Outsider in Amsterdam, page 16
De Gier came to life.
"But sir, we found mizo paste in the casks. There was no hash in them at all, I am quite sure of it."
The chief inspector nodded.
"You found mizo. The casks you discovered had been bought by Piet from a wholesaler who imports from Japan. The casks you found in Piet's cellar also came from the same wholesaler. But the stuff Piet imported came from Pakistan and was hash. The customs must have slipped up, for anything coming from Pakistan is suspect. Perhaps the customs were busy and didn't check properly."
"Right," Grijpstra said. "The real hash came from Pakistan, was imported by Piet and sold to Beuzekom and Company. But why? Surely Beuzekom and Company could have imported the stuff themselves."
"They could not," the chief inspector said, "for they didn't have a connection. We found Piet's passport and he has been to Pakistan. We also checked with the passport people and they produced his old passport from their files. He has been to Pakistan at least twice in the last ten years. He probably showed his supplier a Japanese mizo-paste cask and the packing was copied in Pakistan."
"How much did he import?" Grijpstra asked.
"Quite a lot. Perhaps over a hundred casks in all."
"Yes," Grijpstra said, "I suspected that the five casks we found in Beuzekom's house had been planted there, in case we got wise to them."
"But what happened to the seventy-five thousand guilders that are missing?" de Gier asked.
"So far we have gone on facts, now we'll have to begin to surmise. This Pakistan business is clear enough. We have found little wooden elephants full of hash, and fruitcases full of hash, all coming from Pakistan, so why not mizopaste casks full of hash? But hash is bulky and fairly cheap. If dealers want to make real money they have to sell the hard stuff. Hash costs from twenty-five guilders to thirty guilders a stick now but the consumer gladly pays from one hundred twenty-five to one hundred fifty for a teaspoonful of heroin. The dealer who can sell hash can sell heroin as well, the channels are the same. But heroin doesn't come from Pakistan. Piet must have wanted to switch to new and bigger profits. If he had enough initiative to locate a supplier in Pakistan he must have thought that he could also find a heroin supplier. Heroin can be found in France, there are some refineries on the south coast where rough opium is transformed into powdered heroin, which can be packed into handy little sealed plastic bags."
"Did Piet go to France?" Grijpstra asked.
"Perhaps," the chief inspector said. "The French immigration doesn't stamp a Dutchman's passport anymore so we can't prove anything. But he traveled from time to time and was away from his house at the Haarlemmer Houttuinen for weeks at the time. He may have been in France."
"Yes," de Gier said, "so perhaps he found a supplier and needed money to buy a large supply, so he scraped together all the money he could find."
"That's what I think," the chief inspector said, "and when he did have the money he was killed. Perhaps by someone who knew that the money was in the house. Perhaps by the heroin supplier. Perhaps by the customer. For Piet would have sold it to a wholesaler, he didn't sell directly to the public."
"Beuzekom and Company," Grijpstra said, "but why should they kill him? They didn't need the money that badly, they needed the business. Why hang a man who can sell you regular lots of goods you need for resale?"
"Yes, yes," the chief inspector said. "Beuzekom has a lot of money. He is spending a hundred guilders an hour in some of the expensive bars of Amsterdam. He needs a continuous supply of heroin, not just one catch of seventy-five thousand guilders. I think you are right there. In fact, you can arrest Beuzekom if you like. I have spoken to the public prosecutor and he'll give his permission if we apply for it. We could keep both Beuzekom and Ringma for a few weeks."
"Interrogate them separately," de Gier said.
"You think it would be a good idea?" the chief inspector asked and lit a fresh little cigar.
"No," de Gier said, after some reflection.
"Why not?"
De Gier scratched his leg. "Beuzekom studied psychology, he is both clever and disciplined. We won't break him, not even by keeping him in a wet cell on the ground floor and refusing to let him smoke. Perhaps we might break that little boyfriend of his but I doubt it. They have too much to lose. They live in splendor now and they know we have no real proof. They would prefer a few weeks of misery in a cell to losing their golden future."
The chief inspector looked at his cactus.
"All right then, we'll stir the pot. We'll give the underworld a thorough shake-up. The goal will be to get at the drug dealers, the real big fellows, who can sell or buy drugs in quantities. I have a list here of all likely addresses. It's a recent list compiled by the Investigations Bureau. Some of the addresses are of cafés and bars but there are also benches in public parks, tram shelters, public lavatories, student hostels, sleep-ins, houseboats and houses that have been empty for some time. I'll coordinate the raids from Headquarters and we'll have every detective out on the job. The uniformed police will be helping as much as they can, I'll be working with their chief. The action will start tomorrow night but you can begin earlier if you like. I would suggest that you put some pressure on that nasty young fellow who gave you the dead girl yesterday. He is a user and he will be buying his drugs somewhere. Find out where and go from there, and keep on going until you get a nicely sized fish on the hook."
"Yes sir."
"You can go and have some coffee now," the chief inspector said. "You need it, I think."
The detectives saluted and left the room.
"Good hunting, gentlemen," the commissaris said.
\\ 12 /////
"OLIVER," DE GIER SAID AS THE CAT STROLLED PAST the bed, "we'll tie your paws behind your back, march you to the park opposite, set you up against a stake, and shoot you, and it will be done at the crack of dawn."
Oliver looked over his shoulder and purred.
"No, no," Constanze's soft voice said and she nibbled de Gier's ear. "I don't mean that he has to be destroyed. He is a beautiful cat and I know some people who live on a farm and who would love to have a Siamese cat. And Oliver would be happier too, he could play on the farm and climb trees and chase mice. It would be a much more natural life for a cat."
"Yes," de Gier said and reached down to the floor, found his pack of cigarettes, took one out and lit it, using one hand, for his other was caressing Constanze.
"And you can get a bigger flat and I'll be working as well so the rent won't be any problem."
"Yes," de Gier said.
"And Yvette can go to school close by and she would spend a lot of time with my parents."
"Mmm," de Gier said.
"You don't want to, do you?" Constanze asked and put a leg over his.
De Gier twisted out of her embrace and got out of bed.
"It's time to have breakfast," he said.
"You haven't answered me," Constanze said.
"I don't know," de Gier said. "I'll have to think about
He shaved while Constanze prepared breakfast. Early morning wasn't the best time of the day for de Gier, not if he had to go to work, and he groaned while he scraped his face with a blunt blade.
"In fact, we could probably buy a nice flat." Con-stanze's voice came from the small kitchen.
"Flats are expensive," de Gier said, taking the toothbrush out of his mouth.
"I have fifty thousand," Constanze said. "The house at Haarlemmer Houttuinen was sold, you know, and the other little house that Fiet owned in the South was sold as well. Together they netted over a hundred thousand and with the mortgage and the solicitor's costs deducted I still have fifty thousand. Surely that would be enough for a deposit. We might even get a small house."
"I didn't know you were selling the property," de Gier said as he came out of the bathroom. "Who is the buyer?"
"Joachim de Kater," Constanze said, "our accountant. He was very helpful. It only took him a few days. We will sign the contracts at the solicitor's office at the end of this week, and then I'll have to make up my mind what to do. Return to Paris and buy an apartment for Yvette and myself or stay here."
"With me?" de Gier asked.
"With you," Constanze said softly, putting a dish of fried eggs and bacon on the table and switching the toaster on, "if you want me to stay with you."
"Joachim de Kater," the chief inspector said and stirred his coffee. "I remember the name. Didn't you write a report on a visit to an accountant of that name, Grijpstra?"
"Yes sir," Grijpstra said;
"But how do you know all this, de Gier?" the chief inspector asked. "You weren't supposed to question her. Grijpstra did, the night before last night I believe. How come you know who she sold her property to?"
De Gier didn't answer.
"I see," the chief inspector said. "But personal relationships with suspects..."
The commissaris shifted in his chair. "I think the sergeant is aware of what you are hinting at," he said.
"All right," the chief inspector said.
"It's really my fault, sir," Grijpstra said. "I suggested that de Gier should date her last Saturday. I thought she might talk a little more easily if he did."
"It's all right, adjutant," the chief inspector said. "We won't mention the matter again, or rather, I hope we won't have to mention the matter again. I believe you asked young Mrs. Verboom to stay in Amsterdam while the investigation lasts. Perhaps you can contact her and tell her that she can go now. Mr. de Gier will be able to concentrate a bit better when she is out of the way and we don't really suspect her anymore, do we?"
"No sir," de Gier said relieved, "we don't."
"Do you want her out of the way?" asked the chief inspector, surprised.
"She wants me to get rid of my cat," de Gier said in a small voice.
Grijpstra suddenly roared with laughter and the chief inspector and the commissaris joined him. De Gier shuffled his feet.
"Haha," the commissaris said, wiping his eyes, "you like your cat, huh? You don't have to feel silly about that. I like my cat too. It always snuggles up to me when I have rheumatism in my leg."
"I prefer dogs," the chief inspector said, "but we'd better get off the subject, we don't want to embarrass the sergeant. You say she sold the lot to her husband's accountant. That's strange. It looks as if he made use of an awkward situation. A widow needing money. Perhaps a hundred thousand is a low price for that large house on the Haarlemmer Houttuinen and another little house in the country thrown in. It doesn't sound much to me but I am no property expert. As an accountant he should protect his client's interests, not make use of them. Perhaps we should investigate this de Kater."
"We won't have a file on him," the commissaris said. "Accountants are pillars supporting society. If an accountant, a chartered accountant like this Mr. de Kater, ever comes into contact with the police, he loses his ticket, and that'll be the end of his career."
"Yes," the chief inspector said, "but we can ask around. Somebody will know something about him. I can ask some of the state accountants working for the Tax Department, and one of my friends is an accountant. They all belong to some society or other. I should have a report ready by tomorrow and I'll give it to you.
"Well, that's it," the chief inspector said, looking at the detectives. "If you have anything to report you can phone me at home tonight, but keep it short, I'll be watching football."
"An owl in a tree," de Gier said as they walked toward their car, "that's what he reminds me of. Sitting comfortably while he watches it ail and meanwhile we develop flat feet."
"You ought to be grateful," Grijpstra said. "I am going to telephone Constanze today and you'll be free again to live with your cat, happily and peacefully."
"True," de Gier said.
The young man didn't open up when they knocked on the door of the shabby houseboat and Grijpstra put his shoulder against the door and pushed it through its lock.
"Hey," the boy shouted, "who told you you could come in?"
"Police," Grijpstra said, "do you remember us?"
"You shouldn't force my door. This is my house. What you are doing is breaking and entering."
"Sorry," de Gier said, "my colleague stumbled, fell against your door and here we are. Your lock broke. Do you mind if we come in a minute?"
"I mind," the young man said. "Get out."
The detectives looked at him.
"Well, all right. I lose anyway. Nobody would listen to me if I lodged a complaint. You all cover each other. What do you want of me?"
It was eleven o'clock in the morning but he was still under his blankets on the floor. The room smelled of unwashed bodies and rotten food.
"Do you mind?" Grijpstra asked and opened two windows. Some fresh air came in, but there was little wind and it was hot outside. The heat wave hadn't broken yet and the detectives were sweating.
"What's your name again?" de Gier asked.
"Koopmetn."
He got up and put on his jeans and the same buttonless shirt he had worn when the detectives met him for the first time.
"Did you find out who that girl was?" Koopman asked.
"No," Grijpstra said, "did you?"
The young man shook his head and combed his hair back with his fingers.
"No. How could I? I had never met her before. Picked her up in the street, or maybe she picked me up. She didn't talk much when I was with her. I told you before, didn't I?"
"Sure," de Gier said. "How do you feel about it now?"
"Rotten," Koopman said. "How do you expect me to feel? Nobody likes the girl he is making love to to die. I am not an animal.
"She is dead," de Gier said. "Do you believe in the hereafter?"
"I believe in the here and now," Koopman said, "and believe me, I know what I am talking about. The needle has taught me many things you wouldn't know about. You couldn't know about it. Maybe you think you know something when you have a few drinks but to be drunk is different. Alcohol makes you talk and relax and you lose your fears and inhibitions but the drug is different. It teaches."
"Look at the mess you are in," de Gier said. "Aren't you sorry you became a pupil of the drug?"
"Perhaps," Koopman said, "perhaps. Perhaps not. Heroin gives a lot but it takes a lot in return. I used to have a comfortable student's flat and I lived what you chaps call a decent life. The drug has changed it all. Perhaps I am sorry, but it doesn't matter now. The drug's got me, there's nothing I can do about it."
"You feel better now than you did last time," Grijpstra said. "Did you have your fix today?"
"Of course," Koopman said, and walked past the detectives to wash his face in the sink. He dried himself with a dirty rag.
"Where do you get your heroin?" de Gier asked.
"At the institute," Koopman said, "free and for nothing. I was picked up in the street some time ago and the health service took me to the institute. They treated me for a while and now I am an out-patient. I get a free supply every day but they are decreasing the dose and it isn't enough anymore so I have to make up the difference."
"So where do you get the difference?" Grijpstra asked.
Koopman looked up as if he didn't believe what he heard. "You aren't serious," he said. "You want me to tell you where I get my fix?"
"Sure," Grijpstra said.
"You want me to end up in the canal? Like that boy they fished up last month? They had throttled him."
"Who are they?" Grijpstra asked.
"Ha," Koopman said.
"Look here," de Gier said. "We want to know. And you will tell us. If you don't we'll pick you up. Have you forgotten the dead girl? Maybe we aren't satisfied with your explanation. You were here, and we can take you with us for questioning. We can keep you twice twenty-four hours and the public prosecutor is sure to give us permission to keep you for a week, maybe longer. You'll be in a bare cell."
"No drugs in a bare cell," the youth said to himself.
"Exactly," de Gier said.
The boy thought for a while.
"We have a fellow in a cell some time ago," Grijpstra said pleasantly. "He was scratching the walls. He got his three meals a day and his tea and his coffee but that wasn't enough for him. So he was scratching the walls all the time."
Koopman looked at him.
"What are you?" he asked "Gestapo?"
"The Gestapo wasn't interested in drugs," de Gier said, "but we are. Now make up your mind. Are you going to tell us or do you prefer to spend a couple of weeks in a cell, sitting on a chair that is screwed to the floor. You know that you can't lie down during the day, do you? The bed is fastened against the wall. There's just the chair and the four walls. And a day lasts twenty-four hours in jail. That's a long time."
"All right," Koopman said, "you win. I buy it from a little shop in the Merelsteeg. They sell Indian clothes and cheap stuff from the Far East."
"Take us there," Grijpstra said. "Go into the shop and buy. Then we come in and arrest the shopkeeper. We'll arrest you as well but we'll let you go in the street."
"No," Koopman said.
The detectives lit cigarettes. The conversation went on for another few minutes. At one stage Grijpstra had Koopman by the shoulders and was hissing at him. Koop-man trembled.
"All right?" de Gier asked.
Koopman nodded.
"They'll kill me," he said. "I'll be in the canal. Drug dealers never stay in jail long. They carry knives. You carry guns."
"We haven't pulled a gun on you have we?" Grijpstra asked.
"Let's go," Koopman said.
The Merelsteeg is a narrow lightless street dating back three hundred years. Its houses are on the verge of collapsing and are supported temporarily by thick beams jutting out into the street and put up by the Public Works Department. A few houses are being restored and the alley's inhabitants are encouraged to paint their woodwork. There are a few small trees and some creepers grow up the gables. The alley almost died and it's still sickly. Koopman went into the little shop, the detectives counted to five and rushed the door. The small plastic bag was halfway across the counter.
