Janwillem De Wetering - Blond Baboon

“He does? Does he own that old Rolls we saw parked in front of his address?”

“Yes. Same story. Bought as a wreck, taken apart, and reassembled. Same with his house too. I believe he inherited the house, but it was in poor shape, and he remodeled it completely and lets the six lower stories at reasonable rents. He could be a shark, most house owners are, but he isn’t.”

Grijpstra was listening intently, softly scratching around in his bristly short hair. De Gier, resplendent in his dark blue uniform, was listening too.

“You hear that?” Grijpstra asked.

“I heard, but I still have some weeds in my ears, so maybe I didn’t hear it all. A latter-day saint, eh? So why did this lovable gentleman who looks like an ape make me take a flying leap at the river? I wasn’t hustling him, was I? He barely gave me time to state my purpose, then whoosh… him away and me… In fact, I may have a charge for attempted manslaughter against him, or trying to cause serious injury. What else do you know about him? Nothing bad at all?”

“No. I have no idea why he took off, but I know mat if you bother him you’ll have everybody against you, everybody out here, the people of the waterways.”

The launch rubbed itself against the quayside and Grijpstra held on to a tree stump.

“Give us a push, sergeant. We won’t harm your hero, unless we can prove you wrong, and even then we wouldn’t be too nasty.”

De Gier jumped out too. “Thanks for the assistance, you’ll have your uniform back in the morning. I’ll try to keep it clean, but maybe your friend will have me in the river again.”

The water sergeant grinned. “Not in that uniform, he’ll respect the gold.”

The launch backed away and the two officers waved. It took the detectives a few minutes to walk to the jetty. The baboon had tied up his launch neatly but he wasn’t around.

“You want to snoop around here a bit?”

“May as well.”

But they were ready to give up and catch a tram back to their car when Grijpstra suddenly whistled. “Over there, on the terrace.”

The baboon was peacefully drinking tea. They stopped in front of his table.

“Afternoon, Mr. Vleuten.”

The baboon smiled as if welcoming old friends. “Well, I never. And in a water cop’s uniform too. Would you join me?”

They sat down but they didn’t say anything, and the silence, awkward at first, lost its tension as the three men gazed at the river. De Gier took off his cap and put it on die table and a girl came and took their order.

“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself,” the baboon said and offered a cigarette.

“I did.”

“Badly?”

“No. A scratch. But I did get very wet and dirty.”

The baboon touched de Gier’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. You came to see me about the fine, did you? I won’t pay it.”

“Fine?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t come to see you about a fine, we came to ask you some questions. A Mrs. Camet died. Elaine Carnet. We were told you knew her.”

“Ah.” The baboon sighed. “I might have known. I read about Elaine’s death but the journalist said it was an accident. Wasn’t it?”

“Perhaps. What is this business about a fine, Mr. Vleuten?”

“Call me baboon. I don’t like the word but it has stuck to me for a long time. That fine is a conglomeration of parking fines. Some parking police constable is irritated by my Rolls-Royce, he goes out of his way to plaster tickets all over it. I’ve complained to his chief but nothing happens. I don’t mind paying an occasional fine like everybody else, but I’m damned if I’ll have one every day. There aren’t enough parking places in the city and I have a car, so have a hundred thousand others.”

“But why associate us with your fines?”

“I’ve been bothered by you before, not by you personally, but by detectives. They keep ringing my bell in the early morning and shouting at me through the microphone at the front door.”

“Different branch, you must be referring to personnel from the court. They will be after you to try and get you to die court’s cashier and they have powers to hold you until you pay-if you open your door to them, that is. They aren’t authorized to break it down or to grab you in the street. They’ll have to take you from your house and you have to be willing to be taken.”

“I am not.”

De Gier was watching the baboon’s calm face. “You might be in trouble now, you know. You made me suffer a bad fall.”

“Can you arrest me?”

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“Not just now. But we’ll have to question you. Where do you want to be questioned? Here?”

They had finished their tea and the baboon called die girl and paid. “No, not here. And I am sorry about your fall. I thought you were sent by the parking police and I feel badly about this nonsense. A misunderstanding. I apologize, do you accept?”

De Gier nodded. “Maybe I will.”

“Then be my guests a little longer, gentlemen. We can take the boat back to my house and you can question me there, but I may not have much to say. I had no reason to kill Elaine, and I wouldn’t have killed her if I’d had a reason. Maybe there’s never a reason to kill, except to avoid old age, and Elaine wasn’t old.”

Grijpstra felt the little hairs in his neck bristle. He had detected the tremendous strength that seemed to come out of the baboon’s being, waves of strength that enveloped the detectives and neutralized their own force. Grijpstra remembered other occasions when he had been almost hypnotized by suspects. He had felt it during some arrests and also, once or twice, when he had been a witness for the prosecution in court. He had seen high police officers, lawyers, judges even, wilt while an unruffled criminal pleaded his case, made statements, proved himself to be innocent. But the criminals had been guilty.

They ambled across the quay together and de Gier lowered himself carefully into the launch. He was looking at some rubbish floating under the jetty as the baboon started the launch’s engine.

“Bah,” de Gier said. “Look at that mess. That water sergeant is a chauvinist. His part of the world is dirtier than ours.”

The baboon looked too. “We’re making an effort. The river is getting cleaner, it was much worse before.”

“Bah. People used to swim in the river.”

“They will again.”

“I was swimming in it just now.”

The baboon laughed. “I said I was sorry.”

“Sure,” de Gier said. “That was very nice of you.”

“He isn’t in,” the square lady in the flowered dress said, “but he’s due back any moment. Could you come again in half an hour, perhaps?”

The conunissaris and Cardozo had stood for quite a while on the porch of the de Bree house while Mrs. de Bree peered at them through the door’s peephole and tried to make up her mind whether or not to open the door. She had seen Cardozo before and knew he was a policeman. Her husband had told her not to let in the police. But the other man was much older than the boyish detective, and he didn’t seem to be the sort of man who could be sent away. She had decided that the conunissaris looked, in an unobtrusive way, both dignified and intelligent, and she had taken the risk. But now she was stuck again.

“We won’t go away, Mrs. de Bree,” the commissaris said softly, “and you will have to let us in.”

“My husband says that the home is private and that…”

“The home is private, your husband is right.”

She faltered and blushed. “So…?”

“But there are exceptions to any rule, madame. A crime has been committed and the police have been asked to investigate. In such circumstances the police have the right to enter any dwelling by force if a warrant has been issued or if an officer of a certain rank wants to visit the home.”