dreams."

"Faithful?" De Gier waved the word away. "Women aren't faithful either. An idea from the past. You're always running up from behind, Adjutant. You really think that the modern solitary female expects her casual male company to be faithful?"

The doorbell rang. Grijpstra struggled up and looked out the window. "A squad car outside. The corporal probably put in a complaint. What did you do to her? Never abuse a colleague."

De Gier opened the door. "Evening, sir."

"Rinus," the commissaris said. "How nice. Once again, together in a foreign country, but this time it's mine. I can show you around. I was born here, in the city of Joure."

"It tibben is hearlik, mynhear."

"What's that?"

"I spoke your language, sir. A sentence from the Frisian novel I'm reading. It says that life is wonderful here."

"Evening, sir," Grijpstra said. "Did you have a good journey? Please don't pay attention to de Gier. Perhaps you'll be good enough to take him with you when you return. Is it true that we can't declare expenses?"

"Where's your car?" de Gier asked, watching the squad car's taillights fade away at the end of the street.

"Lost my way a little," the commissaris said. "You already look like a local, Grijpstra. I got twisted out of my course in the alleys of the inner city here. One-way traffic, mostly.
I did try to adhere to the rules, but the cars kept coming at me from all sides. Couldn't cope with the confusion. And when I parked, that was illegal too. The officers who told me that gave me a ride here."

"Do you remember where you parked?"

The commissaris felt through his pockets. "What did I do with the note? Some narrow street called Cellars or something?
'Above
the Cellars'? Street names are poetic here. I want to see the chief constable at headquarters later, and the officers drew me a little map. Kind of aim out of the city, reach a circular highway, quite complicated. It was all on that little piece of paper. Can't seem to be able to find it now. I wonder if I left it in their car?"

"De Gier will take you," Grypstra said. "And we'll find your car. 'Cellars,' you said?"

"Or was it 'Well'?" the commissaris asked. "A little street called Around the Well? Would that be possible? And I crossed some Gardens too, but they were canals really, with narrow quays on the side, aquatic gardens perhaps? Water lilies? Flowering reeds? I think I noticed plants."

"We'll take care of everything," Grypstra said. "Please come in, sir."

The commissaris looked about him. "Cozy. Too much wallpaper, perhaps? I say, Sergeant, there's a rat on that chair."

De Gier picked up the rat. "The name is Eddy, sir." He turned the rat over. "Cute, don't you think?"

The commissaris scratched Eddy's pale pink skin.

"Put him away," Grypstra said. "He'll be rattling again."

Eddy twisted free, jumped down, and ran to the kitchen. De Gier followed. The commissaris came along. De Gier made coffee while Eddy slurped milk from a jug. "A dairy rat," de Gier said. "Fancies rare cheese too. I'd better wash that jug. So the local chief constable did contact you, sir?"

"And the colonel of the State Police and the major of the
Military Police. General alarm, Sergeant. We'll be seeing some activity here. They'll bring in Arrest Teams from all over. Roadblocks manned by riot police, detectives from the capital dressed up as cattle dealers, and the chief constable himself in charge."

Grypstra had joined them. "Big trouble, sir?"

"There'll even be psychologists to predetermine the subjects' behavior."

"What subjects?" Grijpstra asked.

The commissaris explained about the criminals Ary and Fritz.

•Two lone robbers?" Grijpstra asked. "But that's easy, one just grabs them. And then one takes them to the station."

"That's how it was done in the past," the commissaris said.

"Grab them by the collars," Grijpstra insisted. "Or no, not even that. If suspects are known, they can be picked up at their homes later, when they're drinking beer and watching TV."

"You ever heard about unemployment?" de Gier asked.
"This little job can occupy a hundred police workers. All sorts of specially trained colleagues can be active and under the impression mat they're functioning properly, which will add to their self-respect."

The commissaris looked over his coffee cup. "And Douwe Scherjoen?"

"I," Grijpstra said, "and Lieutenant Sudema of the State Police in the town of Dingjum have constructed a theory. It has to do with sheep, sir."

"And a buyer from Morocco?"

"You were thinking along the same lines?" Grijpstra asked sadly.

"No, no, Adjutant, I'm sorry I interrupted. Sheep, you said?"

"Unregistered sheep, sir. Scherjoen bought them, but he wasn't the only illegal buyer. Scherjoen, being nasty and far too successful, destroyed his competition's chances. He made use of unacceptable tricks. Scherjoen, in league with buyers from the Middle East, managed to monopolize the market.
The other dealers would transport their sheep to Amsterdam and be ready to deliver and the Moroccans or Turks or Arabs or whatnot wouldn't buy all of a sudden. Then Scherjoen bought the sheep at a loss from his colleagues and cashed in from the buyers, paying them kickbacks."