Grijpstra watched his wife, a formless lump under the blankets, and listened to the chief inspector whose loud voice hollered from the telephone.
The voice went on and on, connecting sentences, repeating itself. Mrs. Grijpstra's head became visible. She scowled. "Why," Grijpstra asked himself, "do curlers have to be pink? Why not brown? If they were brown they would blend with her hair, I wouldn't notice them so much, and I would be less irritated. I wouldn't have such a foul taste in my mouth. My stomach wouldn't cramp. I wouldn't have to worry about ulcers. My wife wouldn't forget to buy medicine because I wouldn't need to take medicine. I would be happier."
"Yes sir," Grijpstra said.
It was ten A.M., Sunday morning.
"No," the chief inspector said. "This 'yes sir' won't get us anywhere, Grijpstra. I don't see any progress in the case at all. We aren't getting anywhere, Grijpstra. Complications, that's all we get."
"How do you mean, sir?" Grijpstra asked and changed the telephone to his other ear.
"By now we should have sufficient material to start sorting and shifting," the chief inspector said, "but we haven't sorted anything and we have more material. You said that you found another staircase, didn't you?"
"Yes sir," Grijpstra said, "another staircase and another door. The staircase leads to Piet's room. The door is locked but we opened it, the lock was simple. It wasn't rusty. Piet had a key to it and Mrs. Verboom used to have a key. Perhaps other people had or have keys as well."
"Yes," the chief inspector said impatiently, "so anybody could have sneaked up, without the girls in the kitchen seeing him. Or her. Mrs. Verboom could have used her keys."
"She was in Paris, sir."
"So she says. But we have airplanes nowadays. She could have come in the morning and left in the evening. We'll have to check. Find out where she works."
"Yes sir," Grijpstra said and blew cigar smoke into the room. His wife began to cough, got out of the bed and stamped out of the door, slamming it.
"What was that?" the chief inspector asked.
"My wife closed a door."
"It sounded like a shot. Never mind. There is also the old Mrs. Verboom, do you know where she is now?"
"She is in Aerdenhout; the mental home is called Christian Freeminded Sanatorium for Neuroses."
"She is all that?" the chief inspector asked.
Grijpstra sucked on his cigar.
"Not funny, hey?" the chief inspector said and continued hopefully. "Perhaps we'll have an anonymous tip. Anything to give us a hint. A good hint. The commissaris is becoming impatient. He keeps on phoning me. You still think it is murder?"
'There is seventy-five thousand missing, sir," Grijps-tra said.
"Yes," the chief inspector said, "very true. He may have paid someone. But who? I don't know. We'll have to go on, what else can we do? You go and see the corpse's mother in Aerdenhout. She is crazy but crazy people sometimes answer questions. She may speak the truth. Crazy people often do. Go and see her, Grijpstra. Today. Sunday is just the sort of day to visit a mental asylum. Do it today and you can do something else tomorrow. You have to go and see our two drug dealers. Monday is a good day to see drug dealers. They won't have much resistance after the weekend."
Grijpstra put his hand over the mouthpiece and sighed.
"Are you there, Grijpstra?"
"Yes sir," Grijpstra said. "I'll go to the mental home today. Goodbye, sir."
He rang off.
"Good hunting," the chief inspector had said but Grijpstra missed it.
His wife had come into the room again.
"You shouldn't smoke cigars in the bedroom," Mrs. Grijpstra said.
"It's a filthy habit," Grijpstra said and got off the bed. He dressed and clasped his gun holster to his belt. He took his time shaving.
"This'll be my only pleasure today," he thought morosely. "A good shave, a lot of very hot water, and a lot of nice frothy soap and a new blade. And after that a sea of trouble. A black sea. A sea. I should have become a fisherman. They sail around, early in the morning, on a black sea. And then the sun breaks, and everything becomes beautiful. But I joined the police." He cursed and wiped his face and went back to the bedroom to stare out of the window.
His wife brought a cup of coffee. He swallowed a little and made a face. "This is cold, and you forgot the sugar."
His wife stamped out of the room and slammed the door. He stared out of the window again. The Lijnbaansgracht was dirtier than usual that morning. He counted three plastic dirt bags, a mattress, two chairs and some lesser and assorted rubbish, all floating slowly in the lazy current.
Grijpstra laughed, a dry hollow laugh. He had remembered article 41 of the General Amsterdam Police Ordination. "It is forbidden to dump any material, either on the public roads, or their adjacent precincts, or in the public waterways."
"Some article," Grijpstra thought. "The fine is probably ten guilders. I'll phone the municipality again tomorrow. They'll send a boat down and two men. And there'll be other rubbish floating past on Tuesday. Dirt is like crime, the supply is endless."
He picked up the phone.
"Yes?" de Gier asked.
"I'll meet you at Headquarters," Grijpstra said, "in half an hour's time."
"No," de Gier said. "I have a date."
"You have," Grijpstra said, "with me."
He put the phone down and struggled into his jacket.
"You going out?" his wife asked in the corridor.
"Yes," Grijpstra said.
"Will you be home late?"
"Yes," Grijpstra said and slammed the front door.
De Gier was sitting at the wheel of the gray VW when Grijpstra strolled into the court. Grijpstra looked relaxed. The walk had cheered him up and he had remembered the truth of the proverb that says shared sorrow is half sorrow.
De Gier started the car as soon as his chief got in and drove off.
"Shouldn't you thank the doorman for opening the gate for you?" Grijpstra asked.
"No," de Gier said.
"In a bad mood?" Grijpstra asked.
"Not at all. There's nothing like duty. I had a date with Constanze Verboom and her daughter. We were going to the beach. Didn't you go to the beach yesterday?"
"Yes," Grijpstra said. "The beach was full. And the sea was dirty. And if you want to pee they charge you twenty cents. And the children wanted to build a sand castle and a fat German walked right through it. He couldn't help it, he had to walk somewhere. My son hit him with his little spade. He bled like a cow."
"Haha," de Gier said.
"Amused, are you?" Grijpstra asked.
"Very amused," de Gier said. "Got you into trouble, eh?"
"Yes."
"And where are we going?" de Gier asked.
"To Aerdenhout," Grijpstra said. "We're going to visit your girlfriend's mother-in-law. In the nuthouse."
De Gier stood on the brake and the car veered to the side of the road. Grijpstra had to extend a hand to stop his head from hitting the windshield.
"You aren't serious," de Gier said, "and if you are, why take me? You can go to the nuthouse by yourself, can't you?"
"I am not fond of old ladies," Grijpstra said, "and I am scared of mental homes."
De Gier tried to tear the plastic off a pack of cigarettes. "So why didn't you send mel I had to go and see Con-stanze by myself, didn't I?"
"It wasn't my idea," Grijpstra explained patiently. "It's the chief inspector's idea. And he told me to go. And I didn't want to go by myself. Two hear more than one, and you have to do what I tell you to do, and let's get going."
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."
"All right," the psychiatrist said.
"Do you think Mrs. Verboom could have killed a man?" Grijpstra asked the nurse.
Ther nurse looked at the psychiatrist.
"Why not?" the psychiatrist said. "If she can throw her breakfast at the wall and fight with the staff she must be a violent person."
"Yes," Grijpstra said, "but here she is in a nuthouse…"
He looked at the psychiatrist. "I beg your pardon."
"It's all right," the psychiatrist said and showed her teeth again. "Go on, please."
"I mean to say," Grijpstra continued, "that here she may think that she can do anything she likes. She has nothing to lose. But when she was still living in Amsterdam her situation was different. She was restricted by more or less normal surroundings."
"Mad people have no brakes," the psychiatrist said. "They may fear other people but they will do anything if they get the chance. They wouldn't hesitate to kill, not if they are very aggressive as this patient obviously is. I am not saying that she is a killer, but she could easily be one. As you said, she has nothing to lose."
"She might lose her freedom," de Gier said.
"Did she have any freedom in Amsterdam?" the psychiatrist asked.
"No," de Gier said, "perhaps you are right. Her son kept her in her room, I am told. She never left the house."
"You see?" the psychiatrist said.
De Gier got up. "I'll take her for a walk now if I may," he said.
"Hello, Miesje," de Gier said.
The old lady turned sharply and looked at him with her small black glinting eyes.
"Who are you?" she shrieked.
"Jan van Meteren's friend, don't you remember?"
The expression on Mrs. Verboom's face changed. "Ah yes," she said softly. "I remember now. Parking police, aren't you? You made a lot of noise that evening. What are you here for?
"I've come to take you for a walk in the park, Miesje," de Gier said and put on his best smile. "The weather is very nice. Are you coming?"
"There was a gale last night," Mrs. Verboom said grumpily. "The windows rattled. I couldn't sleep. It'll probably be a mess outside."
"Not at all. I'll show you. You come with me," he offered his arm.
"You see," Mrs. Verboom said a little while later, "it is a mess. Branches on the ground everywhere. Quite a devastation."
She seemed to like the sound of the word for she kept on repeating it.
"That's enough, now," de Gier said pleasantly. "It's lovely out here, much nicer than inside in your room. Look, there's a thrush on the branch over there. Isn't he singing nicely?"
She wouldn't look and he held her head and twisted it.
"Look!"
"I am looking," Mrs. Verboom said. "I don't like thrushes. Noisy birds. Piet used to have pigeons all around the house. Kuruku, kuruku all day long. They drove me out of my mind. I threw things at them but Piet told me I shouldn't."
"But Piet looked after you very well, didn't he?" de Gier asked.
"The little rotter," Mrs. Verboom said, "he always was. He was a bore during his schooldays and he was a little stinker before he went to school. Like his father but his father left. Left me with Piet. I wanted to go on the stage, but I couldn't, had to look after Piet. I often told him to leave and live with his father, but he wouldn't."
De Gier said nothing, walking next to her and holding her by the arm.
"Did you come to fetch me?" Mrs. Verboom asked. "I don't like it here. We eat in a nasty big room and there's an old woman at my table who lets everything go. She even vomits, right into her plate. Then I can't eat anymore."
"Bah," de Gier thought.
"Did you come to fetch me?"
"No," de Gier said. "Piet died and now you can't go home anymore, the house is empty."
"Yes," Mrs. Verboom said, "he is dead."
She sounded pleased.
"Why did you kill him?" de Gier asked.
Mrs. Verboom fought herself free and stopped. De Gier turned to look at her. The sharp glint had returned to her beady black eyes. The evil hit him and he felt himself tremble. Witches in the Middle Ages must have looked like that, old hags with shreds of hair hanging over their faces, suddenly appearing in an empty spot in the forest. A crow, muttering hoarsely to itself on a nearby branch, accentuated the scene.
Mrs. Verboom cackled. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked. "You are nervous, aren't you? Just like me. I've always been nervous. That's why I am here. Maybe you should be here as well."
The moment passed. She suddenly changed and became meek and docile. He walked her back to the front door where the nurse was waiting for them. He tried a few more questions but she didn't reply, talking instead about the devastation the gale had wrought.
"Devastation," she said merrily, "terrible. What a mess!"
"Did she say anything?" the psychiatrist asked. De Gier shook his head. The psychiatrist had put on a jacket. "Lesbian probably," de Gier thought. "Women who wear jackets like that are usually lesbian. Would explain her heavy voice. Wrong hormones, I suppose. Took this job because she likes to have power. Everybody must do as she says. If she says you are mad you stay here for the rest of your life. Until she tires of you."
"No madame," he said politely. "She said she didn't like her son and she seems to be pleased that he died but she won't say that she killed him."
"Of course she wouldn't," the psychiatrist said. "A child won't admit to stealing cookies. It takes the fun out of the game."
"If you notice anything I would like you to phone us," Grijpstra said, and got up, "this is my card."
The psychiatrist opened the drawer of her desk, threw the card into it without reading it, and slammed the drawer shut.
"Never go mad," Grijpstra said while they tried to find a road leading out of Aerdenhout.
"I'll do my utmost," de Gier said.
Within an hour they had returned the car to the courtyard of Headquarters. De Gier bicycled back to his flat and phoned Constanze the minute he came in.
"She took Yvette for a walk," the father said.
"I'll ring later."
"Don't worry, boy," the father said. "She'll ring you as soon as she comes home. She'll go to see you tonight, she said so."
"Heaven is full of blessings," de Gier said as he put the phone down. "Stop sucking your tail, Oliver, or you'll finish up in Aerdenhout."
Oliver opened his mouth and the tail snapped back. Its end had been sucked into a point as sharp as a needle.