Hard Rain

\\\\\ 26 /////

Turtle, hanging from the commissaris's hand, had come out as far as he could, rowing his legs and extending his scaly neck. He peered up at the commissaris's face with hooded eyes. "They thought they got you yesterday, Turtle," the commissaris said. "A good mistake. You think it's my turn now to make a good mistake?" His wife put down his coffee on the little table on the porch. She scratched Turtle's head. "Silly thing. You think he thinks, Jan? Carl's version looks very thoughtful. He's patched him up. Carl's making Noah's Ark now, using the piaster animals from your toy zoo. I said it was all right."

The commissaris stirred his coffee. "My zoo. I used to play a lot with that, trying to figure out what animals could be put together in one cage. I was always short of cages. The lion and the lamb, but that doesn't work so well. Another biblical tale that I could never accept."

"Is that why the lamb is red? You dipped it in paint?"

"And broke off its head," the commissaris said, "but I glued it back on later. Noah's Ark? Very applicable, don't you think? We do have a strangely assorted collection of creatures in the house now."

"You mean Carl and Mrs. Jongs? They get on very well. Mrs. Jongs is cleaning out the hall closet today, throwing out a lot. That's where Carl got the scraps he's using for the ark."

"We'll be adding to our collection today," the commissaris said. "Grijpstra is picking up Miss Antoinette. I think we'll have to place her in safekeeping too. Fernandus was grumbling about her yesterday. I didn't like that."

"Your mistress?" his wife asked. "You want your mistress to stay with us?"

"She isn't my mistress." The commissaris held his wife's hand. "She's my spy, risking her life for our good cause."

"No, Jan, I won't have her here. Such a smart-looking woman, she always makes me feel old and ugly. Don't do this to me."

"Yes," the commissaris said. "I have to. It won't be for long. You're eternally young, Katrien. I can see that clearly. Age has brought out your grace. Just the way you move…" He stroked her arm. "And your hair is so beautiful now, pure silver. Young women aren't quite formed, mentally I mean. They make desirable impressions, but the attraction doesn't last."

"That's what I think when I watch you," his wife said. "I like you better than in the early years. Your presence keeps improving."

"Same with all of us," the commissaris said. "If we evolve properly, of course. Fernandus looks much worse now." He looked up. "I thought he was going to have some heart trouble yesterday."

"So how long is Miss Antoinette going to stay, Jan? I may tear her to ribbons. We're incompatible animals if you lock us together."

The commissaris thought.

"Well?"

"You know what you could do?" the commissaris asked. "Link her to Carl. Give her the other room in the attic, they'll be next door. They should be good for each other. Miss Antoinette is always complaining about loneliness, and Carl could use some affection, I think. It may interest her to see what Carl does with his life. They would make a great pair."

"You amuse me," his wife said. "Why don't you grow your hair and wear a long dress and I'll play Beethoven's Fifth on the record player while you arrange the fate of little people?"

"I'll be divine?" the commissaris asked. "What's wrong with arranging a liaison between Miss Antoinette and Carl? I tell you, it'll work out well. Miss Antoinette's lights are lit when she's with handicapped men. I'm a bit of an invalid, too, and Fernandus suffers from evil. Carl is young and handsome, in spite of his affliction."

"Yes, he is," his wife said. "I find him attractive."

"You can't have Carl," the commissaris said. "You have me. Give Carl away. Has Cardozo gone home?"

"Cardozo is very restless." She caressed his shoulders. "A young man picked him up here this afternoon. I think Cardozo called him Izzy. What's Cardozo working on?"

"On our case, I hope." The commissaris stood up. "He asked me if he could bring his computer up here, and I told him yes; I hope you don't mind. He'll also bring a friend, maybe the fellow you mentioned just now. They're going to arrange a demonstration."

She turned to the door. "Not at all, dear. I suppose they'll all stay to dinner. Have you invited Grijpstra and de Gier too? And those two rough young men who swear a lot? And your State Detection friends, the painted horrors?"

"They'll all come later," the commissaris said. "We're having a meeting tonight. Tomorrow we move in for the kill."

"On Sunday?"

"The day of the Lord of Vengeance," the commissaris said.

She looked away.

"What's wrong?"

"Never mind," she said. "Mrs. Jongs and I will bake more cakes."

"What's wrong? Do tell me."

"I don't like it," his wife said, "when you talk about revenge. It hurts me. You should be above all that. You just want to destroy Willem Fernandus, you were talking about him in your sleep again. I've never seen you so upset, thrashing about, kicking me, snoring, mumbling."

"It's got to be done, dear."

"Why?"

"It's my job," the commissaris said triumphantly.

"But you're relieved, Jan, you don't have a job."

"I got it back last night."

"Oh, dear," said the commissaris's wife. "Aren't you clever? I do wish you'd take the trouble to find out what you're really trying to do." She leaned over to kiss him. "You busy little bumbler."