Death of a Hawker (14 page)

His eyes were closing. He struggled. The answer was close; all he had to do was grab it.

He fell asleep and woke up two hours later. Esther wasn't on the bed. He heard her in the kitchen. She was stirring something in a pot. The smell reached him, a good smell which touched his stomach. A stew. She must have found the minced meat and the fresh vegetables. He got up and stuck his head into the small kitchen. She had some rice at the boil too.

They ate, and listened to records. De Gier felt happy, unbelievably and completely happy. He also felt guilty and he opened a can of sardines for Oliver.

Cardozo had managed to force the gray van on to the sidewalk and was unloading bale after bale of gaily printed textiles, which de Gier stacked on the worn planks of a corner stall, assigned to them for the day by the market master, who had given them a knowing wink when de Gier, waving his license, looked him up in his little office.

"Good luck," the market master said. "You'll be after Rogge's killer, I bet. You'd better get him. Abe Rogge was a popular man here and he'll be missed."

"Don't tell anyone," de Gier said.

The market master was shaking his head energetically.

"I don't tell on the police. I need the police here. I wish you would patrol the market more regularly. Two uniformed constables can't cover a mile of market."

"There are plainclothes police as well."

"Yes," the market master said, "but not enough. There's always a bit of trouble here, especially on a hot day like this. We need more uniforms. If they see a shiny cap and nicely polished buttons they quiet down quickly. I have been writing to the chief constable's office. He always answers, but it's the same answer. Short of staff."

"Complain, complain, complain!" de Gier said.

"What do you mean?"

"What I say. Go on complaining. It helps. You'll get more constables."

"But they'll come from some other part of town and there'll be trouble down
there."

"So someone else can start complaining."

"Yes," the market master said, and laughed. "I am only concerned about my own troubles. What about you? Will you catch your man?"

"Sure," de Gier said, and left.

But he wasn't so sure when he got back to the stall. Cardozo was complaining too. The bales were too heavy.

"I'll get you some coffee," de Gier said.

"I can get my own coffee. I want you to help me unload these bales."

"Sugar and milk?"

"Yes. But help me first."

"No," de Gier said and left the stall. He found a girl carrying a tray with empty glasses, who took his order. He ordered meat rolls too and hot dogs.

"You are new, aren't you?" The girl was pretty and de Gier smiled at her.

"Yes. First day here. We've been on other markets, never down here."

"Best market in the country. What do you sell?"

"Lovely fabrics for dressmaking and curtains."

"Will you give me a special price?" The girl reached out with her free hand and patted his cheek.

"Sure." He smiled again and she swung her hip at him in response. He wasn't in a hurry to get back to the stall, but Cardozo saw him and shouted and jumped up and down, waving his arms.

Together they finished the stall, draping some of the textiles in what they thought to be an attractive display.

"This is no good," Cardozo muttered as he worked. That fellow on the other side of the street knows who we are. He keeps on looking at us. Who is he anyway?"

De Gier looked and waved. "Louis Zilver. I asked the market master to give us a place close to him. He was Abe Rogge's partner. He's selling beads and wool and embroidery silk and all that sort of thing."

"But if he knows us he'll spread the news, won't he?"

"No, he won't, why should he?"

"Why shouldn't he?"

"Because he is the dead man's friend."

"He may be the dead man's killer."

De Gier sipped his coffee and stared at Cardozo, who was glaring at him from between two bales of cloth. "What are you so excited about? If he is the killer we are wasting our time here for we'll have to get at him in some other way. But if he isn't he'll protect us. He knows he is a suspect and if we find the killer he'll be cleared; besides, he may really want us to catch the murderer. He's supposed to be Rogge's friend, isn't he? There is such a thing as friendship."

Cardozo snorted.

"Don't you believe in friendship?"

Cardozo didn't answer.

"Don't you?"

"I am a Jew," Cardozo said, "and Jews believe in friendship because they wouldn't have survived without it."

"That isn't what I mean."

"What do you mean?"

"Friendship," de Gier said. "You know, love. One man loves another. He is glad when the other man is glad and sad when the other man is sad. He identifies with the other man. They are together, and together they are more than two individuals added up."

"You don't have to spell it out for me," Cardozo said. "I won't believe you anyway. There's such a thing as a shared interest and the idea that two men can do more than one. I can understand that but I won't go for love. I have been in the police for some time now. The friends we catch always rat on each other after a while."

"Love your neighbor," de Gier said.

"Are you religious?"

"No."

"So why preach at me?"

De Gier touched Cardozo's shoulder gingerly. "I am not preaching at you. Love your neighbor; it makes sense, doesn't it? Even if it happens to be a religious command."

"But we don't love our neighbors," Cardozo said, furiously pushing at a bale of lining which had fallen over. "We are envious of our neighbors, we try to grab things from them, we annoy them. And we make fun of them if we can get away with it and we kill them too if they don't want to put up with our demands. You can't prove history wrong. I was too young to have been in the last war but I've seen the documentaries, and I've heard the stories and seen the numbers burned into people's arms. We have an army to make sure that the neighbors across the frontier behave themselves and we have a police force to make sure that we behave ourselves within the frontiers. You know what the place would be like if the police didn't patrol it?"

"Stop kicking that bale," de Gier said. "You are spoiling the merchandise."

"Without the police society would be a mad shambles, sergeant, a free fight for all. I am sure that Zilver fellow doesn't care two hoots if we catch the killer or not, and if he does care he has a personal interest."

"Revenge, for instance," de Gier said.

"Revenge is selfish too," Cardozo said, "but I was thinking of money. He'll want us to make an arrest if he can profit by the arrest."

"You've been drinking with Grijpstra," de Gier said, and helped to lift the bale.

"No.
You
have. Last night."

De Gier looked hurt. "Last night, dear friend, I was at home. I only spent a few minutes with Grijpstra at Nellie's bar and half that time went on a telephone call. He didn't want me around so I left. Nellie didn't want me around either."

"Nellie?" Cardozo asked.

De Gier explained.

"Boy!" Cardozo said. "As big as that? Boy!"

"As big as that," de Gier said, "and Grijpstra wanted them all to himself. So I left. I checked out two prostitutes who were supposed to be Bezuur's alibi and after that I went home."

"Bezuur?" Cardozo asked. "Who is he? I am supposed to help you and the adjutant but nobody tells me anything. Who is Bezuur?"

"A friend of Abe Rogge."

Cardozo asked more questions and de Gier explained. "I see," Cardozo said. "What about the callgirls? Had they been with him all night?"

"So they said."

"Did you believe them?"

"According to Grijpstra there were six empty champagne bottles lying about in Bezuur's bungalow, and there were cigarette burns on the furniture and stains on the walls. An orgy. Who remembers what happens during an orgy? Maybe they were out on the floor half the night."

"Did they look as if they had been?"

"They looked O.K." de Gier said. "One of them even looked pretty nice. But they had had time for their beauty sleep and they knew I was coming. I didn't know the address so I couldn't jump them."

"Couldn't you have checked with the telephone company?"

"I could have but it would have been difficult. It was Sunday, remember? And maybe I was too lazy to try and jump them."

"So what did you do afterward?"

"I went home and I went to bed. And in between I was weeding the flower boxes on my balcony. And I had a late supper with my cat."

Cardozo smiled. "You are a lucky man, sergeant."

"Don't call me sergeant. Why am I lucky?"

Cardozo shrugged. "I don't know. You are older than I am but you are like a child sometimes. You enjoy yourself, don't you? You and that silly cat."

"He isn't a silly cat. And he loves me."

"There we go again," Cardozo said and began to tug at another bale. "Love. I saw a poster in a bookshop last week. A love poster. Half-naked girls with frizzy hair sitting under a beautiful tree chanting away while birds fly around and angels gaze down. It's a craze. When I was still in uniform we had one of these love places a block away from the station. We had complaints every night. The girls would have their bags stolen and the boys had their wallets rolled and they were buying hash which turned out to be caked rubbish and they had knives pulled on them and they got the clap and crabs and the itch. I've been in there dozens of times and it was the same thing every night, dirty and smoky and silly and hazy. Some of them would catch on and drift away, but there were always others who hadn't learned yet and who were begging to get in."

"The wrong place," de Gier said. "Brothels are the wrong place too. And Nellie's bar unless your name is Grijpstra and Nellie falls for you. But love exists." He patted his pockets.

"Cigarette?" Cardozo asked, and offered his tobacco pouch and packet of cigarette papers.

"Thanks," de Gier said. "You see, you are giving me something I haven't asked for. So you care for my well-being."

"So I love you," Cardozo said. De Gier felt embarrassed and Cardozo grinned.

"I only offered you a cigarette because I know that I won't have any cigarettes sometime and I will want you to give me one. It's an investment for the future."

"And if I was dying?" de Gier asked. "Say I was going to be shot in five minutes time and I asked you for a cigarette. Would you give me one? I would never be in a position to return the gift, would I?"

Cardozo thought.

"Well?"

"Yes, I would give you a cigarette, but I am sure I would have some selfish reason, although I can't think of the reason now."

"How much?" a voice asked. An old lady had come to the stall and was fingering a piece of cloth.

"Twelve guilders a meter, darling," Cardozo said, "and ten percent off if you buy five meters. That's lovely curtain material. It'll brighten up your room and it's guaranteed not to fade."

"Expensive," the old lady said.

"What do you mean, dear? It's two meters wide. They'll charge you three times as much in any store, and it won't be as nice as this. This came from Sweden and the Swedish designers are the best in the world. Look at those flowers. Fuchsias. You'll be sitting in your room and you'll draw the curtains and the light will filter through the material and you'll be able to see the nice red flowers. Aren't they pretty? See, every petal is printed beautifully."

"Yes," the old lady said dreamily.

"Take five yards, dear, ten guilders a yard."

"I haven't got fifty guilders on me."

"How much have you got?"

"Thirty, and I only need three yards.''

"For you I will do everything, darling. Give me the scissors, mate."

But he didn't start cutting until the lady had counted out her thirty guilders.

"I thought you said we should get eight guilders for that cloth," de Gier said.

"Start high, you can always come down. And she's got a bargain anyway."

"I wouldn't have that material in my flat if you paid me."

"Stop fussing," Cardozo said. "She selected the cloth herself, didn't she? And it's first-class material, confiscated from a first-class smuggler who tried to bring it in without paying duty and sales tax."