Tumbleweed (16 page)

"Friends? Relatives?"

"Not that I know of. People like him on the island and everybody greets him but he has no special friends. Keeps to himself and reads the Bible, I think. Bit of a fanatic. Grows his own vegetables and bakes his own bread. One of these nature-health people. Doesn't drink, doesn't smoke. Objects to swearing and dirty words. The kids used to tease him, would follow him around mumbling four letter words but we stopped it."

"
," Grijpstra mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"
," Grijpstra repeated. "Our murdered lady came from
."

"We could ask him to come over to the station for questioning," Buisman said. "But I would rather not. It's a small island, you know, he'll probably avoid me forever after."

"Yes," Grijpstra said. "We could ask the commissaris to invite him by letter or send a car for him. If
we
do it he will connect us with you."

A siren tore the silence around them to shreds. It seemed very close.

The adjutant stopped. "A siren," he exclaimed. "That's the police launch. They must be trying to find me."

He began to run. Grijpstra ran after him. They were close to the beach and they reached it within a few minutes. Buisman jumped up and down and waved his arms and a responding movement was seen on the vessel. A rubber dinghy was lowered from the launch and a uniformed policeman rowed to the shore.

Buisman took off his boots and waded into the sea. Grijpstra sighed and followed him. Again he suffered the unpleasant sensation of thick mud oozing between his toes.

"Morning, adjutant," the sergeant in the dinghy said to Buisman.

He shook Grijpstra's hand.

"Grijpstra, Amsterdam police."

"Good," the sergeant said. "I have a Telex for you. An urgent Telex. I knew the adjutant was out here with you this morning. Here you are."

Grijpstra read the Telex.

"Go to Schiermonnikoog at once and make contact with Ramon Scheffer. Scheffer is half-brother of Maria van Buren. Caution important. Scheffer is said to be religious fanatic."

The Telex was dated a day back, came from Curacao, was forwarded by Amsterdam Headquarters and was signed by the commissaris.

15

"H
ERE YOU ARE," RAMMY SCHEFFER SAID, AND DE GIER thanked him and bit into the thick slice of bread. He chewed for a while.

"Do you like the cheese?" Rammy asked.

"Yes," de Gier said hesitantly, and continued to chew.

"What is it?"

"Goat's cheese. I have got two goats, milk them myself."

De Gier chewed on for a while.

"Ah," he said. "I say! Over there! What's that bird?"

Rammy looked and de Gier took the cheese off the bread and threw it into a bush. He quickly stuffed the bread into his mouth.

"That's an oystercatcher," Rammy said, looking back at de Gier. "Didn't you know? There are thousands of them on die island. Apart from the gulls and the ducks they are the most popular birds over here."

"I'd forgotten," de Gier said.

"Are you interested in birds?"

"Of course," de Gier said, swallowing the last of his bread and hopefully holding up his cup for more coffee but Rammy's flask was empty.

"Good," Rammy said. "If more people were interested in birds we might succeed in keeping a few around. The way it's going now we'll soon say goodbye to the last of them. They are installing new drainpipes, I hear, as if the sea isn't dirty enough already. Every day I try to clean the beaches of this reserve but there is no end to the plastic bottles and the ice cream cups, and now we'll have industrial dirt as well."

"Yes," de Gier said. "Terrible."

"Your friend, is he a birdwatcher too?"

"Sure," de Gier said.

"He wasn't watching the dance of the cocks. It's a rare sight; even I, who am here everyday, don't see it often."

"He hurt his foot," de Gier said, "ripped his toe on a piece of tin or a broken bottle. I think he wanted to sit and rest a little."

"I see," Rammy said, sliding the strap of the shotgun off his shoulder, and balancing the weapon on his lap.

The siren shrieked and de Gier jumped up. "Hell," he said, "what's that?"

Rammy had jumped as well, staring toward the sea. "A boat," he said, "a boat in trouble perhaps. Ran aground probably. Let's go and see."

He pointed and de Gier began to run.

* * *

De Gier arrived at the beach.

"You!" Grijpstra said when he saw de Gier coming out of the bush. "What are you doing here? Where is Rammy?"

De Gier was panting. "Behind me somewhere. Where's the boat?"

"Over there." Grijpstra pointed at the police launch, floating quietly a quarter of a mile offshore.

"What's the matter with her?"

"Nothing," Grijpstra said. "Where is Rammy?"

"How should I know?"

"You lost him?"

De Gier gaped at Grijpstra and the adjutant. The sergeant had reached them as well now.

"Fool," Grijpstra said sadly. "He is the man we want and you had him in your hands."

"What..
.T
de Gier began and gave up.

"He doesn't know, Grijpstra," Adjutant Buisman said.

"Doesn't know
what?"
de Gier asked.

"Never mind," Grijpstra said, "you are a fool anyway, you
should
have known. Shall we try to follow him, Buisman?"

"No. Rammy knows the reserve better than we do. We may as well sit down somewhere here and think for a while."

"WHAT...?" de Gier began again.

"All right," Buisman said, "show him the Telex, Grijpstra."

De Gier read the Telex, and immediately lost his temper.

"So how should / have known he is the man we are looking for. / was talking to a little fellow in a green hat who gave me a sandwich. Hey!"

He interrupted himself. "He had a shotgun!"

"So?" Grijpstra asked.

"He could have
shot
me," de Gier said. "He took it off his shoulder while he was talking to me. He suspected something."

"Nonsense," Grijpstra said. "He thought we were bird-watchers."

De Gier stared at Grijpstra.

"Birdwatchers! You weren't watching any birds. You were sitting on a log groaning and mumbling to yourself while the rare cocks were doing their sublime prance. That's what made him suspicious."

"I had watched them already," Grijpstra said. "I was resting. Even birdwatchers rest."

"Yes. And then you sneaked off with Buisman."

"I was telling Grijpstra that Rammy could be his man," Buisman said. "I had remembered that Rammy can throw a knife."

"You see!" de Gier shouted, "and you didn't warn me. You left me sitting with a dangerous murderer holding a
shotgun
in his hands and now you tell me I am a fool."

"Yes," Grijpstra said soothingly, "true. You could have been a dead fool. You should be grateful."

De Gier took a deep breath. The adjutant patted him on the shoulder.

"There, there," Buisman said.

"Oh, never mind him," Grijpstra said, "he always exaggerates."

"Exaggerates?" de Gier shouted.

"Of course," Buisman said, "I have known Rammy Sheffer for years. He isn't a violent man. He proved it, didn't he? He ran away. He could have shot you but he didn't. He didn't even threaten you."

"He threw a knife into his sister's back," de Gier said.

"Perhaps he did. It hasn't been proved."

"Perhaps we should try to catch him," Grijpstra said. "Where can he be? He wouldn't try to hide in this swamp, would he?"

"No," the water-police sergeant who, so far, had contented himself with watching die scene and rolling himself a cigarette, said quietly. "He won't even try to hide on the island. He is a sailor and he has a boat."

"A boat," Grijpstra said, but the rest of his words were drowned in a deafening roar of sudden noise. The noise was above them and sail increasing in volume. The four men ducked instinctively.

"They are at it again," the sergeant said when the noise had subsided. The jet fighter was only a speck on the horizon now.

"Fooee," Grijpstra said, "what a racket. Nice quiet island you have here."

"They only do it twice a week now," Buisman said. "Starfighters. They practice all day, shooting their cannon at targets that have been set up for them on the next island. Sometimes they do a bit of bombing as well. They always come over this part of the island. It used to be much worse but our mayor protested to the Air Force."

"You were saying?" de Gier asked.

"Ah yes," Grijpstra said. "Rammy has a boat, the sergeant says, but so have we. There she is. A nice fast police launch. Let's get aboard."

"Which way do you want me to go?" the sergeant said.

"To wherever he parks his boat, of course."

The sergeant shook his head. "I don't know where his boat is. She isn't in the harbor where she should be. He took her out last week. She may be in any of several places now and if he is aboard he may be sailing in a lot of different directions. We would be very lucky if we caught up with him."

"A plane," the adjutant said, "a spotter plane. We have got police planes, haven't we?"

"We could ask a starfighter to do a bit of spotting," de Gier said.

"No," the adjutant said, "they are fools. They fly at a million miles an hour and all they have learned to do is strafe. If we ask them to help us they will dive at every pleasure yacht and at every fishing boat and people will dive overboard and drown and we'll never hear the end of it. The spotter planes are just what we need. Let's get to the launch and raise the airport on the mainland radio."

It wasn't as easy as the adjutant thought. Of the two available police planes one was being serviced. Of the four available pilots one had taken a day off, one had reported sick, and the other two couldn't be found. It took an hour for the plane to take off. The adjutant fretted and the sergeant made coffee. Grijpstra fussed with his pistol, which had jammed. Only de Gier felt happy, he was sitting on the roof of the launch cabin and admiring the view. It was nine o'clock in the morning and the sky was clear with only a few clouds drifting above the island. The starfighters had disappeared, having been asked by the police of the airport to clear off for a while so as not to bother the spotter plane.

"I thought you were all upset," Grijpstra said. He had managed to get his pistol in working order again and was feeling better.

"I have forgiven you," de Gier said.

"Thanks. Maybe I should have let you know, but he wouldn't have harmed you. You looked too innocent, sitting on that log in your duffelcoat."

"He gave me a piece of goat's cheese," de Gier said.

"Was it nice?"

"Wonderful," de Gier said. "It had a delicate taste. He had made it himself from milk that came from his own goats."

"Sha," Grijpstra said, and shuddered.

"No, really, it was delicious. We get spoiled in the city, you know."

Grijpstra had climbed on the cabin's roof and sat looking around him. He was mumbling.

"Goat's cheese," Grijpstra said. "I suppose he picks stinging nettles and boils soup with them. I have a niece who does that. A nature girl, goes all the way to France to run about naked."

"Good-looking girl?" de Gier asked.

"Not bad," Grijpstra said. "Look, there's our plane."

The spotter plane, a small Piper Cub, was gaining height.

"I could have been a pilot," de Gier said.

"No," Grijpstra interrupted. "Let's not have your fancies today. You might not enjoy it, you know, up mere in a mechanical fly. I was in one of them once."

"Yes? What was it like?"

"First I got scared, and later I fell asleep. You can't see much. Too high. You see a lot of green land and little cars."

"Yes," de Gier said. "I have been in a plane. Everybody has. But not in a little plane, don't tell me it wasn't an adventure."

"It wasn't. And the window wouldn't close, there was a draft."

"A draft," de Gier said, and shook his head.

Grijpstra pulled up his legs and clasped his arms around his knees. The sun was beginning to warm them. "Not bad," he said approvingly, "a lot better than all that mud. And those birds, they were really making me nervous. I don't mind them in the zoo, you can always get away from them. Holland was full of birds once, they say, billions of them. The whole country was marshland. Good thing we built dikes and drained the swamps. Imagine, living in a swamp with a billion birds flapping around and diving at you like that ballwit which had a go at you."

"Peewit."

"Peewit. Funny-looking bird. Some of them look all right but I still wouldn't like to live right in the middle of a whole flock of them, in a hut. The old tribes must have lived in huts, they were probably flooded twice a week." Grijpstra sneezed.

"And they had colds," de Gier said, "and diarrhea."

"Yes. So have I. And these damned oilcloth trousers. I couldn't get them off properly."

De Gier began to laugh. Grijpstra turned around, looking hurt.

"Listen," de Gier said.

Adjutant Buisman was talking to the pilot on the radio. "A small yacht," he was saying, "white mainsail and white foresail, only one foresail. The foresail has two patches in it, large patches, you should be able to see them."

"I only see a fishing boat," the pilot said.

"No markings on the yacht's sails. The boat we want is some thirty feet long, built of oak."

"Thanks," the pilot said. "Oak, you say. How do I spot oak from here?"

"Brown wood."

The radio crackled for a while.

"I am going east," the pilot said, "there's nothing this side except a fishing boat and a very expensive looking blue yacht. There is a girl at the rudder, I think. A pretty girl maybe."

"What's your rank?" Buisman asked.

"Sergeant, and yours?"

"Adjutant," Buisman said.

"Adjutant is higher."

"Go east," Buisman said.

"Sir."

"Here," the pilot said after a few minutes. "Small yacht, thirty feet. One man in it, or perhaps there is somebody in the cabin."

"Our man wears a green suit, a ranger's uniform."

"Green suit," the pilot confirmed. "I am very low now, shall I scare him?"

"Turn a few circles," Buisman said. "Can we have his position?"