Janwillem De Wetering - The Rattle-Rat

"Revenge?" Cardozo asked. "He's a ghost now, without peace. He's still a businessman, too. He'll suggest a fair exchange. They can have dead Eddy, and in return they find Douwe's killer."

"Who wants a dead rat?"

"Okay," Cardozo said. "He's threatening them. A dead rat is revolting."

"Death," the Madame Tussaud friend said, "that's what we have to work on. The death of Douwe's burned skull, the black holes of his eye sockets, the limp corpse of the rat, tail and feet hanging down, the end of everything."

The artists took time off, to roll cigarettes, suck smoke, reflect on their intentions. "Frighten them, okay," Cardozo said. "But they've got to feel sorry for him, too. And for themselves, that they reduced him to this state. The murderer is among them."

The Madame Tussaud friend jumped up. "Let's make him more pathetic."

Douwe sat down and got up again, stepped forward slowly. They bent his spine, slowed the movement of the arms, turned the skull to the side, flashed more sudden light.

"Please," Douwe begged, "please help me. I never killed anyone, the punishment was too cruel, fill in the gap, show your guilt, please confess."

He's asking for compassion, Grjjpstra thought, that's better. He wants help. We all want help. We're weakly human. I'm seeing myself now, I'm as damned as Douwe, I'll be damned if I don't want to help him. They're doing a good job.

"Done!" Cardozo and the Madame Tussaud friend shouted. They had pressed a flat black cap on Douwe's skull, and beyond that final touch, there was no more to be done. The skull's reconstruction had succeeded. Only the top part, with the grinning sockets, had been Douwe's property once; the wired-on lower jaw had been picked up in a forgotten corner of the police laboratory, but that the two halves didn't belong together was satisfactorily smoothed over by the shadow of the cap's visor, strengthened by pulsating light.

Cardozo amp; Co. entered Grjjpstra's room. "I didn't know you were here, Adjutant," Cardozo said. "What do you think?"

"Not bad," Grypstra said.

"You hear?" Cardozo asked.

"Who needs praise?" the Madame Tussaud friend asked.

'The adjutant never approves of me," Cardozo said.

"They weren't your efforts so much," the Madame Tussaud friend said. "All you did was hand me tools. But that's fine, you were useful in a way."

The commissaris came in. Cardozo went back to the other room and brought Douwe to life by pulling strings. Douwe got up and offered the dead Eddy. Eddy's eyes glowed a sparkling red in the suddenly switched-on light.

"Really," the commissaris said, "aren't we overdoing this a trifle? I hadn't meant to go quite this far. No. Not at all."

"Okay?" Cardozo asked, rushing into the room.

"Your chief isn't sure," the Madame Tussaud friend said. "Will you be canceling the performance, sir?"

The commissaris shook his head. "I don't want to waste your work."

The telephone near Grijpstra's hand rang. He picked it up. "The reception desk downstairs, sir. Suspects have arrived."

"Go down, Adjutant, and fetch them, one by one. Pyr, Tyark, and Yelte first. Don't go in yourself. Pull the door closed after them, and come here."

Pyr entered the room. Of all the suspects, he resembled Douwe most. Pyr was small and bent forward. What Pyr said, when Douwe offered him Eddy, wasn't Frisian, but the prehistoric scream of those who are suddenly faced with the ultimate threat that life can offer, as the commissaris explained later, yanking his own watch chain until it broke. "Pyr saw his own being," the commissaris explained.

"Trrruahahahahee," Pyr screamed, according to the tape that preserved the sounds of the interrogation room and was played back after the suspects had left.

After that scream, Pyr understood that he was in the presence of a lifeless puppet made of cloth and sticks, nothing to get upset about. Pyr wandered about the room, guiltless but shaken, as could be expected. Grijpstra fetched him and took him to another room. The commissaris casually dropped in. Pyr, angry now, swore in Dutch.

"Mr. Wydema," the commissaris interrupted. "I'm sorry we had you come all this way for this, but I wanted to save you the trouble of endless interrogation."

"You don't have any proof at all!" Pyr shouted.

"Tell me," the commissaris said, "the sheep that you export, do you know their eventual destination?"

"Turkey!" Pyr shouted.

"You collect the money over there?"

Pyr had been to Turkey.

"You ever spend any money there?"

"On what?"

"On purchases? Products? Something to bring back?"

"From Turkey?" Pyr asked. "What have they got out there? Flies? Old women? Holes in the street?"

Pyr was sent back to Friesland. Tyark Tamminga was sent to Douwe. Tyark, a tall, wide-shouldered man, had to cry a little. He threw his cap on the floor and staggered to the door. The door was locked. Tyark pressed himself against the wall of glass and had to be pried loose by Grijpstra.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tamminga," the commissaris said, "that we had to bring you in for this, but…"

"Douwe is in hell," Tyark said, "with a rat. I should have known."

"Why, Mr. Tamminga?"

"But I didn't want to know," Tyark said. "I never like to think about things like that. When they die, they're still somewhere. I'll be too, one day."

"In hell?" Grupstra asked. "What did you do that you deserve hell?"

Tyark shook his head.

"Do tell," the commissaris said. "Something bad?"

"Yes," Tyark said. "I'm rude to my farmhand. And Ushe's dog, he kept stealing and losing my clogs. I shot him for that, but that's years ago."

"Ushe is your wife?"

"Yes," Tyark said. "That's where I'll go, to hell, with a rat."

Tyark left for Friesland.

Yelte Pryk wasn't grateful for Douwe's gift, either, but he kept minding his manners. Yelte raised his hand to greet Douwe. The hand touched Eddy's tail. Yelte stumbled and groped about the room, illuminated by the spotlights.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pryk," the commissaris said, "that we had you come all the way from Friesland…"

"Douwe pulled me out of the moat," Yelte said.

The commissaris nodded.

Very nice of Douwe, Yelte said. You can be most mistaken in judging others. Yelte's van had slid off the dike, and Douwe happened to come along and pulled him out. Douwe burned out his clutch, and Yelte had expected to be asked to pay, but Douwe never mentioned the expense.

"So you rather liked Douwe?" the commissaris asked.

Yelte wouldn't go as far as that. Some honesty must be held on to. But Douwe in hell, with rats, that was a bit much. Poor Douwe.

Yelte was sent home.

The commissaris went down to fetch Mem Scherjoen. He opened the door of the room and waved her in.

"Douwe?" Mem asked softly.

Douwe offered Eddy.

Mem was about to accept the rat when her arms dropped down. "It'll be all right," Mem whispered. "Wait for me, dear. I'll be along and I'll get you out. We'll start all over."

Douwe tried to give her the rat again.

Mem turned away.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Scherjoen," the commissaris said.

"We'll be together again," Mem said. "Douwe'Il have to learn. I'll never give up. I'll always be with him. I wish I could help the other one, too."

"Which other one, Mem?"

"Douwe's killer," Mem said. "He's having a hard time now. And he's alive, maybe that's worse. Can't you make it easier for him, a little?"

"As long as he won't come forward," the commissaris said, "I may have to wait."

"You might go to see him."

"Yes," the commissaris said. "I'll be doing that soon. Did you come by train? Shall I give you a ride back?"

"That would be nice." Mem touched the commissaris's arm. "You didn't really frighten me. I dream about Douwe, and he does look strange now, very much like what you just showed me in that room. No peace for Douwe yet. Once I can take care of the retarded people, things should get better."