Janwillem De Wetering - The Mind-Murders

"Here," the first boy said.

A hand came down on Beelema's neck. He fell. There was the smell of blood.

"Bah, he's sticky. Give me that two-by-four. We'll roll him through that heap of feathers, maybe we can change him into a bird."

Beelema felt the hard edges of the stick and turned over to get away from it. Then there was nothing for a while. He woke because a light shone into bis face.

"What do we have here, Ketchup?"

"Good question, Karate. A ball of feathers with eyes. What are you, sir?"

Beelema crawled away to escape the harsh light

"Hey, stay here. What happened to you?"

The two policemen stared at each other. "What do we do now? Can't leave him. He's bleeding too."

"Ambulance," Karate said. "They'll fix him up at the hospital. Are you drunk, sir?"

Beelema tried to speak but coughed instead.

The ambulance arrived, but the attendants refused to lift him up. They found a plastic sheet and folded it so that it covered the stretcher.

"You take him in, you found him. It's the least you can do."

Karate went back to the fence and kicked until a thick board snapped free. He stuck the board between Beelema's legs and Ketchup held the other side. They lifted together.

"Right," the attendant said. "Easy now, don't drop him. Get him on the plastic. Yagh, what a mess."

"There you go, sir," Karate said. "We'll see you at the hospital."

The commissaris sat next to the bed. He held Beelema's hand. De Gier stood at the foot of the bed and agreed. The procedure was proper: always hold the victim's hand. That way he doesn't feel alone. Death is an agony that can be shared, up to a point of course. From there on, the victim is on his own again.

"Is he conscious?" the commissaris asked.

A young man in a white coat bent down.

"Barely."

"What is he dying of?"

"Can't say. The wounds don't appear to be too serious, maybe the tar has interfered with his breathing. I thought we. got most of it, but he may have been in that condition for hours. In some places we scraped off more than an inch and we had to use solvents to get rid of the rest. There's a bruise on the head, that may explain his predicament too. And there's fear. People can die of fright. A number of causes, I would say."

"This is the worst mugging I've ever seen," Grijpstra said. "They went all out."

The doctor felt Beelema's pulse and shook his head. "He's out too," the doctor said. "We'll have an autopsy to determine the exact nature of his death. I'll let you know what we come up with."

The commissaris released Beelema's hand. He got up and bowed his head.

"You warned him, didn't you, sir?" de Gier asked as he slid behind the wheel of the Citroen.

"Yes. But I was too late."

"We're always too late," Grijpstra said from the rear of the car.

The Citroen found a place in the heavy morning traffic and coasted slowly back to Headquarters. The commissaris led the way to the canteen.

"Too late," he said to de Gier, "but I think he was entitled to this, it was his right"

"Man has no rights," Grijpstra said, joining the line for the coffee machine, "only duties."

The commissaris held up his mug. "We have one right, adjutant, the right to face the consequences of our deeds."

De Gier mumbled as he shuffled through the crowd of constables and detectives, carrying a plate of apple cake and his coffee.

"What was that, sergeant?"

"What a way to go, sir. A nightmare. And it started out so well. Grijpstra danced and sang. I saw bits of beauty everywhere. We were floating right on top of the whole thing and then we got sucked in again."

The commissaris walked over to the cigarette machine, dropped in some coins and came back.

"It's all in your own mind, sergeant."

De Gier tore the pack open, took out a cigarette, accepted a light from Grijpstra, and sucked in the smoke.

"There," the adjutant said, "you'll feel better."

"Much."

"Everything is all right. Asta will be waiting for you when you come. She is a beautiful girl and she loves you."

"Yes."

"Security will be restored."

"Yes."

The commissaris touched de Crier's hand. "Security is in the mind too, Rinus."

The adjutant got up to reach over to the next table for some sugar. A passing constable didn't notice him and took his chair. When the adjutant tried to sit down again, he fell to the floor.

"I see." De Gier helped Grijpstra to his feet.

"I hope you haven't hurt yourself," the commissaris said and pulled up another chair.