Janwillem De Wetering - The Rattle-Rat

They waited for a while.

"Cardozo," the commissaris said. "Have you considered Mem's guilt, whether she killed Douwe or not?"

"I don't think I'm following you now," Cardozo said.

"Am I expecting too much again?" the commissaris asked. "Are you too young to comprehend? Maybe you're unaware that men live by the power granted them by women. Now suppose that power is deliberately withheld. Say that one particular woman tells her man that he's gone too far, that she'll have no more, that he'll have to live without her love. What happens then? Wouldn't the man stumble and no longer be capable of defending himself against normal hostilities aimed at him by his environment? Mem told Douwe to go it alone, and he immediately fell down? Oh, hello, Sergeant."

"At your service," the state policeman said, bending down to the commissaris's window. "Just for the record-or off the record, rather-you shouldn't park here."

"I'm sorry," the commissaris said, "but I wonder if you'd mind directing us to the headquarters of the Municipal Police?"

The sergeant got back into the Land Rover and drove off slowly.

"I'm tired," the corporal next to the sergeant said. "You've no idea how these Amsterdam colleagues are tiring me. I do hope they crack their case, for I can't put up with them much longer."

The sergeant drove the Land Rover.

"Don't you speak Frisian anymore?" the corporal asked.

"You're disturbing my thoughts," the sergeant said. "I am thinking in Dutch. Just like they're doing. To try to follow them. Maybe, if I think with them, I can figure out what they're doing and why."

"Shouldn't you have turned off here?" the corporal asked. "We've passed the cube."

"We'll keep going," the sergeant said. "This highway circles the city. We'll have another chance."

"Sir?" Cardozo asked half an hour later. "Please turn off now, or we'll miss police headquarters again."

The Citroen turned off. The Land Rover drove on.

"Did I do it again?" the sergeant asked.

"Thanks," the corporal said. "I hate to go crazy alone."

" Do you keep losing the way here too?" Cardozo asked de Gier in the house in Spanish Lane.

"Where's the commissaris?" Grijpstra asked.

"At local headquarters," Cardozo said. "He gave me the car, for I have to return to Amsterdam. He'll be taking the train later. I just dropped in to hear whether anything's going on with you. Any information I can use?"

Grijpstra stretched on the couch under the flowered wallpaper, stared at a ceiling tile that was coming loose. "Cardozo works according to plan. He's ticking off moves. He's following a line of action." He pushed himself up. "What will you do in Amsterdam?"

"Make a manikin," Cardozo said, "or rather, I'll help. Reconstruction of the corpse and then bringing it to life. Ah, Adjutant?"

"I haven't lost the way here yet," de Gier said, sipping tea, flanked by fuchsias, legs crossed, little finger raised. "I think the adjutant and the commissaris are suffering from the past. Their roots are here, and they keep tripping over them. You and I don't have to carry memories. Our innocence keeps us right on course."

Grijpstra grunted.

"Adjutant?" Cardozo said.

"If only they had said something," Grypstra said. "This Pyr, Tyark, and Yelte. Never mind what. Any sort of statement. I would have checked it, found it to be untrue, and I'd have seen them again, clobbered them with my clout. Their fear would have delivered them into the hands of justice. But if they say nothing…"

"You could have made an effort," de Gier said. "The language is easy enough. I have a dictionary. 'Dead' is dea in Frisian. You could have started at the end. 'Not' is net. You keep saying net, and they may come up with the truth."

"Net dea?" Grypstra asked. "But Douwe Is dead."

De Gier looked at Grypstra over the edge of his cup. "Do try and follow me on the intellectual level. Go on, you can do it."

Grypstra got up slowly. He was lowering his head.

"Adjutant?" Cardozo said. "I'm glad you mentioned Pyr and the other two. I almost forgot. The commissaris wants you to visit them again and invite them to visit Headquarters in Amsterdam tomorrow at five P.M. There'll be a confrontation. Can you make sure they'll be there?"

Grypstra fell back on the couch. "Not again? Again the narrow dikes? The silence? No, I won't."

"Of course you will," de Gier said. "You'll enjoy it, too. You'll be working toward the subtle solution of another tricky case. Patience and perseverance. You've seen it before. We're ready to give up, but we keep pressing, and then over they go. The suspect's knees wobble, his head sags to the side, spittle drools out of the side of his mouth, his hands fall down, and the truth drops out. Crime and punishment, the balance we fight for, and there you are, holding the flaming sword."

"Yes," Grypstra said. "Maybe. But do they admit guilt? Are they ever sorry?"

"Of course," de Gier said. "Have you ever met anyone who really liked evil? Or committed it on purpose?"

"Yes," Grypstra said. "All suspects are evil by nature."

"Come off it. Did they have a choice? Weren't circumstances forcing them? Did they ever plan? Dragged by fate, they were, and you'll be dragging them to prison. And we're dragged too. We splash about in the current and we think that we swim, unless you accept that we're all quite helpless."

"Except for yourself."

"Me included," de Gier shouted, splashing tea on his trousers. "Everything's included. Think back, think ahead, you'll never get out."

"You don't belong in the police."

"I don't want to belong anywhere," de Gier said. "That's why I'm enjoying this case. For once I'm supposed to be excluded."

"I don't think you are," Cardozo said.

De Gier sat down and stared at the floor. Grypstra stared at Cardozo. Cardozo stared at Eddy. The rat had been asleep on a chair, lying limply on his side. He now struggled up and looked over the edge of the seat. Cardozo helped him down to the carpet. Eddy dragged himself along, trailing his tail. "Is he sick?" Cardozo asked.

"Showing off again," Grypstra said.

Eddy stood up against Cardozo's leg. His red eyes bulged. The dry little hands held on to the edge of Cardozo's sock. "Whee," Cardozo said.

"He won't hurt you. Why don't you pick him up?" de Gier said.

Cardozo reached down gingerly. Eddy let himself be scooped up, sighing his pleasure, baring bis long teeth. Dark red veins crinkled through the almost transparent skin of his ears. Cardozo's finger scratched the rat's pink belly. "Cute," Cardozo said. Eddy rattled weakly. His mustache drooped and a spasm shook the small body. "Wha," Cardozo said, letting go. The rat fell on the floor. Cardozo squatted. "Now what did I do?"

"He's still moving," Grypstra said. He squatted too. "And rattling."

De Gier crawled after the rat. "Rats don't live long, I think. Maybe he's old. Are you old, Eddy?"

Eddy waved a leg.

Grijpstra groaned and got up. "The death rattle, perhaps?"

"Just our luck," de Gier said. "We always come in at the end."

Grijpstra telephoned. "Mrs. Oppenhuyzen? About your pet again…"

"I think he's dying."

"You have no car?"

"Your husband isn't with you?"

"You would like us to bring him to you?"

"Yes, ma'am. Will do."

He hung up.

"You're going to your loved ones," de Gier said to Eddy. He fingered the trembling little head. "And then maybe you'll go altogether. To a better afterlife. Swings and music, choice cheese, rodent sex. You'll have a great time."

"You take him," Grijpstra said. "The move isn't case related. And I want dinner. You cook the dinner too."

De Gier brought in mussel soup and fresh bread. Grijpstra snorted his way through several helpings. "Good," said Cardozo. "Subtle flavor."