"Embarrassment of corpses?" Grijpstra asked. "America the violent? Dead bodies galore?"
"Same body," de Gier said. "Charlie had identified the corpse as his dead neighbor. Termeer also saw a Sergeant Hurrell at Central Park Precinct. There 'was the language barrier again. Hurrell may have said that he would keep Termeer informed."
"No sense," Grijpstra said sadly. "It never makes sense. It never will either, unless we attempt to put it there. Show me your flimsy construction of how the facts we have determined might possibly connect."
"I don't construct in my free time," de Gier said. "It should be your free time too. Why bother me? Bother Nellie. Paint dead ducks in your empty apartment. Go home and play your drums."
In order to placate de Gier, Grijpstra recited his newly found, improved, partly stolen and combined poetry.
"Pure emptiness illuminated by the void's divine glow, or is it a cold absence of necessities lit meaninglessly by a dim bulb suspended from a peeling ceiling?
I flee either choice and wait, in wet slashing darkness, at an alien bus stop, where my soul glows red in sinful flashes."
De Gier made Tabriz do more "wah-wah-wah." After that he applauded.
"I wasn't going to the whores," Grijpstra said.
"You were coming to me," de Gier said. "To try and fill your void with meaningless work." He smiled forgivingly. "Okay. I will humor you."
While making his report de Gier used the singsong of his native Rotterdam dialect which never failed to make Grijpstra crack up. "Please," sobbed Grijpstra. "Cut it out. Can't you speak like real people?"
Tabriz got hiccups and had to be picked up, turned over and shaken gently.
Seriousness returned.
De Gier reported, using the proper Amsterdam dialect, that Reserve Constable-First-Class Jo Termeer, during the course of an in-depth interrogation ordered by the commissaris, had made a good impression.
"Define good," Grijpstra told de Gier.
De Gier explained that Termeer seemed modest, polite, reliable, concise in stating his complaint. Not a dumb fellow by any definition. Perhaps lacking in education. "Like yourself," de Gier said. "Talented, diligent, but not somebody who questions reality."
Grijpstra recognized the type. "No quest. Energy spent on artful hobbies. Termeer is into Sunday painting? Dabbles in music perhaps?"
De Gier found and consulted his notebook. "Critical viewing of movies."
"Ah," Grijpstra said. "What kind of movies?"
"Action and bizarre."
"What kind of action?" Grijpstra asked.
"Fighting movies."
"What kind of bizarre?"
"Don't know," de Gier said.
"You didn't pursue that query?"
De Gier shook his head. "Jo likes movies set in Australia."
"Bizarre Australian movies?"
De Gier nodded. "And futuristic."
"Bizarre Australian futuristic action movies,"
Grijp-stra summarized.
"That's it," de Gier said.
"Sexual preference?"
"Movie?"
"Termeer," Grijpstra said.
"Right, homosexual, lives with a colleague called Peter."
"Did you meet with Peter?"
De Gier, after the interrogation of complainant Jo Termeer at police headquarters, had driven over to Outfield, picked up Peter at the hair-care salon and interviewed Jo's partner in a nearby cafe.
"Direction of interview?" Grijpstra asked.
"Straightforward," de Gier said. "I told Peter that we were analyzing a complaint and checking some background."
"Showed your police I.D.?"
"Sure. Of course."
"Describe subject."
De Gier described Peter as a slender, active, intelligent forty-year-old black male. Fashionably dressed.
"Overdressed?"
"No."
"Mannerisms?"
"Effeminate?" de Gier asked. "No."
"How black?"
"Midnight black."
"Made a good impression?" Grijpstra said. "Right?
You liked Peter."
"Yes," de Gier said. "Sure."
"Believable?"
"That's right."
"You discussed your admiration for black jazz with Peter?"
"I did not," de Gier said.
"And friend Peter thinks that Termeer is right to consult the Amsterdam Murder Brigade re the possible criminal nature of his uncle's death?"
"Yes," de Gier said. "I really liked that Peter."
"Biased," Grijpstra said. "You are biased, Rinus. You like midnight-black-skinned men because they remind you of Miles Davis, who plays trumpet the 'way you want to play trumpet but can't."
De Gier shrugged.
Grijpstra looked critical. "Unacceptable associations. Preconceived ideas, the wrong way round. Peter could still be unreliable. You agree, don't you?"
"Cut it out," de Gier said. "The opposite isn't true either. Although I dislike most pink-skinned folks who don't play the trumpet the way I would like to but can't, I can still appreciate reliability in you."
Grijpstra blinked.
"Sentence too complicated?" de Gier asked.
"Okay," Grijpstra said. "Complainant's partner, Peter, checks out. So does Termeer." Grijpstra paused. "Workwise too?"
"As a hairdresser, you mean?"
"Please," Grijpstra said. "As a cop."
De Gier read his notes, made that afternoon at Warmoes Street Police Precinct, in Amsterdam's Red Light District. Termeer, as auxiliary, had served there for some years now, doing evening duty and also working weekends. Two Warmoes Street Precinct uniformed sergeants, interviewed separately, stated that Termeer would show up two or three times per week. Such zeal, they declared, was unusual for voluntary policemen, who aren't expected to put in that much time on active duty.
"Did you hear about his participation in the arrest of a Yugoslav gangster?" Grijpstra asked.
De Gier found the note. Firearms were used. Termeer jumped the suspect after a professional cop had been wounded and brought down. Suspect struggled free. Termeer ran Suspect down after a long chase along alleys and canal quays. The spectacular arrest earned the reserve constable-first-class a special mention for bravery beyond the call of duty.
"Outperformed the professionals, yes?" Grijpstra asked.
"Yes," de Gier said.
"What do you know," Grijpstra said. "A disciple of mine, Rinus. It's me who guided this good man for years. By my example, experience, expertise…"
De Gier read on. On another occasion Termeer arrested an armed and violent whoremonger.
"Details?"
Seventy-year-old German suspected of abusing a prostitute. Suspect, flashing a handgun, resisted arrest but was disarmed by Termeer using judo.
"Gestapo Untergruppenfuehrer on weekend leave from a federal prison in Bonn, Germany, nostalgically reenacting World War II atrocity," Grijpstra said. "And you were home, watching a video of cannibals from New Guinea. Wasn't Herr Muller lucky? You would have pulled out his toenails."
"Yeah," de Gier said. "Hurting an old man with a personality problem." He scratched behind Tabriz's ears. "What was Termeer like as a police school student?"
"Good," Grijpstra said. "Passed the final exam summa cum laude."
"Any fawning? Bending over backwards?"
Grijpstra nodded. "Some. Sure."
"Tough guy syndrome? Bought special equipment and clothes in the police store? Nazi boots? Leather coat? Expressed interest in arresting young sailor types on bicycles without proper rear lights?"
Grijpstra shook his head.
"Negative observations?"
Grijpstra recalled a neatly dressed soft-spoken student who paid attention, made neat notes, didn't ask silly questions, arrived on time, didn't miss lessons, drove a clean and undented Volkswagen Golf.