The Rattle-Rat

by Janwillem Van De Wetering

  Eddy hung over de Gier's flat hand. De Gier carried him downstairs, and together they looked into the refrigerator. Eddy waited on the table while de Gier sliced the cheese. "Here you are." Eddy ate. "You see?" de Gier asked. "Ravenous, the poor little sucker."

  "You take care of the beast," Grijpstra said. "And of the plants. I've got a list here. All plants are numbered, and each plant has different watering times. The required quantities are listed in cubic centimeters, right here. You have to pour carefully, not slosh the water into the pots; there's a note to that effect. The plants marked with an A are fed crystals from this can, and the £'s are fed from the can over there."

  "What?" de Gier asked.

  "And here are cleaning instructions," Grijpstra said. "What cleaning product does what, and where the containers can be found. And here's some paper for the administration of our expenses. Make careful notes, for we can claim them afterward."

  "We can't claim anything," de Gier said, "compliments of the commissaris. New regulations for out-of-town police officers on the job. It doesn't matter where we operate. No declarations."

  "What?" Grijpstra asked.

  De Gier stroked the rat.

  "Leave the varmint alone," Grypstra said. "Rats are loaded with disease. Ah, that's another thing, we've got to wash him too."

  "Consider it done." De Gier turned on a faucet. The rat rattled excitedly. "You like that, do you?" De Gier mixed soap suds with hot water in a bowl. "Can you get in by yourself?" Eddy clambered into his bath. His head hung over the edge while de Gier kneaded the wet little body gently. The rat's rattle became louder.

  "Now what?" Grijpstra asked. "He just ate a quarterpound of cheese. Hungry again?"

  "Limited program," de Gier said. "Probably expressing positive emotion now. Rats can't talk, you know." De Gier dried Eddy with a dishcloth and took him to the living room, where he jumped on the couch.

  "Are you going to cook now?" Grijpstra asked. "And do some shopping first?"

  "Will you be doing something too?"

  Grijpstra prepared for a nap on the couch, after shooing Eddy away. The rat climbed a chair, wrapped his naked tail around his bare feet, and sighed contentedly. The sigh contained a vague shadow of a rattle.

  "Rats are supposed to squeak," Grijpstra said.

  "Maybe a cold?" de Gier asked. "Cardozo is suffering too. He found Scherjoen's car, a Citroen like the commissaris's, and there was an old-model Mauser in the door pocket, loaded but clean."

  Grijpstra opened an eye. "Douwe didn't feel safe?"

  "And drove an expensive car," de Gier said. "My conclusions are as limited as yours."

  "Let's hear more."

  "The car was parked halfway on the pavement. Locked."

  "I often park halfway on the pavement," Grypstra said.

  "When you're in a hurry?"

  "Nah," Grijpstra said. "When I feel like it. Lazy. Don't feel like parking the vehicle properly between others. Why bother? Nobody bothers in Amsterdam."

  De Gier tickled Eddy's head.

  "Do hurry up," Grijpstra said. "The stores are about to close."

  De Gier came back with canned pea soup, bread, and butter.

  Grijpstra opened the door. "I can't sleep with that rat."

  They sat at the living room table. Eddy stood on a cushion placed on a chair, so that he could lean his head on the table.

  "Can he go home now?" Grijpstra asked. "He's got a home. Take him upstairs."

  "No," de Gier said. "Three is a party. Things are looking up again. I was about to get depressed. On the dike the exhaust fell off the car, and the traffic was clogged up again because of checkpoints stopping trucks suspected of transporting animals carrying the plague."

  Grijpstra ladled out thick soup. "So what made the change?"

  "Corporal Hilarius," de Gier said. "Remember her? With the hoarse voice and the golden hair under the orange helmet? She showed up again and guided me through the checkpoints and along to her father in the town of Tzum."

  "Tzum," Grijpstra said. His knuckles beat out a rhythm on the tabletop. "Tzam. Tzom." The rhythm sped up, holding several patterns of a fairly complicated beat. De Gier sang and whistled in turn. Eddy's chin trembled as he rattled in the pauses.

  "Tzum?" Grijpstra's hands stopped in middair.

  "Her father runs a garage and was willing to exchange favors. The exhaust is back on the car again."

  "What was your favor?"

  "Admiration of his daughter. Some woman, that corporal. Did you hear her voice, added to a multitude of other charms?"

  "That mechanized robot at a hundred and fifty miles an hour?"

  "Okay," de Gier said, "she is that too, but she's mostly beautiful and female. She'll be taking me out later tonight, to a beer house—that's what they call cafes here. I'm sure she's well formed under all that leather." De Gier was quiet, impressed by the memory mixed with fantasy leading, perhaps, to future passion. "Hylkje," de Gier said, "that's her first name. To you, as a Frisian, the name is probably common, but to me the sound is exotic. Exciting too."

  "And Jane?"

  "She's exciting in Amsterdam, but I'm here."

  "You aren't even faithful to your dreams."

  "Faithful?" De Gier waved the word away. "Women aren't faithful either. An idea from the past. You're always running up from behind, Adjutant. You really think that the modern solitary female expects her casual male company to be faithful?"

  The doorbell rang. Grijpstra struggled up and looked out the window. "A squad car outside. The corporal probably put in a complaint. What did you do to her? Never abuse a colleague."

  De Gier opened the door. "Evening, sir."

  "Rinus," the commissaris said. "How nice. Once again, together in a foreign country, but this time it's mine. I can show you around. I was born here, in the city of Joure."

  "It tibben is hearlik, mynhear."

  "What's that?"

  "I spoke your language, sir. A sentence from the Frisian novel I'm reading. It says that life is wonderful here."

  "Evening, sir," Grijpstra said. "Did you have a good journey? Please don't pay attention to de Gier. Perhaps you'll be good enough to take him with you when you return. Is it true that we can't declare expenses?"

  "Where's your car?" de Gier asked, watching the squad car's taillights fade away at the end of the street.

  "Lost my way a little," the commissaris said. "You already look like a local, Grijpstra. I got twisted out of my course in the alleys of the inner city here. One-way traffic, mostly. I did try to adhere to the rules, but the cars kept coming at me from all sides. Couldn't cope with the confusion. And when I parked, that was illegal too. The officers who told me that gave me a ride here."

  "Do you remember where you parked?"

  The commissaris felt through his pockets. "What did I do with the note? Some narrow street called Cellars or something? 'Above the Cellars'? Street names are poetic here. I want to see the chief constable at headquarters later, and the officers drew me a little map. Kind of aim out of the city, reach a circular highway, quite complicated. It was all on that little piece of paper. Can't seem to be able to find it now. I wonder if I left it in their car?"

  "De Gier will take you," Grypstra said. "And we'll find your car. 'Cellars,' you said?"

  "Or was it 'Well'?" the commissaris asked. "A little street called Around the Well? Would that be possible? And I crossed some Gardens too, but they were canals really, with narrow quays on the side, aquatic gardens perhaps? Water lilies? Flowering reeds? I think I noticed plants."

  "We'll take care of everything," Grypstra said. "Please come in, sir."

  The commissaris looked about him. "Cozy. Too much wallpaper, perhaps? I say, Sergeant, there's a rat on that chair."

  De Gier picked up the rat. "The name is Eddy, sir." He turned the rat over. "Cute, don't you think?"

  The commissaris scratched Eddy's pale pink skin.

  "Put him away," Grypstra said. "He'll be rattling again."


  Eddy twisted free, jumped down, and ran to the kitchen. De Gier followed. The commissaris came along. De Gier made coffee while Eddy slurped milk from a jug. "A dairy rat," de Gier said. "Fancies rare cheese too. I'd better wash that jug. So the local chief constable did contact you, sir?"

  "And the colonel of the State Police and the major of the Military Police. General alarm, Sergeant. We'll be seeing some activity here. They'll bring in Arrest Teams from all over. Roadblocks manned by riot police, detectives from the capital dressed up as cattle dealers, and the chief constable himself in charge."

  Grypstra had joined them. "Big trouble, sir?"

  "There'll even be psychologists to predetermine the subjects' behavior."

  "What subjects?" Grijpstra asked.

  The commissaris explained about the criminals Ary and Fritz.

  •Two lone robbers?" Grijpstra asked. "But that's easy, one just grabs them. And then one takes them to the station."

  "That's how it was done in the past," the commissaris said.

  "Grab them by the collars," Grijpstra insisted. "Or no, not even that. If suspects are known, they can be picked up at their homes later, when they're drinking beer and watching TV."

  "You ever heard about unemployment?" de Gier asked. "This little job can occupy a hundred police workers. All sorts of specially trained colleagues can be active and under the impression mat they're functioning properly, which will add to their self-respect."

  The commissaris looked over his coffee cup. "And Douwe Scherjoen?"

  "I," Grijpstra said, "and Lieutenant Sudema of the State Police in the town of Dingjum have constructed a theory. It has to do with sheep, sir."

  "And a buyer from Morocco?"

  "You were thinking along the same lines?" Grijpstra asked sadly.

  "No, no, Adjutant, I'm sorry I interrupted. Sheep, you said?"

  "Unregistered sheep, sir. Scherjoen bought them, but he wasn't the only illegal buyer. Scherjoen, being nasty and far too successful, destroyed his competition's chances. He made use of unacceptable tricks. Scherjoen, in league with buyers from the Middle East, managed to monopolize the market. The other dealers would transport their sheep to Amsterdam and be ready to deliver and the Moroccans or Turks or Arabs or whatnot wouldn't buy all of a sudden. Then Scherjoen bought the sheep at a loss from his colleagues and cashed in from the buyers, paying them kickbacks."

  "And Lieutenant Sudema thinks so too?"

  "There are rumors, sir, to support the theory. I'll visit some suspects."

  The commissaris nodded thoughtfully.

  "You and I," Grijpstra said, "are both Frisians. We know how stubborn our compatriots can be. They'll accept their losses, but there'll be a certain line that should not be crossed. One or more of the impoverished fellow sheep dealers will have thought of a plan to stop Scherjoen's malpractice for good. Scherjoen liked to visit the Amsterdam Red Quarter. The other or others waited for Scherjoen. You and I know how patient Frisians can be."

  "I don't know anything at all,** de Gier said. "A pity I'm so ignorant of Frisian ways. If I knew just a little more, I might be able to help."

  "Just a moment, Sergeant. So..." Grijpstra paused for dramatic effect. "So...a shot in the night and a burning dory."

  "Have you listed possible suspects?"

  "Lieutenant Sudema is making discreet inquiries, sir. I'll have some names later tonight."

  "And Mrs. Scherjoen? As his wife, she inherits all of Douwe's possessions."

  Grijpstra rubbed the bulging blue wool of his fisherman's jersey. "Mem Scherjoen was once a freedom fighter. During the war she was fairly heroic. She wasn't violent, however. Passed messages, transported arms, took care of fugitives that the Germans were after, and helped instructors dropped by the British. You and I know we shouldn't underestimate Frisian women. Lieutenant Sudema seems convinced, however, that she's too loving a soul..."

  "That Mauser," the commissaris said. "I had a look at the weapon found in Scherjoen's car. Wicked looking, it seemed to me. Quite antique now, but in shape rather similar to our present automatic arms. Amazing construction, all the parts fit like a Chinese puzzle."

  "But it hadn't been fired, sir, I hear."

  "Loaded," the commissaris said. "Nine-millimeter, ten cartridges. Deadly. Yes."

  "Tins has nothing to do with me," de Gier said, "but Mem Scherjoen? Such a dear elderly lady? Her own husband? And burn the fellow afterward?"

  "Where was she that night?" the commissaris asked.

  "Haven't asked her yet, sir. The lieutenant said he would find out."

  "I once arrested a dear old lady," the commissaris said. "She had lived fifty years with a most miserable scoundrel. The miser lived in splendor, and the missus scrubbed the marble floors of his mansion. If she spent too much time under the shower, he would turn off the water. She throttled him one evening. They were both in their eighties."

  "You dumped the old lady in a cell?" de Gier asked.

  "I stretched the investigation a little," the commissaris said, "while she stayed at home. In the end she was diagnosed as irresponsibly senile. With her husband's money we were able to place her in a most comfortable home. Every Christmas she sent me choice chocolate pie and I would take it back to her so that we could eat it together."

  The telephone rang. Grijpstra answered, listened solemnly, and replaced the receiver.

  "Bad news, Adjutant?"

  "Lieutenant Sudema, sir. Mrs. Scherjoen did spend that night in Amsterdam. She was staying with her sister, a Miss Terpstra. Returned the night after the murder."

  "Lieutenant Sudema interrogated Mrs. Scherjoen?"

  "His wife did, sir. Gyske Sudema. She's friendly with Mem Scherjoen. Mrs. Scherjoen was never allowed to leave her house, as Scherjoen wanted her to be waiting for him whenever he happened to come home, but she did manage to get away from time to time."

  "Do I smell pea soup?" the commissaris asked.

  De Gier filled a bowl. The commissaris ate, kept company by Eddy, whose snout lay flat on the kitchen table, between his pink paws. He rattled fondly.

  "Asthmatic?" the commissaris asked.

  De Gier picked up the rat and listened to the mysterious sounds. "I would think it's in his belly."

  The commissaris listened too. "No, I think it's from his chest."

  The doorbell rang. De Gier opened the door. "Hylkje, how nice to see you. Come in and join us."

  "No time now, I'm only here to deliver the lieutenant's list of suspects." The corporal stamped her booted foot. "Bah, I'm running late. Two collisions here in the city. I'm State Police, but the civilians can't see the difference in uniform. And the Municipal Police are nowhere to be found again. I had to write the reports. Stupid civilians!"

  A small girl ran toward the corporal. "Officer?"

  "Yes?" Hylkje asked grimly.

  'See that man there, he's watering against my father's car."

  "Shouldn't he be?"

  "He does that every evening, he makes me mad."

  "Dear little girl," the corporal said sweetly. "Leave that poor man be."

  The little girl pummeled the corporal's thigh. "Please, officer, please?"

  "I'm tired," Hylkje said.

  "One moment," de Gier said and ran off. He came back with the man, who was buttoning up bis fly. The man was explaining his misdemeanor as the result of a small bladder.

  "And you always pick that particular car?" de Gier asked. "Tell you what, sir. The corporal will take care of you for a moment. I'll be right back."

  The commissaris came to the door and was introduced by Grijpstra. He shook Hylkje's hand. He also shook the suspect's hand.

  De Gier joined them. "They're on their way."

  A squad car drove into the street. "It's you?" the policemen asked the commissaris. "Would you like us to take you somewhere again, or was it you who was pissing?"

  "Small bladder," the suspect explained.

  "You can take me to your headquarters," the commissaris said, "but perhaps yo
u should take care of this gentleman first."

  "I'll take you," de Gier said, pointing at the Volkswagen.

  "Is that your vehicle?" a policeman asked.

  "Belongs to the Detective Department," Grijpstra said. "Amsterdam, used exclusively by the Murder Brigade."

  "You sure it's not dead?" the policeman in charge of the squad car asked. "We saw it just now and phoned it through to our wrecker. It should be here any moment."

  "Alive," Grijpstra said.

  The police wrecker drove into the street.

  "Hey!" Hylkje shouted. The suspect had run off. De Gier ran after him.

  "I'll take you now, sir," Grijpstra said. "I don't like the way these colleagues are looking at my car."

  De Gier brought the suspect back. One policeman pushed him into the squad car while the other spoke to the wrecker's driver, apologizing for the mistake.

  "Take the lieutenant's list," Hylkje said, "before anything else happens. I need a shower and some sleep. I'll be back at eleven."

  "Right," de Gier said.

  "A rat!" Hylkje yelled, pointing at the threshold.

  De Gier picked Eddy up and held him against his cheek. Eddy waved his paws at Hylkje. The corporal staggered back. She replaced her helmet, slid into the Guzzi's saddle, and pressed the starter. The motorcycle reared up briefly, came down, and shot off.

  De Gier put Eddy down and pushed the rat gently across the threshold. He went inside, cleared the dining room and kitchen tables, and washed and dried the dishes.

  Eddy was back on the couch, curled up on a cushion.

  "Move up, please," de Gier said. "I want to read for a while."

  The rat squirmed around.

  "If I read aloud, will you stop rattling?"

  Eddy, soothed by de Gier's voice, became quiet. De Gier read in Frisian, guessing at the meaning of the foreign words, which resembled English here and there, but the verbs were conjugated according to German grammar. The story he had selected was called "Optimal Functioning."

  "He weighs heavily on my stomach," de Gier read. He closed the book. Eddy was asleep. De Gier slid his finger under the rat's tail, flicking it up. "Did you follow the general trend of the tale?"