Tumbleweed

by Janwillem Van De Wetering

  Grijpstra and de Gier looked.

  They looked for several hours, staggering about, too tired to lift up their binoculars, gazing dutifully at the busy shapes of seagulls and seemingly endless varieties of duck.

  "Eggs," Buisman whispered every now and then. "Be careful! There are a lot of nests about."

  "Fried eggs," Grijpstra whispered to de Gier, who had hidden behind a tree, trying to smoke and shielding his cigarette from the rain.

  "Fried eggs, and bacon, and tomatoes, and toast."

  "Coffee," de Gier said. "We should have brought a thermos flask. I always forget the most important things. Hot coffee!"

  "Tell me," Grijpstra said confidentially, "why did we come? Tell me, de Gier, I have forgotten."

  "I don't know. We are birdwatchers."

  "But why?" Grijpstra insisted. "I don't like birds. Do you?"

  "Yes. But not so many of them. This must be their house. They live here. What's that?"

  A bird had flown at them and de Gier ducked. There was a rustle of wings and an angry aggressive squeak.

  "A peewit," the adjutant, who had been looking for them, suddenly said at Grijpstra's elbow. "Very clever bird. He probably has a nest close by. Look at him now."

  The peewit was running about in the grass, one wing dangling to the ground.

  "He must have broken his wing on de Gier's head," Grijpstra said admiringly.

  "No," Adjutant Buisman said, "he is only pretending. He wants us to go after him. He wants us to think that he is hurt and that he is an easy prey, but he'll fly off as soon as we get too close. His nest will be on the other side."

  "Tricky bird, hey?" de Gier said.

  Grijpstra didn't agree. If the bird runs on the left the nest is on the right. Easy to remember. He was feeling very hungry now.

  "Peewit's eggs are supposed to be a delicacy," he said to Buisman.

  "Not now, too late in the year. You should have been here about a month ago. The first peewit's egg was found here, we sent it to the queen."

  They went on. Grijpstra's mind had sunk into a gray bog. It didn't register anymore. He moved mechanically without noticing that his feet were wet and that the wound on his right big toe was throbbing. He had forgotten his headache and even his hungry feeling had stopped. He no longer pretended any interest but hung behind. He had lost his souwester, the branch of a tree had lifted it off his head and it hung above the path, half a mile behind him, as a gay little flag in an endless wet green maze.

  "This is a nice spot," Buisman said, and sat down on a log. He opened the gray canvas bag which was strapped to his back and produced a flask of coffee and some cheese rolls. The thermos wasn't big and they only had a sip each. Grijpstra chewed his roll. His bowels rumbled.

  "There wouldn't be a toilet anywhere?" he asked.

  "No," Buisman said merrily, "this is pure nature, we are quite a few miles from civilization. But go ahead, go behind those trees over there."

  "Paper," Grijpstra mumbled, "I have no paper."

  "Use some grass. Finest toilet paper in the world."

  "Grass," Grijpstra said, and stumped off.

  De Gier was grinning when Grijpstra came back.

  "All right?"

  "Wonderful," Grijpstra said. "There are a lot of birds behind that tree. Look like chickens. Got away from a farm, I guess. I was almost sitting on top of them but they didn't seem to notice. They were stamping around each other."

  Buisman gave a cry of joy and darted at the trees. He was back immediately, waving both arms.

  "Fantastic," he shouted, "come and look. Little woodcocks dancing around a hen. I have only seen it once before."

  "I saw them already," Grijpstra muttered and refused to budge but de Gier went to see the spectacle.

  "Do you see the way they dance?" the adjutant asked. "It's half aggression half fright, just like us when we make up to a woman. They are performing, you see, trying to impress the hen, but she won't look up, she's scratching away at the ground. If she looks up she has made her choice and whatever cock she looks at will be her mate. The others will go away."

  De Gier, in spite of the wet cold and his general feeling of discomfort, was impressed. The cocks had set up the feathers of their throats and their little combs were upright, swollen with color.

  "A silly show," he said to himself, "but good, in a way. Like the parties at the police school. All dressed up in your best uniform and one-two-three, around and around we go and when she looks at you you can kiss her at her door."

  Grijpstra was alone in the clearing when the little man appeared.

  "Morning," the little man said.

  "Morning."

  "Birdwatching, are you?"

  "I was," Grijpstra said.

  "This is a reserve, you know, I am afraid I'll have to ask you to leave. The birds shouldn't be disturbed, especially not at this time of the year."

  Grijpstra noticed that the little man was wearing some sort of uniform. He carried a shotgun and there was a feather in the band of his green hat.

  "We are guests of Adjutant Buisman," he said pleasantly.

  "Buisman? Is he around?"

  "Behind those trees, watching some chickens."

  The little man disappeared behind the trees and came back with Buisman and de Gier.

  "Let me introduce my friend," Buisman said, "Rammy Scheffer. He is one of the rangers of the island."

  They shook hands and Scheffer sat down. He also had a flask of coffee, about twice the size of Buisman's flask, and Grijpstra began to think kindly once the hot fluid had activated his stomach, which no longer felt like a shriveled nut.

  Buisman and Scheffer began a conversation which seemed to consist mostly of birds' names and de Gier joined Grijpstra on his wet log.

  "Seven o'clock," he said. "We could ask them to have breakfast with us."

  "Yes," Grijpstra said in a loud voice, "breakfast. Buisman, why don't you and your friend come to the hotel with us? We would like you to have breakfast with us."

  Scheffer looked up. "Very kind of you," he said, "but I am on duty. Anyway, we just had coffee. I have some bread and cheese with me and a sausage. You can share it with me if you like."

  "Well..." Grijpstra began but he was too late. Scheffer had opened his bag and was cutting the bread. He was using a long thin knife.

  Buisman was also looking at the knife and he suddenly got up and walked over to Grijpstra, tapping him on the shoulder as he passed him. He kept on going and Grijpstra got up and followed him. When they were out of earshot Buisman cleared his throat.

  "I say," he said. "I'd forgotten all about yesterday. I made some inquiries about people who can throw knives but I got nowhere. But now, while I was watching Rammy Scheffer and that nasty-looking knife he has, I have remembered again. I do believe he can throw a knife. We have been out together on my boat, years ago now, and he threw a knife at the door of my cabin. I remember now because it annoyed me at the time. He was showing off but it was my door which got damaged."

  "Yes," Grijpstra said. "What about this fellow? Do you know anything about him?"

  "Of course. We all know about each other on the island. He has been here several years now, three years, I think. He used to be an officer in the merchant navy and he settled here. He is a quiet chap, lives by himself in a little house. He bought it. He has a boat and he sails around the island sometimes. Occasionally he goes to the other shore and stays away for a few days. He doesn't talk much. He was born in , hasn't got a police record."

  "Friends? Relatives?"

  "Not that I know of. People like him on the island and everybody greets him but he has no special friends. Keeps to himself and reads the Bible, I think. Bit of a fanatic. Grows his own vegetables and bakes his own bread. One of these nature-health people. Doesn't drink, doesn't smoke. Objects to swearing and dirty words. The kids used to tease him, would follow him around mumbling four letter words but we stopped it."

  "," Grijpstra mumbled.

  "Pardo
n?"

  "," Grijpstra repeated. "Our murdered lady came from ."

  "We could ask him to come over to the station for questioning," Buisman said. "But I would rather not. It's a small island, you know, he'll probably avoid me forever after."

  "Yes," Grijpstra said. "We could ask the commissaris to invite him by letter or send a car for him. If we do it he will connect us with you."

  A siren tore the silence around them to shreds. It seemed very close.

  The adjutant stopped. "A siren," he exclaimed. "That's the police launch. They must be trying to find me."

  He began to run. Grijpstra ran after him. They were close to the beach and they reached it within a few minutes. Buisman jumped up and down and waved his arms and a responding movement was seen on the vessel. A rubber dinghy was lowered from the launch and a uniformed policeman rowed to the shore.

  Buisman took off his boots and waded into the sea. Grijpstra sighed and followed him. Again he suffered the unpleasant sensation of thick mud oozing between his toes.

  "Morning, adjutant," the sergeant in the dinghy said to Buisman.

  He shook Grijpstra's hand.

  "Grijpstra, Amsterdam police."

  "Good," the sergeant said. "I have a Telex for you. An urgent Telex. I knew the adjutant was out here with you this morning. Here you are."

  Grijpstra read the Telex.

  "Go to Schiermonnikoog at once and make contact with Ramon Scheffer. Scheffer is half-brother of Maria van Buren. Caution important. Scheffer is said to be religious fanatic."

  The Telex was dated a day back, came from Curacao, was forwarded by Amsterdam Headquarters and was signed by the commissaris.

  15

  "HERE YOU ARE," RAMMY SCHEFFER SAID, AND DE GIER thanked him and bit into the thick slice of bread. He chewed for a while.

  "Do you like the cheese?" Rammy asked.

  "Yes," de Gier said hesitantly, and continued to chew.

  "What is it?"

  "Goat's cheese. I have got two goats, milk them myself."

  De Gier chewed on for a while.

  "Ah," he said. "I say! Over there! What's that bird?"

  Rammy looked and de Gier took the cheese off the bread and threw it into a bush. He quickly stuffed the bread into his mouth.

  "That's an oystercatcher," Rammy said, looking back at de Gier. "Didn't you know? There are thousands of them on die island. Apart from the gulls and the ducks they are the most popular birds over here."

  "I'd forgotten," de Gier said.

  "Are you interested in birds?"

  "Of course," de Gier said, swallowing the last of his bread and hopefully holding up his cup for more coffee but Rammy's flask was empty.

  "Good," Rammy said. "If more people were interested in birds we might succeed in keeping a few around. The way it's going now we'll soon say goodbye to the last of them. They are installing new drainpipes, I hear, as if the sea isn't dirty enough already. Every day I try to clean the beaches of this reserve but there is no end to the plastic bottles and the ice cream cups, and now we'll have industrial dirt as well."

  "Yes," de Gier said. "Terrible."

  "Your friend, is he a birdwatcher too?"

  "Sure," de Gier said.

  "He wasn't watching the dance of the cocks. It's a rare sight; even I, who am here everyday, don't see it often."

  "He hurt his foot," de Gier said, "ripped his toe on a piece of tin or a broken bottle. I think he wanted to sit and rest a little."

  "I see," Rammy said, sliding the strap of the shotgun off his shoulder, and balancing the weapon on his lap.

  The siren shrieked and de Gier jumped up. "Hell," he said, "what's that?"

  Rammy had jumped as well, staring toward the sea. "A boat," he said, "a boat in trouble perhaps. Ran aground probably. Let's go and see."

  He pointed and de Gier began to run.

  * * *

  De Gier arrived at the beach.

  "You!" Grijpstra said when he saw de Gier coming out of the bush. "What are you doing here? Where is Rammy?"

  De Gier was panting. "Behind me somewhere. Where's the boat?"

  "Over there." Grijpstra pointed at the police launch, floating quietly a quarter of a mile offshore.

  "What's the matter with her?"

  "Nothing," Grijpstra said. "Where is Rammy?"

  "How should I know?"

  "You lost him?"

  De Gier gaped at Grijpstra and the adjutant. The sergeant had reached them as well now.

  "Fool," Grijpstra said sadly. "He is the man we want and you had him in your hands."

  "What.. .T de Gier began and gave up.

  "He doesn't know, Grijpstra," Adjutant Buisman said.

  "Doesn't know what?" de Gier asked.

  "Never mind," Grijpstra said, "you are a fool anyway, you should have known. Shall we try to follow him, Buisman?"

  "No. Rammy knows the reserve better than we do. We may as well sit down somewhere here and think for a while."

  "WHAT...?" de Gier began again.

  "All right," Buisman said, "show him the Telex, Grijpstra."

  De Gier read the Telex, and immediately lost his temper.

  "So how should / have known he is the man we are looking for. / was talking to a little fellow in a green hat who gave me a sandwich. Hey!"

  He interrupted himself. "He had a shotgun!"

  "So?" Grijpstra asked.

  "He could have shot me," de Gier said. "He took it off his shoulder while he was talking to me. He suspected something."

  "Nonsense," Grijpstra said. "He thought we were bird-watchers."

  De Gier stared at Grijpstra.

  "Birdwatchers! You weren't watching any birds. You were sitting on a log groaning and mumbling to yourself while the rare cocks were doing their sublime prance. That's what made him suspicious."

  "I had watched them already," Grijpstra said. "I was resting. Even birdwatchers rest."

  "Yes. And then you sneaked off with Buisman."

  "I was telling Grijpstra that Rammy could be his man," Buisman said. "I had remembered that Rammy can throw a knife."

  "You see!" de Gier shouted, "and you didn't warn me. You left me sitting with a dangerous murderer holding a shotgun in his hands and now you tell me I am a fool."

  "Yes," Grijpstra said soothingly, "true. You could have been a dead fool. You should be grateful."

  De Gier took a deep breath. The adjutant patted him on the shoulder.

  "There, there," Buisman said.

  "Oh, never mind him," Grijpstra said, "he always exaggerates."

  "Exaggerates?" de Gier shouted.

  "Of course," Buisman said, "I have known Rammy Sheffer for years. He isn't a violent man. He proved it, didn't he? He ran away. He could have shot you but he didn't. He didn't even threaten you."

  "He threw a knife into his sister's back," de Gier said.

  "Perhaps he did. It hasn't been proved."

  "Perhaps we should try to catch him," Grijpstra said. "Where can he be? He wouldn't try to hide in this swamp, would he?"

  "No," the water-police sergeant who, so far, had contented himself with watching die scene and rolling himself a cigarette, said quietly. "He won't even try to hide on the island. He is a sailor and he has a boat."

  "A boat," Grijpstra said, but the rest of his words were drowned in a deafening roar of sudden noise. The noise was above them and sail increasing in volume. The four men ducked instinctively.

  "They are at it again," the sergeant said when the noise had subsided. The jet fighter was only a speck on the horizon now.

  "Fooee," Grijpstra said, "what a racket. Nice quiet island you have here."

  "They only do it twice a week now," Buisman said. "Starfighters. They practice all day, shooting their cannon at targets that have been set up for them on the next island. Sometimes they do a bit of bombing as well. They always come over this part of the island. It used to be much worse but our mayor protested to the Air Force."

  "You were saying?" de Gier asked
.

  "Ah yes," Grijpstra said. "Rammy has a boat, the sergeant says, but so have we. There she is. A nice fast police launch. Let's get aboard."

  "Which way do you want me to go?" the sergeant said.

  "To wherever he parks his boat, of course."

  The sergeant shook his head. "I don't know where his boat is. She isn't in the harbor where she should be. He took her out last week. She may be in any of several places now and if he is aboard he may be sailing in a lot of different directions. We would be very lucky if we caught up with him."

  "A plane," the adjutant said, "a spotter plane. We have got police planes, haven't we?"

  "We could ask a starfighter to do a bit of spotting," de Gier said.

  "No," the adjutant said, "they are fools. They fly at a million miles an hour and all they have learned to do is strafe. If we ask them to help us they will dive at every pleasure yacht and at every fishing boat and people will dive overboard and drown and we'll never hear the end of it. The spotter planes are just what we need. Let's get to the launch and raise the airport on the mainland radio."

  It wasn't as easy as the adjutant thought. Of the two available police planes one was being serviced. Of the four available pilots one had taken a day off, one had reported sick, and the other two couldn't be found. It took an hour for the plane to take off. The adjutant fretted and the sergeant made coffee. Grijpstra fussed with his pistol, which had jammed. Only de Gier felt happy, he was sitting on the roof of the launch cabin and admiring the view. It was nine o'clock in the morning and the sky was clear with only a few clouds drifting above the island. The starfighters had disappeared, having been asked by the police of the airport to clear off for a while so as not to bother the spotter plane.

  "I thought you were all upset," Grijpstra said. He had managed to get his pistol in working order again and was feeling better.

  "I have forgiven you," de Gier said.

  "Thanks. Maybe I should have let you know, but he wouldn't have harmed you. You looked too innocent, sitting on that log in your duffelcoat."

  "He gave me a piece of goat's cheese," de Gier said.

  "Was it nice?"

  "Wonderful," de Gier said. "It had a delicate taste. He had made it himself from milk that came from his own goats."