Janwillem De Wetering - Outsider in Amsterdam

A motorcop stopped his gleaming white Guzzi motorcycle next to the VW and tapped on its roof with his gloved hand.

De Gier opened the window.

"It's all right, Sietsema. We are hunting criminals. Go and ride in the park, it's a nice day."

"Morning, sergeant," the motorcop said. "You are parked under a no parking sign. It'll give people ideas. Can't you park somewhere else?"

"Off, off," de Gier said. "We'll scratch your beautiful cycle."

Sietsema looked hurt and accelerated viciously. The powerful Guzzi shot off.

"You shouldn't have said that," Grijpstra said. "See what you made him do? He went through a red light."

"Bah. He can ride his shiny monster, all by himself. Nothing to worry him. Free as a bird."

"Apply for a transfer," Grijpstra said. "Let's go."

They drove in silence. De Gier remembered the events of the night.

"How did it go last night?" Grijpstra asked.

De Gier nodded dreamily. "Very well, thank you. It was a good idea. But I don't think she had anything to do with it."

"Tell me," Grijpstra said.

De Gier told him.

"Is that all?" Grijpstra asked.

"Not quite."

"I thought so."

De Gier grinned.

"All right," Grijpstra said, "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. I hope she enjoyed herself as well. But she could have done it. The constables found another door in Haarlemmer Houttuinen number five. It leads to a staircase and connects with the floor where Piet had his room. Mrs. Verboom, your Mrs. Verboom, is supposed to have a key to that door. And she may have flown in from Paris to pay a last call to her husband."

"We'll have to check Paris to see if she did," de Gier said. "But I don't think so. Murderers are nervous people, very nervous. She wasn't."

"Where are you going?" Grijpstra asked.

"To Aerdenhout," de Gier said, "wasn't that where you wanted to go?"

"This road doesn't go to Aerdenhout," said Grijpstra.

"Ah yes. We'll take a turning to the left."

"There are no turnings on the left on this road."

"Then we'll turn around," de Gier said happily.

"You should watch where you are going."

"So should you."

They found the right road, they found Aerdenhout, but they didn't find the mental home. Eventually they found the police station and were shown the right way.

"If the civilians knew how silly their police are they would commit more crimes," Grijpstra said.

"They don't," de Gier said happily. He had reached the point of not caring. The day was lost and everything was going wrong but he only noticed the trees and shrubs of the lovely Aerdenhout gardens. Even the tarred roads seemed beautiful to him and a nondescript man leading a small dog on a leash sent a thrill of ecstasy down his back.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked Grijpstra, wanting to share his feeling of sudden joy.

"I am thinking of my wife's curlers," Grijpstra said, "and of the missing seventy-five thousand. If somebody has lifted that money he must be spending it now. Maybe the Investigation Bureau boys will turn up something. Have they phoned you at all?"

"I phoned them," de Gier said, "early this morning, after Constanze left. They don't like being phoned early. There is a lot of money floating through town, black money, honestly earned by tax dodgers. The bars are full, the sex clubs are full and there is some gambling. Nothing unusual."

"And what is van Meteren doing?"

"Nothing special," de Gier said. "The detective who follows him phoned me of his own accord. Early this morning. He knows I don't like to be phoned early. Van Meteren dined in a very cheap restaurant last night, the cheapest in town, the municipal soup kitchen. He spent some thirty guilders on the street market, buying a jersey and a pair of jeans, and he took his time. The merchant lost his tempo- with him, he had to see every article the poor fellow had on his stall. Then he had two beers. He only paid for one, the other was given to him by a drunk. The detective heard him say to the bar keeper that he was going to spend today on a long trip on the Harley."

"Anyone following him?" Grijpstra asked.

"No. I told him to forget it. It's impossible to follow a motorcycle. Van Meteren would know within two minutes. We waste enough time. I told the detective to take his children to the beach."

"What's wrong with wasting time?" Grijpstra asked.

De Gier didn't answer. He was watching another nondescript man with a small dog on a leash.

"For God's sake," Grijpstra snapped, "pass that woman in that silly little car. I have been looking at her for the last ten minutes."

De Gier passed the small car.

"In a bad mood?" de Gier asked.

"Yes," Grijpstra said, "there's the mental home."

The mental home consisted of a number of buildings and its roads were signposted.

Grijpstra read the signs.

"New Chief Building," he read. "Old Chief Building. Now where?"

"New," de Gier said, but the building proved to be devoid of human life and its doors were locked. They found a kitchen with a young man in it, cutting vegetables. The young man knew nothing. They wandered about and eventually found a young girl. The girl told them to come back in the afternoon, during visiting hours. De Gier showed his police card. The girl wasn't impressed. They still had to come back during visiting hours. De Gier insisted and used his charm and finally an elderly nurse arrived and took them to the director, a psychiatrist. They were shown into a stuffy little office and put on straight-backed chairs. The psychiatrist watched her visitors nervously, shifting a vase filled with dying flowers to have a better view and managing to drop and break it.

Grijpstra explained the purpose of their visit.

"Foo," de Gier thought, "she looks like the chief inspector." She did, but her hair was shorter and her glasses dangled from a silver chain. Her hands were square, with short nails, and her dress seemed to be made of jute. The psychiatrist wasn't helpful.

"The lady has only just arrived," she said, "and we have her in observation. I haven't seen any reports on her yet."

"Would you mind calling the nurse in charge?" Grijpstra asked. "Perhaps Mrs. Verboom has said something. There has been a murder, you know. Mrs. Verboom may be connected with the murder. Murder is a crime that has to be solved."

Grijpstra didn't sound very pleasant; he was staring hard at the psychiatrist.

"Very well," she said.

The nurse came.

Had the patient said anything?

The patient had said a lot. She had screamed and howled and made a mess of her room.

"Why?" de Gier asked.

"We took her bag and her jewelery and locked her into a room. The windows of the room don't open."

"Is she that dangerous?" Grijpstra asked.

"Mrs. Verboom is under observation," the nurse said. "It's standard procedure."

"I see," Grijpstra said and looked at de Gier.

De Gier smiled. "We are never allowed to lock up a person unless we have reasons to suspect criminal behavior."

"This isn't a police station," the psychiatrist said. "This is a mental home."

"I see," said De Gier.

"Did she mention the name 'Piet'?" he asked the nurse.

"She did," the nurse said. "Piet is her son. She blamed him for her stay here. She called him names. And she threw her breakfast at the wall and made a mess. I had to call a colleague and we gave her an injection. She slept, but right now she is awake."

"Can I take her for a walk in the park?" de Gier asked the psychiatrist.

The psychiatrist hesitated. "Do you think you can handle her?"

"My colleague is very good with women," Grijpstra said.

The psychiatrist's face cracked and showed some long yellow teeth.

"If I can't I'll bring her back at once," de Gier said, "but I would like to ask her a few simple questions that won't do any harm."