Death of a Hawker

18

"Tell me," the Commissaris said.

The commissaris looked fresh, almost jolly, and surprisingly elegant, for he had finally given in to his wife's constant urging and put on his new linen suit to go with the warm weather. It was specially cut for him by a very old tailor who, in his young days, had designed suits for the great merchants who made their wealth in what was once called the Dutch East Indies. The suit fitted him perfectly, somehow managing to look loose and soft, and the thick golden watch chain spanning his waistcoat added to his general aura of luxury. The commissaris had spent an evening, two nights and a full day in bed, leaving it only to soak in a scaldingly hot bath; and his wife had fussed over him continuously, supplying him with coffee and orange juice and at least five different soups, served in bowls with a plate of hot toast on the side, and lighting his cigars for him (even biting off the ends and spitting them out with a look of gentle disgust); and the pain had finally left him so that he could now sit in his oversized office and stretch out his legs without having to worry about sudden stabs and pricks and cramps, and take care of whatever came his way. De Gier had come his way that morning, at nine sharp, the earliest anybody could bother the commissaris in his secluded room. De Gier was upset, pale in the face, and unusually nervous.

"What happened, de Gier?" the commissaris asked again.

"A rat," de Gier said. "A large dead white rat. Its belly was ripped open and its inside hung out and it was covered in blood, and it was lying on my doormat when I wanted to leave this morning. I would have stepped on it if Oliver hadn't warned me. Oliver went out of his mind when he saw the rat. His fur was all up. He was twice his ordinary size. Like this."

De Gier indicated the size of Oliver. His hand was about four feet off the floor.

"Really?" the commissaris asked. "That's very big for a cat. Was he jumping up and down perhaps?"

"No. Neither was the rat. It just lay there. It had been put there to annoy me. We don't have rats in the building and if we did have rats they would be brown. This was a white rat, the kind they use in laboratories. I've got it with me, in a shoebox. Shall I show it to you?"

"Later," the commissaris said.

The commissaris picked up his phone, dialed two numbers and ordered coffee. He also offered de Gier a cigarette and lit it for him. De Gier didn't thank the commissaris; he was staring at the floor

"Right," the commissaris said cheerfully. "So why would anyone put a dead rat on your doormat, and kill it first, and rip its entrails out? Do you have any disturbed friends who would play a prank on you? Only your friends know that you are upset by the sight of blood and corpses. Is there anyone in the police who would do that to you? Think."

"Yes, sir."

"Perhaps you irritated someone."

"Cardozo," de Gier said. "I annoyed him yesterday. Twice I annoyed him. I made him take the money from the market home because he had spilled coffee over it. It had to be dried, and last night at the party I made him stay after Grijpstra and I left."

The commissaris picked up the phone again. "Cardozo? Good morning, Cardozo, would you care to step into my room a minute?"

"No," Cardozo said, sitting on the edge of his chair. "Never. I wouldn't do that. I have never killed anything. I shot a man in the legs three years ago and I still have dreams about it. Bad dreams. I wouldn't kill an animal. And I like the sergeant."

De Gier looked up. "You do?" he asked in a tired voice. Cardozo didn't look at him.

"I am frightened of rats," de Gier said. "Blood upsets me, and rats too. A bloody rat is about the worst thing I can imagine. And there it was, right on my doormat. I only bought that doormat a few days ago. The old one was getting tatty. I can throw this one away too now."

"Yes," the commissaris called, answering a knock on the door.

"Morning, sir." Grijpstra closed the door carefully behind him and ambled into the room, waiting for the commissaris to ask him to sit down. The commissaris indicated a chair. Grijpstra didn't sit down, he fell into the chair. The chair creaked.

"Shit," Grijpstra said.

The commissaris looked up irritably.

"I beg your pardon," he asked sharply.

"Shit, sir," Grijpstra said, "all over my doorstep this morning. Dogshit. Somebody must have gone to a lot of trouble collecting dogshit, with a little spade I suppose, and a bucket. Very early this morning when nobody was about. It was heaped in front of my doorstep. I was in it up to my ankles before I knew what I was doing. They had even pushed it under the door but my corridor is very dark and I didn't notice it as I left the house. Whoever did that must hate my guts."

"De Gier had a bloody rat on his doorstep," the commissaris said. Grijpstra looked at de Gier who was smiling faintly.

"Shit?" de Gier asked.

"You think that's funny, don't you?" Grijpstra asked and half rose from his chair. "You're an idiot, de Gier. You are always laughing and rolling about with mirth when I step into it. Do you remember when the sea gulls shat all over me some months ago? You were laughing so much you nearly fell over. I have never laughed when you went into your tantrums because there was a drop of blood somewhere. Never!"

The commissaris got up and stood between them. "Now, now, gentlemen, let's not get more nervous than we are already. The day hasn't even started yet. Who do you think could have done this to you, Grijpstra? Who knows that a dog's droppings will upset you and, mind you, whoever it is has a reason to shake de Gier as well, for he had a similar occurrence this morning. It must be somebody who knows you both very well and who has a good reason to get even with you."

Grijpstra had turned around and was looking at Cardozo. Grijpstra's brows had sunk low and there was an angry glint in his otherwise quiet and harmless blue eyes.

"No," Cardozo said. "Not me, adjutant. I wouldn't be scraping the street to collect dogshit. This is not like me at all. I assure you." Cardozo was on his feet too, gesturing wildly.

"Right. It wasn't you, Cardozo,'' the commissaris said pleasantly. "Why don't you order some coffee for the adjutant and yourself. Use the phone. My coffee machine is out of order."

It took the commissaris twenty minutes of patient questioning before they connected blood, rat and dog droppings to Louis Zilver and the party the previous night. De Gier, who had been fairly drunk, had to force his memory before he recalled Zilver's questions in the corridor of Uncle Bert's house, and Grijpstra was only prepared to admit a similar conversation with Louis Zilver after de Gier had mentioned his incident.

"Yes," Grijpstra said reluctantly. "I was in my cups a bit. Shouldn't have been but I was. That jenever knocked me off straightaway. He must have gotten it from an illegal distillery somewhere, pure alcohol with a bit of a taste, nearly burned my guts out. And that young fellow seemed harmless. We were talking about the horror movie which was on the TV and about what scares people and I said that I can't bear shit. He laughed, the silly bastard laughed, and he said that it would be unlikely that they would ever show a shitfilmon TV."

"And then you said that that's all they show on the telly," de Gier said. De Gier was looking much better.

"How do you know? You weren't there when Zilver was talking to me."

"It's the obvious thing to say."

"Oh, so I only say the obvious, hey? You have exclusive rights to intellectual conversation?"

"That'll be enough of that," the commissaris said, and selected a cigar from the small tin on his desk. He bent down so that Grijpstra had to search his pockets for his lighter.

"Thank you, Grijpstra. So our idea to have a sniff at the street market paid off. I am glad you got yourselves invited to that party. Zilver must have underestimated your drunkenness last night. Obviously he thought you would have forgotten what you said to him. This is a direct link. We may as well try to follow it up."

"Not much to charge the man with, sir," Grijpstra said, "if we can ever prove it was he. Dirtying the public thoroughfare is a minor offense. We can't even arrest him if we do prove the charge. He must have done it in the early hours, after he went home from the party."

"He wanted to shake you," the commissaris said. "He knows you and de Gier are charged with the Rogge case, and poor Elizabeth's death as well. The two cases go together, of course. If he can shake the hounds the fox will get away."

"He must be the fox himself," de Gier said.

"Possibly," the commissaris said, "but not necessarily. Louis Zilver dislikes the police. He told me that his grandparents were taken from their house by the Dutch police, during the war. The police must have handed them over to the Germans and the Germans put them on transport to Germany and eventually killed them. But he blames us, the Amsterdam Municipal Police, and rightly so. If he can get at you and the adjutant, he repays some of the debt he thinks he has to his grandparents."

"I was a boy at the time, sir."

"Yes, but your personal guilt has nothing to do with it. Hatred is never rational, especially a deep hatred such as Zilver must be suffering from. I was jailed and tortured by the Germans during the war and I have to force myself now to give directions to young German students who have lost their way. I associate the way they speak and behave with the young SS soldiers who once knocked six of my teeth out. That was over thirty years ago; the students weren't even born then."

"But we are trying to solve the murder of his friend," Grijpstra said. "If he bothers us it must be because he has killed Abe himself."

The commissaris shook his head and raised a finger. "He was in the house when Abe died, wasn't he? Esther Rogge said so. And Zilver said Esther was in the house. If Zilver killed Abe Rogge, Esther, the victim's sister, must have been his associate. I think we all agree by now that the killer was outside, most probably on the roof of that wrecked houseboat opposite the Rogge house."

"Zilver could have nipped out, sir," de Gier said, "and nipped in again afterward. I would like your permission to arrest him and hold him for questioning. We have a serious reason to suspect him now. We can hold him for six hours if you give the word."

"Yes," Grijpstra said. "I agree, sir."

"Just because of the droppings and the bloody rat?"

"I have another reason, sir," Grijpstra said slowly. They all looked at the adjutant, who had stood up and was staring out of the window, his hands deep in his pockets.

"You can tell us, Grijpstra," the commissaris said.

"The painting in Abe Rogge's room, sir. Perhaps you remember the painting. It shows two men in a boat, a small boat surrounded by foamy water. It must have been late at night, the sky is nearly as blue as the sea, a blackish blue. Maybe there was a moon-sky and sea almost merge and the boat is the central point in the painting."

"Yes, yes," the commissaris said. "Go on, and look at us when you are talking."

"Sorry sir." Grijpstra turned around. "But the main point of that painting not the boat or the sea or the light, but the feeling of friendship. Those two men are very close, as close as people can be. They are drawn as two lines, but the lines join."

"So?"

"I don't mean a homosexual relationship."

"No," the commissaris said. "I know what you mean, and you are right, I think. I saw that painting too."

"Bezuur told us that the two men were himself and Rogge. He got all blubbery about it. Do you remember, sir?"

"Yes. Yes, he was obviously suffering. Quite genuinely I thought."

"Yes, sir. Rogge had dropped him or fought with him or broken the relationship in some other way. I believe Esther told de Gier that her brother just stopped seeing him. But Bezuur didn't crack up, for he had other interests, his father's business, which he inherited, and great wealth. But Zilver would have had nothing if Rogge had dropped him."

"Yes," the commissaris said. "True. A mentally disturbed young man who relied completely on his stronger partner. But did we have any suggestion that Rogge was going to, or had already, broken his relationship with Zilver?"

"No sir," de Gier suddenly said. "Or at least, not that I know of. But if he had it would certainly have upset Louis Zilver, and Zilver is capable of extraordinary activity when he gets upset. He proved that this morning, didn't he?"

"So," the commissaris said slowly. "You two are suggesting that Rogge told Zilver to go away, leave the house, get out of the partnership on the street market, and so forth. Esther said that Rogge would drop people the minute they began to bore him. He didn't need anybody apparently, and he could always find new company. A throng of admiring women, for instance. Flicked his fingers and they wagged their tails, so Tilda told us. The other lady confirmed the fact too. That Kops woman, the surrealist, huh!" He shuddered. "Silly woman that. But never mind. She told Zilver to get lost and Zilver reacted drastically!"

"Indeed," Grijpstra said. "Esther also told us that Rogge like to upset people, show them up for what they really are, prick their vanity. He must have done that to Zilver too. Maybe he did it once too often. And suddenly, without anyone being around to notice it. A single remark perhaps. Esther apparently doesn't suspect Zilver, because she didn't know that Abe had told him off. Zilver must have killed Rogge almost immediately after the incident happened."

"Now, now," the commissaris said. "And what about the device? He must have used a hellish machine, as de Gier pointed out before. An ingenious unusual weapon. Did he have it in his cupboard? And did he run to his room after Abe told him off? Did he grab the weapon, rush outside, use it and run back to his room again?"

"Sir," de Gier said.

"Yes, de Gier?"

"It must have been an ordinary thing, sir. A hellish machine which looks like an ordinary utensil."

The commissaris thought. He also grunted. "Yes. Because he had it outside in the street and the riot police didn't notice anything amiss," the commissaris said slowly.

"Zilver isn't normal, sir," Grijpstra said. "He is probably insane. This dogshit and bloody rat business proves it. No sane person would go to such lengths as he must have done early this morning. Poor fellow can't be blamed, I suppose. The war, and what happened to his grandparents and all that. If he is our man we'll have to turn him over to the city psychiatrists. But I think this is the moment to grab him. He'll probably know we are after him and he'll be defensive and frightened and ready to talk."

"True," the commissaris said.

"So can we have a warrant for his arrest, sir?"

"No," the commissaris said. "I am not convinced that he committed a murder, or two murders. Whoever killed Rogge killed Elizabeth. And whoever killed Elizabeth is ready to kill again. Maybe you are right, but I doubt it."

"So do we forget the incident, sir?" There was no emotion in Grijpstra's voice. He was rubbing the stubbles on his chin.

"Certainly not. You and I are going to see him."

"Excuse me, sir," C amp;rdozo said.

"Yes?"

"Just a suggestion, sir. Why don't you let me go and find him. I won't spill anything, just that I was told to take him to Headquarters. Maybe he'll say something to me on the way. He has nothing against me so far and we are about the same age. We even have the same background."

"Very well, the commissaris said. "Bring him in by public transport. But make sure someone is following you. And watch him. We don't know under what stress he is laboring. And perhaps you and I should question him. Grijpstra may provoke him into another tirade about the police. On your way, Cardozo. Bring him straight up to my room when you come back."

"Sir," Cardozo said, and left.

"That's better," Grijpstra said. "You are right, sir. I am ready to wring his neck. And so are you," he added, looking at de Gier.

"Yes," de Gier said. "I've got the dead rat in a carton on my desk. I'll show it to you."

"Never," Grijpstra said. "Put that box in an ashcan. I am not showing you that dogshit, am I?"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," the commissaris said. "I am sure there's something useful to do. Find out what it is and then do it. I'll let you know as soon as I know something."