The Rattle-Rat (27 page)

"The Chinese were short of heroin, but they controlled
the retail market. If they couldn't get it from their own contacts anymore, because of the frenzy with which immigration and customs are now pursuing all suspect couriers, they could still obtain supplies elsewhere. The Middle East manufactures heroin from homegrown opium. We also watch the Turks. Douwe is no Turk. He sells sheep to Turkey. Turks owe him money. What if he was paid in heroin? I imagined Douwe bringing the drug in."

"Right," the commissaris said. "After a while I thought of that possibility too, but you were far ahead already."

"But you were working on Mrs. Scherjoen," de Gier said.
"There's only so much time. Although, to be sure, I couldn't see what you were hoping to bring about. Would you have arrested a nice widow?"

"Look here," the commissaris said. "I've got to do my job. I'm hopelessly curious, too."

"You gave her a fright," de Gier said.

"I did not, Sergeant. Mem was innocent and never budged.
I thought she was guilty because she might have discovered that Douwe was selling heroin and had meant to put a stop to that, but she never knew about that part of his activity."

"Could she have killed her own husband?"

"Yes," the commissaris said. "She's a most admirable lady who lives by her conscience. You don't see that too often."

"Shot and burned her own husband?"

The commissaris nodded. "Absolutely, and her sister would have helped, another suspect meeting all my requirements.
Mem is an idealist, Miss Terpstra is a perfect terrorist."

"So you see," de Gier said, "you were distracted. I couldn't be, all I had was one direction. I was lucky, too, for Lieutenant Sudema stumbled my way. Sudema had some ideas, subconsciously perhaps, and he had to get real drunk to be able to express them, and even then he would merely hint.
He sent me to his nephew, a Military Police private who was picking up a deserter on Ameland, who had dealings with Scherjoen."

"A full report, please," the commissaris said.

De Gier reported.

"Has the copper been returned?" the commissaris asked.

"Yes, sir. That wasn't a real theft, but more like a traditional
adventure that islanders go in for, to earn the respect of their peers. The deserter told me all I needed to know.
Scherjoen would be bringing in heroin on his own account.
He must have sold to Wo Hop, who was making most of the profit. Scherjoen wanted all the profit. He may have planned to sell his next import directly to users, or perhaps he had already sold retail, in Amsterdam of course."

"You were definitely ahead of me," the commissaris said.
"Well done, Sergeant. I imagined Scherjoen in the power of the Chinese gangsters and struggling to get free, as you did, but you had some facts."

"Chinese gangsters do not shoot us Dutch," de Gier said.
"They
do
shoot each other. If they hit us, their position weakens further, for we become nervous, refuse to cooperate, and get at them even more. Wo Hop forced his flunky, Oppenhuyzen, to do away with Scherjoen."

"In exchange for more medicine," the commissaris said.
"Last night our suspect had heroin up to his ears. Did you see how he reacted when his chief sent him off?"

"I did," de Gier said. "Let's hope he still has some left.
He must be under heavy tension. Hylkje and I delivered dead Eddy here last night, and Mrs. Oppenhuyzen kept thinking we had come to arrest her husband."

"Report on that visit."

The commissaris listened.

"Why," de Gier asked finally, "didn't you ask me last night what I was doing in Bolsward, sir?"

"Childishness, Sergeant. I wanted to see if I could figure
it out myself."

"You were testing me."

"Please, Sergeant."

"You still want to call on the suspect, sir?"

"I'll have to," the commissaris said. "More childishness.
Cardozo's prank with the ghost of Scherjoen slipped completely out of control. I had no idea what horrible artwork those two young jokers might be capable of. My legs were shaking when they popped the result on me. I had meant to bring about a slight shock, but the muses of hell must have inspired Cardozo's effort."

De Gier thought. "Mem Scherjoen?"

The commissaris nodded behind the glowing tip of his cigar.

"She wants you to bring her Oppenhuyzen's scalp?"

The commissaris sighed. "If only that were true. I would have refused. No, Sergeant, I promised to help the poor fellow."

De Gier looked at the sky.

"He won't help," the commissaris said. "Direct your prayers at yourself."

"I wouldn't know how to fix this either," de Gier said, and rang the doorbell of the small summer house.

"You really want to bother Sybe?" Mrs. Oppenhuyzen asked.
"He's in pain. Isn't it rather late? Are you a policeman too, sir?"

"Yes," the commissaris said, stamping out his cigar.

"Central Detection?"

"No, ma'am, I want to be of help."

Mrs. Oppenhuyzen shook her head. "Well, come in, then."
She took them to the sitting room, pointed at the plastic chairs, and went upstairs.

Adjutant Oppenhuyzen came downstairs, fumbling with the cord that closed his housecoat. "Sorry, sir. I'd gone to bed."

"You're not feeling well?"

The adjutant sat down slowly. "It's not too bad now. I took my medicine."

Mrs. Oppenhuyzen sat down. "Offer the guests something," her husband said.

"In a minute." She held his hand. "I want to be with you."

"I know what medicine you're using," the commissaris said. "It'll be unavailable to you from now on."

"Oh." Mrs. Oppenhuyzen squeezed her husband's hand.
"Don't say anything, Sybe."

"It's all right," the adjutant said. "They're colleagues."

"Shut up. Please."

"Your husband can say anything he likes," die commis-
saris said. "We can't press charges."

"Make some coffee," Oppenhuyzen said. "I'll call you in a moment. I want to discuss something with the gentlemen."

Mrs. Oppenhuyzen began to cry. De Gier jumped up.
"I'll
go with you, ma'am. I'm good at making coffee."

"No," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. The door banged behind her.

"It was you?" the commissaris asked.

"You mean the business with Douwe?"

"You used your service pistol?"

"Let's say I did," the adjutant said. "There's still no proof. I've read the reports. The bullet wasn't found, and the skull had been damaged by fire."

"You burned the body yourself?"

"Yes," the adjutant said. "The Chinese had the dory ready, but they left too little gasoline. The corpse should have disappeared altogether. I went to see Wo Hop, but he didn't have any more gas, and my face was hurting again. I hadn't used my medicine that night, it always makes me slow."

"I see," the commissaris said.

"I botched the job," Oppenhuyzen said. "I didn't know Douwe personally, or I couldn't have done it at all. Not a good man, was he?"

"Rather not," the commissaris said.

"I never accepted any money, sir."

"There is a doctor in Amsterdam," the commissaris said, "who specializes in your disease. You won't believe me,
but
he's Chinese too. Still a young man, got his Ph.D. in
the
treatment of neuralgia."

"I've seen all the specialists," Oppenhuyzen said. "I
have
the incurable variety. When the pain starts up, I go crazy, I'll take anything that's around, but only heroin helps, it plucks the pain away. If only the doctors would prescribe the drug, but they're too worried about addiction."

"Are you addicted?"

"I don't think so," the adjutant said. "A while back,
the pain left me for a few weeks and I never even thought of the drug."

The commissaris tore a page out of his notebook and wrote down the name and address of the Chinese doctor.
"Give htm a try. Do you have any plans for the future?"

"None," the adjutant said. "You heard what the chief said.
Fm on sick leave until I'm old enough to retire. Maybe I'll fix my house up, the house in the city. This one will fall apart if I touch it with a hammer."

"You're not planning to apply for an interview by Central Detection?"

"No," the adjutant said. "I can't be arrested on my confession alone. There's no proof. No witnesses will ever show.
The Chinese who brought the boat and the gas died on the dike. And what about my wife? Shouldn't I look after her?"

Mrs. Oppenhuyzen brought the coffee in.

"I told them," the adjutant said. "It's all right."

"He mustn't give himself up," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said.
"That Douwe wanted to bring poison in. It corrupts young people. But it never bothered Sybe. It's good medicine, but it should be strictly controlled."

"I shouldn't have done it," the adjutant said. "There are some who take bribes, but that's no excuse. I've always tried to be honest. I should have talked to the chief. Douwe took a lot of money from Wo Hop to finance a big import from Turkey, but when he brought it in, he sold it to the junkies himself. Hop doesn't like that."

"Wasn't Douwe afraid of Hop?" de Gier asked.

"He thought Hop would be arrested and kicked out of the country, but Hop has good protection."

De Gier rubbed his hands. "Wo Hop."

"You can't touch him," the adjutant said. "If you go after Hop, you'll have to work in high places."

The commissaris rubbed his hands too. "We might give it a try." He looked at his hands. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to Central Detection? If you do, you've done everything that's humanly possible."

"No," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said.

The commissaris got up. "And do visit that Chinese doctor. You never know. Maybe it'll work out."

"Thank you, sir," Adjutant Oppenhuyzen said.

"You won't go any further?" Mrs. Oppenhuyzen asked.

"I don't have the authority," the commissaris said. "I came as a friend. Thank you for the coffee, ma'am."

\\\\\ 26 /////

"
W
AS EVERYTHING AS EXPECTED?" MR. WANG ASKED.

The commissaris dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "Yes, certainly, a delicious dish of fried rice, Mr. Wang."

"A cognac?"

"Some tea?" the commissaris asked. "Pot of tea and two cups?"

Wang brought the pot.

"Do sit down," the commissaris said.

"Tea," Mr. Wang said, "to celebrate our meeting. I often celebrate with tea." He sat down, poured the tea, and held up his cup. "I celebrated when two of my children were stillborn, and I celebrated again when two others arrived alive."

"They're doing well?" the commissaris asked.

Wang opened his mouth and pointed at his gleaming teeth.
"One is a good dentist."

"And the other?"

"He helps to develop warheads of atomic missiles," Mr.
Wang said. "In the United States. A genius, that boy. I had tea with him when he finished his studies, and Til have tea again when his first missile hits a large city."

"Your nephews," the commissaris said, "the young fel- lows that my colleagues arrested here two days ago, will be expelled, after they've done their time in jail."

Wang sipped his tea.

"And if they show up again," the commissaris said, "which may be soon, for they won't be locked up long, you might want to call me." He presented his card. "Phone me at home, I'm usually in at night."

"I stay away from phones,"Wang said.

"Your Dutch is really impeccable," the commissaris said.

"I was born here in Bolsward," Mr. Wang said.

The commissaris poured tea. "I was born here, in Joure, we're both Frisians."

Mr. Wang laughed. "We're both Earthmen," Mr. Wang said. "We do have a lot in common. Maybe I will phone you after all. Aren't you the commissaris who's often mentioned in the paper? Will you be arresting my nephews here?"

"I'll catch them at Wo Hop's," the commissaris said. "By
the way, about Mr. Wo Hop..."

Mr. Wang shook his small, smiling head.

"No?" the commissaris asked. "Would I be overreaching myself?"

"Yes," Mr. Wang said.

"A pity," the commissaris said. "And to think that I'm fighting on the side of Good."

"Maybe that's why."

The commissaris looked about him. Mr. Wang pointed out a green dragon that had been painted on the wall above the bar. The dragon was nuzzling his own tail.

"That's Wo Hop," Mr. Wang said. "Give him time. He'll
eat himself."

"He's rather a long beast," the commissaris said. "And he hasn't even taken his first bite."

"Soon," Mr. Wang said.

"Westerners aren't known for the exercise of patience,"
the commissaris said. "What would you advise me to do in the meantime?"

"Drink lots of tea," Mr. Wang said. He got up and walked to the bar. He came back with a can. On the can, a picture had been painted showing a turning wheel. At the center a cock, a pig, and a snake were turning spokes.

"My present to you," Mr. Wang said. "There's good tea
in the can. Patience tea. You can accept the present.
It's worth only a few guilders, and you did rid me of the nephews."

The commissaris studied the picture. "The wheel of life,"
Mr. Wang said, "moving because of the powers of pride, greed, and mean behavior."

"Will it turn forever?"

"It'll break by itself," Mr. Wang said. "Won't take long now."

The commissaris paid the check.

Mr. Wang walked him to the door.