Amsterdam is to make a pretty large claim. That would cost money, a great
deal of money. Is he into the
41
higlijacking and smuggling rackets too or does he earn enough from his
extra-curricular activities to buy honestly on the open market?’
‘Look, sir, I never said George was a rogue, thief, crook, gangster or
whatever. I was only quoting the neighbourhood opinion of him. I wanted you
to make up your own mind about him. I do think you already have, only you
still have reservations owing.to the fact that you have a nasty, devious,
suspicious mind which is why, I suppose, you’re the city’s Chief of Police.
Annelise knows nothing about George’s extra-curricular activities, as you
call them, because there are none.George has never earned an illegal
guilder in his life. He’s totally straight and if every man in Amsterdam
were as honest as he is you’d join the unemployed by nightfall. I was
certain you’d caught on to this when you said he thought and spoke like a
cop. He is – or was – a cop, and a damned good one, a sergeant in line for
his inspectorate when he decided to retire last year. Phone the Chief of
Police in Groningen and find out who he’d give a bag of gold for to have
back on his staff.’
‘I am staggered,’ de Graaf said. He didn’t look staggered, he just sat
placidly puffing his cheroot and sipping his bessenjenever as if van Effen
had been discussing the weather or crops. ‘Different. Yes, different.’ He
didn’t say what was different. ‘Might have given me some kind of warning,
though.’
‘Thought you’d guess, sir. He’s got cop written all over him. At least he
had until he grew his moustache after retirement.’
‘Any specialities?’
‘Drugs and counter-terrorism. I should have said drugs then
counter-terrorism.’
‘Drugs? The only drug in the province of Groningen comes out of a gin
bottle. Here’s the place for him. Or, if I take you rightly, was. Why was
he taken off. Who took him off?’
‘Nobody. Nature took him off. To be a successful drugs cop you have to be
able to merge unobtrusively into your background. You’ve seen him. He
wasn’t built to merge into anything.’
‘What’s more, they’ve never even seen a terrorist up north.’
‘They’re not all that thick on the ground down here either,
42
sir. Maybe that’s why George resigned – no challenge, nothing left for him
to do.’
‘A waste. An intelligence like that devoting its life to serving up
superfluous calories to already overweight Amsterdamers. Could be useful.
Maybe there’s something to your idea of ad hoc recruitment. In an
emergency, could always have him coopted.’
‘Yes, sir. I thought that to co-opt anyone you required a committee, a
quorum.’
‘There’s only one committee and quorum in the Amsterdam police force and
I’m it. If you think he could be of help, just ask me. In fact, don’t
bother to ask me. I’m hungry.’
‘Ah, yes. George normally serves up hors d’oeuvre. Maybe he thought there
was no urgency.’ He surveyed de Graaf’s ample frame. ‘Superfluous
calories. However. . .’He rose, opened a wooden cupboard door to reveal
a refrigerator, opened this and said: ‘Half a smoked salmon. Smoked
trout. Mountain Ham. Gouda, Edam, and a few other odds and ends.’
‘There are no limits to the heights you might reach, my boy.’ Some time
later, the first sharp edge of his appetite temporarily blunted, he said:
‘If you’re too busy or too cowardly to accompany me to Texel, may one ask
what you intend to do.’
‘Depends on what I learn from Annemarie and Vasco. If, of course,
anything. On balance, however, I think I’ll go and do what poor George
couldn’t, merge unobtrusively among the Krakers in their garden suburb.’
‘You! You’re mad. The unchallenged bite noire of Krakerdom. Two minutes
after your arrival all activity and conversation will wither on the
vine.’
‘I’ve been there more than once in the past and the vine has remained
unaffected. I don’t wear this rather nice pin-stripe you see before you
or my official uniform. I wear another uniform. My Kraker uniform. I
don’t think I’ve ever discussed my wardrobe with you before.’ Van Effen
sipped some more bessenjenever. ‘I’ve a sealskin jacket with lots and
lots of tassels and a coonskin hat with a wolverine’s tail attached to
the back. Rather dashing, really.’ De Graaf closed his eyes, screwed them
tightly shut and then opened them again. ‘The trousers are
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made of some other kind of skin, I don’t know what it is, with lots of
little leather strips down the sides. Moccasins, of course. Those were a
mistake. The moccasins, I mean. They leak. Then my hair and my moustache are
blond, not platinum, you understand, that would attract too much attention.’
‘The rest of your outfit doesn’t?’
‘The dye is impervious to any rain-storm. Have to use a special detergent
to get it off. A painful process. Then I wear half a dozen rings, solid
brass, on my right hand.’
‘That the hand you hit people with?’
‘Among other things I’m a Green Peace, anti-nuclear, environmental
pacifist. I also have a multicoloured bead necklace, double chain, and an
earring. Only one earring. Two are passV
‘This, some day, I must see.’
‘I can get you one like it, if you like.’ De Graaf closed his eyes again
and was saved further comment by the arrival of George with lunch. George
served the Rodekool met Rolpens, opened the ChAteau Latour with a suitably
reverential air and departed. The meal was a simple one, red cabbage,
rolled spiced meat and sliced apple, but, as George had promised,
splendidly cooked: as was customary in Amsterdam there was enough food for
four. The wine, also as George had promised, was superb.
They had just finished when George brought in coffee. ‘Annemarie is
outside.’
‘Bring her in, please.’
Annemarie was a young lady of undeniably striking appearance. She wore a
roll-necked pullover of indeterminate colour which had once, perhaps, been
white. It was about four sizes too large for her, a defect she had tried to
remedy by hauling a three-inch studded belt tightly about her midriff. As
she had a rather slender waist, the effect was incongruous in the extreme:
she resembled nothing so much as a potato bag that had been tied around the
middle. The faded and patched blue jeans were fashionably frayed at the
cuffs and she teetered, rather than walked, into the room on a pair of
stained short leather boots with ludicrously pointed high heels. The
condition of her streaky blonde hair showed that she regarded combs as an
unnecessary luxury. The jet-black mascara had been applied
44
with a heavy hand, as had the turquoise eye-shadow. The ghastly pallor of
her face, which could only have been caused by an over-enthusiastic
application of some cheap powder, was in stunning contrast to the two
circular red patches on her cheeks, which equally owed nothing to nature.
The lipstick was purple and the blood-red nail varnish, which showed to
advantage when she removed the cigarette holder from between her stained
teeth, was chipped and flaking. The nose-wrinkling smeU of her cheap perfume
suggested that she had been bathing in it, although the impression was
overwhelming that she hadn’t bathed in anything for a very long time. Her
brass earrings tinkled as she teetered.
Van Effen looked at de Graaf, but de Graaf didn’t look at him: he was
either mesmerized or petrified by the apparition before him. Van Effen
cleared his throat, loudly.
‘This is Annemarie, sir.’
‘Yes,yes, Annemarie.’ De Graaf was still staring at her, and it was by a
visibly conscious effort of will-power that he turned his head to look at
van Effen. ‘Of course, of course. Annemarie. But there are one or two
things I haven’t had the opportunity yet to discuss with you and -‘
‘I understand, sir. Annemarie, my dear, would you mind for a few minutes –
I’m sure George will give you something.’ She blew a long puff of smoke,
smiled and tottered from the room.
‘Annemarie, my dear.’ De Graaf sounded and looked appalled. ‘Annemarie, my
dear. You in your Kraker uniform and that – that creature, what a couple
you would make. Level headed, I’d always thought you, eminently sensible –
this must be some kind of joke. Where on earth did you pick up that hussy,
that harlot, that harridan, that ghastly spectacle? God, that make-up, that
bordello perfume!’
‘It’s not like you, sir, to go by appearances. Snap judgments -‘
‘Snap judgments! Those preposterous shoes. That filthy jersey that was
built for – for a gorilla -‘
‘A very practical jersey, sir. That way no one would suspect the existence
of the Biretta automatic she carries strapped beneath her waist.’
45
‘A Biretta! That creature, that spectacle – she carries an automatic? That
– that caricature of a human being carries a gun? You must be mad.’ He drew