The Mind-Murders

11

"I must ask you to calm down," the commissaris said. "Please sit down, sir, and don't shout."

Hyme sat down. His pale face framed a flabby and twitching mouth. "Boronski! The bastard! Dropped Marian like a sack of potatoes when he was through with her. Destroyed her dignity. She was a beautiful woman, intelligent, witty. You should see her now. He saw her. He came to the hospital to see if she was about to get out. Looking for a free fuck. Man hasn't been in Amsterdam for years and he has no connections here. He let her go in Bogotd, pushed her out of his palace with hardly enough time to pack her suitcase, but here he comes running after her. Marian has just been operated on again; she's fiat on her back and in pain. It's the second operation and they don't know yet if they got the disc back in place this time. If it's where it should be, it'll be another six months before she can walk. When Boronski realized there 205 was nothing doing, he shook her hand and left. I'm surprised he didn't take his flowers with him; he could have given them to somebody else. He had wasted his money."

"So you were aware that BoronsM was in Amsterdam. Did you meet him at the hospital?"

"No. Marian told me about his visit."

"Did you meet with him here?"

"Briefly, on the Brewerscanal. I ran into him; he stays at Hotel Oberon. When I met him, I couldn't speak. The man has ruined my life. That vacation to South America was the worst hell I've ever lived through. We were invited to a cocktail party at the embassy and Marian fell for the bastard immediately. I thought it was a little flirtation, but she went home with him. She checked out of the hotel. We had a terrible scene; everything was said, everything that has ever been bad between us. I thought it would be the ultimate farewell, but she came back to me. She probably still loves him."

Hyme hid his face in his hands. Grijpstra sucked patiently on his cigar. De Crier studied a stain on the wall.

"Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes."

De Gier poured the coffee. The cup rattled on its saucer when Hyme took it.

"Did you see Boronski at his hotel, Mr. Hyme?"

"No. If I had, I would have killed him. I'm not a violent man, but I must have changed. I keep on thinking of ways to destroy that devil. I thought of having him kidnapped, locking him up in some dungeon, torturing him, but what can I do? The days a man could take revenge are over. I'm not too courageous anyway, that's why Marian got bored with me. I'm a slave, chained to my desk. My only act of bravery is pissing off bridges and I can only do that when I'm drunk."

"Yes," Grijpstra said softly.

"With a paper hat on. I'm the knight of the paper hat and the wooden sword, riding a rocking horse."

"Ah," the commissaris said. "What sort of a car do you have, Mr. Hyme."

"What?"

"What sort of a car do you drive?"

"A Porsche."

"With the wheel on the right side?"

"How do you know?"

"I guessed."

Hyme drank his coffee. The room was quiet. Grijpstra got up and left The telephone on the commissaris's desk rang.

"Yes?"

"It's me, sir, Grijpstra. Can I have a word with you in the corridor?"

"Yes?" the commissaris asked when he had closed the door behind him.

"We might as well arrest him, don't you think, sir? The car checks out, he had the opportunity and the motive. He must have paid the employees of the Oberon to play tricks on Boronski."

"You can arrest him, adjutant."

Grijpstra reached for the door handle, but the small almost transparent hand of the commissaris rested lightly on his sleeve.

"I wouldn't advise you to do that, however. Harassment is difficult to prove and hardly punishable. You'll find yourself wasting endless time in a court case where the lawyers will have a field day. Besides, Hyme is not your man."

Grijpstra stepped away from the door. "He isn't?"

"No. I admit that the suspect's nerves are in a bad state and that he may be at the lowest point of his life. But you mustn't forget that he is a director of a large and successful firm. Mr. Hyme is no fool. He's not a genius either. Only a genius would have confirmed, in the way he just did, that his dearest wish is to do away with Boronski, and tried to prove his innocence in such a perverse way."

"Shall we tell him that Boronski is dead, sir?"

"We can do that now."

"Dead?" whispered Hyme. "When?"

"Yesterday. Jim Boronski bled to death internally. A severe duodenal ulcer. Some would-be muggers saw him staggering about on the Gentleman's Market just after midnight on Saturday and, for some reason, dumped him in the trunk of a car. He must have died shortly afterward."

"My God," Hyme said. "But he was still a young man."

"Young men die too, Mr. Hyme. Your enemy must have labored under heavy stress. He suffered, but didn't go to a doctor. His complaint worsened, circumstances were against him, and…" The commissaris gestured.

"Dead," Hyme said.

"Where were you last night, sir?"

"I ate in a restaurant, visited Marian at the hospital, went home, and watched TV."

"And the night before, Sunday evening."

"Same thing."

"You weren't at Cafe Beelema last night?"

"No."

"And the night before?"

"No. I was there Saturday and met with your assistants."

Grijpstra raised a hand. "Have you met with Mr. Fortune recently?"

"Yes, yesterday. We arranged for the take-over of his firm. He came to my office. I was glad to hear that his wife turned up after all."

"Did Mr. Fortune tell you about Boronski's death?"

"Frits Fortune? No. Why should he? He doesn't even know Boronski."

"Did Borry Beelema know Boronski?" de Gier asked.

"Yes. I pointed him out to Beelema. Hotel Oberon is just across the street from Beelema's."

"When was that?"

"Last week some time."

"Did you confide in Beelema about your troubles with Boronski?"

Hyme nodded. "Yes. Beelema is a friend. Fve known him for years, ever since he bought the cafe. Before that I was his client at the hair salon, I still go there every fortnight and at the cafe I see him several times a week. He's my best friend." He smiled. "He's more than a friend, he's an incarnate angel. A lot of people call him the other son of God."

"Did you," de Gier asked, "by any chance, some time last week, lend your…"

The commissaris jumped up with such force that his chair hit the wall.

"That'll be all, Mr. Hyme. Thank you for coming here. I hope your wife's condition will soon improve. Adjutant, please escort Mr. Hyme out of the building."