tearing the little paper bags, pouring sugar and thick coffee milk, stirring.
A constable brought a thick file.
“Ha,” Grijpstra said, “the interrogation reports. Let’s see.”
De Gier got up and looked over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said.
Grijpstra cleared his throat again. “Nice, what?”
It was nice. The detectives had noted the names and addresses of the restaurant’s thirty-eight guests. Nothing special with two exceptions. The two exceptions had been found in the Hindist Society’s bar. Two drug dealers, one once-convicted, the other a suspect. The conviction had been minor for lack of substantial proof.
“I have heard about them,” de Gier said. “Michiels of the Drugs Department was talking about them the other day. Big birds, both of them.”
“Wholesalers,” Grijpstra said and smiled. “Two nice juicy wholesalers. I’ll spend a phone call on them.”
The chief inspector wasn’t easy to handle that morning and Grijpstra had to repeat himself twice. Finally he hung up and de Gier gave him a questioning look.
“It’s all right,” Grijpstra said. “We’ll be given some help. And the chief inspector promised to look through the files.”
The help arrived within ten minutes and Treesje was summoned for more coffee and another display of long tapered legs and rounded thighs. Grijpstra was forced into another coughing fit. The two drug detectives read the reports and listened. They said “yes” half a dozen times and left.
Grijpstra wandered toward his drums, sat down, and vibrated a stick.
“Right,” he said. “They can be happy. Off to the bars and the cafés. I wonder how much money they’ll spend, tax money, all of it. While we work.”
De Gier looked morose.
“How many hours have you spent in cafés? Quietly? With half a glass of jenever on the table?” Grijpstra asked.
“Thousands,” de Gier said.
“That’s all over now,” said Grijpstra.
De Gier half closed his eyes and dreamed. How many hours had he spent in bars? Listening, chatting, acting. And meanwhile the eternal search. Who knows something, who says something? Who knows whether the wholesalers were in contact with Piet? Piet who is dead now? Who knows Piet? Who knows the old gable house Haarlemmer Houttuinen 5? What happens over there? I don’t mean the holy talk in the bar, the health food and the sitting-still in the temple room. What really happens? Would you like another drink? Shall I tell you another joke? Easy now. Talk to the girls. Listen to the girls. Wait for a little fight to break out, a nice argument. Stir it up a little. Whoever gets angry talks. Whoever gets jealous talks. Whoever’s pride is touched talks. Or do you want some money perhaps? Here, have another drink first, there’s plenty in the bottle. You name it you get it. A hundred guilders? Why not? If the story is worth it. You can tell me outside, on a bench in the park or under a tree in the square. And then you can drink as much as you like for a couple of evenings, or you can smoke something, or inject. Is there anything worse than the needle? The other stuff will release you, after a good fight, but when the needle has got you it keeps you.
“We’ll do some work,” Grijpstra said. “You go back to the house. Go right through it. It’s a big house and we only saw a bit of it.”
“And you?” de Gier asked.
“I am going to have a sniff at that Society. If you find anything important you can phone me and if I’m not here you can leave a message. And tonight I should be home.”
“Car?” de Gier asked.
“You won’t need the car. It’s the right day for walking. You better phone the garage that the car is free today.”
* * *
Grijpstra had looked through Piet’s bookcase the night before and had found some files. One of the files contained bookkeeping and gave the name of a chartered accountant. Grijpstra had read a report, signed by the accountant, describing the Society’s financial progress during the
A constable brought a thick file.
“Ha,” Grijpstra said, “the interrogation reports. Let’s see.”
De Gier got up and looked over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said.
Grijpstra cleared his throat again. “Nice, what?”
It was nice. The detectives had noted the names and addresses of the restaurant’s thirty-eight guests. Nothing special with two exceptions. The two exceptions had been found in the Hindist Society’s bar. Two drug dealers, one once-convicted, the other a suspect. The conviction had been minor for lack of substantial proof.
“I have heard about them,” de Gier said. “Michiels of the Drugs Department was talking about them the other day. Big birds, both of them.”
“Wholesalers,” Grijpstra said and smiled. “Two nice juicy wholesalers. I’ll spend a phone call on them.”
The chief inspector wasn’t easy to handle that morning and Grijpstra had to repeat himself twice. Finally he hung up and de Gier gave him a questioning look.
“It’s all right,” Grijpstra said. “We’ll be given some help. And the chief inspector promised to look through the files.”
The help arrived within ten minutes and Treesje was summoned for more coffee and another display of long tapered legs and rounded thighs. Grijpstra was forced into another coughing fit. The two drug detectives read the reports and listened. They said “yes” half a dozen times and left.
Grijpstra wandered toward his drums, sat down, and vibrated a stick.
“Right,” he said. “They can be happy. Off to the bars and the cafés. I wonder how much money they’ll spend, tax money, all of it. While we work.”
De Gier looked morose.
“How many hours have you spent in cafés? Quietly? With half a glass of jenever on the table?” Grijpstra asked.
“Thousands,” de Gier said.
“That’s all over now,” said Grijpstra.
De Gier half closed his eyes and dreamed. How many hours had he spent in bars? Listening, chatting, acting. And meanwhile the eternal search. Who knows something, who says something? Who knows whether the wholesalers were in contact with Piet? Piet who is dead now? Who knows Piet? Who knows the old gable house Haarlemmer Houttuinen 5? What happens over there? I don’t mean the holy talk in the bar, the health food and the sitting-still in the temple room. What really happens? Would you like another drink? Shall I tell you another joke? Easy now. Talk to the girls. Listen to the girls. Wait for a little fight to break out, a nice argument. Stir it up a little. Whoever gets angry talks. Whoever gets jealous talks. Whoever’s pride is touched talks. Or do you want some money perhaps? Here, have another drink first, there’s plenty in the bottle. You name it you get it. A hundred guilders? Why not? If the story is worth it. You can tell me outside, on a bench in the park or under a tree in the square. And then you can drink as much as you like for a couple of evenings, or you can smoke something, or inject. Is there anything worse than the needle? The other stuff will release you, after a good fight, but when the needle has got you it keeps you.
“We’ll do some work,” Grijpstra said. “You go back to the house. Go right through it. It’s a big house and we only saw a bit of it.”
“And you?” de Gier asked.
“I am going to have a sniff at that Society. If you find anything important you can phone me and if I’m not here you can leave a message. And tonight I should be home.”
“Car?” de Gier asked.
“You won’t need the car. It’s the right day for walking. You better phone the garage that the car is free today.”
* * *
Grijpstra had looked through Piet’s bookcase the night before and had found some files. One of the files contained bookkeeping and gave the name of a chartered accountant. Grijpstra had read a report, signed by the accountant, describing the Society’s financial progress during the
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