"Will it cover the mortgage?"
"There'll be a good bit left over."
"Your accountant will advise you to invest the difference and live off the income. If you do that, the gold will be extra."
"Isn't that nice?" Mem Scherjoen asked. "I can take care of a lot of retarded men."
"But how will you take the gold out of the country?" Cardozo asked.
"Gyske will help me. She has a good car."
Mem walked her visitors to the Citroen, and waved as they drove away. "Mem has the same eyes as you," Cardozo said. "A soft shade of blue, very rare, I never saw it in another person. She could be your sister. Same character, I imagine. The dove and the serpent."
"What's that?" the commissaris asked.
"Innocence of the dove? The devilish insight of the serpent?"
"Please," the commissaris said. "You can spare me your callous observations." He sucked on his cigar. "But let's see now. Devilish, eh? Shoot down her own man, burn the poor fellow, and ask us for advice about how to save the spoils. Suspect may be suffering from a mother complex. Wants to assuage her guilt by taking care of surviving suckers."
"She isn't stupid," Cardozo said. "And she's got guts. Motivation, opportunity, ruthless goal-setting, it all fits better and better. Will we be searching the house soon? The gold should be found. When we dump a load of gold on the judge's table, he'll be impressed by our charges."
"We'll give her a little time," the commissaris said. "And then I'll phone. I'll have to obtain her sister's number, check out the alibi, see what I can turn up next."
"Won't the Tax Department be happy?" Cardozo asked. "We'll all be delighted. Once again the State will win."
"But a delightful lady," the commissaris said. "Don't you agree? Such a dear woman. What do you think?"
"That I'm hungry," Cardozo said.
"Are we going the right way?" the commissaris said. "All the signs are pointing east. Isn't Leeuwarden to the north?"
"There's an officer on a motorcycle following us," Car-dozo said.
The motorcycle cut off the Citroen. A corporal got off and saluted.
"We're headed for Leeuwarden," the commissaris said.
The motorcycle showed them the way. It stopped again."Can't take you any farther, sir," the corporal said. "I'm State, and we're getting into the territory of the city. If you have a moment I'll radio for assistance." He detached the microphone from his radio. "Municipal Headquarters? Over."
The corporal spoke Frisian. He seemed to have trouble making himself understood.
"Don't they all speak the language here?" the commissaris asked.
"Some don't," the corporal said. "We have our traitors. They insist on using Dutch. Some of us believe there are too many languages in the world. They'll have us all speaking Russian soon." He bellowed into the microphone again.
"Now what?" the radio asked in Dutch.
The corporal sighed. "Very well. The silver Citroen. On the ringway, milepost twelve. Send out a car and pick up colleagues from the Netherlands."
"You are in the Netherlands," the radio said curtly.
"Will you send a car?" the corporal shouted, getting red in the face.
"Understood," the radio said, and chuckled.
\\\\\ 16 /////
" I often surprise myself,"De Gler said. "Out all day and I still come up with a good meal. Look at this spread. Fresh-fried sole, smoked eel on bread that I'm about to toast, personally whipped cream, and hand-cleaned strawberries. Maybe I'll still have time to toss a salad. And you just bumble about. The complete nonachiever. You could help, maybe."
"Lay the table?" Grijpstra asked. He pulled open a drawer in his search for a cloth. But he used too much force, and the detached drawer, filled with kitchen tools, fell on his toes. Grypstra hopped out of the kitchen, uttering a string of four-letter words.
De Gier followed. "You sure you're Frisian? Frisians are not supposed to let themselves go like that."
Grijpstra sat down and took off his shoe.
De Gier lay on the couch and picked up his novel.
Grypstra breathed heavily.
"'You're an asshole,'" de Gier read. "Not you, but the male hero in this book. He's addressed by his wife. She's called Martha again. I would say that their relationship is troubled because she'll never let him have his say. If she did, she might see what he doesn't understand about her attitude. If she did, the book could end well, but maybe that's bad literature." De Gier struggled free of the cushions on the couch. "Why can't anybody ever be happy? It's the same here in this province that's so superior to die rest of the country. Mem and Douwe, Gyske and Sjurd, and Sjurd's nephew's girlfriend just broke the engagement. The disharmony between spouses and lovers is about as bad as what we're used to at our end. Misery all over."
Grijpstra had put his shoe on again and was on his way to the kitchen. "Happiness," the adjutant said, "is maybe not what we should be after."
"Happiness," de Gier said, "is a white toy rabbit with a red ribbon around its fluffy neck. I never liked the idea either. How did you fare with Pyr, Tyark, and what's-his-name?"
"Yelte," Grypstra said miserably.
"What a deadpan face you have," de Gier said. "I've always admired you for the way you never let on. The suspects have quite normal names, I'm sure. You made up those weird names to make sure I wouldn't interfere."
"Real names," Grijpstra said. "And you," Grijpstra shouted, "why don't you keep out of this, eh?"
"I'm your friend," de Gier said. "We're living together. I'm being sympathetic. I worry about your welfare. You're doing too much, and you should learn to relax. Why are you so busy?"
"Shouldn't I be busy?" Grijpstra asked. "In my Frisian jersey? Under my Frisian cap? Shouldn't I be visiting those human sheep? That bleat up front and rattle in the rear? Because their shit is never wiped and dries out in their ass hairs. Yellow-eyed, brainless throwbacks, happily hiding in their inbred stupidity."
"Rattle?" De Gier jumped up. "I'll be back in a moment."
He came back with the rat. Eddy had collapsed on de Gier's hands; his tail and legs hung down.
Grijpstra had found the tablecloth and was shaking it out of its folds. "Hi, Eddy."
Eddy's pink nose trembled.
"Listen." De Gier's nose pointed toward Eddy's chest. Grijpstra bent down. "You hear it?"
"Rattling again," Grijpstra said. "Cats purr. Maybe it's okay, but he looks sick to me."
Eddy was carefully dropped on the couch. Grijpstra stroked the rat's back. De Gier brought cheese. Eddy struggled up and grabbed the cheese.
"Back to my role," de Gier said, "of loving sharer of whatever you're not getting together these days. What did Pyr, Tyark, and Yelte tell you today?"
"They called me amtner. They accused me of rabberij. And they claimed to know nothing."
"Your terminology is not quite clear."
"I thought you had mastered the lingo." Grijpstra raised his voice. "I thought you were the scholar."
De Gier checked his dictionary. "Amtner merely stands for 'official' but rabberij means slander."
"And belestingT
"Ah," de Gier said, "that'll be 'tax.' It's clear to me now. Were you trying to upset the suspects, hoping that they might give themselves away in anger?" De Gier put the little book away. "The usual technique? If you were accusing them of tax-free and therefore illegal transactions, you may have scared them." De Gier shook his finger. "But you didn't apply your method right, for you still know nothing."
"FYUU," Grijpstra shouted.
"You'll hyperventilate," de Gier said kindly. "Control your breathing."
Grijpstra's face became redder.
"Fyuu?" de Gier echoed angrily. "I'm only trying to help, and you just make sounds." He picked up his novel. "Here. She-Martha again-is complaining that she's out of the regular world." He dropped the book. "What is she telling us? That she can no longer make contact with the others. The unhappy woman doesn't know that others are just as helpless as she is. What have others ever done for anyone? Where is my Hylkje? She should be here. Didn't she promise to be here for dinner? Last night she stimulated me sexually for hours, and then when the moment came, she took some drunken bum to her bed."