"I've been told."
"But I didn't like the cargo."
"You refused?"
"Of course," the deserter said. "They give that stuff to schoolkids for free, and once they're hooked, they make them wallow in the filth of Amsterdam. Why should I have anything to do with that? Not me, never."
"What did Scherjoen say the cargo would be?"
"He didn't."
"What sort of vessel will bring it in?"
The deserter shrugged.
"When is the tramp due?"
"Soon, but I refused straight off. Wouldn't have anything more to do with Scherjoen. I never gave him the copper. I'll take it back to the shacks if you like."
"That's a good idea," de Gier said.
They rode off together. De Gier returned the dirt bike to the police station. "You'd never catch him," the officer in charge said. "He knows the island inside out. Did you get to see him?"
"I heard him," de Gier said. "Never got close. Well, I tried."
The skipper telephoned. It wasn't that he was in a hurry, but it was getting late and he thought he might be going back to the mainland.
"Been catching any eels lately?" Private Sudema asked.
The subordinate officer brought two fat eels and wrapped them separately. "We smoked them for you, too."
Sudema and de Gier thanked their hosts.
The Military Police vessel was ready to leave to make space for the State Police patrol boat. The Navy ship was expected any moment too. Two helicopters roared across the jetty.
"CIA," the harbormaster said, "cooperating with our Security Service. There's an East German fishing boat offshore, loaded with electronics, to snoop on the NATO exercises that are going on again. The helicopters will be Army, I guess, but they could be Navy too. Air Force pilots, probably."
"And what will they do to the spy ship?"
"Maybe fly around it?" the harbormaster asked.
"Should be our job," Private Sudema said, "but we haven't got the right ship. The Kraut will be in shallow water, outside the channel."
Jet fighters drew cloudy lines in the sky.
"And what would they be doing?" de Gier asked.
"Making hours," Sudema said. "The Air Force is always making hours. They have a different system from ours."
The soldiers brought folding chairs, and de Gier and Sudema settled on the after deck. Sudema lit a pipe. The soldiers brought tea and a dish of fresh-baked cookies on a tray. Seals frolicked in the vessel's wake.
"Seals have the good life," Sudema said. "Nothing to do but enjoy themselves. Makes a man envy dumb animals. Just look at them."
De Gier thought he saw the biggest seal wink.
"You're too right," de Gier said. "All we ever do is work."
\\\\\ 15 /////
The Commissaris's Citroen slid past the veranda of Scherjoen's last known address. The Land Rover that had been leading the way parked, and the sergeant and his mate got out. The commissaris shook their hands. "They sort of smirked," the commissaris said, climbing the steps. "Did you notice? I don't really like that. Guides who pretend to know everything better, and this is my own land."
"How old were you when you left Joure?" Cardozo asked.
"I remember subconsciously," the commissaris said, "but I do remember. The landscape, the atmosphere, the way in which the locals think, even the language sounds familiar."
"I went to Israel last year," Cardozo said.
"Did you remember, too?"
"No," Cardozo said. He rang the bell. "Only the street market in Jerusalem, perhaps, but that was Arabic. I'm not an Arab. Even so, the stall owners reminded me of my Uncle Ezra."
They waited.
"Like in a dream," the commissaris said. "Last night I had a significant dream. I was a little boy and running after my mother. The house was enormous. Corridors everywhere, and doors, lots of doors. She kept closing them in my face, and I could hardly reach the handle."
"I really don't see much difference here in Friesland," Cardozo said. "Looks like the rest of the country. The language is funny, maybe. Samuel and I used to play 'funny language' when we were small. We would change all the words a bit and then pretend we understood each other. I think they do the same here. I don't think there's anybody home."
They walked around the stately mansion, admired the large bunches of grapes growing under the eaves, and sidestepped the attack of a multicolored rooster. Blue herons looked down from their nests in the poplars. The commis-saris found an herb garden dominated by rocks overgrown with silver thyme. They heard tires grinding the gravel of the driveway. Cardozo ran off and came back with a bald fat man. The man's cheeks trembled while he bowed to the commissaris. His gaze, through thick glasses rimmed by tortoiseshell, looked forbidding.
"This gentleman works for the Tax Department," Cardozo said.
"Verhulst," the man boomed. "I'm after the same suspect. Are you the chief of detectives?"
The commissaris showed his card. "Shall we sit down?" Verhulst asked. There were some garden chairs. Verhulst cleaned them by flapping his handkerchief over them. Car-dozo walked under the poplars.
"You'll be after money, mostly," the commissaris said.
"A hard task, sir." Verhulst folded his red hands on his waistcoat. "We're not as powerful as the police. The public detests us. You hunt, we patiently fish, but I do think I have a bite."
"You do?" the commissaris asked politely.
Verhulst pointed at the mansion. "Behold. Where did the money come from that bought this costly property?"
"Surely Scherjoen disclosed his income?"
Verhulst laughed loudly.
"He didn't?" the commissaris said. "It seems your job is easy. Confiscate the house and lands. Scherjoen's new car is at present parked in our lot. You can take his vehicle too."
Verhulst admired his well-polished boots. "Mortgage on the property and the car is leased."
The commissaris smiled.
"You're amused?" Verhulst asked. "The State is embezzled, sir. Scherjoen earned a daily fortune, by illegal means, in cash transactions. He collected exorbitant interest on unregistered loans. He fenced stolen goods. But on his tax forms, income was balanced by write-offs. Here"-Verhulst waved his hands-"at least two million was embezzled. Where did it go?"
"He hid it?" the commissaris asked.
"I count on your cooperation," Verhulst said heavily. "I suggest that you order a search of the house. I can do that too, but the locals are reputedly fierce, and I don't want to be attacked with pitchforks and scythes. Mrs. Scherjoen is a widow, always a delicate situation. If you step in, the Frisian attitude will be more accepting."
"You know," the commissaris said, "I detest being overtaxed."
"Who doesn't, sir?"
"The system your department is using these days," the commissaris said, "is no good. It provokes unrest. Take this Douwe Scherjoen, for instance. Would he ever have become quite that mean and irresponsible if he had been allowed to keep a reasonable share of his profits? And could he have practiced usury if you fellows hadn't squeezed the citizens to the point where they had to borrow at such ridiculous rates?"
"Well now," Verhulst said, "if you take that angle…"
"We're filling in time here anyway," the commissaris said. "We might have a little discussion. Do you ever think about your work, or do you merely do as you're told?"
"You wouldn't be Frisian?" Verhulst asked. "I've heard talk like this in these out-of-the-way regions before."
"I was born in Joure," the commissaris said.
"And you left," Verhulst said. "Very clever of you. The colonial life didn't suit you?"
"You're joking, aren't you?"