Read Online Tumbleweed by Janwillem van de Wetering - Free Book Online
Authors: Janwillem van de Wetering
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should wear a ball and chain. And Mrs. van Buren was a witch as well. I would have liked to meet her."
"Ach," Grijpstra said.
"You don't agree?"
"I agree," Grijpstra said, and patted de Gier on the back. "Now you go home and go to sleep and dream dreams."
"Life is a dream," de Gier said.
"That's enough. Good night."
The taxi door slammed and the car took off.
De Gier waved.
Grijpstra didn't look around.
6
I T WAS TEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING AND IT WAS RAINING. De Gier had just knocked on the door of a houseboat and was waiting for the door to open. He had put up the collar of his stylish raincoat and was muttering a string of curses, directed at himself who had bought the raincoat and the manufacturer of the raincoat who had forgotten to waterproof it.
The door opened and a fat woman, dressed in a torn peignoir and with her hair hanging down her face, looked at him with bleary eyes. "No, thank you," she said, and slammed the door.
De Gier knocked again.
"Go away," the woman shouted from inside the boat, "whatever it is you want to sell me, I don't want it."
De Gier knocked again.
"Go away," the woman shrieked, "or I'll phone the police."
"I am the police," de Gier shouted.
The door opened.
"Show your identification," the woman said, and pulled the card out of his hands. She studied the card, holding it at arm's length, spelling out the words to herself. "Amsterdam Municipal Police. R. de Gier, sergeant."
"All right," she said, "what do you want, sergeant?"
"Can I come in a minute?"
The woman stepped aside. De Gier gave her a photocopy of the sketch Bart de Jong had made of the man in the red waistcoat and his little son, holding a ball.
"Do you know this man at all, madam?"
"Let me get my glasses."
The fat woman got her glasses, polished them, and put them on. She studied the sketch carefully. "I have seen him," she said, "he only comes on Sundays, Sunday mornings. Walks about with his son. A lot of people come here for walks but I wouldn't remember them but I remember this one because of his silly waistcoat. A red waistcoat. He has a golden watch chain as well. He reminded me of my grandfather, that's why I remember him too."
"Do you know his name?"
"No," the woman said, "why should I? I never talked to him. Why are you looking for him?"
"We want to ask him a few questions," de Gier said, looking around and noticing how well kept the interior of the boat was. Everything was in its place, the furniture looked as if it had been polished a few minutes ago, the windows were so clean that he had to look again to make sure that there was glass in them. "Typical," de Gier thought, forcing himself to look at the woman who was still eyeing him suspiciously. "Ugly woman," de Gier thought, "should go on a diet and spend an hour a day on herself. She can't be thirty yet, could be quite attractive if she tried."
"Nice boat you have, madam," he said sweetly, "must be wonderful living out here on the water."
"I would prefer a nice apartment," the woman said, but she smiled.
"You didn't notice whether the man used to come here in a car and park it somewhere around here?"
The woman thought; the effort made her less ugly. "Yes. He might have come in a car. It's a long walk from the city and he had the little boy with him. Maybe he parked somewhere close by and then went for a walk. But I haven't seen his car."
"Thank you," de Gier said.
"Would you like some coffee, sergeant?"
"No, thank you, madam, I still have a lot of work to do."
De Gier left. It was the seventeenth door he had knocked on that morning. He knocked on another ten doors and finally got an answer. He walked back to the police VW where he found Grijpstra waiting for him, patiently smoking a cigar.
"What kept you?" Grijpstra said. "I have been waiting here for nearly half an hour. I looked for you, did you find a pretty lady somewhere?"
De Gier took a deep breath. "No."
"The man used to drive out here," Grijpstra said, "in a red Rover. I
"Ach," Grijpstra said.
"You don't agree?"
"I agree," Grijpstra said, and patted de Gier on the back. "Now you go home and go to sleep and dream dreams."
"Life is a dream," de Gier said.
"That's enough. Good night."
The taxi door slammed and the car took off.
De Gier waved.
Grijpstra didn't look around.
6
I T WAS TEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING AND IT WAS RAINING. De Gier had just knocked on the door of a houseboat and was waiting for the door to open. He had put up the collar of his stylish raincoat and was muttering a string of curses, directed at himself who had bought the raincoat and the manufacturer of the raincoat who had forgotten to waterproof it.
The door opened and a fat woman, dressed in a torn peignoir and with her hair hanging down her face, looked at him with bleary eyes. "No, thank you," she said, and slammed the door.
De Gier knocked again.
"Go away," the woman shouted from inside the boat, "whatever it is you want to sell me, I don't want it."
De Gier knocked again.
"Go away," the woman shrieked, "or I'll phone the police."
"I am the police," de Gier shouted.
The door opened.
"Show your identification," the woman said, and pulled the card out of his hands. She studied the card, holding it at arm's length, spelling out the words to herself. "Amsterdam Municipal Police. R. de Gier, sergeant."
"All right," she said, "what do you want, sergeant?"
"Can I come in a minute?"
The woman stepped aside. De Gier gave her a photocopy of the sketch Bart de Jong had made of the man in the red waistcoat and his little son, holding a ball.
"Do you know this man at all, madam?"
"Let me get my glasses."
The fat woman got her glasses, polished them, and put them on. She studied the sketch carefully. "I have seen him," she said, "he only comes on Sundays, Sunday mornings. Walks about with his son. A lot of people come here for walks but I wouldn't remember them but I remember this one because of his silly waistcoat. A red waistcoat. He has a golden watch chain as well. He reminded me of my grandfather, that's why I remember him too."
"Do you know his name?"
"No," the woman said, "why should I? I never talked to him. Why are you looking for him?"
"We want to ask him a few questions," de Gier said, looking around and noticing how well kept the interior of the boat was. Everything was in its place, the furniture looked as if it had been polished a few minutes ago, the windows were so clean that he had to look again to make sure that there was glass in them. "Typical," de Gier thought, forcing himself to look at the woman who was still eyeing him suspiciously. "Ugly woman," de Gier thought, "should go on a diet and spend an hour a day on herself. She can't be thirty yet, could be quite attractive if she tried."
"Nice boat you have, madam," he said sweetly, "must be wonderful living out here on the water."
"I would prefer a nice apartment," the woman said, but she smiled.
"You didn't notice whether the man used to come here in a car and park it somewhere around here?"
The woman thought; the effort made her less ugly. "Yes. He might have come in a car. It's a long walk from the city and he had the little boy with him. Maybe he parked somewhere close by and then went for a walk. But I haven't seen his car."
"Thank you," de Gier said.
"Would you like some coffee, sergeant?"
"No, thank you, madam, I still have a lot of work to do."
De Gier left. It was the seventeenth door he had knocked on that morning. He knocked on another ten doors and finally got an answer. He walked back to the police VW where he found Grijpstra waiting for him, patiently smoking a cigar.
"What kept you?" Grijpstra said. "I have been waiting here for nearly half an hour. I looked for you, did you find a pretty lady somewhere?"
De Gier took a deep breath. "No."
"The man used to drive out here," Grijpstra said, "in a red Rover. I
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