man; to build up a good business in a few years' time takes brains. And discipline."
"You think we should arrest him?"
"No," Grijpstra said, "we can only hold him for a few days. There is no evidence at all. We'll have to make him confess."
"Play cat and mouse? Make him come every day, and men give him a break, and then make him come every day again? Phone him at his house with odd questions?"
Grijpstra didn't answer.
"It's a nasty game, you know. Last time we did it the man had a nervous breakdown and his wife nearly divorced him and he was innocent."
"Yes," Grijpstra said, "I won't forget that case."
"To hell with it," de Gier said, and jumped up. "The boss is away and we have no real plans for today. Let's go."
"Where? It's raining."
"To my flat," de Gier said.
They got to the flat within a quarter of an hour and de Gier put on a record for Grijpstra and took Oliver with him into the kitchen. Oliver growled and scratched at the door.
"You can have him later. Let me make some pancakes."
"Pancakes," he said a little later. "You like pancakes. You can have them with ham, with honey, or with syrup. And this is good coffee. You can have a good cigar as well. Put your feet on that chair."
"Yes," Grijpstra said, "I'll do all that. Put jam on the pancakes. And watch your cat."
Oliver was growling in a corner and sharpening his nails on the carpet while he was fixing Grijpstra with his clear blue slanting eyes.
"Shit," Grijpstra said. "There must be something wrong with you that you like that cat."
"He is called Oliver. And he sleeps in my arm."
"Frrrooo," Grijpstra said softly.
He ate his pancakes, burped, and lit his cigar.
De Gier put on another record and together they listened to church music, an organ playing Bach. Oliver jumped on Grijpstra's lap, purred, and fell asleep. De Gier was stretched out on the floor, his head cradled in his arms. The record came to an end.
"Beautiful," Grijpstra said, and opened his eyes. He scratched Oliver behind the ears. The cat began to purr again.
"You see," de Gier said.
"Perhaps."
"If the commissaris thought Holman had done it he wouldn't have gone to."
"No," Grijpstra said. "is a warm island. The commissaris has an eternal pain in his legs. He wanted to warm his legs. He'll be on a deck chair somewhere now, on the terrace of a hotel. He took the opportunity when it presented itself. The case is stuck and the lady comes from. He has to investigate her background. It takes only eight hours to fly there and the State is paying for his ticket."
"We can't solve the case while he is away," de Gier said, rolling over on his back, "it'll make him look silly."
"She didn't blackmail the diplomat."
"Why not?"
"She couldn't have. He isn't married."
De Gier sat up. "You are forgetting the Secret Service. They are in this too. She may have known secrets the diplomat shouldn't have told her about."
"Ha," Grijpstra said. "What secrets? Belgium isn't at war. They are like us. Belgium is a small comfortable country spending its time manufacturing things and selling them."
"Exactly. Commercial secrets or secrets involving the economy. Certain nations (he was dropping his voice) are very interested in ruining the economy of the Common Market. Diplomats always know too much and beautiful women are sent to lure them to their houseboats. The diplomats boast."
"No," Grijpstra interrupted, "not our diplomat. He wouldn't have wasted his time boasting. He went to her boat to sleep with her. He made her perform. He played with her or he made her play with him. And then he got into his clothes and into his black Citroen and he drove home."
"You don't suspect the diplomat?"
"No," Grijpstra said.
"The colonel?"
Grijpstra hesitated.
"No?"
"The colonel is separated from his wife. She lives in the States somewhere," he said. "She'll probably know that he won't spend his nights by himself. Mrs. van Buren couldn't have blackmailed him that way."
"Atomic warheads," de Gier said.
"Yes.
"You think we should arrest him?"
"No," Grijpstra said, "we can only hold him for a few days. There is no evidence at all. We'll have to make him confess."
"Play cat and mouse? Make him come every day, and men give him a break, and then make him come every day again? Phone him at his house with odd questions?"
Grijpstra didn't answer.
"It's a nasty game, you know. Last time we did it the man had a nervous breakdown and his wife nearly divorced him and he was innocent."
"Yes," Grijpstra said, "I won't forget that case."
"To hell with it," de Gier said, and jumped up. "The boss is away and we have no real plans for today. Let's go."
"Where? It's raining."
"To my flat," de Gier said.
They got to the flat within a quarter of an hour and de Gier put on a record for Grijpstra and took Oliver with him into the kitchen. Oliver growled and scratched at the door.
"You can have him later. Let me make some pancakes."
"Pancakes," he said a little later. "You like pancakes. You can have them with ham, with honey, or with syrup. And this is good coffee. You can have a good cigar as well. Put your feet on that chair."
"Yes," Grijpstra said, "I'll do all that. Put jam on the pancakes. And watch your cat."
Oliver was growling in a corner and sharpening his nails on the carpet while he was fixing Grijpstra with his clear blue slanting eyes.
"Shit," Grijpstra said. "There must be something wrong with you that you like that cat."
"He is called Oliver. And he sleeps in my arm."
"Frrrooo," Grijpstra said softly.
He ate his pancakes, burped, and lit his cigar.
De Gier put on another record and together they listened to church music, an organ playing Bach. Oliver jumped on Grijpstra's lap, purred, and fell asleep. De Gier was stretched out on the floor, his head cradled in his arms. The record came to an end.
"Beautiful," Grijpstra said, and opened his eyes. He scratched Oliver behind the ears. The cat began to purr again.
"You see," de Gier said.
"Perhaps."
"If the commissaris thought Holman had done it he wouldn't have gone to."
"No," Grijpstra said. "is a warm island. The commissaris has an eternal pain in his legs. He wanted to warm his legs. He'll be on a deck chair somewhere now, on the terrace of a hotel. He took the opportunity when it presented itself. The case is stuck and the lady comes from. He has to investigate her background. It takes only eight hours to fly there and the State is paying for his ticket."
"We can't solve the case while he is away," de Gier said, rolling over on his back, "it'll make him look silly."
"She didn't blackmail the diplomat."
"Why not?"
"She couldn't have. He isn't married."
De Gier sat up. "You are forgetting the Secret Service. They are in this too. She may have known secrets the diplomat shouldn't have told her about."
"Ha," Grijpstra said. "What secrets? Belgium isn't at war. They are like us. Belgium is a small comfortable country spending its time manufacturing things and selling them."
"Exactly. Commercial secrets or secrets involving the economy. Certain nations (he was dropping his voice) are very interested in ruining the economy of the Common Market. Diplomats always know too much and beautiful women are sent to lure them to their houseboats. The diplomats boast."
"No," Grijpstra interrupted, "not our diplomat. He wouldn't have wasted his time boasting. He went to her boat to sleep with her. He made her perform. He played with her or he made her play with him. And then he got into his clothes and into his black Citroen and he drove home."
"You don't suspect the diplomat?"
"No," Grijpstra said.
"The colonel?"
Grijpstra hesitated.
"No?"
"The colonel is separated from his wife. She lives in the States somewhere," he said. "She'll probably know that he won't spend his nights by himself. Mrs. van Buren couldn't have blackmailed him that way."
"Atomic warheads," de Gier said.
"Yes.
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