Janwillem De Wetering - The Rattle-Rat

"Didn't he give himself up?" de Gier asked. "Is Mem Scherjoen giving herself up?"

Grypstra kept coughing. "Sorry," de Gier said. "I'm out of this, but I couldn't help being curious. Sorry, Adjutant."

"Gyske says," Hylkje said, "that Mem loved Douwe dearly. You're all men, you cannot possibly identify with a woman in such a relationship."

"The female attitude is changing," the commissaris said.

"Only lately, sir. Mem is from the past."

"Dinner?" the commissaris asked.

De Gier fried the soles, flipping them over with smart flicks of his fork. The crunchy fish were served in a ring of fresh lettuce. There was a tomato salad, with a dressing flavored with herbs from the garden. The commissaris ate the last golden fried potato. Cold beer foamed.

De Gier brought out strawberries, under a cloud of whipped cream.

"You're good," Hylkje said.

"The sergeant lives alone," the commissaris said helpfully.

"In contrast," Grypstra said, "to all of us who fail in marriage or are manipulated in other unfortunate relationships, de Gier lives well. He may not be a Frisian, but he's still an example."

"Exactly," sneered Cardozo. "Who needs women, anyway?" "Because I laughed?" Hylkje said. "Because you looked funny?"

"Yes," Cardozo said, "for I had been laughed at already, and I wouldn't expect a woman to sink that low. Maybe I'm an exception too. I began by adoring all women. I'm still young, my views could change again. I'm not saying you're all bad. No, I won't go that far yet."

"He's weakening," Grypstra said. "Keep it up, Cardozo."

"So how far would you like to go?" Hylkje asked, adjusting a golden lock. Her eyes had grown larger. Her lips were moist. She sat up straight. Her bosom pointed at Cardozo.

"To get back to our subject…" the commissaris said.

"Yes, what shall we do now?" Grijpstra asked.

"Please tell me," Hylkje said. "Soon I'll be too old for the motorcycle brigade, and I'm planning to apply for a position as a detective. Do you have a plan, sir?"

De Gier brought the coffee in.

"Patience," the commissaris said. "Perseverance. No loss of enthusiasm now. Arrange our facts. Connect all causes and effects and study the points where the lines meet. Ignore what doesn't make sense, and keep working on what will hold under scrutiny. I see only four connections so far. We have one abused spouse and three conflicts of commercial interest. What else can be observed? The bizarre aspects of the murder? Why did the killer go to so much trouble once the opponent was destroyed? Would an older lady like Mem Scherjoen drag her husband's corpse through winding alleys? Does mere loss of cash provoke sadistic hatred? Are we right in paying so much attention to three rustic types who smoke pipes under chestnut trees after their work is done? Let's have your opinion, Sergeant."

De Gier shrugged in defense.

The commissaris looked at Hylkje. "Would Frisians be likely to misbehave in such a flagrant manner? Why the urge to totally destroy the enemy? How do you see your own people? As noble, straight, honest, industrious, moral, God-fearing?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"There's much clear light here," the commissaris said, "so the shadows will be dark. Darkness is part of our being. The part that we hide in shame is always active too."

Hylkje supported her chin with clasped hands. Her long eyelashes protected her staring eyes. "You put things so well."

"Well…" the commissaris said shyly.

"And then?"

"Darkness," the commissaris said, "is tolerated in Amsterdam. Tolerance makes evil show itself. Once our bad sides can be seen, we may learn to live with them, up to a point. I postulate that Frisians tend to hide their shadows. When the shameful aspect is masked and repressed, we may expect considerable tension. Our evil will do everything to break out of our discipline, and then, suddenly…"

Hylkje looked at de Gier. He placed empty cups on a tray. His shoulder muscles bulged easily under the thin cotton of his tight shirt, which tapered down to his narrow waist. His long, supple fingers grasped the ear of a teacup tenderly. As he carried the tray away, his arm brushed past Hylkje's hair.

"I see what you mean," Hylkje said. "The pushed-down immoral desire will have to break free, and if you hold it down too long, because there's no opportunity to let it go, or you're just too busy-well, I really wouldn't know what sort of terrible explosions could possibly take place."

"Exactly," the commissaris said, "and that's why I suspect that here, in this most moral and clearly healthy Frisian mindscape, the causes can be found that led to the horror in the Amsterdam Inner Harbor. Scherjoen was abusing his fellow Frisians. I hear he provided loans against unbearable interest. We can add that sin to his other misdeeds. Who can fathom Mem's continuous suffering? Desperate mothers at her door, dragging starved kids? And her husband to blame?" The commissaris got up. "I need a phone."

Grijpstra took him to the other room.

"What will you be doing tomorrow?" Hylkje asked de Gier.

"I want to visit the market."

"The cattle market? It starts at five A.M."

"I'm getting older," de Gier said. "Older men need less sleep."

"You can sleep late for another week," Cardozo said. "Bald Ary and Fritz with the Tuft aren't supposed to attack until a week from Friday."

"And our side will be exercising," Hylkje said. 'The Municipal Police are to set up a command post. State Police will bring in communications gear. There'll be technicians from The Hague. Students from the Police School will be blocking the roads."

Grijpstra had come back. "You don't want to be in the way of all those good people, Sergeant."

"Please," de Gier said. "I'm an interested tourist. Couleur locale. I've never had a chance to visit this picturesque province before. And maybe I can find some food. A sheep may be crushed, or I'll find a lost piglet. I have some recipes for stew."

Smiling, the commissaris came back into the room. "Mem Scherjoen does have a dear voice. It's all agreed. Tomorrow afternoon we'll search her house, and in the morning I'll be visiting her sister in Amsterdam. A certain Miss Terpstra." He checked his watch. "My wife is expecting me. Are you coming, Cardozo? I'll drop you off at home, and maybe I can talk to your brother about his bike."

"I'll drive ahead in my Deux Chevaux," Hylkje said, "so that you won't miss the dike, and then I'll come back here."

De Gier washed up. Grijpstra checked on Eddy. He reported to the kitchen. "Rattling again. Doesn't seem well. I'll try some more cheese."

Hylkje came back. De Gier opened the door. "Come upstairs for a moment."

"Won't it be better at my apartment?" Hylkje asked. "We won't be bothering the adjutant, and I don't have flowered wallpaper. Counting the roses may distract."

"Don't be so singleminded." De Gier led the way.

Eddy was rattling in the sawdust of his terrarium.

'Too warm here, maybe?" Hylkje asked. "Shall I open a window?"

"Won't eat any more cheese," Grijpstra said, gently scratching the rat's head.

"This is no good," de Gier said."We're supposed to look after the little chap. He might be dying on us, and we'll get all the blame. I'll phone the Oppenhuyzens."

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," de Gier said into the phone. "I know it's late, but your rat is unwell."

"He rattles," de Gier said.

"No, it's worse than that, and he's just lying about. Could you come and fetch him, do you think?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll let you know."

He put the phone down. "She says Eddy's a comedian. He'll be all right in the morning. Needs attention and rest" De Gier stretched. "Who doesn't?"

"Come along," Hylkje said. "You need attention too."

De Gier yawned. "Ran about on that island a lot. I'm not used to the fatigues of nature."