The Streetbird (11 page)

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Grijpstra stepped aside. Cardozo dropped his broom and trotted to the kitchen. He was back immediately, kneeling at the adjutant's feet, sweeping dust into his pan.

"Mustn't exaggerate," Grijpstra said. "Clean is okay, but I don't want to face guilt at every step. Reminds me of home." He slapped a cupboard. "The paint is coming off, this place makes its own dirt. Never knew why people collect so much furniture. What else does it do but increase the mess? You should see my apartment now. I always thought that my rooms were too small, but now that all the rubbish has been taken out I suddenly live in a sea of space. Lots of light, too. Even the noise went away. We must have less, not more."

Cardozo studied the contents of his dustpan. "What happened to all your furniture?"

"It followed my wife and the kids."

"And where did they go?"

"To Arnhem."

"And will you be going there too?"

Grijpstra scratched his chin. "Now, what would I be doing in Arnhem?"

Cardozo stabbed his brush accusingly. "Take care of your wife and kids."

"Can't I do that on the weekends?"

"I don't follow," Cardozo said.

"I thought you were a detective. Can't you make your own deductions?" Grijpstra held up a finger. "My wife has a sister, about as fat as she is, and similarly addicted to TV serials. The sister had a husband, with money and without work. An interest collector, a fairly common phenomenon in the provinces. No kids, only that man who used to play snooker in the pub. A man with a red face, because he tried to follow politics. My age, and dead, all of a sudden, reading the paper on the toilet." Grijpstra looked at Cardozo triumphantly. "Now do you follow?"

"No," Cardozo said.

"Still not clear? It was Easter and the kids had their holidays. My wife took them to Arnhem. A huge house, on the edge of the forest. The kids had a good time. My sister-in-law had a good time too."

"A lonely woman?"

"Not when my wife is around, because she talks all day, and the kids rush in and out. A big mansion, with most of the rooms empty."

"So your wife moved in for keeps?"

Grijpstra lit a cigar and threw the match onto Cardozo's dustpan. "She did."

"And left you here in an empty apartment?"

Grijpstra sucked his cigar. He smiled. "Yes."

"You could ask for a transfer."

"I could."

"But you won't?"

"I don't think I would qualify. I'm not good enough, you see. I'm sure they commit very subtle murders in the provinces."

De Gier came in. "What's in the towel?" Grijpstra asked.

De Gier unfolded the towel carefully.

"You walked through my pile," Cardozo said. "Why don't you go away, the two of you, so that I can finish what I started."

Grijpstra grabbed Cardozo's collar and yanked him to his feet. "Look at this."

"Our murder weapon?" Cardozo asked.

"Just another Schmeisser," de Gier said. "Not the one we are looking for. An example, according to the handbook of automatic weaponry, of the improved model MP 40. The Germans manufactured at least a million of them before the war was over."

Cardozo picked the weapon up. "Loaded?"

"Not anymore."

"Pow-pow-pow." Cardozo shot enemies of the state. He replaced the weapon. "But if this isn't the one we need, we don't need it, right?"

"I thought you might be interested," de Gier said. "The weapon we're after is similar. Look at this gun and think. Maybe you'll have some useful associations. Besides, the previous owner of this thing isn't right in the head, and by taking it out of his slightly insane hands I'm helping to maintain order. I'm an all around policeman, not restricted to the particular case at hand."

"I wish you would be somewhat restricted," Grijpstra said. "Stop gadding about, sergeant. How come you had the time to hunt for illegal arms when you're assigned to the Obrian murder?"

De Gier rewrapped the machine pistol. Grijpstra pulled his sleeve. "Where did you get it?"

"You're my superior, so your reasoning should be superior too. Where was I when you left me?"

"You found it in the morgue?" Grijpstra asked.

"In the morgue keeper's private quarters."

"Explain."

Grijpstra listened.

"A coincidence," Cardozo said. "We happen to be looking for a Schmeisser and you happen to find one. Without even looking for it. I found something too. Can I tell him, adjutant?"

"What?" de Gier asked.

"A yellow pot with a metal handle."

De Gier sat down, rolled a cigarette, clipped the superfluous tobacco strands with his nails, and flicked his lighter. "I'm pleased, not only because you found a yellow pot with a metal handle but because you're actually telling me that you did."

"There was some spaghetti in the pot," Cardozo said, "and just a few drops of tomato sauce."

"Thank you again. For adding details."

"You're not really that stupid, are you?" Cardozo asked. "Isn't it true that earlier on today you were hit on the head with some hard object?"

De Gier jumped up.

"In my pile again," Cardozo said, "but I won't complain, because police training teaches endless patience."

De Gier tried to tear tobacco out of his mustache.

"The neighbor," Cardozo said, "A black woman who, due tp circumstances beyond her control, has become addicted to alcohol."

"Tell him the rest of it," Grijpstra said, "before he tears off his lip."

Cardozo reported.

"Well done," de Gier said. "I had a question, and you, of all people, promptly provide me with the answer. Thank you, although your successful sleuthing won't get us anywhere. I'm hardly damaged, and the woman made a mistake. By arresting her, we won't achieve much. Therefore we won't bother her. But we will bother the suspect who poured lead into the Olofsalley last night, because if we don't, he'll do it again and we won't have any pimps left in the city. No pimps, no whores, and no whores is not what the population wants. We must not forget that we serve the citizens."

"Could I make a suggestion?" Cardozo asked.

"That I refrain from philosophizing and do some work?"

"Yes, but the station here has a shooting range. Can't we take the Schmeisser and fire it there?"

"What for?"

"Fun?"

Grijpstra, de Gier, and Cardozo faced the station's counter, Jurriaans defended it. He opened its little door while he telephoned. He put the phone down. "She's coming. Follow me."

"Adjutant Adèle can shoot first," de Gier said.

She watched while de Gier charged the clip. He pressed a button. "Here you are, set for rapid fire. Just touch the trigger and be careful the gun doesn't jump out of your hands."

The Schmeisser fired. Jurriaans peered through his binoculars. "Good, but a little too high."

"How many cartridges did I use?" asked Adjutant Adèle.

Jurriaans counted. "Six hits and there were thirty-two in the clip."

"Your turn," de Gier said to Cardozo.

"A little too far to the right," Jurriaans said. "Can I try now?" He gave his binoculars to Grijpstra.

"Too low," Grijpstra said, "but close together."

"Let's see how good you are."

Grijpstra also fired too low. He passed the weapon to de Gier. "Now for our very own champion."

"Perfect," Adjutant Adèle said. "All in the heart. Splendid show, sergeant, and with a weapon you're not familiar with."

"Sergeant de Gier is a bit of a show-off," Cardozo said. "He doesn't know about modesty being customary between colleagues.
We
aimed badly on purpose."

Adjutant Adèle smiled at de Gier. Her smile accentuated her beauty. De Gier noticed her attractive shape outlined by the well-tailored uniform, and suspected the presence of available but prohibited pleasure. She has a good mouth, de Gier thought, subtly curved under a delicate nose, and her eyes are moist and alluring also because they are partly hidden under lovely lashes.

"A joke," Cardozo said. "The sergeant is an excellent shot and I'm jealous." His apology raised no comments either. Cardozo shrugged and walked to the other end of the range, to dig in a sand-filled box.

"Coming?" Adjutant Adèle called. "I've got to lock the door."

Cardozo ran toward her. "What's going to happen to the weapon?"

"Take it to headquarters," Grijpstra said. "The arms sergeant can add it to his collection."

"And what do I tell him when he asks where it came from?"

Grijpstra looked at de Gier.

"Tell him I found it in the street," de Gier said, "after a little boy, who immediately ran away, pointed it out to me under a tree. Keep it as vague as you can.
Found,
that'll do. Headquarters won't care anyway, all they want to do is put it away."

"I don't know," Grijpstra said. "Why not tell him the truth? Jacobs is well-liked and won't be charged, everybody knows what happened to him during the war."

"I don't want a form on the public prosecutor's desk," de Gier said. "Found, I say."

"Found, it is." Grijpstra followed Jurriaans and de Gier to the counter.

"Your Adjutant Adèle is a most beautiful lady," de Gier said. "Married, I suppose?"

"Recently divorced," Jurriaans said, "but she's got a friend now, one of us, a black reserve sergeant, rather a special somebody. A sociologist on his own time and an assistant professor."

"A serious relationship?"

"He's got a wife, and our adjutant on the side."

"Why," Grijpstra asked, "is everything always so complicated? I don't approve. A man with his wife, and the kids belong to both, and all in the same house, that's what I like to see. The man goes to his work, the wife keeps the house, the kids go to school. General contentment during the weekends and holidays. If we could keep it that way, even our job would be a pleasure."

"You didn't really say all that?" de Gier asked.

Grijpstra grunted. "My case is rather different."

"Everybody's case is rather different," Jurriaans said. "My wife left too, but I don't have any kids. After years of joyful togetherness. I'm sure it was all my fault."

"She went to another?"

"She didn't say," Jurriaans said.

"Irresponsible behavior," Grijpstra said. "I'm against it all, of course, but I've been looking for a black policeman. The reserve is hardly professional because they can't become experienced if they only dabble at our job during their hours off, but something is better than nothing. Our corpse is black. A black colleague could maybe explain the situation a little."

"This man works from your station?" de Gier asked. "How good is he?"

"He's excellent," Jurriaans said. "Works here most evenings."

"A sociologist," Grijpstra said. "All long-haired nonsense, but if he is a professor, he might be intelligent."

"Very," Jurriaans said, "and he's got short hair. Been in the reserve for six years. They pass the same examinations as we do. I've been told that reserve cops are in a better position than we are—not stuck in a routine, better able to see what goes on."

"Name?" Grijpstra asked.

"John Varé."

"I'd like to meet him."

"You will." Jurriaans leaned against the counter. "You think the killer is black too?"

"We don't think much," de Gier said.

Grijpstra grinned. "We try not to think, but sometimes we can't help ourselves. I don't think the killer is black."

"I'm sure he isn't," Jurriaans said. "Obrian was admired by his race. The blacks here regret his death. In their eyes he was a demigod who could turn the white law inside out. Since Obrian staged that show on the bridge, where the most beautiful woman of the quarter went down on her knees for him and—"

"Quite," Grijpstra said. "We have been told. Let's keep it simple, shall we? The man was black and the man was killed. He had a black soul, and I can't look into it. Now, if you can find me this John Varé and he will guide us, we might see something. All I want to know is how Obrian provoked his own death."

"Varé'll be here," Jurriaans said. "Tonight probably, but tonight you two are otherwise engaged. I understand that you wish to visit Hotel Hadde to watch pimps, and for tomorrow night I'm planning a little raid on Lennie's brothel boat. Don't breathe a word about that yet, because it's my experience that our plans are public property a minute after they are conceived. I think I will only take Ketchup and Karate, who hate Lennie's guts for a variety of reasons, and if I need more force, I'll find it just before we leave."

"How about us?" Grijpstra asked. "De Gier and I could be clients and be inside the boat, make a little fuss maybe."

"Yes," de Gier said, "and you're outside and wonder what's going on, so you come inside too."

Jurriaans became pensive. "Could be trouble. Provoking is outside the law. Judges are known to disapprove."

"We go in anyway," de Gier said. "We keep quiet, but we take a friend and he doesn't."

"What sort of friend?"

"A colleague."

Jurriaans arranged a stack of forms on the counter. "If he's a cop, we're still in trouble."

"An outside cop."

"From where?"

"From across a border."

"Ah," Jurriaans said. "That's better. He won't be a cop here. You have anybody in mind?"

"Sublieutenant Röder," de Gier said. "Hamburg Municipal Police. He was clacking his heels here not so long ago. Profusely thanking us. Begging to be allowed to return the favor."

"Sounds better and better."

De Gier looked in his notebook. Jurriaans pushed the telephone to the sergeant. De Gier dialed. "What will this Roder do?" Jurriaans asked.

"Fight the bouncer," Grijpstra said. "Spill his drink. Use bad language. He'll do whatever one shouldn't do on that boat."

Jurriaans nodded. "They do have a bouncer. Ape by the name of Baf. Muscly gent, weighs a ton, used to be a professional boxer, but he's been hit on the head too much."