Blond Baboon

\\\\\ 10 /////

“He isn’t in,” the square lady in the flowered dress said, “but he’s due back any moment. Could you come again in half an hour, perhaps?”

The conunissaris and Cardozo had stood for quite a while on the porch of the de Bree house while Mrs. de Bree peered at them through the door’s peephole and tried to make up her mind whether or not to open the door. She had seen Cardozo before and knew he was a policeman. Her husband had told her not to let in the police. But the other man was much older than the boyish detective, and he didn’t seem to be the sort of man who could be sent away. She had decided that the conunissaris looked, in an unobtrusive way, both dignified and intelligent, and she had taken the risk. But now she was stuck again.

“We won’t go away, Mrs. de Bree,” the commissaris said softly, “and you will have to let us in.”

“My husband says that the home is private and that…”

“The home is private, your husband is right.”

She faltered and blushed. “So…?”

“But there are exceptions to any rule, madame. A crime has been committed and the police have been asked to investigate. In such circumstances the police have the right to enter any dwelling by force if a warrant has been issued or if an officer of a certain rank wants to visit the home.”

“I see.” She didn’t want to ask for the commissaris’s rank, but he had given her a card and she glanced at it. She didn’t know anything about police ranks. “Well, would you come in then, please. I hope you’ll explain to my husband when he comes…”

“We will.”

Cardozo stepped aside and the commissaris marched into the corridor and waited for Mrs. de Bree to lead the way. They were taken to a room in the rear of the house, similar to the enclosed porch in the Camet house. Evidently the same architect had been used for all the homes in the two streets sharing the enclosed garden area. Mrs. de Bree offered tea and gratefully retired to the kitchen.

Cardozo jumped out of his chair the minute they were alone. “My witnesses live over there, sir. They have the top floor of the house, there with the balcony, behind the geraniums. Two old ladies with binoculars, ideal witnesses, they have a full view of both this garden and the Carnet garden opposite. And there’s the liguster hedge and Mr. de Bree must have stood next to that rhododendron bush when he fed Paul. With binoculars my witnesses could have seen that he was feeding him chopped meat. With the laboratory test that proves that there was both chopped meat and arsenic in Paul’s stomach, and with the matching times of the witnesses’ statements and Gabrielle Carnet’s complaint plus the statement of the veterinarian we have an airtight case against de Bree.”

The commissaris had come to the window. “Yes, good work, Cardozo. I wonder if I can smoke here. Does de Bree smoke?”

Cardozo looked around. “There’s a pipe rack on die wall, sir, and several ashtrays.”

“Then I’m sure Mrs. de Bree won’t mind. Hey!”

A cat had landed on the balcony outside. It had dropped from a tree branch with such a thud that Cardozo, who was still studying the pipe rack, had turned around. The cat was oversize, not only fat but enormous in proportions. A lynx with tufted ears, with thick fur spotted with black and orange and with a cruel square head, bright orange on one side, deep black on the other. The line dividing the two colors didn’t run in the exact middle of the face, shortening the black half slightly, with the result that his expression was startlingly weird.

“That’s a cat, sir?”

“I think so. But perhaps it has a small panther or an ocelot as an ancestor, although I do believe that some breeds of domesticated cats grow rather large. All of twenty pounds, I would say, more perhaps.”

The cat walked to the window and stood up, pressing its face and front paws against the glass. The soles of its feet were heavily haired.

“It’s purring,” the commissaris said. “Perhaps it means well. Should we let it in, Cardozo?”

Mrs. de Bree was with them again, carrying a tray. “Ah, Tobias. Would you mind opening the door, sir? Poor thing must be hungry. He probably tried to come in before but I was vacuum-cleaning upstairs and didn’t hear him. He’s been out all morning.”

The commissaris released the door’s latch and Tobias rushed in, forcing the door out of his hand. He ran across the room and loped off into the corridor.

“An amazing animal, madame. Very big, isn’t he?”

“Yes. But he’s getting old and is blind in one eye now and not too well. We had him operated on for cancer last year and he recovered, but the vet says that the cancer may still be there and that a second operation wouldn’t do any good. My husband is very upset about it. Tobias is like a child and we have had him fourteen years-we don’t have any real children, you see. And Tobias is so clever!”

The commissaris stirred his tea. The room was pleasant and quiet; there was no sound in the house except a rattling in the kitchen where Tobias was gulping his food and pushing its container around.

“You know why we came, don’t you, Mrs. de Bree?”

She was sitting unnaturally upright and playing with a lace handkerchief. There were tears in her mild eyes, enlarged by the thick lenses of her gold-rimmed spectacles. “Yes, sir, you came about Paul. I’m so saddened about that. I don’t know what got into my husband, he’s never done anything like that before. He won’t admit what he did to Paul, but he knows that I know. He hasn’t talked to me much since it happened. And the old ladies opposite saw him do it, Alice came to see me about it an hour ago. She said they had told the police and that they were sorry but they couldn’t help it, so I was expecting you, you see.”

“What does your husband do, Mrs. de Bree?”

“He’s retired in a way. He’s an engineer and has invented things, we have an income from royalties. Sometimes I wish he were still working.”

They heard a key turn in the front of the house and Mrs. de Bree jumped up and rushed into the corridor, shutting the door behind her. The conversation took a full five minutes and de Bree’s voice gradually lost its anger. Mrs. de Bree was crying. He came in alone.

“Mr. de Bree?”

The policemen were on their feet. De Bree pointed at their chairs and thought of something to say. Tobias was bumping the door. “My cat, I’ll let him in.”

De Bree sat down, he sighed, and all the air appeared to go out of him. The sigh seemed endless.

“I’m sorry,” the commissaris said. “But what has to be done has to be done, sir. You weren’t getting anywhere when you refused my detective entry, surely you knew mat, didn’t you?”

“Are you arresting me?”

“No.”

De Bree reached for his pipe rack and tobacco tin. The tobacco spilled as his trembling hands tried to fill the pipe. He couldn’t find a match and looked about helplessly. The commissaris gave him his lighter.

“So why did you come?” de Bree asked between puffs.

“lb obtain your confession, sir. It isn’t strictly needed, the evidence against you is conclusive, but a confession might help you, the judge will be better disposed.”

“Judge? You’ll make me go to court?”

“Yes.”

Tobias walked past de Bree’s chair and de Bree grabbed the cat’s tail. It closed with strength and the cat pulled, finding support in the carpet. De Bree’s chair moved an inch but stuck on the carpet’s edge. The cat looked around, turned, and put a paw on de Bree’s hand. It purred and its good eye opened until it was a large shiny green disk. De Bree grunted and released the tail.

“He must be very fond of you,” the commissaris said. “His nails didn’t come out.”

“He’ll never scratch me. He did once, by mistake, and drew blood and he was sorry for a week. He followed me everywhere I went. He loves me, he even hunts for me. He is always bringing me birds and mice, rats even. Once he caught a crow, a big crow. Crows are hard to catch. He brought the bird to my bed, I was ill at the time, and dropped it on the blanket. Made a mess, my wife didn’t like that, but he loves her too.”

“You like animals, don’t you?”

“I like Tobias. I don’t get on with other animals, or with people. My wife and I live very much on our own, but we don’t mind. If they don’t bother us we don’t bother diem. I have my books. I am an engineer. I have a basement where I can work. I don’t need anybody anymore.”

The commissaris had been looking at a large framed painting hanging in the shadows of the room.

“That’s Tobias,” de Bree said. “My wife did it. It isn’t painted but embroidered, in very small stitches. We found a store where an artist will do a portrait on canvas and they sell you wool so that you can embroider the portrait yourself. People usually like to make portraits like that of their children but we don’t have any. I gave my wife the canvas for her birthday. It took her months to stitch it.”

The commissaris had got up to study the gobelin. “Remarkable! An amazing likeness. Your cat has an interesting face.”

Cardozo whipped out his handkerchief and began to blow his nose furiously.

De Bree had lost interest. He was staring at the floor, his hand resting limply on the cat’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Does mat help? If I say I am sorry? I’ll pay if you like. The Carnet ladies must have had some expenses, perhaps they want to put in a claim. I’ll pay for the vet and whatever you say I should pay on top of the vet’s bill for damages. I suppose I owe it to mem.”

“The judge would like to hear you say that.” The commissaris had sat down and was stirring his tea. “But why did you want to kill Paul? Death through arsenic poisoning is very unpleasant, painful. The victim suffers cramps, vomits, he may suffer for a fairly long time until the coma finally sets in. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose so. I didn’t think of it. Arsenic is the only poison I could find, they sell it to kill rats. I would have bought a better poison if it had been available.”

“But why kill the dog?”

De Bree shrugged. “There was no choice. Paul is a young strong dog. Terriers are fierce and quick on their feet. So is Tobias, but Tobias can only see on one side. The silly cat doesn’t know that the gardens around belong to others, he thinks they are all his private hunting ground. The other cats run away when they see him coming but Paul is a hunter too, and he has been out to kill Tobias for a while now. I have broken up some of their fights, but I can’t be in the garden all the time. So…”

“No.” The commissaris had put down his cup and his hands grabbed the sides of his chair. “No, sir. You should have thought of another solution. A very high fence, for instance, there’s a limit to what cats can do. A carpenter could have constructed a fence that couldn’t have been scaled by Tobias. The point is that you didn’t want to restrict your cat. You can’t deny other people the right to have a pet because their pet is a threat to yours. You could also have moved to the country. You are not economically bound to the city. You have alternatives, Mr. de Bree.”

De Bree’s eyelids sagged. “I said I was sorry.”

“Yes.”

Cardozo had brought out his notebook. “I’ll have to take your statement, sir. Would you describe what you did and tell us exactly when you did it. It can be a short statement, but it’ll have to be in your own words.”

“On Wednesday, the first of June, at about twelve hundred hours…”

De Bree’s voice was flat. Cardozo was writing furiously as the voice droned on. De Bree proved that his mind was trained in exactitude and had the ability to report logically connected events.

Cardozo read the statement back and de Bree brought out his fountain pen.

“Thank you,” the commissaris said, “and please thank your wife for her hospitality.”

“Will I have to go to jail?” de Bree asked as the policemen stepped into the street.

“It’s up to the judge, sir. I’m sorry, our task is finished now. Perhaps you should consult your lawyer when you receive the summons.”

The door closed with an almost inaudible click.

“A telephone, Cardozo. Is there a public booth around?’

“Any news, dear?”

He held the phone away from his ear as his secretary reported.

“Grijpstra and the sergeant had some trouble, sir. The radio room says that they had to ask the water police for assistance. I’ve had a report from the water police too, but it isn’t very detailed. It only says that they chased a boat belonging to a Mr. Vleuten and that Mr. Vleuten wasn’t with his boat when they found it. Sergeant de Gier fell into the river somewhere along the chase but he wasn’t harmed.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir. And I’ve had a call from Gabrielle Carnet, she found a hundred thousand guilders under her mother’s mattress and thought you would like to hear about it.”

“I would, yes. Anything else? Any news about Mr. Bergen and his facial trouble?”

“Yes, sir, I asked Miss Carnet. The hospital referred Mr. Bergen to a private neurologist and the neurologist detected some serious trouble, it seems. Mr. Bergen will have further tests tomorrow. He is at home now, I have the address. He telephoned his office and Miss Carnet was there when the call came in.”

The commissaris wrote down the address and the telephone number, fumbling on the small metal desk provided in the booth, and managed to drop his ball-point and bump his head as he came up again.

“Oh, sir.”

“Yes?” He had dropped his ball-point again and was rubbing his head.

“There was a note on your desk that I don’t think you’ve seen. It was brought up from Grijpstra’s room as it was addressed to you. A report on the adjutant’s visit to a portrait painter called Wertheym?”

“Yes. Go on.”

“It only says that Wertheym made two identical portraits for Mrs. Carnet. The ‘two’ is underlined.”

“Thanks.” He hung up. Cardozo was staring at him foolishly, his nose pressed against the glass of the booth. The commissaris opened die door, slamming it into Cardozo’s arm. “Don’t stand there like an idiot, Cardozo, did I hurt you?”

“No, sir.”

“Your friend the sergeant got himself into the Amstel River this afternoon, something to do with chasing the baboon, apparently. I wish they’d phoned in. I’ve no idea where they are now, looks as if I’ll have to run after my own assistants. My own fault. I’m pushing this case too hard.”

They walked back to the car. The neighborhood was experiencing a short burst of liveliness as heads of families were coming home, welcomed by grateful wives. Everywhere around them car doors slammed, children rushed out of front doors, fathers put down their briefcases to embrace their offspring. The late afternoon sun was pouring a thick, diffuse light into the long, tree-lined street so that each object threw a tapered, clearcut shadow.

The commissaris stopped to admire a creeper, heavily studded with clusters of white flowers, that had covered an entire wall and seemed ready to climb over it. “Beautiful. But we are still stuck, Cardozo. Remember that motive that was thrown at us? Mrs. Carnet’s eighty thousand guilders? Taken from the bank yesterday, in cash, in crisp notes? Nowhere to be found now?”

“Yes, sir, you told me.”

“Well, it grew to a hundred thousand and it has shown up again, under the lady’s mattress. Gabrielle found the money and was good enough to phone my office. Back where we started.”

Cardozo, who had been nodding encouragingly, lost his smile. He looked so crestfallen that the commissaris cheered up again. “Never mind. Good luck comes to those who keep on trying. Hie old chief constable used to say that and he was right. Tell you what, Cardozo, you go to see Gabrielle now, she’s around the corner. Find out the details of the lucky find and phone your report to the radio room. You can go home afterward, perhaps you should stay home. If I manage to find the adjutant and the sergeant I’ll contact you and we may have a conference to finish off the day.”

Cardozo almost came to attention, turned around, and marched down the street. The small figure in its shabby corduroy jacket, bouncing under a mop of curly hair, looked incongruous between the elegant houses. The commissaris nodded approvingly. Cardozo’s willingness to do his share showed. The young man was shaping up well, but he wasn’t a complete policeman yet. The commissaris remembered words spoken by his superiors, who had, since then, turned into old men and doddered into then-graves. A policeman is cunning but moderate. Sly as a snake, innocent as a dove. He said the word aloud. “Sly.” A good word. To be sly without malice. He would need his slyness now, to sort out this mess caused by uncontrolled but very human emotions. A poisoned dog and a clownish, frumped-up woman, dead in a pool of rainwater. He wondered what else they would find, for the emotions weren’t curbed yet. He knew that his main task was to prevent further manifestations and he would have to solve the present riddle to be able to do so.

A large white motorcycle whizzed past, ridden by what looked to be a mechanical man, completely wrapped in white leather, his face hidden by a plastic visor. The Amsterdam police emblem, a naked sword resting on an open book, was painted on the motorcycle’s metal saddlebag. It also showed on the policeman’s helmet. The motorcycle’s presence kept drivers in line. The commissaris looked at his own image mirrored in a store window. The image peered back at him, a small man dressed in grays with a thin face and a glint of gold-rimmed spectacles. Chief of the murder brigade, gliding through the city almost transparent, completely unnoticed. “A sneak,” he said aloud. What could a sneak prevent? But he would do his best, this very best, and his mind was locked on the case again as he opened the door of the Citroen.