"Suicide of the Society," de Gier said. "Who cares? IJsbreker and Heul were criminals, and the junkies wouldn't have lived long anyway. I'm only concerned about Celine. Ryder can go too."
"A capitalist?" the commissaris asked. "Capitalists are still legal and should enjoy our protection."
"Woosh," de Gier said, lifting his hand from the wheel. "There goes Ryder. I grab young Fernandus."
"You grab him before the woosh," the commissaris said. "That's an order, Sergeant. Huip could be anywhere when he sets off the bomb, that's my worry, anywhere within sight of the lake. We only have six men out there."
"Six fishermen," de Gier said. "Grnpstra was all upset about his fishing gear. I saw them getting into the Camaro and the Corvette, with Grijpstra's complete fishing rod collection. You really won over those State detectives; they gave up their free weekend to help us out again. Ketchup and Karate were all gung-ho, of course."
"Unbridled energy," the commissaris said. "Only useful if we can contain that youthful zest. I'm surprised that you're not losing your adventurous streak, you should be maturing by now. Obtain some distance. I urge you to follow my orders closely."
De Gier grinned. "I'm still suspended, sir. I haven't received word that I'm on the force again."
"I give you the word."
"No, sir, you can't. You haven't been officially reinstated either. The chief inspector's word doesn't count, he's lower in rank than you."
"Next turn," the commissaris said. "That'll be the Society's motel. I don't want you to be seen. We could hide in the bushes, perhaps, and find some vantage point that'll look out on the motel's marina and the lake, and as close as possible to Huip Fernandus."
The motel was surrounded by ornamental gardens. De Gier parked next to Ryder's Ferrari. "I'll be off," the commissaris said. "Meet you behind the rhododendrons over there."
De Gier looked in the Ferrari and saw a jacket on the seat. He picked it up. Something rattled. He removed a bunch of keys and a wallet from the jacket's pockets. The uniformed driver of an old-model Rolls-Royce parked farther along was watching. "Friend of mine, Ronnie Ryder," de Gier told the driver. "Shouldn't leave his keys and valuables in the car. I'll give them to him. Is this Mr. Fernandus's car?"
"No," the driver said. "All mine. Fernandus has been renting my Rolls by the day."
"I thought Fernandus drove a Daimler."
"Then he should be driving his Daimler," the chauffeur said. "I'm getting mighty tired of Fernandus. Here, sir, my card. I'm available. Pass on the news to your wealthy friends."
"You don't like Willem Fernandus?" de Gier asked pleasantly.
"Can't stand him, sir. He's with his son today, and the son is even worse. I need a change."
"Where were you?" the commissaris asked when de Gier showed up.
"Just checking, sir. Fernandus came with his son today, I thought you'd like to know."
They walked past tennis courts where fresh young ladies in short skirts missed balls, and past a lawn where old men in checkered pants drove about in golf carts. The commissaris muttered.
"Don't care, for ball sports, sir?"
"Balls have always infuriated me," the commissaris said, "probably because I could never catch them, except on my head. Here, this might be a good spot." He adjusted his binoculars, aiming them at the motel's terrace. "That's Fernandus, sitting with Ryder and an unknown subject. Here, take these, you have better eyes."
De Gier looked through the glasses. "The young fatso is Huip. I can see his pimples. Yagh, must weigh two hundred pounds and he's as short as his father."
"Can't spot the baron," the commissaris said.
"On the far end, sir, sitting by himself."
"Right." The commissaris grunted. "He does look like a darker version of you. Wavy hair, hooked nose, same posture. You even dress alike."
"The black knight," de Gier said. "Waiting for his rightful fate."
"Are we close enough, you think?" the commissaris asked. "As soon as Ryder takes off in the boat, you'll have to make a dash for the terrace and grab Huip. Get the infernal gadget that'll set off the bomb away from him as soon as you can. Huip won't blow up the boat if it's too close to the terrace. Get hold of his arms and twist them up."
De Gier was looking at the baron.
"Rinus?"
"Yes, sir."
Fernandus and son were chatting and drinking. Ryder ate. A waiter brought a bottle of wine.
"Taking their time," the commissaris said. "I hope we got this thing right and that Heul wasn't trying to impress us."
"Heul is dead," de Gier said. "He got killed because he was seen being arrested by Grijpstra and Cardozo. They didn't want to take any chances when Heul popped up again. They leaned on him and he betrayed his betrayal."
"Possibly," the commissaris said. "In which case they won't try to murder Ryder here." He slapped at a mosquito. "So we're wasting our time. Katrien put a thermos of coffee in the car."
"There's Grijpstra," de Gier said, "on the other shore. He just caught a fish. Man in the cap. And the little fellow farther along must be Cardozo, he's wearing red suspenders."
"You're sure?"
"Not sure," de Gier said. "They're partly hidden in the cattails. Should be them."
"There's still a lot that could go wrong," the commissaris said. "Perhaps I should have taken more precautions. Ah, Ryder is getting up. Look at that speedboat's engine, must be over a hundred horsepower. Huip is getting in."
De Gier whistled softly.
"No," the commissaris said. "That can't be correct. Huip should stay ashore. Now Ryder is getting in too. Are they going out together?"
De Gier dropped his binoculars. "We were misinformed. Huip won't blow himself up. I don't get what they're at."
"Oh, well," the commissaris sighed. "I had to fail somewhere. Too many factors in the equation again. I did try to fit them all in, but I have missed a few here and there. We'll have to rethink our attack most thoroughly next time. Poor Katrien."
De Gier peered through his binoculars. "They're taking off. Your wife, sir?"
"All my guests," the commissaris said. "Katrien wasn't too pleased with Miss Antoinette's arrival this morning. I can't expect her to keep running a hotel. Look, Sergeant, that boat is still increasing speed. Not a good idea. The wake will disturb the canoe over there. Not too thoughtful."
"Bastards," de Gier said. "There are little kids in the canoe. They're turning now, they think the lake belongs to them."
"Don't like it," the commissaris said. "Don't like this at all." He made an impatient gesture. "Surely not."
"What?"
"I was thinking," the commissaris said. "Like in Paris then ... but Willem wouldn't... it doesn't really prove anything . . . although ..."
The explosion wasn't too loud, but a huge orange ball of fire formed immediately, ballooning up, shot through with burning remnants of the exploding boat. Two bright flaming objects were suspended well above the water where the boat was last seen. De Gier jumped and ran to the terrace. The commissaris limped after him. Startled guests had pushed over their tables and thronged the edge of the dock. Men jumped in boats and started up engines. Waves set up by Ryder's boat lapped against the marina's posts and planks. De Gier ran to the end of the terrace where he had seen de la Faille, but the baron was gone. Fernandus still sat at his table, sipping wine. The commissaris fell into the chair where Ryder had sat. "You . . . you . . ."
"Yes?" Fernandus asked. "Do say it, old chap. You what?"
"Your own son?" the commissaris asked. "But why?"
"Why not?" Fernandus asked.
"But. . ."
Fernandus looked at the lake, where the ball of fire was dying down. "But nothing. You're right, Jan, there's nothing there. You and I are part of it, figments of creative imagination. We can do as we like, and whatever gets in our way and is removable is removed."
"I'll remove you." The commissaris pointed a trembling finger. "You have to go."
"But I'm
not removable," Fernandus said. "Neither are you, unfortunately. It wouldn't suit us to do away with one another. You're a powerful official on one side of the line, and I'm an inventive entrepreneur on the other side of whatever divides us. Why don't we shake hands and have a grand old age together?"
"No," the commissaris said. "You'll be destroyed."
"Pity," Fernandus said. "Stupid to the end. You're a coward, Jan, you never dare to think things out."
The baron was at the bar inside the motel. "Hi," de Gier said, taking the next stool. "Why did you blow them up?"
"Oh, hello," de la Faille said. "How did you enjoy the fireworks, Rinus? Do call me Bart."
"Those kids in the canoe might have drowned."
"We do have to take risks," the baron said. "Grand show, wasn't it? Never cared much for either of the victims, although I could put up with Ronnie at times, but a useful purpose will be achieved by Ryder's demise. The other liquidation may be more philosophical, I understand. Uncle is a great man for thinking solutions through. Can't follow him, always. A drink?"
"Bit short of time," de Gier said. "We'll have that duel soon. Okay?"
"No," the baron said.
"Yes," de Gier said. "Soon. To the death. Bare hands."
"I thought I could choose my weapon?"
"Not anymore," de Gier said. " 'Bye. You'll hear from me."
The commissaris read the note left under the windshield wiper of his car. See you in town, sir. Key's in the ignition. He looked to the side. Ryder's Ferrari was missing.
He got into the Citroen and drove slowly out of the parking lot. Halfway home, he stopped and limped to the bushes at the side of the road. When he came back he was wiping his lips, holding his other hand on his stomach.
"Jan?" his wife asked when he stumbled into her arms. "Something bad?" She sniffed at his face. "Were you unwell?"
"Willem killed his own son," the commissaris whispered.
She embraced him. "Do you want to lie down? Grijpstra and Cardozo are in your room. Shall I tell them to go away?"
"Tell them to wait," the commissaris said. "I need a bath, won't be long."
\\ 28 /////
THE COMMISSARIS, IN ROBE AND SLIPPERS, GUIDED by his wife, looked old and frail when he shuffled into his study. "Yes," he said softly when he looked around. "Hello, Adjutant, hello, Cardozo. I'm sorry."
Grijpstra sat quietly. Cardozo leaned against a bookcase. "I didn't foresee what happened on the lake," the commissaris said. "It seems logical now. Willem can be quite gruesome. One doesn't like to imagine that sort of thing."
"The others are downstairs," his wife said.
The commissaris turned toward her with an effort. "De Gier came too?"
"Yes."
The commissaris felt his chin. "A showdown, is it? He's calling my bluff."
"De Gier?" his wife asked.
"Yes, dear. But mostly Willem Fernandus, of course. One would like to think that a mishap occurred, that Huip set off the charge by accident, but it didn't go that way. Willem is destroying evidence." He felt for his cigars in the pocket of his robe. "Live evidence. Willem is eliminating his human instruments. First we saw the destruction of the junkies, then Heul's body was dumped in my car. Heul wasn't trustworthy. Willem knew that he would break if we squeezed him too hard. Huip was the next link. We would break Huip too, and Huip would blame his father. There was no love between Willem and his only child. Perhaps Willem wouldn't grant Huip the right of succession; that could be another motive."
"Oh, surely, Jan," his wife said. "It must have been an accident. Don't you think so, Adjutant?"
It became quiet in the room. Voices became audible downstairs.
"Grijpstra?" the commissaris asked.
"No, ma'am," Grijpstra said. "There was no accident. Fernandus knew we were all around him, watching what he'd do next. He pretended to call off Ryder's murder and took Huip's gadget. Then he gave it to the baron. Willem Fernandus trusts only the baron. De la Faille shot IJsbreker and tried to do away with your husband's turtle. He's Fernandus's right hand, like de Gier is your husband's right hand. The others don't matter, they're more like instruments, it seems."
The commissaris opened his tin of cigars and stared at the contents. "I don't like that, Adjutant. We've been working as a group. Your simile is too simple and"—he selected a cigar—"a little nasty perhaps?"
Grijpstra's eyelids fluttered.
"Sir?" Cardozo asked. "I was watching from the shore. I spotted the baron. He left the terrace immediately after the explosion and de Gier went after him. Maybe the sergeant found the detonator in the baron's pocket and we can prove something after all."
The commissaris lit his cigar. "No. This assassination was well planned. De la Faille must have made sure that his device got lost at once. He may have dropped it into the lake. It was probably quite small."
"Now what?" Grijpstra asked. "What do we have left? Carl could testify that Heul picked up the artworks the junkies took from IJsbreker's house, but one witness is not enough for us to move ahead. Celine, who saw de la Faille fire a shot at your turtle, is dead. Huip Fernandus is dead. Nothing now points at Fernandus, except the baron. Do we wait for Fernandus to kill the baron too?"
The commissaris shook his head. "He won't. De la Faille is too valuable to Willem, as you pointed out just now in your lopsided manner. As IJsbreker's replacement, de la Faille will run the Society and the Banque du Credit; Willem doesn't want to be in the midst of things."
The commissaris's wife smiled. "But you're so clever, Jan. You'll come up with something devilish again, set them against each other somehow."
"Devilish?" the commissaris said. "Katrien . . . I'm not devilish. I protect the peace ..."
"Yes, dear, of course." She touched his arm. "I'm sorry."
"Devilish," the commissaris muttered. "Besides, there's no time. I don't know what to do."
"Sir?" Cardozo asked.
"No idea," the commissaris said. "Willem won. I can't go on with this unless I do away with morality again. AH these people in the house." He held his wife's hand. "Poor thing. Inflicting this inconvenience on you."
"You're just impatient, dear." She, held his hand. "I don't mind."
"Miss Antoinette too," the commissaris said. "Maybe I can lodge her with my sister. Where is Miss Antoinette, anyway?"
"On the porch, dear, helping Carl with that cute ark he's building. They've smashed some bottles and are building the sides of glass, so that the animals inside can be visible."
The commissaris gestured with his cigar. "On the porch? Perhaps de la Faille is out there with his rifle again. I can't have this, Katrien."
"Sir?"
"Yes, Cardozo, is your computer connected now?"
"Izzy Sanders is here too," Cardozo said. "Whenever you like, perhaps we can do more than you expected."
"Who is this Izzy?" the commissaris's wife asked. "Isn't anybody going to tell me anything?"
The commissaris squeezed her hand. "Izzy used to work for the Banque du Credit. Cardozo has been very clever indeed." He looked at Cardozo. "I forgot to ask, who paid for all that gear?"
"I did, sir. It wasn't much. It's some phased-out model that Izzy knew about."
"You'd better give me the bill." The commissaris turned back to his wife. "With Izzy's knowledge, we have access to the bank's financial records now. I was hesitant to go that far, but we did have the raid, we may as well go all the way."
"Some sort of spying, dear?"
"More than that, I'm afraid. Well, shall we go downstairs?"
Karate, Ketchup, Sergeant Biersma, and Constable Ramsau got up when the commissaris came into the living room. De Gier stood near the window. A computer was set up on the table. Izzy Sanders sat behind the machine. "Sorry about this afternoon," the commissaris said.
His audience mumbled. "You couldn't have foreseen that," Sergeant Biersma said. "Nobody in his right mind kills his own son."
"Fernandus hasn't been in his right mind as lon
g as I've known him." The commissaris smiled grimly. "If only I had thought a little deeper. We could have rushed the terrace the minute I saw Huip get into that boat."
The mumbling started up again and died down. "But I didn't think," the commissaris said. "Now we're faced with another infernal gadget. On our side, this time. Izzy? Can you show us?"
"Yes." Izzy worked on the computer's keyboard. The telephone receiver next to the screen crackled. "What's that?" the commissaris's wife asked.
"I'm making a connection with the bank," Izzy said. "Now I'll punch in the codes. Here we are."
The computer's screen lit up. Letters formed. "It wants a command," Izzy said. "Okay." He touched more keys. "I want to see Fernandus's private account. I have to tell it who's asking. Here we go, I'm pretending I'm Fernandus now, these letters represent his ID."
Figures appeared.
"But that's nothing," Sergeant Biersma said. "A few thousand guilders."
"So Fernandus doesn't keep his money in his own account," the commissaris said. "Let's see what the Society owns, Izzy."
More figures appeared.
"That's better," Grijpstra said, "but it still isn't very much. That's probably the takings of a few days. Where does the real money go?"
"We figured that out yesterday," Cardozo said. "We had to go through just about every account in the bank."
Izzy held up a notebook. "I have all the codes. The biggest account is in the name of Ernst Fernandus— about twenty million, plus securities, stocks, bonds, what have you. Here you are."
The screen showed figures and lists.
"But that's a fortune," the commissaris's wife said. "Ernst is a poet who floats around the world in an ancient sailboat. Ernst has no millions."
"Probably not," the commissaris said. "Izzy tells me that Willem can manipulate his brother Ernst's account."
"Maybe Ernst won a lottery, Jan?"
The general mumble rose up again. "Unlikely." "There aren't prizes that big." "A poet!"
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