"I see."
"So does I," Mrs. Jongs said. "I sees it all. For hours."
"But you didn't see Himself die?"
"That's the thunder night," Mrs. Jongs said. "First them noises and then the thunder too, and me with the fears."
"Did you see the paintings in Himself's house?"
"They takes them," Mrs. Jongs said.
"Who, Mrs. Jongs?" De Gier's nostrils quivered.
"The junkies?" Grijpstra asked patiently.
She nodded. "Must have. They takes everything. Jimmy must have took my TV. The black guy gets my bag, in the street. But the cops here don't see nothing."
"And Cahcarl helped rob Himself?"
She shook her head. "Not him. Cahcarl never gets sick. The others do, then they need the cash. Oh, that poor lady, she comes here and I makes coffee but she always stays cold and then she goes into the alleys and hustles again. The lady takes Himself's paintings."
"You saw her take IJsbreker's paintings?"
"No. She must have, though. And Jimmy, and the black guy too."
"Not Cahcarl?" De Gier's eyes shone.
"No." Mrs. Jongs held her head to the side, looking at de Gier.
"Yes?" deGier asked.
"You got Bob's eyes."
"Aha," Grijpstra said.
"I fight," de Gier said, trying to shake himself from Mrs. Jongs's steady gaze, "in the light."
"The lizards gets Bob," Mrs. Jongs said, "them lizards with them scratchy hands."
DZJAAWOOHOOo-ooo…
De Gier fell into threadbare cushions on the couch, covering up his ears. Mrs. Jongs's chair jumped off the floor. Grijpstra rose slowly. The floor seemed to come up. The nails that Grijpstra had pounded back into the floorboards popped their heads free again. Amplified guitar jangles tore at the walls and the ceiling. Drums banged and rumbled, making the windows rattle. Mouse danced in the cupboard, delicately, on spindly wooden legs. Pots and pans clanged in the kitchen. De Gier thought he saw Bob's lizards, scratching on glass surfaces with long bony nails. Their fiery tongues rasped through his mouth into his brain. He staggered to the door, pushing Grijpstra ahead of him. Together they tumbled through the corridor and slid down steep stairs into the street, still holding their ears. De Gier tore his gun free and banged the butt on the door leading to the downstairs apartment. Grijpstra leaned against the bell. The cacophony was less loud in the street. It stopped just before the door gave way. The fat youth whom they had seen before gaped at them. His heavy-lidded eyes seemed glazed.
Grijpstra pushed young Fernandus aside. De Gier ran inside. A tall young man tried to stop him. De Gier ran the obstacle down, yanked him up again, turned him around, pushed him into a wall, forcibly pulled his arms together behind his back, and clipped his wrists together with handcuffs.
Grijpstra thumped young Fernandus in the belly. "You're under arrest." He slapped his face. "Turn round."
"What?" mumbled Fernandus, his face pushed against the wall. A second pair of handcuffs snapped shut.
Grijpstra faced de Gier, breathing deeply. Heul turned around. De Gier pulled back his fist. "That's enough," Grijpstra shouted. "Don't, Sergeant." De Gier's fist trembled and dropped.
"It's all right," Grijpstra said. "You got him." He closed the door behind him with a careless kick of his heel. "Lead the way, boys."
Fernandus and Heul stumbled into the room.
"Sit down."
"What?" Fernandus snarled. "What's this for? That's breaking and entering. You got a warrant?"
"My father is on the City Council," Heul squeaked. "Huip's dad is an attorney. You can't treat us like this."
"Police," Grijpstra said. He looked around the room. "All this gear is confiscated. You've been harassing a helpless old lady."
"She poured water on us," Fernandus said. "You told her to do that? That's harassment. You're illegal. I want to phone Dad."
"I'll get the van," de Gier said. "We'll throw all that stuff in." He walked around the room. "Where do these wires go?"
"Up," Grijpstra said. "Check them out."
De Gier ran out of the room and up the stairs. He came back in a moment. "They've got loudspeakers screwed against Mrs. Jongs's floor. Nice charge, Adjutant. We can prove intent."
"Let's prove more," Grijpstra said, pushing the fat young man back into his chair. "What's your full name?"
"Huip Fernandus, my fathej is Willem Fernandus. He'll have your ass for this."
"Let's see some dope," de Gier said. "You're both full of pot. Huip, give us the dope or we'll tear the place apart."
"I want to see your warrant," Heul squeaked. "We've got rights. My father is on the City Council."
Grijpstra unfolded a paper and held it in front of Heul's eyes. "Okay. Where's the dope?"
"There's the phone," de Gier said. "Go ahead." He picked up the receiver. "Here."
Young Fernandus dialed slowly.
"Busy," Huip Fernandus said. "Let me try again."
"Phone my dad," Heul squeaked.
Huip dialed again. De Gier held the phone to Huip's ear. "No answer."
"They're out," Heul said. "I forgot."
De Gier put the phone back. "Pity."
Grijpstra picked up the guitar and smashed it against the wall. "No dope in the guitar?"
"Willful damage," Huip Fernandus yelled.
"Accidents will happen," de Gier said. "I'm sorry."
"Now," Grijpstra said, "what next? The drums? I don't really like to destroy drums. Shall I try the amplifiers first?"
"Wait," de Gier said. "Over there, that floorboard is loose. Stamp on this side. Over here. Go on."
Grijpstra stamped on the floor. The opposite end of the board flew up.
"Well packed," de Gier said, squatting down, lifting plastic bags from the hole under the board. "Hashish. That's nice. Pound bags?"
"Five bags," Grijpstra said. "We'll have that."
De Gier picked up two pairs of ear protectors. "You bastards. Got these on while you made your racket, eh?" He yelled into Heul's ear. "You hear me?"
Grijpstra shook his head. "He's crying." He yelled into Fernandus's ear. "What's he crying for?"
Fernandus held up his cuffed hands. "Hold it."
"Let's get the van," Grijpstra said. "We'll have you strip-searched at Headquarters. Find a little coke, maybe. Let's see your arms now. You boys inject too?"
"Hold it," Fernandus said. "You're overexcited. Good music does that to lower minds. We've seen it before. Drives the audience wild. Okay, calm down. We don't want trouble. Take the dope. Keep it. There's some money there. Money is good stuff. We'll lose this time. Sometimes a man has to take a loss. Right, Heul?"
Heul nodded, swallowing sobs.
"We'll take the speakers down," Fernandus said. "We'll practice nicely from now on. Got to practice. We're musicians. We play for the Society for Help Abroad. We help feed the foreign poor."
"You don't want trouble with the Society," Heul whimpered bravely. "That's big shit. You want your ass kicked, cop?"
The bell rang.
De Gier opened the front door. "Why, hello," a young man in a leather jacket said, standing next to what appeared to be his twin brother. "Just as we thought. A little trouble? Got it all fixed?"
"All fixed," de Gier said. "Your Camaro's double-parked. Better get the clunker out."
"We thought we might be able to help," the twin said. "Supply some assistance to colleagues?"
"We've got it all tied up."
"What did you get, Sergeant?"
"Two and a half ki's of hash, valuable musical instruments, partly damaged now, two suspects, harassment."
"That's good. Busy night. We saw Cardozo calling on his clerkish friend. In Mad Nun's Alley. He's there now. Number 13, a boarded-up shack." The leather-jacketed young man kept his voice low. "Do you think he needs any help?"
"No," de Gier said. "Not now."