Janwillem De Wetering - The Rattle-Rat

"Not true," de Gier said. "I think you're testing me again. This, sir, is Engwierum. The adjutant's summer shed is on the next street on the right, at the end, facing the sea. Shall we go?" He parked the car.

"Hmm," the commissaris said.

"You prefer me to park in front of the suspect's house?"

"I lose," the commissaris said. "You're right. I can't arrest him."

"So why are we visiting the poor fellow?"

"I lose again," the commissaris said. "It might be better if you'd fill me in first. What do you know, Sergeant?"

"After you," de Gier said. "You made me set myself up by coming along. I give in. Won't you tell me first what you found out?"

"Very well," the commissaris said, "but let me lose a little. Answer this question. How wealthy is the adjutant?"

"He isn't," de Gier said. "Oppenhuyzen drives an old Saab. He doesn't dress well. You've seen his house in Leeuwarden in Spanish Lane, paid for out of his wages, furniture and all. The summer house is constructed from pressed sawdust sheeting."

"Would he be stashing money in a foreign country?"

"Not the type, sir. Mrs. Oppenhuyzen doesn't like to travel, and the adjutant doesn't strike me as an adventurer either."

"No money in an old sock?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"Suspect visits prostitutes," the commissaris said, "according to Cardozo. So he does. So what? Once in a while, maybe. It's not a costly habit."

"Sir," de Gier said, "I'm positive Adjutant Oppenhuyzen never accepted bribes in cash. He went to Singapore at his own expense, to visit a needle doctor. He and his wife stayed in a boardinghouse. The doctor was a friend of Wang's, the restaurant owner we met last night. A good guy, I'm sure."

"Mr. Wang impressed me," the commissaris said. "He knew what I was talking about. He must be a sage."

"Are you a sage too, sir?"

"Hmm," the commissaris said. "Don't get too clever, Sergeant. Attack is easy."

"Well, maybe the suspect did accept something," de Gier said. "But I'm sure the Triads didn't pay for his Singapore cure."

"Did the cure work?"

"No, sir. But Oppenhuyzen did, from time to time, have periods when he suffered no pains."

"You can switch the engine off now," the commissaris said.

They walked the rest of the way. "At times there was no pain," the commissaris said, "so we may presume that the suspect could, on occasion, procure a strong drug. Heroin is the best painkiller known to modern medicine. Continuous and excruciating pains in the face are often diagnosed as neuralgia, perhaps an incurable disease. Morphine will do away with the pain, but our doctors don't like to prescribe the drug, and if they do, the quantities are always too small."

"He could have used a bullet," de Gier said. "Bullets are often better."

"You're too young," the commissaris said, "but you're excused. I would have made the same comment twenty years ago. Strange, don't you think? The more energy we have, the more suicidal we seem to be."

"I don't know any better," de Gier said. "Sorry, sir."

"Neither do I, Sergeant, but at my age the doubt is more subtle. To wish suicide on another seems silly to me now."

"I said I was sorry, sir."

"All right, all right," the commissaris said. "Oppenhuyzen accepted heroin to relieve the pain that drove him crazy, in exchange for settling papers and giving advice and general help to a foreign criminal element. Unacceptable, but very easy to understand."

"If you'd be good enough to tell me what you plan to do now," de Gier said, "my spirits might rise. The chief constable has already sentenced the adjutant to official leave for the duration. I don't see how you can go any further. Interrogating an officer from another police corps is illegal, unless you are accompanied by his chief." He looked over his shoulder. "Is the chief constable of Leeuwarden about, by any chance?"

"There's no flaw in your reasoning," the commissaris said. "But now tell me how you found the connection between Oppenhuyzen and Douwe Scherjoen."

"Turkey," de Gier said. "I suspected Mem Scherjoen and that fellow Pyr and the other two sheepy types. In every case the motivation would be revenge. Mem was tired of being abused, and Pyr and his mates were attempting to save their business. Grijpstra was working on the cattle dealers, and you were all set to give Mrs. Scherjoen a hard time."

"And what were you doing?" the commissaris asked.

'Thinking of Turkish heroin," de Gier said. "Until recently, most heroin came from the Far East through the Hong Kong and Singapore Triads, brought in by so-called nephews of legal Chinese who had been here for generations. They forced their 'uncles' to put them up, hide their heroin, feed and lodge them for free. Many of the local Chinese have restaurants. Some of the restaurants are good, but Wo Hop's place in Amsterdam, where Cardozo entered in innocence, must be a Triad hangout."

"Yes," the commissaris said, "and I wonder why that place hasn't been raided by us. Protection?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes," the commissaris said. "But you can't be sure."

"Sure enough," de Gier said. "And when I'm back, and you'll be helpful enough to place me off side again, I could look into that protection."

"A thought," the commissaris said.

De Gier stopped and rolled a cigarette. "Now, Douwe was described to me as a most evil man, when I stumbled into an acquaintance while I sniffed around in Leeuwarden, looking for heroin. Douwe also made private loans, at killing interest."

"That upsets you?"

"Oh, yes," the sergeant said. "Sucking the hopelessly lost?"

"That's bad," the commissaris said.

"The Chinese were short of heroin, but they controlled the retail market. If they couldn't get it from their own contacts anymore, because of the frenzy with which immigration and customs are now pursuing all suspect couriers, they could still obtain supplies elsewhere. The Middle East manufactures heroin from homegrown opium. We also watch the Turks. Douwe is no Turk. He sells sheep to Turkey. Turks owe him money. What if he was paid in heroin? I imagined Douwe bringing the drug in."

"Right," the commissaris said. "After a while I thought of that possibility too, but you were far ahead already."

"But you were working on Mrs. Scherjoen," de Gier said. "There's only so much time. Although, to be sure, I couldn't see what you were hoping to bring about. Would you have arrested a nice widow?"

"Look here," the commissaris said. "I've got to do my job. I'm hopelessly curious, too."

"You gave her a fright," de Gier said.

"I did not, Sergeant. Mem was innocent and never budged. I thought she was guilty because she might have discovered that Douwe was selling heroin and had meant to put a stop to that, but she never knew about that part of his activity."

"Could she have killed her own husband?"

"Yes," the commissaris said. "She's a most admirable lady who lives by her conscience. You don't see that too often."

"Shot and burned her own husband?"

The commissaris nodded. "Absolutely, and her sister would have helped, another suspect meeting all my requirements. Mem is an idealist, Miss Terpstra is a perfect terrorist."

"So you see," de Gier said, "you were distracted. I couldn't be, all I had was one direction. I was lucky, too, for Lieutenant Sudema stumbled my way. Sudema had some ideas, subconsciously perhaps, and he had to get real drunk to be able to express them, and even then he would merely hint. He sent me to his nephew, a Military Police private who was picking up a deserter on Ameland, who had dealings with Scherjoen."

"A full report, please," the commissaris said.

De Gier reported.

"Has the copper been returned?" the commissaris asked.

"Yes, sir. That wasn't a real theft, but more like a traditional adventure that islanders go in for, to earn the respect of their peers. The deserter told me all I needed to know. Scherjoen would be bringing in heroin on his own account. He must have sold to Wo Hop, who was making most of the profit. Scherjoen wanted all the profit. He may have planned to sell his next import directly to users, or perhaps he had already sold retail, in Amsterdam of course."