A Long Silence (3 page)

‘Visitors are always pleasant,' said Van der Valk, ‘you'd like a cigarette?'

‘Yes – no – yes, after all I will. Thanks.'

‘What have you got, a story for me?'

‘I suppose – it's bound to sound silly.'

‘They mostly do,' rattling a matchbox to see whether there was anything inside, ‘at first. Which you bring to me to make it sound less silly; why? – because I'm a policeman?'

‘I suppose so, I don't know. Wanted your opinion, I suppose.'

‘Because I'm no longer an actively employed policeman, was that it? Seemed less compromising somehow?' The boy seemed relieved: yes, that was it.

‘It was because of the television really.'

‘I understand. And you knew where to find me?'

‘Well I asked at the Ministry. They sent me on here.'

‘Bit of detective work?'

The boy grinned.

‘That's right.' Rather rewarding and encouraging, thought Van der Valk. Somebody had been looking at him – somebody had even listened.

It had been decided, nobody knew by whom, that the active members of the Commission should be introduced to the public, as a first step in the education campaign. Result, they were presented on television, safely late at night, with a bland young man to interview them.

‘This evening we have Professor Doctor Bandaid of the Institute of Industrial Psychology in Nijmegen, who has been studying some of the odder ways you and I behave, and he is going to tell us some startling things, which we believe will be having a lot of impact on this world of ours. I ask him to begin by defining some of the basic attitudes he believes we will have to adopt if we are going to be able to control our environment, a word we've heard a lot of lately.'

With just the same patronizingly apologetic patter Van der Valk had been given his turn at ‘speaking the Epilogue'; Tuesday nights after the variety show, when one could feel comfortably assured that ninety-five per cent of the sets had
been switched off at the first syllable. Still, they had all gone through it, shrugging and muttering that after all it wasn't a bad idea they supposed: secret Star Chambers were always a bad thing.

‘With us tonight we have Commissaris van der Valk whose thirty years' experience with the Criminal Brigade has given him we believe an unusual insight into the traumatic perhaps I can use the word contacts of the public with the criminal code of law. An increasing number of us perhaps feel frustrated by what we find an excessive rigidity perhaps in the application of what we might perhaps call a rather anachronistic and um, antiquated apparatus.' The fellow is pleased with his phrase, thought Van der Valk. And he on his cue, bothered by sweating too much, hoping he did not sound condescending, nervous in a grey suit a little too heavy for the overheated studio and an expensive silk tie with little marguerites bought by Arlette.

‘Most policemen,' he began a little hesitantly, ‘are polite, clean, patient, and willing to take trouble. These are not the characteristics of pigs. Plainly this is not enough, since many people are convinced that we are pigs. It is also fair to remark that if one treats people, and policemen are people, as pigs then they begin to behave like pigs. We have therefore two basic proposals from which we must start examining our problem: to educate ourselves, and to educate the public.'

The interviewer was leaning forward with an eager, expectant look, lips slightly parted and eyes shiny, so that Van der Valk feared he was sounding dull and hurried on.

‘Holland is a very law-abiding country. Our rate of serious crime is negligible, our gangsters are simple-minded and pathetic oafs, and we tend to congratulate ourselves that crime belongs in countries like England, France or America. This extreme complacency and self-satisfaction is, simply, catastrophic …'

*

‘Was I very bad?' he asked Arlette anxiously.

‘Not at all, I think. Quite a future as a reforming popu-larizer.'

It wasn't quite the answer he would have liked; her remarks seldom were.

‘I didn't make a fool of myself?'

‘Pas trop.'
Not too much; faint praise.

*

And now this boy coming bumbling into the office with a silly story … But wasn't that what he had meant – a renewal of trust between the police and the public, a renewal of communication. He should be grateful!

‘Well,' he said, ‘suppose you tell me your silly story.'

When it came to the point the boy squirmed a bit, because they always did. He'd done something stupid, and then invented a whole drama to cover it up, which was boring. It was a job for kindhearted Harry from Ham Common, the rustic cop on English television. Boy worked in this jewellers', and there were all sorts of odd occurrences, yes to be sure, and … Van der Valk had avoided the bleak act of give-your-name, place and date of birth, and the rest which was so discouraging, but one could overdo the kindly paternalism.

‘You pinched something,' he said.

‘Well – yes and no – the thing is, I'm sure it was meant.'

Yes, of course!

‘What was it?'

‘This.' It was a plain, square, severely expensive wristwatch, a solid gold Patek Philippe; yes indeed, seductive thing. Banal affair. Van der Valk shrugged; still, he would be full of forgiveness and make no fuss.

‘Simple enough – put it back.'

‘But I'm telling you – I'm sure it was meant – that I was meant to take it.'

‘That's catch twenty-two I'm afraid; being meant to take it is no defence in law.'

‘Yes but look, I mean, when I tell you I'm sure you'd agree. There are these drawers, see, full of junk, and Larry that's the boss so to speak said very casually to clear one out and throw it all away. A lot of packing stuff, you know, little cardboard boxes, foam plastic and crap that little leather cases
come wrapped in, you know, so I took an armful to the dustbin, and then this box seemed a bit heavy you know, and this was just thrown inside, no label on it or case, and it's not marked on the stock sheet I looked and well he said to sling all that junk but then after I thought hey there must have been an invoice but there wasn't and how could I put it back, and where?'

‘Simpler still – give it back. When in doubt, tell the truth.'

‘But why isn't there a record of it?'

And now he thought of it, yes, why wasn't there? And come to that, he had known firms do things of astonishing stupidity. Even big firms sometimes just went home forgetting to lock the door after them. As a policeman he had known human error of staggering magnitude. But jewellers – those notoriously careful stocktakers who counted everything every day – no, it was true; they did not do such things.

‘And Larry Saint – he's a nice guy, but there's no denying he's a bit – I mean he's so easy-going, it just isn't for real. About getting this job, now, I mean, I'll tell you.'

‘Yes,' said Van der Valk slowly, ‘you'd better let me have some facts.' He reached for a notebook. A third full of some legal guff: to punish the legal guff he turned it upside down and smoothed out a virgin page.

Richard Oddinga, age twenty-two. Father dead. Been business man up in backwoods of Friesland, boy been sent to Amsterdam to read law at the university. Failed some courses, been dropped, had been leading the happy-go-lucky loafer's existence of the phony student which is so common. Had been suddenly offered this job in of all places a jewellers', and it did sound a bit persuasive. Could there be something in this? Hm, to plant a watch and acquire a hold on the boy was perfectly classic and laughably easy – but what would that be aimed at? Though it still sounded like an episode for Mac of Mockturtle the understanding bobby.

‘I think it might be a kind of bribe,' said the boy. ‘And I don't know – I think they've got rid of anyone who really knows anything about the business, on some kind of pretext.'

‘Where is this shop?' Van der Valk picked his pen up.

‘Prins.'

‘Prins?' Astonished, he put the pen down again. ‘You mean there on the Spui?'

‘That's right.'

‘But that's dead fancy – Cartier, Van Cleef and – all that stuff, and dressy antiques, Fabergé easter eggs or whatnot in the window.'

‘Just try and find anything that genuinely is by Cartier. Some boxes, maybe.'

Van der Valk, by now amused, pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes.

‘Do you have some conclusion about all this?'

‘I don't know – I thought of some insurance fraud – they would stage a fire or a burglary or something, but I suppose that's too crude.'

‘A little,' smiling. ‘Insurance companies aren't quite that soft a touch. Perhaps something that if you'll forgive me would look innocent enough to a more experienced eye. Has even an innocent explanation.'

‘I guessed you'd say that,' downcast. ‘And yet – I know I couldn't prove it or anything, but I do have a feeling something funny's going on. That's why I thought of you, I mean coming to say – but I might have known, you've got no use for that so I've wasted my time. Sorry.'

‘No. Not mine or yours. Funny feelings are sometimes better than facts. They have, occasionally, more resonance. But it would still be more sensible to put the watch back. On the other hand,' with regrettable frivolity, ‘suppose you were right and it were a sort of bribe – it might be interesting to know what it was and why. If you get into trouble on account of this come and tell me. All right?'

The boy looked relieved.

‘As long as I'm covered. I mean, that's what I came to see you for.'

‘Quite,' said Van der Valk dispassionately. ‘You pinch a watch and see whether you can't arrange for me to be an accessory. No, don't worry, I'm joking. Put it back or not,
exactly as you please. You've made no formal deposition, and I'm making no record. All informal – I haven't even written anything down.'

*

‘Such a cheap business,' said Larry Saint with distaste, putting a tray of little boxes back and re-setting the alarm, ‘rings … watches … one might be selling lucky charms. We only do it, fortunately, for a few people as a favour, Dick, remember that. Watches simply aren't worth the trouble. By the way, I was reminded of a stupid incident I'd totally forgotten. You recall that drawer full of old rubbish. Extraordinary mentality, old Bosboom – one of those people who keep crooked nails and little twists of string, because you never know “it might come in handy”. You did clear it all out, didn't you?'

‘Yes,' briefly.

‘Oh good. That's all right then. One slightly comic detail – do you remember those incredible people a few years ago who kept all their savings in the dustbin?'

‘Yes, now that you mention it.' And indeed it had been exactly the right newspaper story to keep all Holland in an ecstasy for a fortnight, and was a favourite of Van der Valk's. Some worthy people with a nest egg of a few thousand pounds in bank notes had had the brilliant notion of foxing burglars by keeping it in the dustbin. In an unhappy moment the dustbin had been put out for emptying … From the municipal garbage truck to a collective dump, to the ‘garbage train' – a tidy Dutch phenomenon – to a dump on waste land far far away in the wilds of Friesland, these misfortunate people had engaged in a dogged pursuit worthy of a film by Erich von Stroheim. For day after day the whole family had haunted the enormous dump, which had since been tidied and levelled by neurotic bulldozers … helped by many eager amateur treasure-hunters. Van der Valk, a great believer in ‘getting to know a man by his garbage', had made sociological observations about the habits of Amsterdammers which had staggered even him, and written a witty report on the subject which had not been appreciated by his superiors, nor by Arlette, who had
sent all his clothes to the cleaners, because ‘I'd never get the smell out'.

‘Lovely,' pursued Saint with enjoyment. ‘I've only just rumbled that all unwitting I'd contributed something rather nice to the same worthy cause. But of course you hadn't noticed – how could you? No, of course you don't understand. You see, Dick, I had one of these tiresome people – this is rather a good lesson for you in customer psychology – who always feel that they must be cleverer than the dealer. They have an obscure need to score points. In fact he's quite sane about his subject, which is Chinese pottery: that T'ang horse went to him, which Louis bought specially from Spinks in London. Well, to oblige him I sold him a watch from Patek Philippe, rather nice. And of course he comes back and says it's not right, and I sent it to the workshop, who had it on the electronic counter thing for a fortnight, and of course it's perfect, but knowing this old loony I'm perfectly aware that this is just an act because he and people like him do these tricks with a vague notion of putting us in our place. I fixed him up with a Perregaux model he was perfectly happy with, and as I now recall' there was enjoyment in Saint's voice ‘I slipped the other, which was perfect, into an old box and heaven knows why – all my fault – I dropped it absentmindedly into that drawer. And now' in accents of classical tragedy ‘it's been flung out and has been swept away by the bulldozer. Louis would be most upset; we mustn't tell him. A pity – it was a pretty one.'

‘You don't think there'd still be a chance of finding it?' asked Dick.

‘No no, alas, not a hope. I'd be ready to give a handsome reward to some honest dustbin man who turned it in – but there's no chance of that. If you'd found it I'd have given it you, actually – no good to us any more, I wrote it off as a trading loss. Didn't matter because just between us, Louis did rather well with the horse.'

‘Well, as a matter of fact – '

‘Don't tell me you found it,' said Saint, clasping his hands in a dramatic attitude of prayer.