"De Gier found that expression. It means 'life is wonderful.' "
"Bah… de Gier," Grypstra shook his head too. "What does de Gier know? He's got a gift for languages, but it's all on the surface. How can he feel what truly goes on in our land? There's Lieutenant Sudema's house. Under the chestnut trees. A most pleasant little dwelling."
Gyske Sudema stood in her front garden, under waving branches that held clusters of white flowers. The commissaris enjoyed the sight. Gyske impressed him as a very attractive woman, tall and slender, her long blond hair lifted by the breeze, her body tight in gleaming leather trousers and a clinging white blouse. Coming closer, the commissaris regretted to see that she was wearing a man's jacket across her shoulders, of too large a size, and hanging down on one side.
"Evening, Mrs. Sudema."
Grijpstra introduced him. Gyske's supple hand felt moist. Her long eyelashes twitched. "Not a good time for a visit," Gyske said. "I'm sorry, yes. Problems tonight. No, this is hardly the moment."
"Your husband isn't home?"
"Visiting," Gyske said. "Sjurd is making a friendly call. He swallowed all my tranquilizers and drank some jenever. He's crying on the neighbor lady's shoulder now. She's alone too, for her man is a sailor. It's all right with me, they can do what they like."
"Marriage problems?" Grijpstra asked. "How could that be? Yesterday you and the lieutenant seemed so happy."
"Happened just now," Gyske said. "Bit of a problem. The whole thing blew up."
Grijpstra gasped. "But he just sent me some information via Corporal Hilarius."
"He had to look for comfort," Gyske said. "An hour ago, first time. Never visited the neighbor on his own before, my Sjurd, such a clumsy oaf." Gyske's laugh was shrill. She patted the side pocket of her jacket. "I took his pistol. He can't shoot himself now. He wanted to, but that's all crazy."
"Could I have the weapon?" The commissaris extended a small hand. Gyske passed him the pistol. The commissaris handed it to Grijpstra. Grijpstra pulled the clip, ejected the chambered cartridge into his hand, and dropped the various parts into his pocket.
"Why don't you tell me what happened?" the commissaris said. "Once a problem is shared, it can be solved. Let's hear about the mishap, dear lady."
"All right," Gyske said. "I started it, I know that very well, but I'm damned if I'll feel guilty. It wasn't sinful at all. Sjurd is from the past. I'm not. I read magazine articles and the psychological column in the paper. I live with the times. I know what things are like today. When I do it, I do it."
"With whom, dear lady?"
Gyske lifted one shoulder. "With a man, of course."
"Let's go in," the commissaris said. "Or are your children in the house?"
"Gone out," Gyske said, "to play with friends. So that they don't have to work in Sjurd's greenhouse tonight. They don't want to do that, they're too little anyway. Sjurd's idea of duty is too heavy. Slave away, day after day, that's a bad example."
"I like your furniture," the commissaris said when they had gone inside. "Real antiques, I'm sure."
"From the past," Gyske said. "Like my husband. Passed down through the generations. Clammy, moldy, sealed off from fresh air. I'm a modern woman. Would you like a beer?"
"I still have to drive," Grypstra said, "and the commissaris has to see the Leeuwarden chief constable. We'd better stay sober."
Gyske plucked at her jacket. "It's Sjurd's, it doesn't fit. I'll take it off now. I only put it on to have something to carry the pistol in. Sjurd wanted to shoot Anne."
"The neighbor lady?"
"No," Gyske said. "Anne is a man. You're from Holland, are you? Our names are different here. Anne is the man I had been doing it with. He lives close by too. Everybody lives close by." She began to cry. Grypstra supplied a handkerchief, the commissaris gentle words. "Now, now, Mrs. Sudema."
Gyske stopped crying. "Anne's the Christian therapist here, qualified, with proper papers. He does social work for the municipality and the church. He's Dutch Reformed, too, same denomination as Sjurd and I. He was supposed to help me. I wasn't sleeping well at all, and cramps down below, and crying all the time. Sjurd got the parson to pray with me, but that made it worse, and then the pastor sent his therapeutical man."
"Who went to bed with you?" the commissaris asked.
Gyske shook her wealth of golden hair. "I went to bed with Anne. It was my decision. And we didn't use the bed; the bed is Sjurd's, from his grandparents, I won't use that bed for that. I did it over there."
Surprised, Grijpstra looked at the cupboard door.
"Yes," Gyske said. "On a shelf. Wide enough. It's okay for sitting on and leaning back. Sjurd got upset too, when he heard."
"You went into details when you talked to your husband?" the commissaris asked.
"Isn't that what Sjurd wanted? Didn't I have to make a complete confession? And what did it all amount to, any- way? Hadn't it come to an end a long time ago? I knew it wouldn't last. I wasn't doing it anymore. But Sjurd had to know everything, that's what he kept saying. I had to tell all, and then it would be all right forever. Anne no longer came to visit because I no longer cared for treatment. He was in love with me, Anne said, but later he changed his tale. He let me do it because bis wife was a lesbian. Some reason, right? What sort of reason could that be? I told him never to come again. That's a month ago now."
"And Sjurd suspected?" the commissaris asked.
"He sensed it. He kept nosing about. It made me so nervous. If I came clean it would be good between us again, Sjurd told me ten times a day. We could make a fresh start."
Grypstra covered his eyes with his hand.
"Right," Gyske said. "I'm a silly goose. But you men never give in, do you now? So I told him this evening that Anne and I… in the cupboard and all… and Sjurd ran off, beside himself with fury. To Anne's house. He broke Anne's glasses. Anne's wife stood next to the poor man. Me too, I had run after Sjurd, and then Sjurd hit Anne in the mouth, Anne's lips were bleeding, and he hit him once more, and again. Good thing I was there, I didn't trust it at all, Sjurd pretending he was taking it all so calmly and then suddenly running off. 'I'll take care of this.' Ha, I know Sjurd. And Anne's wife, the lesbian-she isn't one, you know-she thought she was, so she spent a weekend on the island with that other woman, but she wasn't after all. The other woman was, yes, sure, but not Anne's wife. So when Sjurd kept trying to smash Anne's face, Anne got away, in his car, at full speed, through his own fence, not the gate, he couldn't find the gate, and Sjurd rushed home to swallow all my pills, and then to the pub." Gyske bit a fingernail. "He was back again, to fetch his pistol, but I had it and wouldn't give it to him, and then he went to see the neighbor lady. She isn't happy either, her husband is first mate on a supertanker. He's never home."
"Good evening/' Lieutenant Sudema said, wobbling through the door, trying to stay upright.
"My chief from Amsterdam," Grypstra said. "Lieutenant Sudema of the State Police."
"How do you do?" the commissaris asked.
"Not so well, sir. I've been a little stupid, I think, for some time now, and it hasn't gotten any better. I was born stupid, that's always a bad start. Hello, Gyske. Evening, Adjutant."
"Are you drunk, Sjurd?"
"Yes," the lieutenant said, "and stupid too. And I was wrong, I think." He staggered to a chair. "But Anne was wrong too. He can't come back to Dingjum. Won't have it, you know. That randy bugger will have to find himself another country. Let him settle down in the Netherlands somewhere. He'll have to remove himself completely. We can't have that here, something like that will have to go. And the money I paid him for his professional services. Gyske, I want that money back."
'To the Netherlands?" the commissaris asked. "Isn't Friesland part of the country?"