"I," Grijpstra said, "and Lieutenant Sudema of the State Police in the town of Dingjum have constructed a theory. It has to do with sheep, sir."
"And a buyer from Morocco?"
"You were thinking along the same lines?" Grijpstra asked sadly.
"No, no, Adjutant, I'm sorry I interrupted. Sheep, you said?"
"Unregistered sheep, sir. Scherjoen bought them, but he wasn't the only illegal buyer. Scherjoen, being nasty and far too successful, destroyed his competition's chances. He made use of unacceptable tricks. Scherjoen, in league with buyers from the Middle East, managed to monopolize the market. The other dealers would transport their sheep to Amsterdam and be ready to deliver and the Moroccans or Turks or Arabs or whatnot wouldn't buy all of a sudden. Then Scherjoen bought the sheep at a loss from his colleagues and cashed in from the buyers, paying them kickbacks."
"And Lieutenant Sudema thinks so too?"
"There are rumors, sir, to support the theory. I'll visit some suspects."
The commissaris nodded thoughtfully.
"You and I," Grijpstra said, "are both Frisians. We know how stubborn our compatriots can be. They'll accept their losses, but there'll be a certain line that should not be crossed. One or more of the impoverished fellow sheep dealers will have thought of a plan to stop Scherjoen's malpractice for good. Scherjoen liked to visit the Amsterdam Red Quarter. The other or others waited for Scherjoen. You and I know how patient Frisians can be."
"I don't know anything at all,** de Gier said. "A pity I'm so ignorant of Frisian ways. If I knew just a little more, I might be able to help."
"Just a moment, Sergeant. So…" Grijpstra paused for dramatic effect. "So…a shot in the night and a burning dory."
"Have you listed possible suspects?"
"Lieutenant Sudema is making discreet inquiries, sir. I'll have some names later tonight."
"And Mrs. Scherjoen? As his wife, she inherits all of Douwe's possessions."
Grijpstra rubbed the bulging blue wool of his fisherman's jersey. "Mem Scherjoen was once a freedom fighter. During the war she was fairly heroic. She wasn't violent, however. Passed messages, transported arms, took care of fugitives that the Germans were after, and helped instructors dropped by the British. You and I know we shouldn't underestimate Frisian women. Lieutenant Sudema seems convinced, however, that she's too loving a soul…"
"That Mauser," the commissaris said. "I had a look at the weapon found in Scherjoen's car. Wicked looking, it seemed to me. Quite antique now, but in shape rather similar to our present automatic arms. Amazing construction, all the parts fit like a Chinese puzzle."
"But it hadn't been fired, sir, I hear."
"Loaded," the commissaris said. "Nine-millimeter, ten cartridges. Deadly. Yes."
"Tins has nothing to do with me," de Gier said, "but Mem Scherjoen? Such a dear elderly lady? Her own husband? And burn the fellow afterward?"
"Where was she that night?" the commissaris asked.
"Haven't asked her yet, sir. The lieutenant said he would find out."
"I once arrested a dear old lady," the commissaris said. "She had lived fifty years with a most miserable scoundrel. The miser lived in splendor, and the missus scrubbed the marble floors of his mansion. If she spent too much time under the shower, he would turn off the water. She throttled him one evening. They were both in their eighties."
"You dumped the old lady in a cell?" de Gier asked.
"I stretched the investigation a little," the commissaris said, "while she stayed at home. In the end she was diagnosed as irresponsibly senile. With her husband's money we were able to place her in a most comfortable home. Every Christmas she sent me choice chocolate pie and I would take it back to her so that we could eat it together."
The telephone rang. Grijpstra answered, listened solemnly, and replaced the receiver.
"Bad news, Adjutant?"
"Lieutenant Sudema, sir. Mrs. Scherjoen did spend that night in Amsterdam. She was staying with her sister, a Miss Terpstra. Returned the night after the murder."
"Lieutenant Sudema interrogated Mrs. Scherjoen?"
"His wife did, sir. Gyske Sudema. She's friendly with Mem Scherjoen. Mrs. Scherjoen was never allowed to leave her house, as Scherjoen wanted her to be waiting for him whenever he happened to come home, but she did manage to get away from time to time."
"Do I smell pea soup?" the commissaris asked.
De Gier filled a bowl. The commissaris ate, kept company by Eddy, whose snout lay flat on the kitchen table, between his pink paws. He rattled fondly.
"Asthmatic?" the commissaris asked.
De Gier picked up the rat and listened to the mysterious sounds. "I would think it's in his belly."
The commissaris listened too. "No, I think it's from his chest."
The doorbell rang. De Gier opened the door. "Hylkje, how nice to see you. Come in and join us."
"No time now, I'm only here to deliver the lieutenant's list of suspects." The corporal stamped her booted foot. "Bah, I'm running late. Two collisions here in the city. I'm State Police, but the civilians can't see the difference in uniform. And the Municipal Police are nowhere to be found again. I had to write the reports. Stupid civilians!"
A small girl ran toward the corporal. "Officer?"
"Yes?" Hylkje asked grimly.
'See that man there, he's watering against my father's car."
"Shouldn't he be?"
"He does that every evening, he makes me mad."
"Dear little girl," the corporal said sweetly. "Leave that poor man be."
The little girl pummeled the corporal's thigh. "Please, officer, please?"
"I'm tired," Hylkje said.
"One moment," de Gier said and ran off. He came back with the man, who was buttoning up bis fly. The man was explaining his misdemeanor as the result of a small bladder.
"And you always pick that particular car?" de Gier asked. "Tell you what, sir. The corporal will take care of you for a moment. I'll be right back."
The commissaris came to the door and was introduced by Grijpstra. He shook Hylkje's hand. He also shook the suspect's hand.
De Gier joined them. "They're on their way."
A squad car drove into the street. "It's you?" the policemen asked the commissaris. "Would you like us to take you somewhere again, or was it you who was pissing?"
"Small bladder," the suspect explained.
"You can take me to your headquarters," the commissaris said, "but perhaps you should take care of this gentleman first."
"I'll take you," de Gier said, pointing at the Volkswagen.
"Is that your vehicle?" a policeman asked.
"Belongs to the Detective Department," Grijpstra said. "Amsterdam, used exclusively by the Murder Brigade."
"You sure it's not dead?" the policeman in charge of the squad car asked. "We saw it just now and phoned it through to our wrecker. It should be here any moment."
"Alive," Grijpstra said.
The police wrecker drove into the street.
"Hey!" Hylkje shouted. The suspect had run off. De Gier ran after him.
"I'll take you now, sir," Grijpstra said. "I don't like the way these colleagues are looking at my car."
De Gier brought the suspect back. One policeman pushed him into the squad car while the other spoke to the wrecker's driver, apologizing for the mistake.
"Take the lieutenant's list," Hylkje said, "before anything else happens. I need a shower and some sleep. I'll be back at eleven."
"Right," de Gier said.
"A rat!" Hylkje yelled, pointing at the threshold.
De Gier picked Eddy up and held him against his cheek. Eddy waved his paws at Hylkje. The corporal staggered back. She replaced her helmet, slid into the Guzzi's saddle, and pressed the starter. The motorcycle reared up briefly, came down, and shot off.
De Gier put Eddy down and pushed the rat gently across the threshold. He went inside, cleared the dining room and kitchen tables, and washed and dried the dishes.