Just a Corpse at Twilight Read Online Free
Author: Janwillem van de Wetering
popping up for weekends in Amsterdam, for skipping off to America afterward, for sending photographs of selfin sports cars (nobody rents out sports cars), on motorcycles (you have to buy motorcycles too), in new safari suits, with beauties (beauties don't come cheap). Whoever heard of a gambler risking his wad and not losing his wad?
"De Gier earned regular money in New Guinea," Grijpstra said. "He didn'tjust study with that voodoo fellow, he also assisted the police commissioner of Port Moresby. That very subtle Japanese case? The diplomat murder? Remember all the faxes Rinus sent? And I bet the Japanese Embassy in Port Moresby paid him too."
"Sure." Nellie smiled sweetly. She'd been a whore and whores are smart. Since when are gttest police officers well paid in Third World countries?
"You're just jealous," Grijpstra laughed. He blocked Nellie's left hook.
"Bah!" yelled Nellie.
Grijpstra, switching into his fatherly mode, was sorry. Nellie, the forgiving darling daughter, forgave Daddy. The warring parties nuzzled.
"My dear," Grijpstra said, remembering the Gerard/de Gier similarity. He always forgot Nellie was allergic to anything to do with Rinus de Gier. "I'm sorry, my dear."
The El Al clerk on the phone asked him to please check in early. Nellie raced the big Bronco to the Amsterdam Airport. She liked to feel the power of the machine, to be high off the ground. She hated having the car filled with gas, waiting at the station, watching numbers flick into an astronomical total. "All this expense is eating up our income."
Grijpstra's defense was that it cost more to ride a wheelchair than a gas guzzler, that expenses could be deducted, that Amsterdam's dangerous lanes and alleys could be best negotiated in a battle car, that he needed the powerful vehicle to impress his clients, like he needed to have Nellie's gable house refurbished to attract good custom.
Nellie took the opportunity to question Grijpstra's monthly trips to Luxembourg.
"I get paid in cash sometimes, dear. The cash goes to a tax-free haven. I go there to invest the money properly."
"And mail monthly checks to Rinus."
"I manage his savings too," Grijpstra admitted.
"So much money you two spend."
Not all that much maybe, and look what it had bought for Nellie: repaired and repainted windowsills, all brick walls filled in and varnished, new copper gutters and drainpipes, the stone angel balancing on the gable's top secured and restored, new oak staircases and floors on all stories, all inside walk whitewashed, beams and posts scraped and oiled, all by the best artisans the city could provide.
"We must be in debt."
"But didn't I refinish the entire basement myself?"
"But why, HenkieLuwie? I thought you were going to have a heart attack, carrying cement, pouring it yourself. Why didn't you let me help you?"
He had liked refinishing the entire basement himself.
"Just to store all those old files. Those messy cartons."
"A detective needs good files."
"Why did you take your files to Luxembourg?"
"Please." Grijpstra frowned. He had saved. He was making good money now. Not to worry. He sang the Bobby McFerrin line in an attempt at falsetto. "Don't worry. Be happy."
"And your wife, and the kids?"
Mrs. Grijpstra was lady-in-waiting at her rich sister's residence in the country. The kids were grown and all except Ricky on public assistance. If he gave them money they would smoke that too.
"And Ricky at the naval academy?"
Straight A's. A scholarship. Ricky was funded.
Nellie sighed. The El Al ticket, ordered at a moment's notice on his Luxembourg-issued credit card that would need to be paid at the end of the month, had to be expensive too. "You're billing this to Rinus?"
Sure.
"You'll phone me every day?"
You bet.
"But that's costly."
Not if he phoned outside business hours.
"Early mornings?"
Sure.
"But you're never up early mornings."
See you later, dear Nellie.
Chapter 2
Schiphol's departure hall, postmidnight, was empty but for
"De Gier earned regular money in New Guinea," Grijpstra said. "He didn'tjust study with that voodoo fellow, he also assisted the police commissioner of Port Moresby. That very subtle Japanese case? The diplomat murder? Remember all the faxes Rinus sent? And I bet the Japanese Embassy in Port Moresby paid him too."
"Sure." Nellie smiled sweetly. She'd been a whore and whores are smart. Since when are gttest police officers well paid in Third World countries?
"You're just jealous," Grijpstra laughed. He blocked Nellie's left hook.
"Bah!" yelled Nellie.
Grijpstra, switching into his fatherly mode, was sorry. Nellie, the forgiving darling daughter, forgave Daddy. The warring parties nuzzled.
"My dear," Grijpstra said, remembering the Gerard/de Gier similarity. He always forgot Nellie was allergic to anything to do with Rinus de Gier. "I'm sorry, my dear."
The El Al clerk on the phone asked him to please check in early. Nellie raced the big Bronco to the Amsterdam Airport. She liked to feel the power of the machine, to be high off the ground. She hated having the car filled with gas, waiting at the station, watching numbers flick into an astronomical total. "All this expense is eating up our income."
Grijpstra's defense was that it cost more to ride a wheelchair than a gas guzzler, that expenses could be deducted, that Amsterdam's dangerous lanes and alleys could be best negotiated in a battle car, that he needed the powerful vehicle to impress his clients, like he needed to have Nellie's gable house refurbished to attract good custom.
Nellie took the opportunity to question Grijpstra's monthly trips to Luxembourg.
"I get paid in cash sometimes, dear. The cash goes to a tax-free haven. I go there to invest the money properly."
"And mail monthly checks to Rinus."
"I manage his savings too," Grijpstra admitted.
"So much money you two spend."
Not all that much maybe, and look what it had bought for Nellie: repaired and repainted windowsills, all brick walls filled in and varnished, new copper gutters and drainpipes, the stone angel balancing on the gable's top secured and restored, new oak staircases and floors on all stories, all inside walk whitewashed, beams and posts scraped and oiled, all by the best artisans the city could provide.
"We must be in debt."
"But didn't I refinish the entire basement myself?"
"But why, HenkieLuwie? I thought you were going to have a heart attack, carrying cement, pouring it yourself. Why didn't you let me help you?"
He had liked refinishing the entire basement himself.
"Just to store all those old files. Those messy cartons."
"A detective needs good files."
"Why did you take your files to Luxembourg?"
"Please." Grijpstra frowned. He had saved. He was making good money now. Not to worry. He sang the Bobby McFerrin line in an attempt at falsetto. "Don't worry. Be happy."
"And your wife, and the kids?"
Mrs. Grijpstra was lady-in-waiting at her rich sister's residence in the country. The kids were grown and all except Ricky on public assistance. If he gave them money they would smoke that too.
"And Ricky at the naval academy?"
Straight A's. A scholarship. Ricky was funded.
Nellie sighed. The El Al ticket, ordered at a moment's notice on his Luxembourg-issued credit card that would need to be paid at the end of the month, had to be expensive too. "You're billing this to Rinus?"
Sure.
"You'll phone me every day?"
You bet.
"But that's costly."
Not if he phoned outside business hours.
"Early mornings?"
Sure.
"But you're never up early mornings."
See you later, dear Nellie.
Chapter 2
Schiphol's departure hall, postmidnight, was empty but for
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