Grijpstra coughed. "Sorry. My cigar. Terrible weather here. AH the windows closed. Yeah, I'm alone. Why?
"Celine's accident? You sure you want to know? You may not like it…
"Okay. It's like this. The Society-you were wrong there, you know-bunch of assholes, they abused Celine. She didn't like it there. .. Abused how?
"Well, I don't have the details, but that's what she said. No, not to me, but we've got ways of hearing things…
"Yes, we had someone there. Anyway, your wife didn't like her job at the club. Wanted out, but they wouldn't let her, see. Bunch of killers too, you should have known that…
"Of course. The junkies, IJsbreker and so forth, and now this Ronnie Ryder too, you must have seen that in the paper. And Heul. Remember Heul? They shot him full of smack and dumped him in the commissaris's car…
"Yes. A mess. Celine found out, and she was going to tell us…
"Sure. They ran her down. Twice. Hit her from the side and then reversed the car and ran over her. She was still alive when we found her. Lots of internal damage…
"Yes. she told us who…
"Want to know? I can tell you…
"You're ready? Okay, but listen, be careful. The baron…
Grijpstra waited, holding the phone.
"Yes. Absolutely. No doubt in my mind…
"You'll get him?
"Yes, I thought he was with you in Marbella now. Wanted to warn you…
"Well, listen. I heard that you wanted to come back to us, and if the baron finds out, you'll be in danger…
"Don't mention it. Want some advice?
"Okay, here's what you do. Take him for a walk. I know Marbella, spent a holiday there. Didn't like it. Bad place. There are paths there with steep cliffs…
"Okay, now remember. The baron fell. Slipped. You didn't see him slip. He was there, and then he wasn't. Stick to that. Just tell one story. Keep it short. I don't have to tell you that. You've been in the business a long time yourself…
"Right. Good luck… No, that's all right. My pleasure. We've worked together for years. Just thought I'd let you know. 'Bye now. 'Bye."
Grijpstra replaced the receiver.
"Shit," Cardozo said. "Grijpstra…"
The commissaris checked his watch. "Eleven-fifty." He took a cigar from his tin and lit it.
"Good for you," Miss Antoinette said, touching Grijpstra's arm.
"Yes," the commissaris said. "Good for you, Grijpstra. I don't think I could have done that."
Grijpstra got up. "Yes, sir, you could."
"Maybe… but it would have taken me some time."
Grijpstra stood near the door. "It took me some time too, sir. I've thought about it ever since de Gier said good-bye at nine o'clock this morning. By the way, he sends his best wishes to all of you. I was only supposed to tell you tomorrow, to give him a bit of a start."
"And he'll go from there to New Guinea?" the commissaris asked.
"From Barcelona, sir, by freighter. He's not in a hurry. The trip will give him time to reflect on his future."
"Oh, dear," the commissaris said. "I hope he'll make it. Ten Haaf may have a bunch of bodyguards up there."
"He'll make it, sir. I'll be in my office if you need me." Grijpstra closed the door with some force. The bang made the commissaris shiver.
\\\\\ 33 /////
The large light-gray room overlooking the arrival hall of Amsterdam Airport, set off with glass walls that allowed the inhabitants to look out but no one to look in, became tense with suppressed emotion. A high-ranking customs officer in a pale green uniform paced up and down. A State Police colonel, resplendent in his sky blue tunic decorated with silver braid, walked from window to window, peering out. Grijpstra and Cardozo watched TV screens that kept flashing off and on, showing different parts of another hall where the public milled about, waiting for arriving passengers. Portable two-way radios murmured terse messages. Blown-up color photographs of a young Indian woman in an orange sari, smiling innocently into the camera, lay on the room's tables and desks. The commissaris, hands behind his back, stood quietly in a corner.
"Could you describe suspect again?" the State Police colonel asked, looking over his shoulder. "Pity we don't have a photograph. Sly fellow indeed. Quite a feat, shying away from cameras all his life. You are sure suspect really exists?"
"My size," the commissaris said. "My age. Silver curly hair, a fringe, shiny bald in the center. Sideburns, silvery too, thick. Sunburned. Likes to wear flashy rings. Dresses well. Spectacles like mine."
"A neat elderly gent?" the colonel asked. "Like yourself?"
"Yes," the commissaris said. "But Fernandus wears darker suits and he has more hair. He's fatter too."
"And you're sure he's around?" the customs officer asked.
"I don't know anything for sure," the commissaris said. "I've never been able to grasp the absolute. It's very likely that he's here."
"Fernandus is here," Grijpstra said. "What was her name again? Suyuki? Brings in five ki's of the finest Nepalese heroin on Fernandus's orders. Fernandus is broke and a fugitive from justice. We're told that suspect has an insane need of money. We've carefully set this up. Suspect's got to be here."
"Where?". Cardozo asked, peering at his TV screen. "If he's here, he should be visible by now."
"He'll probably appear at the very last moment," the commissaris said.
The Air India flight's arrival was announced on the PA system. There was a flutter of bright-colored saris in the welcomers' section of the hall. Men with very white eyeballs and dark mustaches ran about, children pressed themselves against the barriers.
"You better go down, sir," the colonel said to the commissaris. "You're the only one who can properly identify suspect."
The commissaris left. "The commissaris will be visible enough," Grijpstra said to Cardozo. "Good thing he always wears those light shantung suits. His white hair will shine too, and his skull."
"Hello?" the colonel said into his radio. "The commissaris has gone down. Watch him. Also watch out for a young Indian woman in a bright orange long dress. She carries a maroon bag. Whoever takes the bag from her is the suspect. Over and out." He turned to the customs officer. "Your people have been instructed?"
"They'll let her through," the customs officer said. He pointed. "There she is."
"The Indian lady is coming through," the colonel whispered into his radio. "Attention. Coming through now."
"Wow!" Cardozo shouted. "Look. Who is who? Two of them!"
"What?" the colonel asked.
"Where?" the customs officer shouted.
"Here," Grijpstra said, tapping his screen. "Two of them. One of them just came out of the toilet. I spotted him."
"Where?"
"What?"
"Two commissarises," Cardozo said.
"Goddamn," the colonel muttered. "And there are my men, all confused, of course. Why wasn't I told they were twins? What is this nonsense?"
"They are both approaching the gate," Grijpstra said.
"Goddamn twins," the colonel said. "Where are these silvery curls? The dark suit? The sideburns? They're both about bald, both in shantung suits."
Grijpstra and Cardozo rushed off. One of the two look-alikes grabbed Sayukta's bag and was immediately lost in the crowd. The commissaris was seen to pursue Fernandus, not too successfully; people kept getting in his way, Cardozo and Grijpstra appeared on the screens, running toward the hall's exits.
"We'd better go down too," the colonel said.
They found the commissaris standing in the hall, deep in thought.
"Suspect got away?" the colonel asked. "Why didn't you tell me you and suspect are twins?"
"Cousins," the commissaris said. "Twice removed."
"Very smart," the customs officer said. "Suspect dressed up like you. But he still carries the bag." The colonel called over his plain-clothes assistants. "A maroon bag, damn it. Man carrying a maroon bag. Looks like the commissaris here. Go on. Off with you." He spoke into his portophone. "Suspect in shantung suit, sparse gray hair, small build, carrying a maroon bag, probably has left the building by now. On his way to the parking lot."