Janwillem De Wetering - Outsider in Amsterdam

"Ha," said de Gier, who had become really interested. "But Piet is full of cheer, in spite of missing his family. He is busy on the biggest deal of his life. He is buying heroin or whatever, which he can sell immediately to the drug dealers who come to his bar, and who pass themselves off as proper Hindists. But the deal misfires and Piet is dead. How did he die?"

"Well," Grijpstra said, "simple. Van Meteren waits until Piet has the money in the house. Piet is waiting for whoever will bring him the drugs. But before the man arrives van Meteren strolls into the room, knocks Piet out and hangs him. The money goes into his pocket and he hides it somewhere, outside the house perhaps. The world is large."

De Gier studied a discolored spot on his ceiling, a round spot. He remembered that he had dreamt about the spot. He had got into it and it led somewhere, but he couldn't remember where it led to when he woke up.

"Yes, yes," he said, "and van Meteren would make use of the fight Therese picked with Piet that day. He came in just after she had stalked out of the room, found Piet in a dazed state, holding his head after he had been hit with the dictionary, and finished the job. And when we came he was the first to notice the bruise, to stress his innocence."

"You really think the girl hit him with that book?" Grijpstra asked. "Women never hit anything. They miss. But it doesn't matter."

De Gier began to laugh. "Doesn't matter," he repeated. "You talk like a Hindist. You've been converted?"

Grijpstra laughed. "I have been converted years ago. The police may not teach much and I may have a thick head but I did notice that nothing is quite as important as it seems. But never mind, maybe it doesn't matter who the murderer is, we'll catch him all the same."

De Gier made a face at the telephone. "Just for the hell of it, what?"

"Hell, or heaven, or purgatory. Whatever you like. And if we don't succeed we'll keep on trying. And if we never succeed it'll be a pity, but not too much of a pity."

"Yes," de Gier said, "then what happened?"

"Van Meteren phones Mrs. Verboom in Paris and tells her he had made a neat job of it. She can come. She'll have to come for she has to show some interest in the inheritance."

"Why?" de Gier asked. "She might have stayed away. But she'll want to see van Meteren. But all right, maybe she should have come or we would have worried about her. Pity she came, I would have liked to have visited her in Paris. But now what do you want of me?"

"Yes," Grijpstra said, "glad you remind me. I want something of you. It's a nice day and you have nothing to do. I want you to date her. You were very impressed with her yesterday, she must have noticed. And you have thought about her all night. Tossed in your bed. Nothing wrong with that, you are a bachelor. So phone her and make a date and take her out."

"What if she refuses?"

"She won't," Grijpstra said persuasively. "You are a detective and charged with the case. She knows that and she is curious. And you are very handsome, you know. Two good reasons for her to welcome your company. And then you can listen to her. She is sure to drop her guard. Let her talk."

De Gier got up, stretched, and grunted.

"You do it," he said. "You are a great actor. Act the fatherly type. If your theory is correct I'm of no use to you. She'll be in love with van Meteren. I have a blotched pink skin, not a shining black one."

"I've got to go to the coast now," Grijpstra said. "Good luck and good hunting. Give me a ring tonight, any time, and tell me what happened."

"HEY!" de Gier shouted.

"Yes?" Grijpstra asked.

"A car. I need a car, you don't want me to take her on the luggage carrier of my old bicycle do you?"

"No," Grijpstra said. "There'll be a Mercedes waiting for you in the police garage next to Headquarters, at two o'clock this afternoon. There'll be fifty guilders in the glove compartment. The doorman will have the keys. Tell me what you have spent on Monday and give me the change, and the dockets."

He rang off.

He telephoned Mrs. Verboom. Her mother answered.

"This is Rinus de Gier. Could I speak to your daughter please?"

"A moment," the other said. He heard her call, "Con-stanze."

"Hello, Constanze," he said in his smooth sexhunt voice. "This is Rinus de Gier. We met yesterday."

"How do you know my name?" she asked, surprised.

"The police know everything," de Gier said in his normal voice.

Constanze laughed, a very natural laugh.

"Grijpstra is wrong," de Gier thought. "The poor thing isn't connected with the case at all. She is the corpse's wife, that's all. However…"

"Are you phoning me as a detective, or as a man?"

De Gier picked up a little courage. The response was free, welcoming even.

"Well," he said, and hesitated, "as a man really. I thought you might be free this weekend and I am free too. I wanted to come and pick you up this afternoon. Perhaps we can go for a drive and have dinner in town, and so on."

"So on what?" Constanze asked.

"A beer after dinner, or a glass of wine somewhere."

"All right," Constanze said. "My parents are only interested in the child anyway. And they talk about Piet's death. I'd like to get away for a bit. Come and fetch me if you like. What time?"

"This afternoon? Two thirty?"

"No," Constanze said. "I have something to do this afternoon. A little shopping. Would you like to come around seven?"

"Seven o'clock," de Gier said.

"All right, Rinus, I'll be waiting for you," her voice had dropped. There was a hint of a promise in it. She rang off.

"Ha," de Gier said and looked at Oliver. Then he picked up the cat and rubbed its head against his face. "You wouldn't know," he said soothingly. "They cut it all out of you. But I had to ask them to do it. You would have gone mad in this place, jumping about and tearing the curtains and dribbling. You've seen me jump about sometimes, haven't you? You should be glad I had you treated."

He sang while he shaved and dressed.

Oliver whined, and rolled on the carpet.

"Shut your Siamese howler," de Gier said. "We consist of lust, you and I. Different sorts of lust. When one is satisfied the other rears its ugly snout. Let's eat."

They breakfasted together, on the balcony.

"Now watch it," de Gier told the cat. "I am going to leave the balcony door open. Try and stop yourself from falling off the flowerbox. I am going to the library to get all the books I can find on Papuans and then I'll come and read them. And I'll get us some food. So watch it."

He picked up the Mercedes at 6:30. The car was almost new, with an open roof. The tank had been filled.

"A car of the Investigation Bureau," de Gier thought, "but they don't investigate. They just follow people and snoop. And then they call us and we make the arres. Why didn't I apply to join them? I would have qualified. I could have spent my life in the best bars and the b°si nightclubs. And the best brothels. All at the state's expense. All for the good cause. And what do I do? I walk around and get flat feet."

But he was grateful, and guided the car carefully through the Jacob van Lennepstraat whore Constanze stayed with her parents. The Jacob van Lennepstraat is a long, narrow, lightless ditch. There are no trees in it. The scenery consists of crumbling brick walls and dented unwashed cars.

"It wasn't my sexy voice that made her say yes," he thought. "Nobody wants to spend any time here. Not in these stuffy small rooms, full of furniture and clammy air."

The mother asked him to come in for a minute. She laughed shyly, almost submissively. A very fat woman, with moist spots under her arms. Yvette ran into him in the corridor and remembered who he was. She gave him a little kiss and called him uncle. The mother pointed at a chair, he sat down and the child climbed onto his lap. The mother laughed again and complained about the hot weather. She spoke with a marked French accent.