Read Online The Streetbird by Janwillem van de Wetering - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Janwillem van de Wetering
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on his heavy shoes sunk in the carpet. "I do not believe that colonials are stupid, but I do think that Obrian was lucky. And as luck has to originate somewhere, I would like to know where it came from. What else can we study in this house?"
"Here," de Gier said, and opened an upstairs door. "What do we have here?"
Together the detectives, hands in pockets, observed odd objects displayed on a trestle table of rough-sawn boards.
"Rats' skulls," Grijpstra said. He counted. "Thirteen of them, in a half-circle of seven and a concentric half-circle of six. Both numbers and the way they are arranged should have meaning. And those are colored rags, also placed for a purpose. I mean, he wasn't showing samples of textiles, was he, now?"
"And that little statue represents J. Christ," de Gier said. "Couldn't be anybody else, even if he is dressed in a skirt and his face painted pink."
"A drum," Grijpstra said. The drum had been made out of flattened cans, tightly covered with skin. The adjutant hit it with his knuckles. "Don't," de Gier said. "Please."
"Penetrating sound," the adjutant said, replacing the drum gingerly. "Bit high." He waved a finger to the right side of the table. "How would you describe that conglomeration?"
De Gier stepped back. "Picture of a naked woman, obtaining sensuous pleasure by embracing a large bottle of tomato ketchup. Glued to a bit of driftwood found in a canal and framed with shells stuck into the edge. An altar, it seems to me, because what it all sits on is a slab of marble that looks like rubble taken out of a wrecked church. That penis and balls is a root, grown accidentally and now pointed at the performing woman. The bones came off a bird and form a complete skeleton, once holding up a vulture of the species known to us by now. That copper bowl filled with sand is an incense burner."
"Religious?"
"Sure," de Gier said. "Spiritual symbols, combined in a meaningful way, also tastefully arranged; the entire table would be a prime exhibit in a museum of modern art."
Grijpstra picked the drum up again. "Don't," de Gier said. "I don't like the vibrations, they pierce my lump."
"I won't hit it hard." Grijpstra scratched the skin. "Can you imagine how this room worked? Obrian, in ritual dress, at daybreak or sundown, or maybe at midnight with candles burning? His body swaying, enveloped in incense clouds? Evoking ..."
"Luck?" de Gier asked.
"Exactly. He manufactured his luck himself. A strong variety, but not quite bulletproof." Grijpstra put the drum down again. "And now I want to see his corpse."
"I saw it already. In the alley."
"There was too much going on then. Quiet-like, I mean, but you don't have to come along."
The car got itself stuck behind a furniture van being unloaded. A new Mercedes was stuck too, between the truck and the detectives' Volkswagen. De Gier pulled the microphone from under the dashboard. "Headquarters? Car three-fourteen."
"I'm listening, three-fourteen," a female voice said.
"Could you find me the highest available member of the Drug Squad, please?"
"I'll do my best. Is that you, Rinus?"
"It is. I'm waiting."
"Car three-fourteen? Ober here."
"Mr. Ober," de Gier said. "A dark blue automatic fuel-injected Mercedes, I'll give you the registration number."
"Got it."
"A black man at the wheel, in his forties, wide-shouldered, Afro hair, gold earring on the left, accompanied by a young blonde woman, dyed hair, fur coat, jaguar."
"I got that too."
"Do we know them?"
"Just a moment."
"We'll be here awhile," Grijpstra said. "They've only just started. I would say there are just under ten thousand objects in that van, and they'll all have to be carried up several sets of stairs."
"We don't know them," the radio said. "Do you want to arrest them?"
"I'd rather not, sir. We're on a job."
"I'll send out a car."
"Emperor's Canal, sir, corner Bearstreet. The suspicious car is caught between us and a van."
"Understood."
The driver of the Mercedes got out and
"Here," de Gier said, and opened an upstairs door. "What do we have here?"
Together the detectives, hands in pockets, observed odd objects displayed on a trestle table of rough-sawn boards.
"Rats' skulls," Grijpstra said. He counted. "Thirteen of them, in a half-circle of seven and a concentric half-circle of six. Both numbers and the way they are arranged should have meaning. And those are colored rags, also placed for a purpose. I mean, he wasn't showing samples of textiles, was he, now?"
"And that little statue represents J. Christ," de Gier said. "Couldn't be anybody else, even if he is dressed in a skirt and his face painted pink."
"A drum," Grijpstra said. The drum had been made out of flattened cans, tightly covered with skin. The adjutant hit it with his knuckles. "Don't," de Gier said. "Please."
"Penetrating sound," the adjutant said, replacing the drum gingerly. "Bit high." He waved a finger to the right side of the table. "How would you describe that conglomeration?"
De Gier stepped back. "Picture of a naked woman, obtaining sensuous pleasure by embracing a large bottle of tomato ketchup. Glued to a bit of driftwood found in a canal and framed with shells stuck into the edge. An altar, it seems to me, because what it all sits on is a slab of marble that looks like rubble taken out of a wrecked church. That penis and balls is a root, grown accidentally and now pointed at the performing woman. The bones came off a bird and form a complete skeleton, once holding up a vulture of the species known to us by now. That copper bowl filled with sand is an incense burner."
"Religious?"
"Sure," de Gier said. "Spiritual symbols, combined in a meaningful way, also tastefully arranged; the entire table would be a prime exhibit in a museum of modern art."
Grijpstra picked the drum up again. "Don't," de Gier said. "I don't like the vibrations, they pierce my lump."
"I won't hit it hard." Grijpstra scratched the skin. "Can you imagine how this room worked? Obrian, in ritual dress, at daybreak or sundown, or maybe at midnight with candles burning? His body swaying, enveloped in incense clouds? Evoking ..."
"Luck?" de Gier asked.
"Exactly. He manufactured his luck himself. A strong variety, but not quite bulletproof." Grijpstra put the drum down again. "And now I want to see his corpse."
"I saw it already. In the alley."
"There was too much going on then. Quiet-like, I mean, but you don't have to come along."
The car got itself stuck behind a furniture van being unloaded. A new Mercedes was stuck too, between the truck and the detectives' Volkswagen. De Gier pulled the microphone from under the dashboard. "Headquarters? Car three-fourteen."
"I'm listening, three-fourteen," a female voice said.
"Could you find me the highest available member of the Drug Squad, please?"
"I'll do my best. Is that you, Rinus?"
"It is. I'm waiting."
"Car three-fourteen? Ober here."
"Mr. Ober," de Gier said. "A dark blue automatic fuel-injected Mercedes, I'll give you the registration number."
"Got it."
"A black man at the wheel, in his forties, wide-shouldered, Afro hair, gold earring on the left, accompanied by a young blonde woman, dyed hair, fur coat, jaguar."
"I got that too."
"Do we know them?"
"Just a moment."
"We'll be here awhile," Grijpstra said. "They've only just started. I would say there are just under ten thousand objects in that van, and they'll all have to be carried up several sets of stairs."
"We don't know them," the radio said. "Do you want to arrest them?"
"I'd rather not, sir. We're on a job."
"I'll send out a car."
"Emperor's Canal, sir, corner Bearstreet. The suspicious car is caught between us and a van."
"Understood."
The driver of the Mercedes got out and
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