Tumbleweed

12

Grijpstra had been amused when he saw De Gier at the central station of Amsterdam, huddled in a heavy, dark blue duffelcoat and adorned with a binocular case dangling from a leather strap, but now he envied the sergeant, who stood at die railing of the ferry, warm and comfortable under bis load of cloth while Grijpstra felt die wind go right through his thin raincoat and had to hang on to his hat.

"Beautiful," said de Gier, who had been looking down at the sea. The waves were short and choppy and gray, reflecting the heavy clouds above them.

"What?" Grijpstra asked.

"The sea," de Gier said, "and the sky, and the island over there."

Schiermonnikoog was showing itself as a dark green line on the horizon. The overgrown dikes, a man-made barrier to protect the rich grazing land of the south of the island, interrupted the wide fluid space of the shallow Waddensea all around them. Seagulls were floating above and just behind the ship, effortless, keeping themselves in balance with slight flicks of the ends of their wings.

"It's cold," Grijpstra said. "Spring is warmer in the city."

"But we are not in the city, we are here. Look at the birds. We'll see a lot of birds on the island, it's a bird's paradise."

"I know," Grijpstra said. "I have been here before. But it was warmer then, toward the end of July. I camped with the kids."

His voice sounded gruff. De Gier stopped looking at the sea. "You didn't like it?"

"The kids enjoyed it."

"Did you like it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Too full. There were so many tents and beach cabins and people pulling carts and pushing bicycles that I thought die damn island would sink. Everything was full, you had to wait half an hour before they would serve you in the restaurants. And sand, sand everywhere. There was a gale blowing most of the time and we nearly lost the tent. The lines broke and it tried to fly into the sea. The sand got into my nose, I had to pick it all the time."

"It'll be all right now, the holidays haven't started yet."

Grijpstra eyed the approaching strip of land suspiciously. It had begun to rain.

"You don't look like a birdwatcher," de Gier said. "You look like a policeman. Don't you have a cap in your suitcase? Nobody wears a hat here."

"No," Grijpstra said guiltily, "but I'll put my hat in my bag, it keeps blowing away anyway. And maybe they'll have a coat like yours in the shops."

"I thought my duffelcoat was silly, you made a lot of funny remarks about it on the train."

"It looks silly, but I had forgotten we were going to be birdwatchers."

"Never mind," de Gier said pleasantly. "Do you know anything about birds?"

"Seagulls."

"That's something. Any other birds?"

"Swans."

"There won't be any here."

"Sparrows," Grijpstra said impatiently. "What does it matter? If there are any experts out there they'll be airing their knowledge and all I have to do is say they are right. Do you know anything about birds?"

"Sure," de Gier said. "I even have a book on birds. I studied it last night. Oystercatchers with red beaks, and coot, two types of coot, with a white spot on the head and with a red spot on the head, and mallards and…"

"Yes," Grijpstra said in a loud voice.

"What yes?"

"I know. Don't try to impress me. I know what a mallard is. A mallard is a plain silly fat Amsterdam duck sitting on the canal. Every day I see a hundred mallard, two hundred mallard, three hundred…"

His voice was rising.

"All right," de Gier said. "You know what a mallard is. But do you know what a cormorant is?"

"I don't care," Grijpstra said, and sneezed.

"You still have your cold."

"The cold is O.K."

De Gier studied his friend's face. Grijpstra didn't look well. The skin of his face seemed to have lost its elasticity and his eyes had sunk a little into their sockets.

"Wait," de Gier said, and went into the passengers' cabin. He bought two paper cups filled with hot creamy coffee and four fat sausages, packed in thick plastic skins.

"Have some coffee," he said, and passed the cup carefully to Grijpstra. "Mind, it's hot. You haven't had breakfast, we should have eaten something on the train."

Grijpstra stared at the coffee swirling in the paper cup. Little bubbles had formed on the surface and the bubbles turned in irregular circles.

De Gier gulped his coffee, and took a sausage out of his pocket. "Good sausages," he said. "I have two for you as well, but finish your coffee first."

He began to peel the plastic skin off the little roll of solid fat meat.

Grijpstra looked at the sausage, threw his cup overboard, and bent down over the railing. His hat was caught by the wind again but this time he didn't try to grab it.

De Gier looked sadly at his sausage. He opened his hand and it fell into the sea. It sank. He saw Grijpstra's hat, rapidly being tossed about by strong white-headed waves.

"There's your hat," de Gier said, "and you have vomited on my sausage."

Grijpstra vomited again and de Gier walked over to the other side of the ship, where he ate the other three sausages. The ship was now approaching the small harbor of Schiermonnikoog and he collected Grijpstra's and his own suitcase. They met again on the gangway.

"You're all right now?"

Grijpstra nodded, and put his right foot on the island's solid ground.

"You've made it," de Gier said.

Grijpstra turned around, slowly pulling back his heavy right arm. His large hand had become a fist and he was staring at de Gier's chin.

"I am sorry," de Gier said. "I didn't buy those sausages to make you sick. I really thought you might be hungry."

"I wasn't sick. I just felt a little off."

"He wasn't sick," de Gier said to a man walking next to him. "He only vomited a little."

"Happens to the best of us," the man said, "but there will always be people who make fun of others. The minute they see that somebody is in trouble they laugh. There are some pretty nasty people about nowadays."

"You've got a friend," de Gier said to Grijpstra.

They didn't speak to each other again until the bus which had picked them up dropped them in the center of the little town and the driver had directed them to a hotel.

They took a double room and Grijpstra immediately opened his suitcase and began to rummage about in it. He put on a pair of thick corduroy trousers and a heavy workman's jersey. His feet went into a pair of old boots, and a muffler appeared which he wound around his neck.

"Now," he said.

"That's better. But you need a coat."

"You go out and buy me something."

"I may buy the wrong thing."

"No," Grijpstra said. "You are supposed to be a man of taste. You know my size. I'll go down and play billiards and phone the adjutant of the state police. He'll come and join me and we can have a talk and make some plans. This afternoon we can begin to sniff about the island. I want to see IJsbrand Drachtsma's house and speak to some people who know him. Later we can come out in the open. Perhaps it'll shake him when he knows that we are making investigations."

"Right," de Gier said, and went out. He found three shops where clothes were sold but there weren't any duffelcoats. Finally he bought a yellow oilcloth jacket and a pair of huge trousers to go with it and a souwester, all of the same material. The shopkeeper promised that he would swap them for something else if the client wasn't satisfied. He found Grijpstra in the barroom of the hotel, a low-ceilinged smoky place where he was playing billiards with a square-looking small man in a blue suit with shiny elbows and a white shirt and a tie.

"Adjutant Buisman," the square-looking man said. "Pleased to meet you, sergeant. I heard some stories about you when Grijpstra spent his holiday here."

"What sort of stories?"

"Good stories," Grijpstra said. "You can join us if you promise not to tear the felt, and you have to chalk the cue before you play."

"All right," de Gier said, "is it my turn now?"

"Go ahead."

De Gier studied the position of the two white balls and the single red one.

"Which ball?"

"The one closest to you."

It was an easy shot and the two adjutants waited for de Gier to spoil it. De Gier chalked the cue and studied the balls again.

"Go on," Buisman said.

De Gier flicked the cue and his ball shot away, hitting the red ball on the side and the white ball full on. It was a rude shot but he had made a point.

Buisman looked at Grijpstra.

"Good," Grijpstra said, "but you won't make the next one."

The balls were well apart now and de Gier began to chalk his cue again. He would have to work out the right angle and use the table's elastic sides. He tried to remember what he had learned at the police school where one of his friends had always insisted that he should play, refusing to buy him a beer if he didn't, and de Gier had been forced to play more often than he wanted to, for his friend had a good allowance from home.

He played and made another point. Buisman showed his approval by stamping his cue on the floor, and ordering three glasses of old cold jenever. De Gier made a third point and a fourth, and Grijpstra began to sweat but then he missed.

"Not bad," Grijpstra said. "I thought you hated all sports except judo?"

"Ach," de Gier mumbled modestly, "it's all a matter of concentration, isn't it?" but he shouldn't have said it. He managed only the easy shots after that and Grijpstra patted him on the shoulder. "Beginner's luck, matey."

Adjutant Buisman shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "The sergeant played well, he needs more practice that's all. How long will you be staying?"

"Not long," Grijpstra said, and he explained the purpose of their visit.

"IJsbrand Drachtsma," the adjutant said softly, "well, I never. I know him well, you know. I have been out on his yacht and he comes here to play billiards sometimes and he has been on the police launch with us. He is a big man on the island, he could be the mayor if he wanted to but he's got other things to do, and you think he is involved with your dead lady?"

"She was his mistress," de Gier said.

"Yes, yes," the adjutant said, "he would chase the ladies in Amsterdam, of course; it's another world out there. Here he goes for walks on the beach and sits near the fire with his wife. She knits. I have a scarf she knit. A beautiful fireplace, I have often been to the house."

He was silent for a while. "But he has an alibi you say?"

"Yes," Grijpstra said.

"So what are you bothering about then?"

Grijpstra told him.

The adjutant was shaking his head. "No evidence at all. Not a shred of it, but you have your suspicions. Christ almighty, you really think he would have paid somebody to kill a nice-looking woman?"

"He may have."

"Sure, he may have and he may not have. You are detectives, maybe you know. I don't, we have never had a killing on the island, not even with the tourists around and there are more of them every year. Running over the island like rats over a body-if we don't stop them one day they'll take all the sand home in their shoes-but we haven't had a crime. They mill about, like lunatics. When the moon is full they are worse than ever. We organize games for them, and walks and competitions. We have to keep them busy you know."

De Gier was grinning.

"Yes, you laugh, but this used to be a lovely quiet island, beautiful with the birds and seals. We still have them but it has taken a lot of protection, fences and signs, and we have to patrol the reserves. People don't mean any harm and they are obedient enough if you tell them in a nice way but if you aren't watching them every minute of the day they'll stamp on the last egg and tear out the last flower and then they'll look about and wonder why the place is bare."

"Yes," de Gier said, "I know. We have them milling about Amsterdam every summer."

"They can't pull the buildings apart. Haven't you got any other suspects, without an alibi?"

"We have," Grijpstra said, and he explained the situation but the adjutant kept shaking his head.

"I see what you mean," he said in the end. "He is a strong person, our Dsbrand, and he would be ruthless if somebody went against him. He was a hero during the war I am told, rowed all the way to England and fought his way back, and he is probably as tough as nails in business, but here he is different, very gentle and relaxed. His father was born on the island and I think he considers Schiermonnikoog his real home. He is here most weekends and he doesn't go abroad like other people. When the place gets too full he gets on his yacht, and he has a big garden with a stone wall around it."

"We are not too sure of his alibi," de Gier said. "We have only the word of two German businessmen, and the commissaris spoke to them on the phone."

"The war is over," the adjutant said.

"Sure."

"You can trust the Germans nowadays."

"Sure."

"When did you say the lady was murdered?"

"Saturday a week ago."

"It's Sunday now," the adjutant said. "IJsbrand will be in his villa. He was here last weekend, I remember, I saw him in town in the afternoon, after the ferry left, the last ferry. He couldn't have gone to Amsterdam that evening. There's no way to get off the island, no airport, nothing."

"His yacht?" Grijpstra asked. "Surely the yacht is fast, it could get to the coast as quick as the ferry, and it only takes two hours in a fast car to Amsterdam. He has a fast car, a Citroen. He could have been back in his villa the same evening."

"Yes," the adjutant said, "but I think the yacht was here. I'll have to ask my colleague, he was out in the launch that evening. It was a nice night I remember, he often goes out, just for the fun of it. But Drachtsma could have used another boat, of course. There are a lot of boats in the harbor and anybody would lend him a boat if he asked for it."

"Maybe he didn't ask," de Gier said. "If he knew the boats he could have used one and the owner would never know."

Adjutant Buisman thought for a while. "He could have. But these German chaps say they spent the evening at his house and he was there with them. Your commissaris will have their names and addresses and he has probably asked the German police to check. Contacts with the foreign police are good nowadays, they tell me."

"Yes," Grijpstra said.

Buisman ordered another round and they drank for a while and smacked their lips and looked at each other.

"Suppose he did send a man to do the job for him, how will you go about proving it? You would have to find the man, wouldn't you?"

"He might be from the island, an old friend from the war days perhaps, somebody who could use a lot of money or somebody who admired him."

"Ah," Buisman said. "The knife. A fighting knife it was, a soldier's knife, and it was thrown. I could find out who knows how to throw a knife. I wouldn't know offhand. The rangers of the reserves have knives but they wouldn't throw them, and we have knives, we are often on the sea and a knife is always handy in a boat."

"'We, the police,' you mean?" de Gier asked.

"No," Buisman laughed. "I mean "we, the people who sail boats.' I have a sailing boat of my own, you know."

"Perhaps you could find out," Grijpstra said. "I admit that we haven't got much to stand on. Perhaps we are only here because we don't know what else to do and the commissaris has gone to . He'll be back soon and he'll probably tell us to come back as soon as he sees the note on his desk."

"That's better," the adjutant said. "Let's make a little holiday out of it. I'll see if I can find a knife thrower and you have a bit of a rest and a bit of a walk. You mentioned birdwatching, this is the right time of the year for it. What say if you go to bed early and I pick you up early tomorrow morning. It's mating time now and I can show you some marvelous sights, sights you will never see in the city. How about that?"

Buisman's face was wreathed in smiles and Grijpstra didn't have the heart to refuse, but he tried.

"My friend here is very interested in birds, he was telling me all about it on the ferry. Why don't you go together and I'll see you later tomorrow. I have a bit of a cold." He coughed a few times.

"No," de Gier said quickly. "You come as well. Maybe we'll see some mallards."

"Yes, you come too," Buisman said, getting up. "Mallards you can see anywhere but here I can show you six or seven different types of duck and there are others, really rare birds which I want to show you. See you tomorrow."

"What time will you be here?" Grijpstra asked, trying his best to make his voice sound eager.

"Early," Buisman said. "It'll have to be early or we won't see anything. I'll be here at three-thirty sharp; I'll wait in the street. Put some warm clothes on. Have you got binoculars?"

De Gier nodded.

"You, Grijpstra?"

"No," Grijpstra said, "I haven't got any binoculars."

"Never mind. I'll borrow a pair from the police station. They are heavy but they are better than mine. You'll have to be careful for they cost a fortune. Well, have a good time."

"Shit," Grijpstra said as the door closed behind the adjutant. "Shit and shit again. Now why did you have to get me into it? You got me sick on the boat with your revolting sausage, peeling the skin off it as if it were a boiled monkey's pecker, and now you want me to stump through the mud in the middle of the night to see a lot of floppy birds jumping at each other. A joke is a joke but this is ridiculous. Sometimes you overdo it, you know."

He was red in the face and thumping the table with his fist.

"Do you think I like it?" de Gier said, his face just as red. "And who was telling the adjutant that I liked birds. You know I was only egging you on on the ferry. What do I know about coot and cormorants and whatnots? Just a few names I happened to remember. We need this man, don't we? And we can't upset him by refusing his invitations? I don't like drinking jenever in the middle of the day but I accepted just to please him. And I don't like playing billiards. And I am damned if I'll walk through the mud while you are stinking and snoring in your bed."

Grijpstra had begun to laugh and de Gier, after having tried unsuccessfully to stare him down, joined him. Soon they were hiccuping and helplessly patting the table.

Grijpstra shouted for more jenever and they finished up playing billiards, giggling at each other.

"Three-thirty in the morning," de Gier said.

"Promise never to tell anyone."

"I promise," de Gier said.

They shook hands and went to the dining room for a late lunch.

By nine o'clock that night they were fast asleep, worn out by thirty games of billiards and some seven or eight glasses of old cold jenever each.