Janwillem De Wetering - The Mind-Murders

"Then," the commissaris declared, "I doubted the benevolence of the creation and I haven't dared to stop doubting since. Another loss that added, in a way, to my liberation. To lose may be frightening, to know that you have nothing can be encouraging."

"And the car, sir?" Grijpstra asked.

"The car? It returned. There is always a superficial explanation. I forget what had happened exactly, maybe the sewer burst, or a gas pipe. They suddenly had to dig a hole and my car happened to be in the way. I telephoned, and a polite lady told me where they had left the Citroen. But who cares? I'm talking about something else. We don't have earthquakes here, which is a pity. To be reminded that even the ground isn't safe, that we are forever suspended in undefinable space; very heartening, adjutant. To assume that we rest on gravity tends to make us dullish. It must be fun to see the planet sway and bubble and crack up into holes, for then we know where we are, and, presumably, what's to become of us."

Grijpstra looked blank, de Gier tittered.

"Very well, adjutant. Pursue your investigation if it makes you happy, but do try to find some serious suspicions before you trip over yourself and others. And, by the way, has it occurred to you that Rea Fortune may just have left? To get away is legal, you know. It's a right guaranteed by our democratic constitution."

"Listen here," Frits Fortune said, "you're really not all that welcome. Why don't you leave?"

The suspect was lying down on his side on an air mattress under the open windows of the largest room in the apartment. De Gier sat opposite him, crosslegged. Grijpstra, unable to find a suitable spot, walked about, becoming visible every now and then through open doors. Fortune still wore the same clothes, a linen suit of good quality, crumpled and stained. He smelled mainly of damp rot but the stench mingled with the fragrances of soap, shampoo, and aftershave. Fortune smoked, spilling ash on the shiny parquet floor.

De Gier admired the glowing cigarette. The pack was within reach of his right hand. It still contained nineteen cigarettes. De Gier wanted to grab it, tear off the paper and silver foil, spread his hand around its entire contents, and light all cigarettes at the same time. He would then inhale the combined smoke into the extreme depths of his lungs. Afterward he would feel better.

"Won't you leave?" Fortune asked again.

"We'd rather not," de Gier said, "but if you insist, we'll have to, for to stay, after having been told to leave by the legal possessor of living space, constitutes a crime and would, in our case, being police officers and having identified ourselves as such, be punishable by a double maximum penalty, or six months in jail. But if we leave, we'll have to return with an order signed by a high-ranking officer. We have a car and it wouldn't take me longer than half an hour to obtain such an order. With a warrant you'll have to admit us, and if you refuse, youll be punishable."

"But what do you want of me? Is it because of last night? I remember vaguely that I fought with policemen, including yourself. You were in the canal too, but I don't believe you were in uniform."

"I'm a detective."

"You are? I'm sorry if I hurt you with my crutch. Did I hurt you?"

"You only intended to. Any charges the constables may have come up with have been dropped. We aren't here to remind you of last night, we only want to know the whereabouts of your wife."

Fortune rested his head on his arm. "Gone."

"Gone where?"

"Doesn't a detective detect? I've tried, but being an amateur I failed. I could only think of telephoning everybody who knows Rea. I made a list; here it is. It's been in the water too, which hasn't improved my handwriting. I checked off all the names, which means that I telephoned those people. I borrowed the telephone book of my neighbor downstairs, Mrs. Cabbage-Tonto and…"

Grijpstra reappeared and held up his hand.

"Is that her name?" de Gier asked. "Cabbage-Tonto?"

"The lady who lives below this apartment?" Grijpstra asked.

"Yes."

"Cabbage-Tonto," Grijpstra said thoughtfully. "The right name. If I had to name her I couldn't do better."

"Of Italian origin and married to a dead Englishman," Fortune said.

"There's always a superficial explanation."

Fortune nodded at the adjutant's disappearing back.

"How…" De Gier extended a hand and pushed the pack of cigarettes away. "How is your leg, Mr. Fortune?"

Fortune laughed. He had good teeth. His face was good too. De Gier thought of a hero he had seen in an old war movie that ended well when the bad enemies surrendered and the good flag was raised.

"My leg? My leg is fine. There's nothing ever wrong with me, really, I only have weak nerves. Or I'm crazy, like most of us. Whenever I have a bad fright, a part of my body goes wrong, but only for a while. Some time ago I was nearly run down by a car and I fainted on the sidewalk. The specialists played snooker with me. I hit every hospital and clinic in town. The doctors agreed in the end that I might have a bad heart and that the next severe shock would knock me down again. But they were wrong, as you can see. When the constables hit me and lost me in the canal, I didn't even faint. The shock repaired the effect of a previous unpleasant experience, when I came home to find nothing." He sat up. "By the way, those little constables are dangerous, they should be restrained. The same goes for that fool sergeant Jurriaans who disciplined me this morning. And to think that I've known Mm for years and respect him in a way. Another Aunt Coba, appearances mean nothing, a black soul in respectable dress. Arrrgh!" He lay down again.

"Aunt Coba?"

"She has been living on the Emperorscanal for several centuries now. As a child I used to spend time in her house; with her and Uncle Henry. A dignified-looking couple but their valor is lopsided. Only Uncle Henry will go to heaven."

"You stayed with them? You're not Amsterdam born?"

"Of course I am, but my parents lived on the other side of the river and my mother was sickly. I would be sent to Aunt Coba. Aunt Coba would interfere with my mind. Would you like to have coffee?"

They went to the kitchen, finding Grijpstra observing an empty shelf. On the stone sink stood a hot plate and a box filled with groceries.

Fortune talked while he made the coffee. "Never thought Rea could be that thorough. She even took the toilet paper, very bothersome if you notice its absence too late. Had to use the paper in my pocket diary, too thin and too slippery.

"Not that the experience isn't two-sided. Without obstructions one can see far. When the dizziness wore off I went shopping. It happened to be Thursday evening and the stores were open. I could even buy a mattress and lie down and think it out. I used to think in a circle, about the business, about money. More of this to get that, more of that to get this."

"You publish books, we were told."

"I certainly do, or did maybe. A good selection, if I say so myself, nothing but what the public wants. Books on how to grow tomatoes in water, and what the gurus say about coitus and meditation, illustrated. Today's subject today, for those who want to live free in the security of togetherness. The oozy seekers, Holland's hope."

De Gier looked for a match. Grijpstra frowned.

"Coitus?" Grijpstra asked. "Meditation? Separate or simultaneous?" He sipped his coffee, didn't like the taste, and continued to frown, studying miniature swells in his plastic cup.

"Both, the book is in two parts, but I don't know too much about the quality of what I sell. A publisher believes in sales and calculates in profit. There's no choice. Expenses increase and profit diminishes. Only more of this gives more of that, as I explained just now."