make you look old, but without the coat you look much younger already."
The commissaris waited.
"And you're right," Nellie said. "Obrian was after me."
"Could you resist?"
"I had Henk."
"Of course," the commissaris said softly. "I hadn't thought of that."
"And Sergeant Jurriaans," Nellie said. "He's a very strong man and he sometimes drops in for coffee here, always in uniform."
She was holding his hand. The commissaris pulled it back and stretched. "So quiet here, and yet we're in the midst of the city."
"Shouldn't you take a nap now? Henk always rests after a meal."
"No," the commissaris said, "but you know what I would like to do? Have a hot bath. I'm somewhat rheumatic and hot water soaks the pain away."
"Go right ahead." Nellie began to clear the table.
"Yes?" the commissaris asked from the tub.
Nellie's hand appeared, holding a silver tray."I thought you wouldn't mind another cup of coffee."
"Please."
"Do you mind if I come in a moment? I won't look."
She sat on a stool next to the tub, and the commissaris pushed himself up carefully, concerned about keeping his cigar dry.
"I'm lonely sometimes," Nellie said. "It's nice to know there's someone in the house. The guests don't count and there aren't any right now anyway. Is the water hot enough?"
"Cooling. Would you mind turning the faucet?"
Nellie reached to the tub's other end. "The tank is enormous, you can have baths all day."
"Good to know," the commissaris said. "Hot water is about the only thing the pain reacts to. I say, Nellie, I was thinking about Obrian again. He was shot with a machine pistol. Would you have any idea who might have used such an unusual weapon?"
Nellie rested her chin on her hand. "Another pimp, who else? Luku was taking it all, the others couldn't accept his grabbiness. To live and let live—Luku never heard about that idea."
"With a machine pistol," the commissaris said. "Strange, eh? Who would have a gun like that?"
"Hard to handle. They jump in your hands."
"You know about shooting?"
"Yes," Nellie said. "I'm a farmer's daughter. My brother and I had to shoot crows, to save Dad's chicks. And I have used a machine pistol too. We had German soldiers on the farm during the war. We were only little kids then, and I hardly remember the soldiers, but my brother found their gear, years and years later, where my father had hidden it. Rifles, hand grenades, ammo. The grenades were fun, we used them for fishing. You just throw them in and there's a fountain, that high"—she pointed at the ceiling—"and then the dead fish float. We used a machine pistol on a crow. There was nothing left of him afterward but broken feathers."
"My, you were a dangerous girl. How old were you then?"
"Fourteen, I think. My father was all upset and the local cop came and took the guns. My father would have been fined, but he called the cop himself, so it was all right."
"Shouldn't have guns about."
Nellie smiled. "No? With all the mugging going on? In this neighborhood?"
"You have a gun?"
She handed him a towel. "Shouldn't you get out? If you stay in too long you get all wrinkled. Look at your fingers now."
"Yes," the commissaris said. He raised himself with difficulty and wrapped himself in the towel. Nellie looked away. "I'm all covered now," the commissaris said. "Tell me, do you have anyone in particular in mind?"
"Who could have shot Obrian? Lennie, I would think, or Gustav. They hated him most. Here, let me dry your back."
"No," the commissaris said, turning away. "What if Henk were to suddenly come in and see us like this?"
She grinned sadly. "I wish he would. It's his own fault. Staying away doesn't do much for our relationship." She followed him to his room and folded the sheets open. "Nap time, Uncle Jan."
"No. I'll lie down and think."
She walked to the door. "That's what Henk says he does too, and then he snores for hours."
"Not me," the commissaris said to himself. "It's a matter of self-discipline. Keep sleep back by force
The commissaris waited.
"And you're right," Nellie said. "Obrian was after me."
"Could you resist?"
"I had Henk."
"Of course," the commissaris said softly. "I hadn't thought of that."
"And Sergeant Jurriaans," Nellie said. "He's a very strong man and he sometimes drops in for coffee here, always in uniform."
She was holding his hand. The commissaris pulled it back and stretched. "So quiet here, and yet we're in the midst of the city."
"Shouldn't you take a nap now? Henk always rests after a meal."
"No," the commissaris said, "but you know what I would like to do? Have a hot bath. I'm somewhat rheumatic and hot water soaks the pain away."
"Go right ahead." Nellie began to clear the table.
"Yes?" the commissaris asked from the tub.
Nellie's hand appeared, holding a silver tray."I thought you wouldn't mind another cup of coffee."
"Please."
"Do you mind if I come in a moment? I won't look."
She sat on a stool next to the tub, and the commissaris pushed himself up carefully, concerned about keeping his cigar dry.
"I'm lonely sometimes," Nellie said. "It's nice to know there's someone in the house. The guests don't count and there aren't any right now anyway. Is the water hot enough?"
"Cooling. Would you mind turning the faucet?"
Nellie reached to the tub's other end. "The tank is enormous, you can have baths all day."
"Good to know," the commissaris said. "Hot water is about the only thing the pain reacts to. I say, Nellie, I was thinking about Obrian again. He was shot with a machine pistol. Would you have any idea who might have used such an unusual weapon?"
Nellie rested her chin on her hand. "Another pimp, who else? Luku was taking it all, the others couldn't accept his grabbiness. To live and let live—Luku never heard about that idea."
"With a machine pistol," the commissaris said. "Strange, eh? Who would have a gun like that?"
"Hard to handle. They jump in your hands."
"You know about shooting?"
"Yes," Nellie said. "I'm a farmer's daughter. My brother and I had to shoot crows, to save Dad's chicks. And I have used a machine pistol too. We had German soldiers on the farm during the war. We were only little kids then, and I hardly remember the soldiers, but my brother found their gear, years and years later, where my father had hidden it. Rifles, hand grenades, ammo. The grenades were fun, we used them for fishing. You just throw them in and there's a fountain, that high"—she pointed at the ceiling—"and then the dead fish float. We used a machine pistol on a crow. There was nothing left of him afterward but broken feathers."
"My, you were a dangerous girl. How old were you then?"
"Fourteen, I think. My father was all upset and the local cop came and took the guns. My father would have been fined, but he called the cop himself, so it was all right."
"Shouldn't have guns about."
Nellie smiled. "No? With all the mugging going on? In this neighborhood?"
"You have a gun?"
She handed him a towel. "Shouldn't you get out? If you stay in too long you get all wrinkled. Look at your fingers now."
"Yes," the commissaris said. He raised himself with difficulty and wrapped himself in the towel. Nellie looked away. "I'm all covered now," the commissaris said. "Tell me, do you have anyone in particular in mind?"
"Who could have shot Obrian? Lennie, I would think, or Gustav. They hated him most. Here, let me dry your back."
"No," the commissaris said, turning away. "What if Henk were to suddenly come in and see us like this?"
She grinned sadly. "I wish he would. It's his own fault. Staying away doesn't do much for our relationship." She followed him to his room and folded the sheets open. "Nap time, Uncle Jan."
"No. I'll lie down and think."
She walked to the door. "That's what Henk says he does too, and then he snores for hours."
"Not me," the commissaris said to himself. "It's a matter of self-discipline. Keep sleep back by force
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