Chapter 22

"Maybe we should do this," the commissaris said, tapping the table where he had spread his maps.

Katrien wasn't sure.

The commissaris rested his finger on Rogue Island. "But, Katrien. .."

"But they're dealing with the sheriff of Woodcock County," Katrien said, "with an elected official. Please, Jan, this is a civilized world now, there must be better ways. Tell them to have the villain arrested…"

"How?"

"The DEA," Katrien said.

"Ineffective," the commissaris said. "Remember that marijuana shipment?" His finger prodded the map. "Right here, onBar Island. Akihadthatallplannedoutfor them, there were agents behind every bush. The bad guys still won."

"America is a democracy, Jan."

"So is Holland," the commissaris said, "and little Jimmy next door got AIDS while prostituting himself to get cash to buy crack."

"You said there were no bad guys," Katrien said. "That things just happen."

"Let's happen along too." The commissaris rubbed his hands together. "Let's be sly, Katrien."

Katrien made a face.

"If only you could be a little bit more negative," the commissaris said gleefully. "You know what we have here, Katrien? Tribal warfare." He pointed. "Check that encyclopedia. Read up on Native American East Coast tribes. You'll find that the Iroquois were fierce and the Algonquins were sly. They had fun together."

"Scalping," Katrien said. "Torture. We're beyond that now."

"We're never beyond violence," the commissaris said. "This kind could be fun. Know your enemy, Katrien. Hairy Harry is a paranoid Iroquois. He firmly believes Grijpstra and de Gier will interfere with his drug operation, and all this stealing of yachts, hiding of corpses, shooting of airplanes, willful destruction of a little dog's obstacle course is his brand of defense. Fear makes him twist facts. He never knew about Lorraine's disappearance, never cared either. He sees Grijpstra the Algonquin telephone overseas, reporting to someone. To the Big Guy Back Home."

Katrien kissed his cheek. "Chiefjan of the Algonquin."

"De Gier was in Maine before," the commissaris said. "The state police flew him into Jameson. Maybe a legend started up then. Ishmael knew Jeremy. Jeremy the hermit knew me. I was chief of detectives."

The commissaris found his cane, limped to the porch, descended to the garden.

Katrien, by watching his lips, caught most of what the commissaris said to Turtle.

"Tribal warfare," the commissaris told Turtle. "Katrien is still an idealist. I'm not saying she isn't right, but we act on lower levels here, within desire and fear. Fierce warriors threaten us peaceful people.

"Rationalizing our interference, Turtle? Certainly. We need an excuse. The war on drugs? Well, maybe yes, although I'm all for pot myself. The weed of procrastination slowing down pollution. How about Sheriff Shoots Eagle?

"Okay? Okay.

"Turtle?

"No ordinary violence, Chieftain Katrien advises? Make use of the magic way, you say? Do I remember the shaman under the banyan tree, Milne Bay, New Guinea?

"Sure, sure, Turtle, we didn't send de Gier to the end of the world for nothing, did we now?

"Yes, Turtle, I do remember de Gier's report on the method of Pointing the Bone, oh yes, I do.

"How that works? Piece ofcake. Get a bone. Get some powerful minds to help. Point the bone at the paranoid Iroquois. Visualize effects. That sheriff dies.

"Yes?

"Have a tribal powwow first? Get a tribal mandate?

"Yes. Must follow proper protocol, Turtle. You're a good counselor. I thank you kindly."

"Oh dear," Katrien said, watching the commissaris climb the garden steps.

"Katrien?"

"Now what, Jan?"

"I wonder," the commissaris said. "That leg of lamb I saw in the freezer? How about cooking that up sometime, say tomorrow?"

"With Brussels endive, Jan?"

"Delicious," the commissaris said. "Isn't Nellie very fond ofBelgian endive? Why don't I ask her over? And while I'm at it, I'll put a call in to Beth's Diner too. Get things going again, my dear."

He limped to the phone, leaning on his cane, swinging his free arm martially.

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