Janwillem De Wetering: Death of a Hawker

"And?" the commissaris asked.

"Well, they lost the merchandise and they lost the truck and they had to hitchhike back. Bezuur said that the moment had been very important to him. It had been some sort of awakening to the nonsense of human endeavor and the beauty of the creation. But he said that words couldn't describe the sensation."

"Hmm," the commissaris said doubtfully. "I met Bezuur, you know, and he didn't seem to have that quality. I can't imagine him jumping up and down in a white landscape covered with reflecting beads."

"No," Zilver said. "Exactly. He lost it. Abe said that Bezuur had been awake a little but he had managed to fall asleep again. He called him a hopeless case."

"And he dropped him?"

"Yes. Bezuur was still coming to the house but Abe would chase him away. He wouldn't even let him in, but would talk to him at the door. Abe could be very nasty if he wanted to. And there may have been other reasons. Bezuur loved Esther once and tried to get her. I think they did sleep together a few times but Esther didn't really want him, especially when he started trying to impress her with his motorcar and bungalow and the rest of it. He married a friend of hers but she couldn't stand him either. She is in France somewhere now, living in a hippie commune, I believe."

"So why didn't he kill Esther?"

"He could hurt her more by killing her brother. Abe was the sun in Esther's life."

"She's got another sun in her life now," Cardozo said.

"The sergeant?"

"Looks like it," the commissaris said.

"A policeman?" Zilver asked The commissaris and Cardozo studied Zilver's face and Zilver squirmed.

"Never mind," the commissaris said. "When did you find out that it must have been Bezuur?"

"Last night at the party. The friend who told me about the fishing-rod sport is a street seller. He came to the party and told me that Bezuur is in their club and that he is the champion. Bezuur is a good shot too. Abe kept an old rifle in his boat and he shot at floating bottles, out on the lake. I like doing that too. Abe always said that Bezuur was the best shot he ever met."

"Having a firearm nowadays is a crime," Cardozo said.

"Is that so?" Zilver asked. "Well, I never."

"Would you have told us about Bezuur?" the commissaris asked.

"No. But now I have anyway. I told you I would never help the police, and certainly not deliberately."

"Bezuur has now killed twice," the commissaris said, "and his other victim was an old lady who must have seen him hanging about the Straight Tree Ditch, some hours after he had killed Abe. He probably came back to see what the police were doing. He had even gone to the trouble of providing himself with an alibi. He had two callgirls at his house, poured full of champagne and fast asleep, but willing to swear that he had been with them. Perhaps he went back to kill Esther, or yourself. You took his place, lb let a man like him wander about is to ask for trouble, serious trouble. A very dangerous man, highly intelligent and skilled in unusual ways and tottering on the verge of his sanity."

"The Germans are still wandering about," Cardozo said pleasantly. "Millions and millions of them. They are highly skilled and highly intelligent. They've started two major wars and they have killed so many innocent people that I couldn't visualize the figure, or even pronounce it. It's not only the Germans. The Dutch killed a lot of innocent Indonesians. Killing seems to be part of the human mind. Maybe Abe was right when he said that we don't control ourselves but are moved by outside forces, by cosmic rays perhaps. Maybe the planets are to blame, and should be arrested and destroyed."

The commissaris moved his feet, which were about a foot above the floor. Cardozo smiled. The commissaris reminded him of a small boy, at ease on a garden wall, engaged in playing his own game, which happened to be moving his feet at that particular moment.

"Interesting," the commissaris said, "and not as farfetched as it seems, maybe. But still, we are here and we have our disciplines, and even if they lead nowhere in the end we can still pretend that we are doing something worth doing, especially if we are doing the best we can."

It was quiet in the room. The commissaris moved his feet together.

"Yes," he said. "We'll have to go and arrest Mr. Bezuur. Where would he be right now, do you think, Mr. Zilver?"

"Any of a dozen places," Zilver said. "I can give you a list. He may be at his office, or at home, or in any of the four yards where he keeps his machinery, or he may be wandering about in the Straight Tree Ditch area again."

"Would you like to come with us?" Cardozo asked, looking at the commissaris for approval. The commissaris nodded.

"Yes. I shouldn't have told you but I have, and now I wouldn't mind seeing the end of it."

The commissaris was telephoning. He spoke to Grijpstra, and to the police garage.

"We'll go in two cars," he said. "You and Cardozo can come with me in the Citroen. Grijpstra and de Gier will follow in their VW. Are you armed, Cardozo?"

Cardozo opened his jacket. The butt of his FN pistol gleamed.

"Don't touch it unless you absolutely have to," the commissaris said. "I hope he hasn't got his fishing rod with him. Its accuracy and reach will be about as much as those of our pistols."

"Mr. Zilver?"

Louis looked up.

"You can come with us on one condition. Stay in the background."

"All right," Zilver said.

The two cars left Police Headquarters at about eleven that morning and managed to lose contact almost immediately, as the constable at the wheel of the Citroen beat a traffic light just as it changed, leaving de Gier cursing in the battered VW, stuck behind a three-wheeled bicycle ridden by an invalid.

Grijpstra grunted.

"You should drive this car for a change," de Gier said, turning up the radio's volume.

"Yes?" the radio voice asked as de Gier gave his number.

"Put me on relay," de Gier said, "and give us another frequency. Your third channel is free, is it?"

"Fourth channel is free," the voice said. "I'll tell the commissaris' car to change into it."

"Yes?" the constable in the Citroen asked.

"Don't drive so spectacularly, constable," de Gier said. "We are still in Marnix Street and we have lost you already. Which way are you going?"

"East, through Weteringschans. We are headed for a yard in the industrial part on the other side of the Amstel."

"Wait for us, I'll try to catch up, and don't rush off when you see us."

They found the Citrosn again and tagged on. Bezuur wasn't in the yard. He wasn't in the next yard either. They tried his office. They went to the south but he wasn't at home. De Gier's initial impatience disappeared. Grijpstra sat next to him, smoked his small black cigars and said nothing, not even when a Mercedes, coming from the left, ignored their right of way and made them lunge forward as de Gier kicked his brake.

The radio came to life again. Cardozo's voice, flattened strangely, mentioned that it was past lunchtime.

"So?" de Gier asked.

"So the commissaris wants lunch."

Grijpstra broke his silence and grabbed the microphone from de Gier's hand.

"Excellent thought, Cardozo. Tell your driver to turn right at the next traffic light, second right after that."

"What's there, adjutant?"

"A Turkish snack bar. They serve hot rolls with some sort of meat stew inside, and tomatoes and onions."

The radio crackled for a while and the commissaris' voice came through.

"These Turkish rolls you mentioned, Grijpstra, what are they like?"

"Delicious, sir, but a little foreign."

"Spicy?"

"Not too much, sir."

"What's the restaurant's name?"

"A Turkish name, sir. Couldn't pronounce it if I could remember it, but you can't miss it. They have a stuffed donkey on the sidewalk and there's a Turkish lady on the donkey, with a veil and wide trousers and lots of necklaces."