Janwillem De Wetering - The Mind-Murders

The commissaris sucked his cigar.

"Yes. Hmpf. So she could have shot them by mistake or she could have got someone else, so perhaps it was a good thing you two were around, to prevent an accident. You know…"

A streetcar passed down the Marnixstreet outside and the commissaris had to wait for the noise to subside.

"You two remind me of a farewell speech delivered by my first chief who retired. That was a long time ago, but truth lasts. I wore a saber on my belt then, and performed street duty."

"What did your chief say, sir?"

"You really want to know? Very well. He claimed that the police are by definition stupid, because intelligent men will not apply for boring work at low wages. He also said that stupidity hardly matters in our profession, provided our brainlessness is compensated by zeal."

"Zeal…," Grijpstra muttered.

"Weren't you and the sergeant zealous, by working when you didn't have to?"

De Gier got up.

"Could I bother you for a match, sir?"

The commissaris flicked his golden lighter.

"No, a match. To chew on, sir."

"Chew? Oh, I see. You're still not smoking. No, I don't have a match, sergeant. Grijpstra?"

The adjutant passed a box of matches. De Gier began to chew hungrily. Grijpstra moved his chair. The arrow no longer pointed at his feet. The commissaris stepped off the carpet and yanked a corner. The arrow followed Grijpstra. The commissaris stepped back.

"Perhaps the chief's statement was too abstract, but he accompanied it with a story. Would you like to hear the story too?"

"Yes," de Gier said.

"You too, adjutant?"

"Yes."

"Good, because I would have told it anyway. Listen here."

Grijpstra moaned.

"Adjutant?"

"I did have serious suspicions, sir. The sergeant is smiling, and it's true that he hasn't gone along with me much, but I refuse to believe that my theory was silly. Rea Fortune did disappear with her dog and the contents of the house. An exceptional course of events has often provided me with a case. We found nothing but dust specks in that apartment Unusual, sir, very."

"Yes?"

"There were character witnesses," Grijpstra said sadly. "Several, in fact. They confirmed the suspect's tendency, I'm referring to Mr. Fortune now, to destroy what he didn't like. Isn't a character the sura of certain habits, and aren't habits with us forever?"

"I used to smoke," de Gier said, "but I don't anymore."

"Arrgh!"

"Just thought I would mention it."

"Not againl"

"So a man is a slave," de Gier said, "the slave of what he did. For what he did, you say, he does, and what he does, you say, he will always do. There's also liberty, I just thought I would mention liberty."

The commissaris left his carpet and studied a geranium.

Grijpstra glared.

De Gier smiled. "I did stop smoking, you know. I chew matches now, different habit altogether."

"We know, we know," the commissaris said to the geranium. "He stopped smoking. Now why would he have done that?"

"For Grijpstra, sir."

Grijpstra jumped up.

"Won't you ever stop saying that? What is it to me whether you smoke or not?"

De Gier moved his match with his tongue.

"To show you that there is still hope."

"Hope. For who?"

"For you."

"Not for me. Fm stuck. I waste my time watching morons because anything is better than to stay home. A situation that can't be changed."

"If I can change, so can you. To smoke is to be addicted. I broke my chain. I'm free." De Gier got up and clutched his belt. "Would you excuse me a minute? Chewing matches doesn't agree with me. I'll be right back."

He looked pale when he came back and there was a sour stench.

"Won't you go back to smoking again?" the commissaris asked.

"Not just yet, sir."

"Then I'll tell you the story to distract you. A jack rabbit runs through a field. He doesn't pay attention. He runs into a fence. The impact stuns him for a moment. He staggers about for a bit. A few cows are around. The jack rabbit bumps into a cow. The second mishap is too much for him. The jack rabbit faints. He's under the cow. 'Look,' the cow says to the other cows, 7 actually managed to catch a jack rabbit.'"

"That's about the way it was," de Gier said.

"Do you agree, adjutant?"

"Yes sir."

"I'm glad to hear it and I'm glad you were good enough to keep me informed of your activities. You know that I don't have much of a function here, as the journalist of the Courier was kind enough to point out."

More streetcars passed through the Marnixstreet. The commissaris spent another minute on his geranium.

"And what do you think of our lovers, Grijpstra, do you think that the affair will last?"

"Frits Fortune and Titania?"

"Yes."

"I think so, sir. Titania is a dear girl and I was mistaken about Mr. Fortune, I believe he's a good man. She certainly managed to impress him at the right moment."

"In which case you'll have to find a suitable partner for Rea, we cannot let go of her now. She'll be depressed and slip into even worse ideas. Perhaps Beelema should exercise his powers again, keeping the lady's extravagant desires in mind. How about matching her to the nobleman Xavier Michel d'Ablaing de Batagglia? The capital which will be returned to her by Frits Fortune could ease her way with him. Zhaver has gone straight for a long while; perhaps the two of them could start up a luxurious restaurant."

"Yes sir."

The commissaris rubbed his legs. His lips thinned.

"A change of weather, gentlemen, I feel it in my bones. Perhaps we should do some real work for a change. I had a call just before you came in. A well-dressed male corpse was found in the luggage compartment of a stolen Mercedes." He tore a sheet out of his notebook and gave it to Grijpstra. The sergeant read the notes over the adjutant's shoulder.

"A corpse!" de Gier said. "Just what is needed."

When the detectives crossed the hall on their way to the elevator, Grijpstra held on to de Gier's arm.

"Didn't you mention a dwarf in a yellow cape on a scooter just now?"

"I don't smoke anymore," de Gier said.

"With a monkey on the handlebars?"

"A withdrawal monkey," de Gier said, "and a withdrawal dwarf."

"Is that what you see? But that's horrifying. I'll never stop smoking."

"What has that got to do with it?" de Gier asked. "Smoking is fun."

"So you'll start again?"

"Me? No. I don't smoke. Not smoking is becoming a habit and habits are forever."

De Gier walked on. Grijpstra walked after him. De Gier frowned. Grijpstra grinned.

De Gier crossed the courtyard. His legs bounced, his arms swung, his chin jutted, the sun highlighted bis wavy hair. Grijpstra followed heavily, as if the tarmac stuck to his soles, as if the air was viscous, as if his blood was glue, coagulating in every artery and vein. De Gier folded himself into the Volkswagen and waited, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel. He started the engine as Grijpstra lowered his bulk on the creaking plastic next to him. Grijpstra mumbled.

The car left the courtyard and headed for the inner city, ignoring traffic signals, swerving around jaywalking pedestrians.

"I don't know what you're saying," de Gier said, "but here's your corpse. You looked for it all weekend. You were right, after all; whatever you want will find you in due time." He patted Grijpstra's shoulder. "A solid corpse, adjutant, all ours. No manufactured case this time. We won't have to make excuses to each other and to the good citizens who obstruct our path. We can work by the book. We're following orders. Forward."

"Forward how?" Grijpstra asked and nodded at a gesticulating oversized lady on a bicycle as the car eased through a red light.