The commissaris collected his assembled facts. "Mere suspicions so far," the commissaris said, "but Jelle Troelstra is a reliable informant. Let's see what our electronic equipment, activated by the simple pressing of a few well-placed buttons, can do for us by way of confirmation." He picked up his phone. "Dear? Here are die names of two suspects, bank robbers. Please have them checked by the computer. The suspects are from the south. Will you do that for me? Please?"
"The south?" Cardozo asked. "Exiled Frisians?"
"The tip came from a Frisian," the commissaris said.
The phone rang. "Down?" the commissaris asked. "Thank you, dear." He replaced the phone.
"We do have some old files stored in the loft," Cardozo said, "due to be destroyed, but die shredder has been down. Shall I have a look?"
When Cardozo returned he was carrying dented file drawers and folded cards. He also produced some photos. "This is Ary, this is Fritz, both of them known to be violent and armed, but recently freed after serving long stretches."
They read the cards, de Gier and Cardozo standing at either side of the commissaris. "Bad boys," de Gier said, "but what are they to us? They'll be operating well beyond our limits. Douwe is fine; his corpse got into our hands here, and there's a hot trail to be followed. Ary and Fritz drank Frisian jenever at chez Troelstra. Their thoughts were bad, but we can't catch their thoughts."
"I'll have to pass it on," the commissaris said. "Pity. Why don't they commit their crimes in Amsterdam, like everybody else?"
"At a cattle market," de Gier said. "Just imagine." He read a little more. "Armed robbers." He shrugged. "Can't even catch them if they operated here. The new instructions state that in the case of armed robbery, an Arrest Team has to be alerted. The team will rush in with machine guns, and use sharpshooters peering through telescopes placed on cranes. They'll rumble about in armored vehicles. They'll be dressed in bulletproof vests. Their movements will be controlled from a mobile command post. Strategy. Tactics."
"Dear?" the commissaris asked through his phone. "Chief Constable Lasius of Burmania, Municipal Police, Leeuwar-den. Please?"
"In the old days," the commissaris said, "we'd just follow a robber. We'd tap him on the shoulder. We'd address him in a polite way. Then we'd take him along."
"Was it really like that?" Cardozo asked. "But the robber would be carrying a pistol, surely. We can't do anything if we don't outnumber him twenty to one. With an Uzi submachine gun. Or an HK-33 SG/L rifle with infrared light. Or an MP-5 automatic pistol with shortened barrel. Or a bat-ttecar-type Shorland, an armored UR-416, or at least the modern Sankey minitank. Scout cars placed around the corner, ready to start, all weaponry aimed, backed up by squads of the Military Police, special lads, Red Beret training, pushed slowly forward and backed up again by a SWAT team of the State Police. Sharpshooters on all rooftops."
The commissaris answered his phone. "Can't be reached? Get me the State Police, please. The commander, if possible. Yes, Leeuwarden again, I imagine that their headquarters will be in the capital too. If you please, my dear."
"You can't remember that far back, Cardozo," the commissaris said, "but in the past we were quite peaceful. The idea was not to disturb the peace even further. When we made an arrest, we never employed more than a few police; we believed in small numbers."
"Colonel Kopinie is out of his office?" the commissaris asked. "Do try the Military Police there, dear. If you please."
"I could perhaps take a look," de Gier said. "A cattle market is open to the public. You think that Ary and Fritz will case the location soon? Cattle markets are on Friday, right? So they'll hit the dealers the Friday after. I might be there, an interested spectator. In Friesland I can be a civilian again."
"Your police card is nationally valid," Cardozo said.
"Sure," de Gier said, "but you haven't been there yet. Friesland is so otherwise.''''
"You can grab anyone when you see a crime being committed," Cardozo said. "Just suppose that you happened to be strolling about in the market and Ary and Fritz robbed the dealers and I happened to be there too because, say, I was staying with you. You do have a house out there, there'll be a spare room."
"Not at all," de Gier said. "Grijpstra is the only one who'll be working. He doesn't need the disturbance that you'll bring along. Do something here, Simon, and don't get in the adjutant's way out there. If he sees you around, you'll be in real trouble."
Cardozo coughed and sneezed.
"No one there?" the commissaris asked his phone. "The Military Police commander is Major Singelsma? They'll all phone me back? Thank you, my dear."
"Now what's this with the sheep?" the commissaris asked. "Douwe dealt in sheep. Where did he sell them? Was he exporting them to Amsterdam?"
"You'd have to ask Grijpstra, sir." De Gier wrote down a number and handed it to the commissaris.
The number didn't answer. "I'm asking you now," the commissaris said to de Gier.
"I'm not in on this," de Gier said.
"Rinus," the commissaris said.
"Are you asking me in my function as an outside observer? Yes," de Gier said, "that'll be different, then. Grijpstra took care of the inquiry, but I was with him a lot and I happened to hear this and that. Dealing in sheep appears to be an unregistered and therefore tax-free and therefore illegal commerce. As all sheep look alike, their descriptions do not fit into the memory of a computer."
"Beg pardon," the commissaris said from behind his hand. "Had to laugh. Computer. Ha ha. Carry on, de Gier."
"Cows fit into a computer's memory because their spots are different. Sheep have no spots. Births of lambs are not registered. The nonexistent lamb turns into a nonexistent sheep and is sold and nobody knows anything. No sales tax, no income tax, nothing.
"Sheep are visible," Cardozo said.
"You register a few," de Gier said, "but they run about all the time. The Dingjum corporal explained the procedure to me. The average sheep has three lambs, but not in Fries-land. Frisian lambs drown in moats a lot, or the fierce neighbor dogs maul them to death, or they die young of tuberculosis. You have a hundred lambs and you register maybe nine. The other ninety-one are hidden during checks."
"So Scherjoen bought the ninety-one sheep and sold them to the Middle East?"
"For cash," de Gier said. "Cash isn't registered either."
Cardozo blew the remnants of his influenza into his handkerchief and smiled at the sergeant. 'That's where I caught on. There are ships moored in the Inner Harbor here. Scher-joen pushed a thousand unregistered sheep onto a ship. What's the price of a sheep?"
"Three hundred guilders."*
That's a three-hundred thousand-guilder load. To be paid for in cash. Now the Moroccan, a buyer, doesn't pay. There are no invoices, no bills of lading, no proof of any sort. The Moroccan says he has paid already. Scherjoen loses his temper. The Moroccan loses his temper too. He whips out a gun. Bang. No more Scherjoen asking for money. The Moroccan, a dangerous Arabian freedom fighter, isn't satisfied yet and burns Scherjoen's corpse. Oh, they're wicked in the Middle East. Beirut!" *One guilder is equal to about thirty cents in U.S. currency.
The phone rang. "For you," the commissaris said.
"Jane?" de Gier asked. "The Volkswagen is repaired? You arranged it not for me, but because you serve the Service? You're such a wonderful woman, Jane. No? Well, I think you are." He observed the buzzing phone. He put it down.
"Something is bothering Jane," Cardozo said. "She's making everybody nervous. Some dissatisfied vibration oozes out of her and puts the colleagues on edge. Do you have plans with her or don't you?"
"I never have any plans," de Gier said. "Things just happen to me in spite of my defenses, or not, as in the case of Jane."
"I'll be looking for a Moroccan sheik," Cardozo said. "And once I have a photograph of Scherjoen, I could show it around along Prince Henry Quay. The woman in the health-food store recognized him as some sort of farmer, and others must have seen him too."