She filled his cup again. "The poor man's jawbone is completely smashed. There's a lot of talk about the incident, sir. The men say Chief Inspector Rood should have been allowed to finish the case, and that Halba botched the arrest. He put in so many men that the suspect became suspicious."
The commissaris grinned. "A suspicious suspect?"
She blushed. "Am I not saying it right? I was only trying to phrase my report correctly, but I'm not really a policewoman, of course. I only type."
"I'm sorry," the commissaris said. "Go on, dear. I'm very interested. Suspect opened fire?"
"With a fully automatic weapon," Miss Antoinette said. "An Uzi, I believe. He had hidden it under his jacket. Then we-well, the cops I mean-started shooting back and a police bullet hit a detective behind the telephone booth. Sloppy strategy, the men are saying."
"So it seems," the commissaris said. "Halba, eh?"
"Nasty man," Miss Antoinette said. "He keeps bothering me too. I'm complaining now, sir. The sergeant I don't really mind."
"Yes," the commissaris sighed. "Halba is a present I think I could do without. I wish he had stayed with Narcotics. He was doing well there, I hear. Murder requires a different approach altogether."
"You should hear what the girls at Narcotics have to say about Halba, sir."
The commissaris waved a small hand. "Yes, dear, but that's just talk. I heard something too. Narcotics is slippery ground, a lot of money is involved. There are informers to be paid off, rival gangs to be played against each other. Halba would fit well into that scene. What interests me is why he would apply for a transfer to my deparment."
"Yes," Miss Antoinette said briskly.
"You're interested too?"
"Maybe I know."
"You do?" the commissaris asked. "Well, then, tell me."
"He's after your job, sir. Commissaris ranks higher than chief inspector, doesn't it?"
The commissaris sipped his coffee. "Well, he'll have to wait."
"Maybe he won't, sir." Miss Antoinette walked to the door. "Anything else? Can I send in Grijpstra and de Gier?"
"Yes. Please do."
The commissaris thought Miss Antoinette had attractive hips, and an even more attractive way of swinging them when she suddenly turned. He opened the file she had placed next to his cup, and grunted irritably as he read.
There was a knock on the door. "Yes?" His assistants walked in, in order of rank.
"Well," the commissaris said twenty minutes later, when the three of them were looking at a map that de Gier had unrolled on the paneled wall. "Reopen two closed cases? Are you sure now, Adjutant? Won't we be stepping on long toes?"
"But you are interested, sir," Grijpstra said. "Especially as you're sort of personally involved."
"You knew the dead banker," de Gier said. "How was that now? Martin IJsbreker's father and your father were partners?"
"I don't think Martin was born then," the commissaris said. "All this goes back a long way, Sergeant. There were four partners in the Banque du Credit, but my father backed out. That left three. IJsbreker Senior, Baron de la Faille, and old Mr. Fernandus. I knew them all, since we moved in the same circles. Willem, old Mr. Fernandus's son, went to school with me.
"But you aren't friends with Willem Fernandus, the bank's current president, anymore?"
"Please," the commissaris said. "I don't even greet Willem when we meet in the street. That bank's reputation has gone down even further, Sergeant. Fernandus has been in a lot of scandals. His practice as an attorney is infamous, as you know if you've been reading the papers."
"The Society for Help Abroad?" Grijpstra asked.
"Started by Willem Fernandus," the commissaris said, "and very likely linked with his bank. That bank has never had a good aura about it; that's why my father got rid of his shares. It only has one office, situated fairly close to the prostitution quarter. The bank reputedly helped the German occupation. Fernandus was a double agent who somehow managed to jump clear when the war was over."
"Willem Fernandus," Grijsptra said, "not his dad."
"Yes, Willem," the commissaris said. "Let me see now. I think my father and the others all had equal shares. My father sold out, and old Fernandus may then have had half. Willem inherited half of that, so he only got a quarter, but his brother Ernst was never interested in business, so Willem may effectively control Ernst's shares as well. Then Willem married the Baroness de la Faille, whom I also know; she's an old lady now, and divorced. Fleur's share probably went to Willem. But Fleur only inherited half of her father's stake, for he married again and had a son. The son I met once, when he was still a child. I wonder how young Bart fits in now."
"And then there was IJsbreker Senior," Grijpstra said. "Father of the subject who shot himself. The report says IJsbreker Senior was a banker, so maybe he ran the bank. Willem Fernandus doesn't run the Banque du Credit, sir?"
"Willem is the president, Adjutant. He probably doesn't handle the day-to-day business, because he's still an attorney with an office on Prince Hendrik Quay, quite an impressive building."
"With nasty-looking gargoyles sitting on the steps," de Gier said. "I pass that place often. The mansion has recently been restored. The gable was sandblasted and all the ornaments repaired."
"We could find out," the commissaris said. "Prince Hendrik Quay is only a stone's throw from the Binnenkant, where IJsbreker Junior lived and died. The Banque du Credit is also on the quay, two blocks east of Willem's office."
"A stone's throw away from a houseboat where Adjutant Guldemeester found three dead junkies," Grijpstra said.
"So you were saying." The commissaris shook the thermos flask. "Maybe we can squeeze three small cups out of this smart invention. Miss Antoinette has been improving things here. Oh, by the way, Sergeant, you find my secretary to your liking?"
"Sir?" de Gier asked.
The commissaris found two more cups. "Yes."
De Gier scratched his buttock. "Well… eh… sort of cool. Not very responsive."
"Ah," the commissaris said. "You're answering the question behind my question. So Cardozo actually met one of the junkies. Adjutant, when you have a minute, I'd like you to check the reports from ballistics and pathology on Martin IJsbreker. I don't imagine there has been a proper autopsy on the junkies, but you might find something there too. Pathology must have checked on the overdose supposition. And you, Sergeant, send a routine message to all personnel about the American student of Chinese, saying that we'd welcome any data at all. Subject interests me because of the information he didn't give after all."
"Would you like us to visit the premises where IJsbreker died?" de Gier asked.
"Yes, tonight, maybe." The commissaris rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. "I'd like to come along. We'll need a key. Maybe Guldemeester has the IJsbreker key."
"Adjutant Guldemeester won't like this, sir."
"No?" the commissaris asked. "No. Perhaps you're right. So you'd better see him straightaway. Sergeant. Yes, I think that would be best."
"He might refuse, sir."
"Then bring him in here, Sergeant."
Grijpstra laughed.
The commissaris frowned. "You're not enjoying the discomfort of a colleague, I hope."
"No," Grijsptra said. "I was thinking of Guldemeester's birthday party, earlier this year. De Gier and Cardozo were invited, too. Bit of a disaster that was."
"Ah?"
Grijpstra looked at de Gier. "Leave me out of it," de Gier said. "I had a terrible time."
"Let's hear this," the commissaris said. "Or shouldn't I?"
De Gier sat down on the edge of a chair. "May I tell it, sir? Grijpstra will exaggerate. Have you met Guldemeester's wife, Celine?"
"Perhaps I have, Sergeant. Pretty? Long blond hair?"
"A most attractive young lady," Grijpstra said.