Death of a Hawker

20

The two cars left Police Headquarters at about eleven that morning and managed to lose contact almost immediately, as the constable at the wheel of the Citroen beat a traffic light just as it changed, leaving de Gier cursing in the battered VW, stuck behind a three-wheeled bicycle ridden by an invalid.

Grijpstra grunted.

"You should drive this car for a change," de Gier said, turning up the radio's volume.

"Yes?" the radio voice asked as de Gier gave his number.

"Put me on relay," de Gier said, "and give us another frequency. Your third channel is free, is it?"

"Fourth channel is free," the voice said. "I'll tell the commissaris' car to change into it."

"Yes?" the constable in the Citroen asked.

"Don't drive so spectacularly, constable," de Gier said. "We are still in Marnix Street and we have lost you already. Which way are you going?"

"East, through Weteringschans. We are headed for a yard in the industrial part on the other side of the Amstel."

"Wait for us, I'll try to catch up, and don't rush off when you see us."

They found the Citrosn again and tagged on. Bezuur wasn't in the yard. He wasn't in the next yard either. They tried his office. They went to the south but he wasn't at home. De Gier's initial impatience disappeared. Grijpstra sat next to him, smoked his small black cigars and said nothing, not even when a Mercedes, coming from the left, ignored their right of way and made them lunge forward as de Gier kicked his brake.

The radio came to life again. Cardozo's voice, flattened strangely, mentioned that it was past lunchtime.

"So?" de Gier asked.

"So the commissaris wants lunch."

Grijpstra broke his silence and grabbed the microphone from de Gier's hand.

"Excellent thought, Cardozo. Tell your driver to turn right at the next traffic light, second right after that."

"What's there, adjutant?"

"A Turkish snack bar. They serve hot rolls with some sort of meat stew inside, and tomatoes and onions."

The radio crackled for a while and the commissaris' voice came through.

"These Turkish rolls you mentioned, Grijpstra, what are they like?"

"Delicious, sir, but a little foreign."

"Spicy?"

"Not too much, sir."

"What's the restaurant's name?"

"A Turkish name, sir. Couldn't pronounce it if I could remember it, but you can't miss it. They have a stuffed donkey on the sidewalk and there's a Turkish lady on the donkey, with a veil and wide trousers and lots of necklaces."

"Yes?" the commissaris asked. "She's got to sit on that carcass all day?"

"A dummy, sir, a window display model. Not alive."

"I see," the commissaris said.

They sat on the restaurant terrace and ate. The commissaris complimented Grijpstra on his good taste and ordered another helping. Zilver began to talk to de Gier and de Gier, after breathing deeply, managed to look friendly. Cardozo looked at the lady on the donkey. She seemed to be slipping off and he wanted to get up and adjust her, but then the commissaris asked for the bill.

"So where shall we go now, Mr. Zilver?"

"There's another yard in Amstelveen where he keeps some of his larger earthmovers and a few bulldozers and tractors. I've been there but I got the impression that he doesn't often go there himself, so I was keeping it as a last possibility."

"What were you doing there?" the commissaris asked. "You weren't particularly friendly with Klaas Bezuur, were you?"

"I wasn't," Louis said, "but I had nothing against the man either. He was lending us a lot of money after all. I went to the yard that time with Abe. Bezuur had phoned to tell us about a new bulldozer he had bought and which he wanted to demonstrate. I thought Abe wouldn't be interested, but he went straight off and I went with him. Corin Kops, one of Abe's girlfriends, went too. We played around all afternoon. He let us drive some of the machines. We even chased each other."

"Must be nice," de Gier said, "like playing with toy cars at the fair."

"Those machines aren't exactly toy cars," Zilver said. "Some them must weigh a few tons. I was driving a mechanical digger that afternoon which had a mouth the size of a killer whale's."

"The yard is in Amstelveen, you say," the commissaris said. "Amstelveen isn't a suburb of Amsterdam.

It's another city and outside our territory. Well, we can always plead that we were in hot pursuit."

Grijpstra looked doubtful.

"Yes, perhaps we shouldn't. If Mr. Zilver gives us the address we can alert the Amstelveen police. They can send a car out too. We'll make them feel they are in it as well."

Bezuur saw them coming, which was unfortunate. The yard was big, fifty by a hundred meters, and surrounded by a high brick wail, partly overgrown by a profusion of plants. Bezuur was standing right in the middle of the yard as Grijpstra and de Gier came in through the large swinging gates.

"Good day," de Gier shouted, and Bezuur was about to return the greeting when he caught a glimpse of Louis Zilver, getting out the black Citrosn's rear door. He also saw the nose of the white police van which the Amstelveen constables were parking on the other side of the street.

Bezuur stopped, turned and ran.

"Halt," Grijpstra boomed, but Bezuur was already climbing onto a bulldozer. As the bulldozer's diesel engine started up, Grijpstra drew his pistol.

"Halt! Police! We'll shoot!"

The commissaris was with them now. The constable had come with him but turned and ran toward the Citroen as he saw the bulldozer coming closer. The constable opened the trunk of the Citroen and grabbed a carbine. He loaded and knelt near the swinging doors. Grijpstra had pointed his gun at the sky and fired. The constable fired too, but the bulldozer's great blade had come up and the bullet hit the blade and ricocheted wildly, burying itself in the brick wall and disturbing the leaves of a creeper, which shook its red flowers in feeble protest. De Gier was firing too but his bullets missed as the bulldozer spun around on its left track. The Amstelveen uniformed constables were hesitating near the gate, seeing little point in using their firearms with so much movement in front of them. The bulldozer roared and kept on turning, its gleaming heavy steel blade moving up and down. The blade stopped in a horizontal position, bare and menacing, and the machine sprang forward. De Gier broke out in a sweat. The bulldozer's blade was aimed at the commissaris, a small lost figure in the vast yard. He inserted his spare clip into the pistol and fired again. He saw Bezuur's fat bulk shake as the bullet hit him but the machine didn't falter, plodding on steadily toward the commissaris, who was running to the yard's nearest corner where, panting, he meant to find refuge by flattening himself against the wall bricks.

De Gier held a hand on his shoulder and looked around. Cardozo was squatting next to him, pointing at the other side of the yard. Another engine had come to life, a great mechanical digger was coming forward, grinding the gravel with its huge tracks.

"Zilver," Cardozo shouted.

"What?"

"Zilver! He's in the cabin of the digger. I asked him to do something. He said he could handle the digger, didn't he?"

De Gier nodded, but he wasn't interested. He looked again at the commissaris, who had now reached the corner and seemed to be tearing at the creepers in a vain attempt to put more distance between his small body and the approaching blade. The corner seemed safe, for the blade scraped the walls at each side without being able to touch him. Creepers and trailers were being torn off the walls and fell on the blade and on Bezuur's seat, decorating the bulldozer with its red and orange flowers and dark green leaves. The bulldozer reversed and jumped forward again, grazing the wall this time, forcing the commissaris to give up his refuge. As the bulldozer turned to pursue the running old man, De Gier almost closed his eyes to blot out the scene. The commissaris didn't have a chance on open ground, he would never be able to outrun the bulldozer. De Gier emptied his clip but the bullets hit the machine, not the man directing its onslaught. When de Gier's pistol clicked he snarled at Cardozo. "Fire, you fool, fire."

Cardozo shook his head. "Grijpstra is behind there, somewhere, look!"

The digger had found the bulldozer and its closed steel-toothed mouth was aimed at Bezuur's body. The digger's engine growled and they could see Zilver in his glass-covered cabin at the rear of the machine, frantically pushing levers. Bezuur felt the danger and made the bulldozer change direction. De Gier jumped up and reached toward the commissaris, who collapsed against him. De Gier picked the old man up and ran to the gate. A constable opened the rear door of the Citroen and de Gier lowered the commissaris onto the back seat.

"I am all right," the commissaris said. "Go back, sergeant. Bezuur is wounded already, we don't want to kill him. See if you can't get the digger to overthrow Bezuur's machine."

"Sir," de Gier said and ran back. When he got to the yard he saw the digger's teeth hit the back of Bezuur's head. Zilver had pushed his lever suddenly and moved it right over. The pointed spearlike teeth hit Bezuur with the full power of the diesel engine roaring away under Zilver's cabin. The head snapped free and was shot across the yard, hitting the stone and exploding against it. De Gier's legs weakened and he found himself lying in the yard with Cardozo tugging at his shoulders, for the bulldozer kept going along slowly and they were in its way.

"Up, up," Cardozo shouted and de Gier dumbly obeyed, dragging himself away. Grijpstra ran after the bulldozer, swung himself onto its saddle and turned the key on the small dashboard. Zilver had switched off the digger's engine. It was very quiet in the yard. De Gier heard the sparrows twittering among the creepers.

"Sparrows," de Gier said. "They have lost their nests in there."

"Sparrows?" Grijpstra asked. "What sparrows?"

De Gier pointed at the wall. The creepers were all down on one side, meshed into the ground by the bulldozer's tracks.

"Who care about sparrows? The fool has lost his head."

Grijpstra pointed at Bezuur's fat body, lying on its back where it had fallen after the digger's mouth had hit it. Blood was still oozing out of its rump and they could see the heavy neck muscles, torn into a ragged circular edge.

De Gier's legs faltered again and Grijpstra's arm caught his shoulders.

A uniformed constable came running up.

"Are you in charge of this arrest?" the constable asked.

"The commissaris is in the car, constable," Grijpstra said, "in the Citroen. He is in charge, but I think you will have to write the report; this is your territory. You witnessed the proceedings, didn't you?"

"Proceedings," the constable muttered. "Proceedings! I've never seen anything like it in my life. What are we going to do about the fellow's head?"

"Scrape if off the yard and the wall and put it in a box," Grijpstra said. "And the man who handled the digger isn't ours but a civilian. We've got his name and particulars. Don't charge him, we have reason to be grateful; he saved the commissaris' life. I also have the name of the dead man for you."

Grijpstra took out his notebook, opened it and scribbled. He tore out the page and gave it to the constable. "If you want me you can reach me at Amsterdam Headquarters. Grijpstra is the name. Adjutant Grijpstra."

"I'll be wanting you," the constable said. "You'll have me on your back for the rest of the week. What a show! If we staged an arrest like this in Amsterdam, we would never hear the end of it."

"We're from the big city, constable," Grijpstra said. "Be grateful you live in the province."

Another constable had arrived.

"You," the first constable said, "get a knife or small spade or something and a box. I want you to collect whatever you can find of the head."

"Bah," the other constable said.

Cardozo grinned. The first constable had three stripes, the second only two. Grijpstra grinned too.

"Poor fellow," Cardozo said.

The sparrows were still twittering as they left the courtyard.