Janwillem De Wetering - Hard Rain

"You don't do it with your plastic teeth, Jan."

"You're like Paul Voort," the commissaris said. "We're in the twentieth century, dear. The Inquisition is over."

"Who is Paul Voort?"

"That nasty man you shooed out of the door. He accused me of theft."

"Ach." She grabbed hold of him again. "You don't steal things."

"I just stole thirty million."

"No, you gave it away."

"And you gave Miss Antoinette away."

"You are jealous." She shook him. "Confess."

"Of Carl," the commissaris said.

"What do you mean, of Carl?"

"You like Carl," the commissaris said. "That's why I said he could have Miss Antoinette."

"You're jealous of Carl and me…" She held him at arm's length. "Jan!"

"I'm very jealous," the commissaris said. "I realize that now. That's why I destroyed Fernandus."

"You thought that Fernandus and I… really, Jan, I'm sixty years old and I haven't seen him in thirty."

"Something else," the commissaris said, "something else again. I haven't thought it all out, but I assure you I never touched Miss Antoinette."

"You're sure now?"

"Sure," the commissaris said. "You can kiss me to make up."

"No, you kiss me."

"That's nice," Mrs. Jongs said from the door. "I never kisses anyone. Bob doesn't like that. It isn't in the price."

Janwillem Van De Wetering

Hard Rain

\\\\\ 31 /////

KOWSKY OF THE Courier, a crablike man with eyes on stalks, a predatory creature who lived in his own crack in his own rock, where he rested between quick, darting attacks, listened to the commissaris with attention.

"You were going to write a piece before on the Society for Help Abroad," the commissaris said. "I believe you spent a night at their club, as a guest of Baron Bart de la Faille. Nothing came of that?"

"Plenty," Kowsky hissed. He sidled a little closer to the commissaris's desk, leering sideways at Miss Antoinette, who, neat and modest in her two-piece suit and lace-trimmed blouse, was pouring coffee. Kowsky retreated to his chair, holding on to his cup with his claw. "I'm still gathering material, researching the project."

"Making progress?" The commissaris, trim and dapper, adjusted his necktie so that it divided his spotless white shirt into symmetrical halves. "I'm sure you have. Perhaps you'd like some help."

Miss Antoinette watered the begonias on the windowsills, which, responding to their daily portion of loving care, flowered profusely, brightening the room with their splashes of glowing red. The leaves of the potted palm fluttered, touched by the morning breeze as Miss Antoinette opened a window. The portrait of the captain of the constabulary smiled down benignly from his golden frame and the glorious past. "Now then," the commissaris said, "perhaps this would be of interest. Reliable informants tell me that the Society is in financial trouble, very likely because of a crisis in the Banque du Credit. You do know that the Society and the bank are closely linked through their mutual president, the infamous attorney Willem Fernandus. A run on the bank is predicted, which will undoubtedly result in financial failure."

"How come?" Kowsky asked, sucking up coffee.

"You're familiar with the troubles of the Ryder empire?" the commissaris asked. "Ronnie Ryder met with a fatal accident yesterday. His speedboat blew up on the Vinker Lakes. His textile stores, mismanaged and almost bankrupt, were bailed out by the Banque du Credit, but the bank, by now, is very shaky too. Ryder was known to be an inveterate gambler, losing at roulette in the Society's club."

"Any criminal charges?" Kowsky asked pointing his sharp nose aggressively at the commissaris. "Didn't the manager of the bank commit suicide a while ago?"

"He died by violence," the commissaris said.

"Ryder did away with himself too?"

"Possibly," the commissaris said. "Fernandus's son, Huip, was also in the boat. We could consider the mishap to be a random event. I won't back you up if you mention crime."

"Front-page news," Kowsky said. "Absolutely. Thank you. 'Bye."

Miss Antoinette let him out. The telephone rang. She came back to pick it up. "The chief constable, sir, he wants you to see him right away."

The commissaris nodded. "Tell him to come here, and I want to see Halba too. Make that sound like an order." She passed the message. The commissaris reached over and broke the connection. Miss Antoinette replaced the receiver. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Please."

They waited. The door opened. "What's this?" the chief constable asked. The commissaris pointed to a chair. "We'll wait for Halba. Did you tell him to come here?"

"I did not," the chief constable said.

The commissaris picked up his phone and dialed, then said, "Halba. The chief constable and I are waiting for you in my room."

The chief constable cursed.

"Morning," the commissaris said when Halba showed up. "I'll be brief, so there's no need to sit down. I'm accusing you both, respectively and in ascending order of rank, of incompetence and corruption. I should have come out with this earlier, but I was hampered by the mess that you two helped to bring about. No." He raised his hand. "Shut up. This isn't a discussion. You will, respectively and in ascending order of rank again, apply for early pension and resign. I can't accept a refusal. Should you decide to make a stand, State Detection will uncover, with help from me, a series of misdemeanors that would show you both up personally and further worsen the image of the city's police. If you leave now, I won't take any action, but I can't guarantee that your self-made fate won't trip you up through some other chain of events." He stood up. "Please go. This will be a busy week for me. Hand in your written requests to the administration and leave the building afterward. That'll be all. Miss Antoinette, would you see these men out?"

"Wah," the commissaris said, sitting down.

"You're so fierce, sir," Miss Antoinette whispered. "You think they will do all that? Ruin their own careers?"

"They've been ruined for some time," the commissaris said. "They just needed someone to tell them. Would you send in Cardozo?"

Cardozo came in and found the commissaris hopping about on his oriental rug. "Sir?" The commissaris jumped to a geometric design half a yard ahead. "I used to do this for hours when I was a child. This rug was in our living room. I pretended the blue parts were swampy spots where crocodiles and other toothy creatures lived, and the green designs were safe ground, but then I would change it all around, and only the red areas were safe, but not for long again. Reality is like that. Changeable, very. Got to adjust your strategy constantly. Never quite know where you're secure. Educated guesses combined with foolhardy courage…"

"Yes?" Cardozo asked. "I just saw the chief constable and Halba in the corridor, sir, arguing with each other like crazy. I yelled good morning at them but they didn't notice me at all. Some internal trouble again?"

"They'll both be leaving us," the commissaris said. "I'm temporarily in charge. The mayor will confirm my position a little later today. I haven't had time to see him yet."

Miss Antoinette walked toward the phone. "Shall I order the mayor to come here too, sir?"

The commissaris smiled. "No, we'll revert to normal tactics now. I'll see him at City Hall." He checked his watch. "As soon as he pleases. Now, Cardozo, there was an Indian lady at the club during the rowdy night we all enjoyed so much. A shapely woman with a red dot on her forehead and a bit of bare belly."

"The one who told me about the Calcutta rats?"

"I forget her name."

"Sayukta, sir. I've seen her since, took her to the zoo.

"Excuse me," Miss Antoinette said, replacing the phone. "The mayor can see you anytime this morning, sir."