The Rattle-Rat

\\\\\ 13 /////

Cardozo cycled.It was the right day for sporting activity, with a sunny sky and hardly any wind-a day for a bike ride, but biking from Amsterdam to Dingjum was lunacy, he granted that much. He defined his behavior as childish, caused by his own hotheaded insistence on getting ahead, and he even considered his own appearance childish, dressed as he was in shorts and a touristy shirt, and especially because of his equipment-a tin lunch box strapped to the luggage carrier in the rear, containing cheese sandwiches and an apple. Moreover, he was breaking a promise. To break promises one made to others could be excused, but when the promise was made to oneself, some respect was due. All those years he had biked to school, always with the wind pushing him back, beaten by rain, with a painful crotch, pulled to and fro by cowardly obedience to teacher and parent, he had looked forward to the day when he would be free of the heavy bike. When school was over, he'd thrown the bicycle into the canal, and after that he had used only engine-driven transport, like real people use. So what was he doing here now, on Samuel's dated contraption?

Next to him, cars raced along, and on the other side the green dike flowed slowly up, topped by high grass where seagulls stalked about. On the Inland Sea, a fishing boat bobbed slowly. Against shreds of fog the sails of a flatbottomed pleasure yacht emerged from the pure blue swell. In the yacht, holiday makers would be lounging about. I'm not living properly, Cardozo thought, pedaling with force. If I were as intelligent as I thought I was, I would be doing something pleasurably clever now.

Did a hunch get me here? Cardozo thought. Do my hunches ever work? Why did I forget about practical cooperation? Am I not part of a team? He could have telephoned the commissaris. "Sir, I'll be bicycling to Dingjum today." "Don't do that," the commissaris would have answered. Wouldn't that remark have saved him insane trouble? And shouldn't he be covered? Some risk is involved in the work of a police detective. Wasn't he hunting a dangerous fiend who thought nothing of putting a bullet through a fellow being's head and setting fire to his remains? Suppose the psychopathic demon knew that Cardozo was now cycling up the dike?

One of the handlebars on Samuel's bike carried a rear view mirror. In the mirror, three Chinese could be seen. The Chinese cycled in line. The nearest Chinese looked unhappy. The nearest Chinese's pedal ground past the chain case with an irritating, repetitious, squeaky moan; unmusical, probably also to Far Eastern ears. The farthest Chinese cyclist was Wo Hop's mate, unrecognizable at that distance. Wo Hop's mate was tired. The various stages in his recent career had convinced him that he was indeed a Rotten Egg. How could he ever have allowed himself to be riding a low-quality bike to an ever-extending nowhere?

Isn't it about time, Cardozo thought, that I got off my bicycle to eat an apple? While he contemplated the possibility, three more Chinese cyclists appeared, coming toward him. A coincidence, Cardozo thought. To be followed by three bicycling Chinese, to be confronted by three bicycling Chinese-anything is bound to happen if life lasts long enough. The occurrence could even be turned about. It should be possible for a Chinese to cycle on a Chinese dike and be followed by three Dutchmen on bikes and approached by three more Dutchmen. But if I were that Chinese, Cardozo thought, I would get off my bike, peel an apple in some quiet spot, watch all those Dutchmen until the horizons swallowed them up, and hope never to see any of them again.

Cardozo slowed and jumped off his bike. The Chinese followed his example. The Chinese produced pistols. Cardozo clawed his way deep into the grass.

The Chinese opened fire. Cardozo rolled into a shallow ditch left by a careless bulldozer driver, filled with flowering weeds. Nettles stung him, reed stalks scratched his ears, disturbed ants sank their jaws into his flesh, and a bullet cut off a leaf. The Chinese kept shooting, aiming at each other now. They weren't bad marksmen. Not every shot was successful, and two Chinese remained, crawling toward each other. They kept firing as they crawled.

Ten Arrest Team members, military policemen, kenneled and trained in the south of the country, dressed in combat fatigues, were driving along the dike in five cars. They had been issued orders to exterminate or; if possible, to arrest two dangerous criminals, Bald Ary and Fritz with the Tuft, in the cattle market of Leeuwarden, in another week's time. Because the extermination or arrest of two dangerous criminals who would be well armed and most likely in possession of a fast car would require coordination on the road, the Arrest Team was now on exercise. The five cars were connected by radio. The commander was in the first vehicle. He saw and heard the Chinese cyclists shooting at each other.

"All cars stop and park, over."

"Weapons ready to fire, over."

"Prepare attack direction Friesland, over."

"Leave cars, follow me, attack. Over and out."

P-S machine pistols with shortened barrels crackled, and folly automatic Uzi carbine/machine-gun combinations fired away. The men crawled, got up, broke into short runs, dropped down again. The Chinese pistols boomed individual heavy dots in the pattern of lines that the Attack Team's superior weapons were drawing. Turram. Voom. Tack-tack-tack. There were other heavy sounds caused by cars hitting each other and tires shrieking on the dike's tarmac. Surprised highway traffic, which had been moving along at easy speeds, clumped together, accompanied by the ragged blowing of horns.

The Arrest Team members reported to their chief. "They're all dead, sir, will that be all right?"

"Very nice," the commander bellowed. "You and you, guard corpses, the others, see what you can do about rearranging the traffic. Hello? Not you. Get back to your car and radio for ambulances."

A silver Citroen parked on the shoulder. "Drive on," a military policeman barked. He strengthened his order with a sweep of his weapon. A small gentleman left the Citroen.

"Back to your car and remove yourself, sir."

"Police," the little gentleman said. "What's going on here?"

"Chinese, sir. Six of them. All taken care of."

"Your chief?"

The military policeman pointed.

"Get the hell out of here," the commander shouted.

"Police," the commissaris said. "You didn't happen to hit a tousle-headed compatriot, I trust?"

The commander didn't think so. They went over together to look. The commander suddenly felt sick, and the commissaris didn't feel well either. One corpse showed a partly blown-away head; another had lost half an arm, and blood was pumping out of the stump; Wo Hop's mate observed the commander and the commissaris from one staring eye and one hole.

"Captain," a military policeman shouted. "Over there."

Two pink hands waved from a tuft of weeds.

"Arrest him."

Cardozo was arrested from six sides simultaneously.

"He's mine," the commissaris said. "I want him, Captain."

Cardozo was handed over.

"What happened?" Cardozo asked, laughing.

"Poor boy," the commissaris said. "Come with me, Simon, we'll sit down over there."

"An apple," sobbed Cardozo. "I was just going to peel it."

"Yes, dear boy."

"And they were all killing each other, all of a sudden."

"Care for a cigar?" the commissaris asked. Cardozo preferred to roll his own cigarette, but his hands were shaking uncontrollably. The commissaris lit a cigar and stuck it between Cardozo's lips.

"There are too many Chinese," Cardozo stuttered. "I had them in the Red Quarter too. Last night. Wo Hop and his mate, tied up. I released them, and two others too, and now this lot again."

"The same Chinese?" the commissaris asked.

"Lots of them, sir."

"Are you doing better now?"

"Because I wanted to eat an apple."

"It won't be an appetizing sight," the commissaris said, "but maybe you should take a look."

Ambulances climbed the dike crying plaintively with their sirens. A motorcycle cop rode slowly along the path reserved for cyclists. "Hey!" Cardozo shouted. "Watch it! Officer, that ambulance has flattened Samuel's bike. Oh, no. Officer, do something. I've got to bring that bike back, it belongs to my brother."

The cop took off his helmet. "Hello, Hylkje," the commissaris said. He introduced Cardozo.

"Will you be writing a report?" Cardozo asked. "I'll need it for the insurance."

Hylkje staggered off.

"Too many dead Chinese," the commissaris said. "Do you recognize any, Cardozo?"

"Here," Cardozo said. "Wo Hop's mate. This man who's missing an eye." Cardozo staggered off too.

Cardozo turned, grabbing hold of afencepost. "What are the commandos doing here, sir? Paratroopers? Is there a war? I haven't been reading the paper for a few days."

The commander of the Arrest Team reported to the commissaris. "Do you know what was going on here, sir? We were on our way to Leeuwarden, when we came upon these cyclists gunning each other down."

"I'm going to Leeuwarden too," the commissaris said. "I'll construct a theory on my way up. You'll be hearing from me."

"Chinese, all of them," the commander said.

"I was just going to eat an apple," Cardozo said. "I jumped off my bike. And suddenly, from nowhere, slaughter all over."

"You're on our side, right?" the commander asked. "And your chief was looking for you? He seemed to know that something was amiss."

"I'll reconstruct an acceptable situation," the commissaris said. "You'll be the first to know. You'll be securing the cattle market against predicted trouble?"

"You know about that too?"

"I heard rumors."

The commander took his helmet off and put it on again. "The Chinese are cattle dealers?"

"I hardly think so," the commissaris said.

A State Police Land Rover climbed the dike. A sergeant and a corporal got out. "What is going on here?"

"I was going to eat an apple," Cardozo said. "But I had to peel it first."

"Cycling Chinese," the commander said.

Hylkje came closer, holding a ballpoint pen and a notepad. "Who owned the bicycle that has just been totaled?"

"Any witnesses?" the state cops asked. "Why is everybody dead? Is the army involved?"

"Can we pick up the corpses now?" an ambulance attendant asked.

"I'll come up with a suitable hypothesis," the commissaris said.

"Did we manage to hit anyone?" the commander asked. "Hey. You and you. Did you get anyone?"

'This is where I jumped off my bike," Cardozo said. "They were all coming at me. Three from the rear and three from ahead."

"Not the army," the commander said, "although technically we might be, of course. An Arrest Team, trained in the south. I'm in charge."

"I got one, Captain, the man over there. I was spraying low, and as he fell I must have hit him in the head," a military policeman said.

"We're not authorized to pronounce them dead," the ambulance attendant said, "but they are, they're ripped to pieces."

"I'm going to call everybody in here," the State Police sergeant said. "Anyone I can think of. This is not for me. I can't even look at this mess. What could have done it?"

"I'll pass my solution to your Colonel Kopinie," the commissaris said, "and he'll pass it on to you."

"A battle," the State Police corporal was yelling into his microphone. "Maybe an attempted invasion. Come here, I say. The Chinese are losing."

"Come along, Cardozo," the commissaris said. "This is no place for us."

"I'll guide the way," Hylkje said. "There's cattle plague around again, and the north exit of the dike is clogged because of checks. I'll get you through them."

"I'm going to Dingjum," the commissaris said. "Put your bike in my car."

"Are you in a hurry?" Hylkje asked.

"Yes," the commissaris said. "No time to lose."

"Siren?"

"If you please."

"Two hundred kilometers an hour," the commissaris said. "Hylkje certainly knows her job."

"Are you sure we're in a hurry?" Cardozo asked.

"I think better at high speeds," the commissaris said. 'Tell me now, what were you doing with the Chinese suspects last night?"

Cardozo reported.

"Of course," the commissaris said.

"Is it clear to you now, sir?"

"Surely," the commissaris said, "but my explanation might be farfetched, and the theory cannot be confirmed, as both parties have left the situation. But that's the way it all fits."

"What way?" Cardozo asked.

"Just one little question," the commissaris said. "Do you recall having stated in public that you would be cycling along this dike starting early this morning? Think carefully, Cardozo."

Cardozo thought carefully.

"Yes," Cardozo said. "On the way, between the station in the Red Quarter and Troelstra's bar, I did make such a statement. Karate and Ketchup refused to believe me. Then I said it again and they repeated what I said, loudly. By bicycle. Six AM. TO Friesland. Along the dike"

"Aha," the commissaris said.

"It's really all clear to you now, sir?"

"Two hundred and five kilometers per hour," the commissaris said. "A most helpful speed. Pity. We're slowing down already. There's the end of the dike."

Hylkje chose the emergency lane. The Citroen followed. "This is the way it came about, Cardozo," the commissaris said. "Heroin dealing in Amsterdam is at present controlled by two Triads, secret Chinese societies that have been active here for years. Each Triad wants a monopoly, so friction results. The Hong Kong-based society fights the Singapore society here, in our city." The commissaris raised a slender finger. "Always the same thing. Conflicting interests. They could join and share, but that's too much to expect, when we consider human greed. So now what do we get?"

"Dead Chinese?"

"Ah," the commissaris said. "This part of the trip may be even better. Narrow country roads, Cardozo-we'll see what this exclusive car can do. We'll be glued to that motorcycle no matter what the corporal has us do. Just pay attention."

"Yes," Cardozo said. "Easy now, sir. Blind corners. Easy now."

Hylkje turned sharply, and the Citroen equaled her performance. "A hundred kilometers an hour," the commissaris said. "That's an easy speed, but in view of the road condition it's still an appreciable figure."

"So what would the Triad members want of me, sir?"

"Postulating," the commissaris said, "that this Adjutant Oppenhuyzen, who you found in Hop's restaurant contacting young Chinese toughs-assuming that this colleague, let's say, entertained intimate communication with the opposing party, we might possibly conclude"-the commissaris raised a finger again-"that the enemy, seeing you with the adjutant, surmised that you were in their business too. Moreover, they saw you having dinner with two uniformed constables. So they now know you're a police officer too. Look at it through their eyes, Cardozo, what do you see?"

The Citroen leaned into the next tight curve.

"Couldn't we park somewhere?" Cardozo asked. "It's hard to concentrate when I try to imagine what may happen any minute now."

"Close your eyes," the commissaris said. "Darkness helps at times. After you had dinner with the Red District constables, you were seen again, liberating two members of one Triad from the sadistic claws of the other. Where does that place you now?"

"On Hop's side?" Cardozo asked. "But I arrested both sides."

"And you let one side go later," the commissaris said. "Become a Chinese gangster for a moment, Cardozo. What is your aim? You're trying to increase your own happiness and possessions. Always the same motivation. Strengthening of one's own position. What's your next step?"

"I was going home."

"No, no," the commissaris said. "Switch your position. You're them now. See through their eyes. You'd be after a considerable sum of money. How would you plan to get that? What do cops have that the other side wants? Heroin, of course. We confiscate the drug and sell it back to the suppliers."

A straight line of road loomed up. Trees swishing by changed into a hedge of solid green, which broke for a moment and showed black and white dots-cows. Ahead of the Citroen, the large white motorcycle picked up speed. The siren sang her song.

"No!" Cardozo yelled, as a railway crossing humped up ahead. Motorcycle and car took the bulge spectacularly.

"Yes," the commissaris said. "The Chinese like to complicate simplicity. Ever interrogated a Chinese? They even change their names every two minutes. They expect the enemy, us, to like complications too. In order to get wise to what you would be planning, they dogged your steps. You were heard to say that you'd be bicycling to Friesland. Who would you want to visit out there?"

"Frisians?"

"More Chinese," the commissaris said. "Chinese finding refuge there because we hunt them out of Amsterdam. And what would you be taking to more Chinese?"

"Really?" Cardozo asked. "They thought my tin lunch box was filled with dope?"

•They did."

"Now where were the Chinese who were cycling toward me coming from, sir?"

"From Triad headquarters in Friesland."

"Please," Cardozo said. "You're driving too fast, sir, do please slow down."

"Had to pass that slowpoke," the commissaris said. "If I hadn't, Hylkje would have lost us. Now do you understand?"

"No."

"Betrayal?" the commissaris suggested. "There's always betrayal. Evil can't help betraying itself, we see that so often."

"The refugees in Friesland had been informed by a spy in the Amsterdam Triad that I would be taking them supplies? And that I would be followed? But there were only cheese sandwiches in my lunch box. And the apple that I was about to peel."

"Evil is suspicious-paranoid, in fact," the commissaris said. "If it weren't, it wouldn't destroy itself, but keep growing and eventually take over. I've always wondered about that theoretical possibility," the commissaris said softly. "If evil took over completely, what would happen to our struggle? If it swallowed the last vestige of good, would it become good itself?"

Hylkje switched off her siren and applied her brakes.

"Dingjum," the commissaris said. "And that dear little house where Lieutenant Sudema lives, in the company of his lovely wife, Gyske. Such a delightful woman."

Gyske welcomed them at her gate. Hylkje placed her helmet on the saddle of the Guzzi. "It's you again?" Gyske asked. "I owe you thanks for bringing Sjurd home this morning. He's still asleep, thank God. When he wakes up he'll be tearing down the wall, after he rips out the cupboard."

"Pity," Hylkje said. "Such a nice wall. He'll kill the ivy and climbing roses. Can't he forgive the cupboard?"

"The cupboard of my sin," Gyske said sadly.

"Didn't you have a good time in there?" Hylkje asked. "Wasn't your lover a therapist? If it was part of the treatment, it should have been fun."

"It wasn't," Hylkje said disgustedly.

"Would you happen to know," the commissaris asked, "how we can get to Mrs. Scherjoen's home? I've been there before, but I can't remember the way."

Gyske pointed. 'That way, hard to miss."

"Will I see you both tonight?" Hylkje asked. "Rinus invited me to dinner. He's picking up some fresh sole in Ameland."

"More trouble?" Cardozo asked. "Mrs. Sudema didn't look too happy."

The commissaris and Cardozo were walking. "A marriage crisis," the commissaris explained. "Sjurd Sudema did not properly love his beautiful wife, and then she picked on a certain Anne."

"A lesbian affair?" Cardozo asked. "Do they have that here too? It's quite popular nowadays, understandably so. If I were a woman, I would go after women too."

The commissaris was quietly thoughtful.

"You disapprove of normal abnormalities, sir?"

"I watched it once," the commissaris said. "In Paris, an age ago. Most interesting. But that Anne is a man."

"Homosexual?" Cardozo asked, shocked. "No wonder that lieutenant is about to demolish his house. A homosexual raping his wife, in his very own cupboard."

"No, no," the commissaris said. "And the fellow supposedly looks like me. Are you trying to upset me, Cardozo?"

"/'m upset," Cardozo said. "I still can't understand why the Chinese cycling behind me would invite the Chinese cycling toward me to have themselves shot."

"Themselves?"

"The behind-me Chinese, sir."

"Oh, those Chinese," the commissaris said. Chinese," the commissaris said. "Because, no, that was different, someone else again, another Chinese, must have heard the behind-you Chinese plan their trip on the dike, and passed that information to the toward-you Chinese."

"Right," Cardozo said doubtfully.

"Are you pretending to be that stupid," the commissaris said, "or are you trying to prove that I've underestimated you for the last few years? The Chinese have nothing to do with us. You shouldn't have been on the dike. If I hadn't thought of phoning your mother, I wouldn't even have known that you were trying to peel apples on the dike. That conceited attitude of yours, Cardozo, I don't know whether I like it."

"I'm doing everything wrong," Cardozo said. "Uncle Ezra wants me to take over his market stall, but I don't feel like doing that either. I don't feel like doing anything at all."

"Feelings will change,** the commissaris said. "Where is this Scheijoen house? Didn't Gyske say we couldn't miss it?"

"It's beautiful out here," Cardozo said. 'The soft, lush shades of summer, the flowering bushes."

'This would be quite a simple case," the commissaris said, If Mrs. Scherjoen would confess."

"No houses here," Cardozo said. "The emptiness of the past. I feel rather empty myself, I'm quite hollow inside, even my cold is gone. Maybe I'm about to disappear."

"Mem is Frisian," the commissaris said. "Perhaps she thinks that what she did is justified. The way society views the law doesn't equate with the individual's attitude, lake Mem Scherjoen, for instance. We see her as a dear rustic old lady and she probably is, but just how far can such a sweet soul be pushed?"

"I see where you're going," Cardozo said, "but you want to push her into murder? If it were simple manslaughter, violence of the moment-but this was thought out, and executed without mercy."

"Listen here, Cardozo. Continuous abuse, twenty, thirty years of torture…" He looked around him. "I think we should go back, this path is a dead end."

They walked back. "It has taken me a while," the commissaris said, "to see clearly how potentially dangerous marriage can be. Applied boredom, nonsensical pursuits, may wear down the sharp points, but if the togetherness started with passionate love, passionate hatred may easily result. And you're right too, Douwe's end was obviously premeditated. No emotion that suddenly flared up, no unprepared attack that may make the killer feel sorry later. Whoever commits murder in cold blood will be able to forestall our investigation in some sly and clever manner. No, a simple confession is probably out of the question."

"We're back at the Sudemas' house," Cardozo said. "Shall I ask for more precise directions?"

"Don't trouble those poor people now," the commissaris said. "We'll take the car. It can't be far. Just down that road* Mrs. Sudema said."

'The proof," the commissaris said in the car. "That might be another hassle. What happened to the weapon? The Inner Harbor is a mess, our divers won't easily find it in there. Witnesses? I don't think there were any. If Mem persists in protesting her innocence, we can't even trick her. She's Frisian, Cardozo, you have no idea how self-willed we Frisians can be. I was born in Joure."

"So you won't give up."

"Never."

"And Mem Scherjoen won't give in."

"Never."

"I heard a Frisian joke once," Cardozo said. "Two Frisian coachmen travel from opposite directions toward a bridge that's only wide enough for one carriage. On the bridge they stop, facing each other. One coachman unfolds a newspaper and begins to read. After an hour the other coachman asks if he can have half the paper. The first coachman gives him half his paper. The second coachman begins to read too."

"Yes?" the commissaris asked.

"How do you mean?"

"So what happens then?"

"They're now both reading the paper," Cardozo said. "Nothing more happens."

"How did we manage to reach the freeway?" the commissaris asked. "And why do all those signs point away from Dingjum?"

A State Police Land Rover stopped behind the Citroen.

"Now where do you chaps come from?" the commissaris asked.

"Where would you like to go?" the sergeant asked. "Just tell us and we'll drive ahead. We just heard about you over our radio."

"Heard what?"

"A silver Citroen and a disabled but mobile Volkswagen. Call for assistance to colleagues from abroad who are constantly getting lost."

"I suppose," the commissaris said, "your headquarters considers us to be retarded."

"Not used to the ways of a country foreign to your own," the sergeant said. "Doesn't that sound better?"

"The mansion of Mr. and Mrs. Scherjoen, Dingjum," Car* dozo said.

The Land Rover drove off.

"Some learn a little slower than others," the sergeant said to die corporal riding with him.

"These may never learn," the corporal said.