Death of a Hawker (7 page)

"Had."

"Yes, yes. Got killed, did he? What a shame. We haven't had any crime here for as long as I can re* member. Not since those two idiot sailors clobbered each other years and years ago and I don't think they were ever charged. I pulled them apart and one of them slipped and fell into the canal."

She rubbed her hands gleefully. "Maybe I shoved him a little, did I? Hehehehe."

"Ah well, there has to be a first time for everything. Manslaughter, you said? Or murder? I saw some murders when I was on the force, but not too many of them, thank the Lord. Amsterdam isn't a murderous city although it's getting worse now. It's those newfangled drugs, don't you think?"

"You were on the force?" de Gier asked in a sudden high voice. The commissaris kicked him viciously under the table and de Gier began to rub his shin.

"Constable, first class," Elizabeth said proudly, "but that was some years ago, before I retired. My health was a bit weak, you see. But I liked the job, better than being lady of the toilets. Five years on the force and thirty years in the toilets. I think I can remember most of my police days but there wasn't much happening when I was scrubbing floors and polishing taps and carrying towels and cakes of soap. And all these men pissing, piss piss piss all day. I thought in the end that that was all men ever do, hehehehehe."

The commissaris laughed and slapped his thighs and kicked de Gier under the table again. De Gier laughed too.

"I see," he said when he had finished laughing.

"But tell me about Abe Rogge's death, commissaris," Elizabeth said.

The commissaris talked for a long time and Elizabeth nodded and stirred her coffee and poured more coffee and handed out biscuits.

"Yes," she said in the end. "I see. And you want me to find out what I can find out. I see. I'll let you know. I can listen in the shops and I know a lot of people here. It's about time I paid some visits."

The commissaris gave her his card. "You can phone me in the evenings too. My home number is on the card."

"No," Elizabeth said. "I don't like telephoning gentlemen at their homes. The wives don't like it when a spinister like me suddenly wants to talk to hubby."

The commissaris smiled. "No, perhaps you are right. We'll have to be on our way, Elizabeth, thanks for the coffee, and you did a beautiful job on the bell-pull."

"Commissaris," de Gier said when they were on the quay again.

"Yes?"

De Gier cleared his throat. "Was that really a friend of yours, commissaris?"

"Sure. I kicked you just in time, didn't I? I thought I had warned you before we went in.
That,
as you put it, once was Constable First Class Herbert Kalff. Served under me for a while, used to patrol this part of the city, but he had a problem as you will understand. He thought he was a woman and the idea got stronger and stronger. We put him on sick leave for a year and he was more or less all right when he came back but it started again. Claimed he was a girl and wanted to be called Elizabeth. He was on sick leave again and when there was no change we could only retire him. By that time she was a woman. There wasn't much medical science could do for her then. I imagine they operate on cases like that now. The poor soul has to live in a male body. She got a job as a lavatory lady in a factory but they made fun of her and she didn't last. She thinks that she was there for a long time but it isn't the truth. Her self-respect makes her say that. The truth is that she was declared unemployable and has lived on State money ever since. I've kept in touch and the social workers call on her but there was no need really; she has had a stable personality ever since she chose to be a woman, and she is incredibly healthly. She's over seventy, you know, and her mind is clear."

"Shouldn't she be in a home for the elderly?"

"No, the jokers would make fun of her. Old people are like children sometimes. We'll leave her here as long as possible."

"And you visit her regularly?" De Gier's voice was still unnaturally high.

"Of course. I like her. I like walking about this part of town and she makes a good cup of coffee."

"But he, she's mad!"

"Nonsense," the commissaris said gruffly. "Don't bandy that word about, de Gier."

They walked a while in silence.

"How's your rheuma, sir? You have been in bed for a while, they tell me."

"Incurable," the commissaris said pleasantly. "Drugs help a bit but not much. I don't like the medicines anyway. Horrible little pills, chemicals, that's all they are. Lying in a hot bath helps but who wants to be in a hot bath all day, like a frog in the tropics?"

"Yes," de Gier said, trying to think of a more helpful remark.

"And she isn't mad," the commissaris said.

"I can't understand it," de Gier said slowly. "The person is unnatural, absolutely, and you go to see her. Aren't you frightened or disgusted?"

"No. She is different, but that's all really. Some invalids look gruesome when you meet them for the first time but you get used to their deformity, especially when they are lovely people, just as Elizabeth is lovely. She is a kind and intelligent person so why would you be frightened of her? You are frightened of your own dreams, it seems to me. You
do
dream, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any nightmares?"

"Yes."

"What happens when you have a nightmare?''

"If it goes wrong I wake up in a sweat and I scream but usually it doesn't come to that. I can control the dreams somehow, get out of the most gruesome parts anyway. I find a weapon in my hand and I kill whoever is chasing me, or there's a car in the right spot and I jump into it and they can't catch up with me."

"Very good," the commissaris said, and laughed.

"But you don't always get away, and then you suffer."

"Yes," de Gier said reluctantly.

"But why? The dream is part of you, isn't it? It's your own mind. Why should your own mind frighten you?"

De Gier stopped. They had reached the narrow footbridge again and de Gier was ahead of the commissaris, so the commissaris had to stop as well.

"But I can't avoid my dreams, can I, sir? I
can
avoid mat... well, apparition in the houseboat. It scares me.

I don't have to go there."

"Shouldn't I have taken you, sergeant?" the commissaris asked quietly.

"Well, yes, sir. Maybe it can help us with our investigation. It lives in the area and it has police training. May be useful. Yes, you should have taken me."

"So?"

"But you can't ask me to enjoy the experience."

"I am not aware that I am asking you to enjoy Elizabeth's company." The commissaris was smiling.

"No. Yes. Perhaps you are not. But you won't let me..."

"Let you what?"

De Gier raised his hands helplessly and walked on, slowly, so that the commissaris could keep up with him.

"We are all connected," the commissaris said softly. "Elizabeth is part of you, and you are part of her. Better face up to it."

* * *

They were passing the Rogges' house and Grijpstra was waiting at the door.

"Nothing, sir," Grijpstra reported. "The house on this side is a warehouse and it belongs to Abe Rogge. It's full of merchandise, wool and various types of cloth. Esther Rogge opened the door for me. Nothing here. The neighbors on the other side saw nothing special but they claim that quite a few people walked about this afternoon. The constables on duty let anybody through who lived here, without asking for any identification."

"Did you check the houseboat, Grijpstra?"

"Yes, sir. It's a wreck as you can see. Windows broken and everything. I found nothing extraordinary. A lot of rubbish, a broken fish knife and a plastic bucket and some rusted fishhooks and the usual collection of used condoms. I checked the roof as well but I had to be careful; the roof is rotten too, full of holes."

"Nobody fired a musket from there, you think? Or threw balls?"

"No, sir."

The launch had come back and was waiting for the commissaris. Grijpstra climbed aboard, de Gier hesitated. "Don't you want to come, de Gier?" the commissaris asked.

"Perhaps I should have another talk with Esther Rogge and that young fellow, Louis Zilver. I would like to have a list of Abe's friends, and girlfriends."

"Can't it wait till tomorrow?"

"It could wait," de Gier said, "but we are here."

"Grijpstra?" Grijpstra looked noncommittal. "All right," the commissaris said, "but don't overdo it. The woman is tired and that young man isn't very easy to get along with. Don't lose your temper."

"No, sir," de Gier said, and turned on his heels.

"Mustn't talk about the commissaris like that, Rinus," he told himself. "You admire the man, remember? You like him. He is an advanced man, he knows far more than you do. He understands. He is on a different level. Higher, Rinus, much higher."

He stood at Esther's front door but he didn't ring the bell. The launch was taking off, the water sergeant was hauling in the mooring rope. The commissaris and Grijpstra were talking on the foredeck. They probably thought he had gone in already. He might not go in at all. What was he doing here anyway? Was he being the efficient policeman, efficient and energetic, going on when others were having a break? Or did he want to hold Esther's hand again?

A lovely woman, Esther. Not a cheap whore like Nellie who had bedazzled him with her big shapeful tits and low oozing voice, a gritty oozing voice. A voice can't be gritty and oozing at the same time but hers
was.
It
was,
damn it. "Easy, Rinus," he told himself. "You are losing control. Today has been too much for you. A battered corpse and a whole square full of dancing idiots throwing soapstone powder and paint and all those uniformed bullies charging the idiots and the sirens, it was too much for you. The commissaris shouldn't have left you, he knew you were cracking up. But he left you all the same, didn't he?"

De Gier listened to the silence of the canal. So he had. And if the conunissaris had left him on his own he must have had faith. Policemen don't usually work on their own, they work in pairs. Detectives work in pairs too. So that the one can check the other, restrain him if necessary if he loses his temper, or touches his gun. The one policeman protects the other by restraining him. He protects him against himself. It is the task of the police to protect the civilian against himself. It is the task of the policeman to protect his mate against himself. He was talking aloud now, droning the words.

"Shit," de Gier said and pressed the bell.

Esther opened the door.

"You," Esther said. "Sergeant Rinus de Gier."

De Gier tried to smile.

"Come in, sergeant."

Esther looked better. There was color on her face again and she had made up her lips.

"I am having something to eat. Would you care to join me, sergeant?"

"Please."

She led the way to the kitchen. He was given a plate of soup, hot tomato soup from a tin. De Gier didn't like tomato soup and never ate the bloody-looking fluid but he didn't mind now. She cut him a piece of bread and there were gherkins on the table and olives, and a piece of blue-veined cheese. He ate it all while Esther watched him.

"We can have coffee upstairs."

He hadn't said anything during the meal and now he merely nodded.

"A nice room," de Gier said, from the deep low chair Esther had directed him to, "and you have a lot of books."

Esther waved at the two walls covered by bookcases. "A thousand books and I have learned nothing from them. The piano has been of more use to me."

He got up and walked toward the baby grand. An etude by Chopin was lying on the stand and he put a hand on the keyboard and picked away, trying to read the notes.

"That's very nice," Esther said. "Do you play often?"

"No. I had piano lessons as a child but I switched to the flute. I play with Grijpstra, the adjutant you met today."

"What does he play?"

"Drums," he said and grinned. "Someone left a set of drums in our office at Headquarters, years ago now, we have forgotten why, but Grijpstra remembered that he played drums once and started again and I found my flute. It's a silly combination perhaps but we manage."

"But that's beautiful," Esther said. "Why shouldn't drums and flute go together. I'd love to hear you play. I could play with you too. Why don't you both come one evening and we can try?"

"It's free music," he said. "We have some themes we use, church music mostly, sixteenth and seventeenth century, but then we go off and we play anything. Trills and bangs."

"I'II fit in somehow," Esther said confidently.

He laughed. "O.K. I'll ask Grijpstra."

"What else do you do?" Esther asked.

"I fuss with my cat and I try to do my job. Like tonight. I've come to ask you questions. If you don't mind, of course. I'll come back tomorrow if you mind."

She sat down on the piano stool. "Right, sergeant, go ahead. I feel better now, better than I did this afternoon. I have even slept for an hour. Maybe one shouldn't sleep when one's brother has been murdered, but it seemed the best thing to do. He was my last relative, I am alone now. We are Jewish. Jews think that families are very important; perhaps we are wrong. People are alone, it's better to realize the truth. I never had much contact with Abe, no real contact.

You are alone, too, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"You understand perhaps."

"Perhaps. Did your brother have a weapon in his room, a funny weapon? Something with a studded ball at its end, a weapon which can be swung?"

"A good-day?" Esther asked. "You mean that medieval weapon? I know what it is. It is often described in Dutch literature and in history. I took history at university, Dutch history, murder and manslaughter through the ages. Nothing changes."

"Yes, a good-day."

"No, there was no weapon in Abe's room. He used to carry a gun, a Luger I think it was, but he threw it into the canal years ago. He said it no longer fitted his philosophy."

Esther fumbled in her handbag. "Here, I found this, his passport and a notebook."

He looked through the passport and saw visas for Czechoslovakia, Rumania and Poland. There were also entry and exit stamps from Tunisia and Morocco. The notebook contained names and telephone numbers.

"A hundred names," he said. "Too many to investigate. Any close friends? Boyfriends? Girlfriends?"

"Girls," Esther said. "Just girls. Lots and lots and lots. Two a day sometimes, more even. It disgusted me to see them trooping in and out. Last Sunday he had three, just after he had come back from Morocco. They couldn't wait. He had one before each meal. The first came before breakfast. She is a tourist guide and starts early but she had to have her sex first."

De Gier wanted to whistle but rubbed his chin instead. "And he accommodated them all?"

The pretty ones."

"Were all his contacts as casual as that?'"

"No. He would go and see Corin. She works at the university with me. I don't think he just slept with her although perhaps he did. Corin never discussed him much. Her name is in the notebook, I'll mark it. Corin Kops. You can find her address in the telephone directory." "Anyone else?"

"Yes, a student, a very young girl. Studies medicine. I think he was fascinated by her or perhaps she just annoyed him. Wouldn't give in so easily. I'll mark her name as well. Tilda van Andringa de Kempenaar."

"Beautiful name."

"Yes, she is nobility, perhaps that's why she won't give in. Blue blood."

"Copulation doesn't mean an introduction,'' de Gier said, and grinned. His sanity had returned, or rather, it was beginning to return. He still felt shaken. He closed his eyes and tried to think.

"You aren't falling asleep, are you?" Esther asked. "You must be very tired. Shall I give you a blanket?

You can sleep on the couch if you like. I'll wake you up at any time you say."

"No, no, I have to go home to feed my cat. Thanks anyway. Business, that's what I wanted to ask. Do you have his business records here? I'd like to look through them. I am no expert at bookkeeping but I'd like to have some idea about the size of his transactions.''

"Louis takes care of his books, he's got them upstairs. He is in now. Ill ask him if you like."

De Gier had been hearing an irregular buzzing sound for the last ten minutes and a noise which seemed like scraping. It came from the floor above and he looked at the ceiling.

"Is
he
making that noise upstairs?"

She giggled. "No, maybe the killer has returned and is whirring his deadly ball. Why don't you go up and have a look?"

He didn't feel like leaving the comfortable chair but he got up obediently.

"Yes," Louis said, and looked up at de Gier who had opened the door. He was sitting on the floor and picked up a toy mouse, winding its clockwork. De Gier's mouth was half open. He hadn't expected what he saw. The floor was full of small tin animals—mice, birds, turtles, frogs, even moles and giant beetles. Most of them were moving. The mice stood up every two seconds and then fell down again, busily going on with their zigzag tours on the bare boards of the floor. The frogs jumped, the turtles ambled, the birds hopped and waved their tails, the beetles zoomed. Every now and then one of them would stop, and Louis would pick it up and wind the key. Some of them had pushed themselves against the wall and were burring aimlessly. A bird had been stopped by a small carpet and was jumping feebly, trying to pass the obstacle. A beetle had fallen on its side and its motor was whirring at full speed.

"Samples," Louis said loudly. "Abe bought a few thousand of them and I took these from the warehouse. Most of them work. Crazy, isn't it?"

"Yes," de Gier said. "How long have you been playing with them?"

"Only started just now. It's amusing isn't it? I had them when I was a child but never more than one at a time. Businessmen can amuse themselves on a large scale as you see. No child will ever have a collection like this."

De Gier had squatted down and saved the animals who had got stuck at the wall, by pointing them at the center of the room. "Hey," Louis said. "I didn't invite you to join me, did I?"

"No," de Gier said, and wound up a frog.

"Never mind. You can play if you like. Have the police made any progress in the case yet?"

"No. The police are baffled."

"It's human fate to be baffled," Louis said, and began to sweep up the toys, wrapping each animal in tissue paper, and replacing it in a carton.

"I hear you kept Abe Rogge's books. Can I see them?"

Louis pointed at the desk. "It's all there, you can take them with you if you like. I have kept the books up to date, the accounting is simple. Most purchases are covered by invoices and they are all paid. Our sales were mostly for cash and they are entered in a cash book. And there's some wages-administration; only Abe and myself are on the payroll."

"Your warehouse is full of goods, I hear."

"Yes."

"All paid for."

"Yes."

"How much do you have in stock?"

"In money?"

"Yes."

"A hundred and twenty thousand guilders and something."

"That's a lot," de Gier said, "and all paid for. Was Abe financing his own deals?"

Louis laughed. "The bank wouldn't give us a penny, they don't back hawkers. Abe borrowed from friends. Mostly from Bezuur, his oldest and best friend."

"So he has friends," de Gier said and nodded. "Very good."

Louis looked up from his packing. "The police would suspect friends, wouldn't they? Friends are close and friendship can change into hatred. Two sides of the same coin."

"Yes, yes. Who is Bezuur?"

"A rich man, a very rich man. He and Abe went to school together, to school and to the university. They both dropped out. They studied French. They also traveled together, mostly in France, of course, and in French North Africa. They also traded together but Bezuur's father died and left him a big business, earthmoving equipment. He's a millionaire."

"And he lent Abe money?"

"Yes, at bank interest. Eleven percent we are paying now. The firm owes him sixty thousand, to be repaid in three months' time when we have moved the stocks in the warehouse, maybe earlier. Abe was planning a long holiday and I was supposed to go with him."

"North Africa again?"

"No, we planned to sail a boat to the Caribbean."