The Japanese Corpse (2 page)

"She has her own house," Grijpstra said, "and her own cat. She has things to do. Why don't you two get married?"

"She doesn't want to."

"Very sensible," Grijpstra said, and got up and stretched. "Well, it's a nice day."

De Gier looked out of the open window. "Yes, should be. It's summer, isn't it? What are we going to do about Miss Andrews' complaint?"

Grijpstra heaved himself out of his chair and joined de Gier at the window. He looked neat for a change. His usually crumpled suit, dark blue with a thin white stripe, had been drycleaned. He even looked healthy, for the weekend at the beach had tanned his face. He was rubbing his hands briskly. "While you were chattering on the phone I got some useful information," Grijpstra said.

"Chattering?" de Gier asked.

"Chattering," Grijpstra said. "Joking and gossiping. I heard you. And while you did that I got some information. Our Japanese friend owns a car, a white BMW, registration number 66-33-MU."

De Gier whipped out his notebook and wrote the number down.

Grijpstra nodded benignly. "Good. So now we can find out if the computer knows anything about the car. Maybe it was spotted somewhere, and if it wasn't it can be spotted now. We can send out an alert."

De Gier mumbled.

"You don't think it's worth it?"

"Sure," de Gier said.

"I agree. The young lady
was
worried, we should try to restore her peace of mind."

"Yes," de Gier said, and dialed a number. The computer didn't know anything. He dialed again and spoke to the radio room and asked to make the alert nationwide.

"And we have that photograph which Miss Andrews left," Grijpstra said, picking up the snapshot.

"Not worth much," de Gier said. "The picture is clear enough and we can have it multiplied and passed out, but the constables are always saying that all Chinese and Japanese look alike. They wouldn't spot him."

Grijpstra had lit a small cigar. He laughed.

"What?" de Gier asked.

"Japanese," Grijpstra said. "There must be ten thousand of them in the city now. Package tours, I think. I happened to be at the airport last week and I saw hundreds and hundreds of them come in. Several groups, coming from different planes and on different tours. To keep themselves organized they had guides and the guides had flags. One group had red flags, the other blue. They were following their guides and the two lines crossed. A very funny sight. They looked so serious."

"Yes," de Gier said. "I've seen them in town. They march around, like mechanical men, and they all have leather cross-straps, camera on the left, light meter on the right. Gray slacks, blue blazers. But the women seem very nice, especially when they are dressed in kimonos. They shuffle. Very dainty women."

"Hmm," Grijpstra said. "I'll have that snapshot multiplied when we get some news about the car. So far I don't feel suspicious, do you?"

"No. Mr. Nagai is on a binge. Or he has been on a binge and feels guilty now. I think he is sitting on the side of a bed right now with his head in his hands and cursing himself."

"And wondering whether he can replace the money out of his expense account," Grijpstra said, peering into his coffee cup. "This coffee is cold. Are you going to get some more?"

"No," de Gier said. "Why?"

"Just a thought. Why don't we go out? There's a new coffee bar close by and they have Turkish coffee and meatrolls."

"No," de Gier said. "It's my turn to pay. It always is my turn to pay, and I am broke!"

"Go and get some money," Grypstra said. "I'll meet you at the main door in ten minutes. I have to go and clean my pistol. The instructor said it was full of dirt when he inspected it last night during target practice."

"Right," de Gier said, and pulled the small automatic from under his armpit. "Clean mine too, will you? And ask the sergeant if he can replace that screw on the grip plate, it's getting old. The whole pistol is getting old. It'll probably explode next time I try to fire it."

"And you'll be standing next to me and I'll get it in my face," Grijpstra said gloomily. "Why should I clean your pistol anyway? I hate cleaning pistols. I can never get them together again and I have to ask and they all snigger at me."

"Because you are very fond of me and you like doing things for other people."

"I do," Grijpstra said."Meet you in ten minutes. Fifteen minutes maybe. Don't run off. And stay away from the chief constable's secretary."

"You are sounding like the Ten Commandments again," de Gier said, as he ambled out of the room.

They were both thinking about Joanne Andrews, Grijpstra as he watched the sergeant of the arms room clean his pistol and de Gier as he was reading the announcement of a judo match pinned to the bulletin board near the main entrance. The girl had looked lost and pathetic, in spite of the glamour of her expensive clothes and her natural beauty.

"Can't have been another woman," de Gier thought. "Man must be drinking somewhere."

The loudspeakers of Police Headquarters came alive. "Detective-Sergeant de Gier, please phone 853."

De Gier picked up the nearest telephone in the hall.

"We found the car you were inquiring about, sergeant, or rather the police in Utrecht found it. They found it at four A.M. today but the computer only told us just now. It was parked in Utrecht's red light district obstructing traffic and they towed it in. It was locked and they didn't open it. They can tow cars in some modern way now; they have some sort of gadget, lift them by the nose, I think, in a grip."

"Yes," de Gier said patiently, "and then what happened? The Utrecht police told the central computer, didn't they? So there must be something special about the car."

"Yes, sergeant. Blood on the front seat and a dent in the roof. They only saw it about an hour ago, according to the type-out. They think the roof has been hit by a bullet, fired from within the car. There is no hole in the roof, just a dent, so the bullet must be inside. Their experts are supposed to come and break the car open, but I just phoned Utrecht headquarters and told them to wait for you. The car is registered in Amsterdam so maybe the case is yours."

"Do you have the address of the police garage where the car is now?" de Gier asked, taking out his notebook and flattening it against the wall. He wrote the address down. "Tell them that we'll be out there within an hour and a half."

"Right."

"And call Adjutant Grijpstra, will you? He should be in the arms room. Tell him he and I are going to Utrecht and tell him to meet me in the main hall."

De Gier put the phone down, thought for a second and dialed.

"Yes?" the quiet voice of the commissaris asked.

"Morning, sir. De Gier here."

"Yes, sergeant?"

De Gier explained.

"We'll go in my car," the commissaris said. "It is parked right in front of the main entrance. I'll be down as soon as I have spoken to the chief constable in Utrecht. He might want the case as the car was found in his city, but we'll claim it because it started in Amsterdam."

"The crime may have been committed on the speedway between Amsterdam and Utrecht, sir, in which case it would be a State Police matter."

"Never mind what it might be, sergeant, it is ours. I'll be down soon. Get Grjjpstra."

"Yes sir," de Gier said, and rang off.

*
Dutch municipal ranks are constable, constable first class, sergeant, adjutant, inspector, chief inspector, commissaris. An adjutant is a noncommissioned officer.

\\\\\ 2 /////

T
HE COMMISSARIS' BLACK CITROËN NOSED INTO THE courtyard of Amsterdam Police Headquarters followed by a gray VW which contained the photographer and a fingerprint man. De Gier was asleep in the front seat, his head lolling and his mouth slightly open. Grijpstra shook the sergeant's shoulder. "We are home."

"Hm?" de Gier asked.

"Home. Get out. We have work to do."

"Yes, yes, yes," de Gier said, and turned around. "Sorry, sir, must have dozed off."

"Ha," Grijpstra said. "You fell asleep as we got on the speedway in Utrecht and you have snored for the last hour. Dozed off!"

"Never mind," the commissaris said. "Sleep is an ideal condition to be in and there was nothing to do anyway. I think we know all there is to know at this stage. And we have blood samples and the bullet. Maybe the car should be examined again when it gets here, adjutant. The fingerprint man might want to have another look. Most surfaces were wiped clean but one never knows."

A tow truck was maneuvering into the courtyard, with the white BMW dangling from its hook.

"Quick work," Grijpstra said. "I'll see to it, sir. That truck must have been speeding."

"A police tow truck is allowed to speed," the commissaris said. "De Gier, have the snapshot of the presumable victim, Mr. Nagai, multiplied and get some detectives to show it around Amsterdam and Utrecht, tonight if possible. It would be nice if we could find out what his companion or companions looked like. Maybe they had a few drinks before they started their trip. There hasn't been much happening lately so you should be able to round up enough men, a dozen perhaps. The case looks nasty enough. Put Cardozo in charge."

"Grijpstra?"

"Sir."

"Get hold of the young lady who came to see you this morning. Miss Andrews. We'll have to see her straightaway. Send a car for her if necessary or go yourself. Bring her to my office when you have her and de Gier can come too when he is ready. And you can contact the State Police. Looks as if we have a murder without a body. The body must have been dumped off the speedway somewhere. Let them investigate both sides. They should be given copies of the snapshot but they probably don't need them. The car is conspicuous; somebody must have seen it parked while the body was dumped or buried. And be very polite; the State Police hate taking orders. Make it a request and sound humble, and if they start trouble about the case being theirs you can connect them with me. I'll be in my office."

"Yes, sir," Grijpstra said, and grinned. De Gier grinned too.

"We would be awfully grateful if you could perhaps ..." de Gier said. "If it isn't too much trouble of course..."

Grijpstra added, "But we do have this problem, you see, and it may link up with a serious crime and you fellows are known for your ability to follow up on the slightest clue, and there is this gleaming brand new white BMW which must have monkeyed around near the Amsterdam-Utrecht speedway yesterday, and we thought that you might be able perhaps..."

The commissaris smiled. "Yes, that's the way to do it. Good luck." He turned and got into the eternally revolving open elevator which was grinding past them. He grabbed the metal tube of the little cage which had just reached their level. The two detectives were ready to help him but he managed on his own. Together they watched the frail old man, close to retirement age and in continuous pain, for his rheumatism never seemed to lose its hold and often lamed his legs so that he had to limp and hold on to the walls and furniture.

When the cage was out of sight Grijpstra sighed. "Well, on our way. Here is the snapshot. One dead Japanese. All we have to do is find him."

"He might be wounded," de Gier said.

"He is dead. The fingerprint man has a bone sliver, he says it came from the head. The bullet must have cracked Nagai's skull and blown it to bits. Why would anyone want to kill a man selling art from the Far East, do you think?"

"Maybe he was selling something else," de Gier said, "or the killing is connected with a robbery. Miss Andrews said that Nagai often had expensive objects for sale, didn't she? Or the competition got him maybe. Or we've run into a love affair again. But the victim is Japanese, we have stumbled into the Far East, maybe we've got ourselves into something subtle for a change." He poked Grijpstra in the stomach. "A case with a delicate flavor."

Grijpstra frowned. "Don't look so eager. If it's subtle we could never solve it. It took us a week to figure out who killed that garbage man last month and it turned out to be a simple manslaughter, performed with the help of a sledgehammer."

De Gier looked sheepish.

"And you kept on suggesting that his poor wife had done it," Grijpstra said.

"I heard you say that too."

"Yes, maybe I did say it, but only once. And the woman did look like a hippopotamus."

"If she had the strength to do it she must have done it. That's what you said. Some reasoning. Good thing you said it to me and not to the commissaris."

Grijpstra sighed. "But we did find the man, and without anyone sending us an anonymous note."

"And without the help of the journalists, wasn't that clever of us?"

"Yes, very. Well, on our way. I'll see you in the commissaris' office as soon as I can get hold of that young lady. I hope I can get her on the telephone. She should know more than she told us this morning." Grijpstra patted his pocket, looked surprised, and fished out a pistol. "What the hell? I was looking for my cigars."

"That's my pistol, adjutant," de Gier said pleasantly. "You forgot to return it and made me walk about unarmed. And you've got tobacco grains all over the barrel." He took it out of Grijpstra's hand and blew the tobacco off and polished it with his handkerchief, and checked the mechanism. "And the safety catch isn't on. But there isn't a cartridge in the chamber, I'll say that for you." He slipped it into his shoulder holster.

"It's got a new screw," Grijpstra said, "and they replaced the left grip-plate. They didn't want to do it but I insisted. You should be grateful."

"I am grateful. The poor thing is getting old. I wish they would give us some decent arms. This one dates back to 1929, the sergeant in the arms room was telling me the other day. It's an antique. The criminals have fully automatic firearms these days. I read a report that our colleagues caught a drug dealer in Rotterdam who had a machine pistol in his car, the size of our FNs, or a little bigger maybe. Fourteen cartridges in the clip and it could fire them all in four seconds. All you do is squeeze the trigger and hold it."

"Bah," Grypstra said. "Who wants to fire fourteen bullets in four seconds? I don't want to fire one bullet in one year. Why are you so murderous all of a sudden? Are you getting restless again?" He scowled. "We didn't join the police to become heroes, you know. We are supposed to maintain order. How can you maintain order if you fire fourteen bullets in four seconds? The silly thing will be jumping about in your hand and you will blow the head off the old grandmother across the street, trying to do a little shopping, and another bullet is bound to knock a baby out of a pram." Grijpstra's face had reddened and he was waving his arms. "Why don't you go to Africa? There was a story in the paper last night about mercenaries driving their tanks straight through a village, smashing and burning huts and killing everybody in sight."