Janwillem De Wetering - Hard Rain

The commissaris looked around. "Thank you, dear. Please raise de Gier, he can drive me over. I don't want to have to deal with traffic today. To the zoo, Cardozo? Why the zoo?"

"She wanted to," Cardozo said. "She felt caged herself, and wanted to know she wasn't the only being behind bars."

"I know Sayukta too," Miss Antoinette said. "Willem introduced me to her at the club, we had a bit of a chat. Poor little thing, she was very unhappy."

"Sayukta wants residency here," Cardozo said. "She needs proper papers. Perhaps you could put in a word for her. She'll do anything, even scrub floors."

"I scrubbed Carl's floor this morning," Miss Antoinette said. "He's got a lot of floor, she can help."

"I'll have an apartment too, soon." Cardozo smiled. "Me and Izzy. Maybe Sayukta can come in twice a week. Between the lot of us, we could provide forty hours at minimum wage."

The commissaris gestured impatiently. "Surely we can find her more suitable employment."

"She's quite intelligent," Cardozo said, "Perhaps she could go to school."

"We'll see. So you're friendly with her." The commissaris took out his tin of cigars and put it back in his pocket. "Can you arrange for her to have dinner with us tonight? Are you free, Miss Antoinette? I'd like for a woman to be present. Sayukta must be weary of men, she's only seen us at our worst. I hope you didn't take advantage of her, Simon?"

"No," Cardozo said.

"Of course you did," Miss Antoinette said. "Poor helpless little thing, adrift in a strange country."

"I did not," Cardozo said. "That's Halba's approach."

"Halba doesn't work here anymore," the commissaris said. "What was that just now about you and Izzy sharing an apartment? I thought the fellow was an AWOL Israeli soldier."

"My mother took care of that trouble, sir. Izzy will have his Dutch passport again. Mr. Rosenblatt won't oppose the application."

"The Israeli consul?" the commissaris asked. "I thought he was a fanatic." He mused. "On the right side, of course."

"My mother spoke to the consul, sir."

The commissaris thought. "I see. Your mother. And she's letting you go? You're allowed to live apart from her?"

"She'll still have my brother, Samuel," Cardozo said. "The unemployed genius who can't cook for himself or do his own laundry."

"Genius," the commissaris said. "You're a bit of a genius too. I don't know what I would have done without your help. That reminds me, Cardozo, how much for the computer?"

Cardozo mentioned the amount. "But it's ours, sir. Izzy and mine. We'll have some fun. Izzy'Il teach me all the secrets."

"No, it was used in my private investigation. Maybe it'll be helpful on some future occasion." The commissaris brought out his checkbook.

Cardozo got up and walked to the door. "No, really, sir."

"You're sure? Let me pay one-third."

"No, sir. Where do you want to have dinner?"

"Any restaurant of Sayukta's choice."

"She doesn't know about restaurants, sir."

"Up to you, then. See you tonight. Let's hope she can be trusted." The commissaris turned toward Miss Antoinette. "What do you think? What I have in mind is rather risky."

"I thought I was your spy," Miss Antoinette said.

The commissaris shook his head. "Willem must have seen through your playacting by now."

Miss Antoinette pushed out a moist lower lip. "Playacting, sir?"

The commissaris walked back to his rug. "I see. So you liked Willem. A loving old man. No, I can't use you now. Besides, Carl may not like it."

"Carl?" Cardozo asked. "That's right. Why were you scrubbing Carl's floor?"

Miss Antoinette hid behind a mysterious smile.

"Yes," the commissaris said, "you were only supposed to take him home last night. Did you like Carl's place? Grijpstra and de Gier were very impressed. An indoor allegorical garden. I'd like to see that collective work of art myself."

"We'll invite you to dinner, sir, but I'd like to clean up a bit more first. Oh, Cardozo, my apartment is available now. Would you and Izzy be interested? You can take over the lease."

"Proceeding as planned," the commissaris said, and skipped back to his desk.

"Your legs don't hurt today?" Cardozo asked.

"What legs?"

"Your rheumatism?"

"Oh," the commissaris said. "Right. That's mostly psychosomatic, Cardozo. I keep telling my wife. It's all of you frustrating me. I can see the world as it should be, but then it never is, and you interfere with my continuous attempts at improving conditions." The commissaris's thin lips tightened. He muttered at a potted palm.

"I'll get de Gier," Miss Antoinette said. "Can't raise him on the phone."

"Did he say 'bunch of dimwits'?" Cardozo asked in the corridor. "Did you hear that too?"

"Arrogant little man," Miss Antoinette said. "But what do I care? I finally found myself the ideal lover."

"Carl?"

"Yes," Miss Antoinette said. "Carl. A true artist. You're all too practical for me. Shallow thinkers. You're out for results. Carl explained that to me last night. There are never results. And nothing matters much, isn't that a relief? I always thought things mattered, and it made me so afraid."

"De Gier talks like that too," Cardozo said.

"Bah. De Gier."

"All women like de Gier," Cardozo said. "You do too."

Miss Antoinette smiled dreamily. "I won't have to share Carl. I just love his sculptures. They're so sexy, don't you think?"

"And Carl himself?"

"Very sexy, and he can't get away." She touched Cardozo's arm. "You guys get away. De Gier took Carl and me to Carl's loft last night, in a sports car. You should have seen him roar off. Disgusting. Carl won't roar off, I'll have to drive him about, he'll be dependent on me. I'll inspire him and we'll be happy forever." Miss Antoinette danced away, swinging her hips.

Cardozo waited at the elevator. Grijpstra joined him. "Do you know," Cardozo asked, "that some women want to cripple us?"

"No," Grijpstra said.

"You don't agree?"

"No," Grijpstra said. "Not some women. All women want to cripple us. We're objects to be possessed."

"That's bad."

"Not bad." Grijpstra pushed Cardozo into the elevator. "It's true. The truth can't be classified, but it can be used."

"How?" Cardozo asked.

The elevator stopped at the first floor and Grijpstra rushed off. Cardozo ran along. "How, Adjutant?"

"If ever I find out I might just let you know," Grijpstra said. "Meanwhile, I'll live alone. Leave me alone too, Cardozo, I've got work to do."

"Where?"

"At the airport."

"What?"

"A trap," Grijpstra said. "I'm setting up a trap. You'll hear in due course."

The next day's Courier outdid itself in a display of subtle venom without making any outright statements. A front-page article pointed at possible instability of the Banque du Credit. The second page discussed the woes of the Ryder clothing stores, brought about, possibly, by the luxurious life-style and gambling of its president and main shareholder. Ryder's accidental death, already reported on, was covered in more detail, and a photograph showed the remnants of his boat, studied by State Police officers in uniform. The Society for Help Abroad was linked (the word "separately" appeared various times) to a shuffle at Police Headquarters. The commissaris, reading the article to Grijpstra and de Gier, rustled the paper. "I didn't tell him that. Kowsky must have other informants in this building."

"Good," Grijpstra said. "I like the photographs that illustrate that article. Halba and the chief constable at the club's bar, cavorting with half-naked women. Kowsky must have kept that snapshot up his sleeve. Probably smuggled a photographer in."

"Kowsky has a minicamera himself," de Gier said. "He showed it to me once. Shall we get busy, sir?"