The Rattle-Rat Read Online Free PDF

the lovely biker. The corporal answered hoarsely that the sergeant was welcome. De Gier jumped up, the little door snapped shut, and the chopper lifted away and cut through low clouds. The pilot pushed a handle and the machine fell through the next hole in the vapors. The pilot pointed down, shaking his head in disgust at the crawling mess below. Traffic at the end of the dike had tied itself into a snarl. "Dingjum?" the pilot yelled. Grijpstra and de Gier nodded and grinned, the adjutant fearfully, the sergeant cheerfully. The dike ended underneath them. The blues of the North and Inland seas gave way to fertile greens, changing again to the pink and brownish red of dwellings. "Franeker," the pilot yelled. "The most rusti- cally beautiful village in all of our land." The helicopter vibrated into a muddle of dark gray shreds of clouds. Grijpstra no longer looked; he felt he was dying in dirty cotton wool. He did look after a while, because even fear has its limitations. Was he reborn? He was, in the clear emptiness of an uncluttered sky, and there below—hurray!—waited the beloved earth, and the helicopter touched that earth softly with the metal tubes that protruded from its little belly, set itself down, and rested.
    The pilot saluted. De Gier was outside already, and caught his tumbling superior. The helicopter wafted away and pointed its round nose southward.
    Grijpstra expressed his liberation in a short series of jubilant curses.
    "Weren't we in a hurry?" de Gier asked. "You kept saying that, and I passed the message to the goddess on the bike to make her believe in our haste. If she hadn't, we would have a ticket now, and three times the maximum legal speed is an inexcusability that will even drag you into jail. You would have lost your license. Ever met an adjutant-detective without wheels? I saved you again."
    They were on a meadow, at the center of a circling flock of sheep. One sheep was male, and was even now veering off to attack. "Shoo!" Grijpstra yelled. The ram didn't listen. He was in charge of the meadow and aware of an opportunity to show off to his wives. Horns lowered, the ram chose Grijpstra for his target. "Help!" Grijpstra yelled.
    De Gier helped. He jumped the ram from the side, pulled a front and a hind leg, and rolled smoothly over the enemy, holding him down.
    Grijpstra climbed a fence, groaning. De Gier jumped the fence after him, one leg forward, one leg to the rear, arms stretched, head straight.
    "And now?" Grijpstra asked.
    De Gier pointed at a State Police sign displayed under two lime trees that had grown into each other, their branches cut artfully into a raised square, shielding a low building. Grijpstra gathered his thoughts, straightened his bulk, stepped through the door, and beckoned the sergeant to follow.
    A corporal welcomed his colleagues from the south. Grijpstra stated the purpose of his visit.
    "Are you in charge here?" de Gier asked.
    "Lieutenant Sudema is in charge, but the lieutenant has the day off."
    "So you're in charge."
    The corporal wasn't sure. He left a message on the telephone's tape recorder and invited his guests to join him in his Land Rover. He locked the station's door. The journey took them to a greenhouse. A tall man in faded overalls was packing large tomatoes in small plastic boxes. "Lieutenant Sudema," the corporal said.
    Grijpstra explained his presence.
    The lieutenant filled another three boxes. "Douwe Scherjoen?"
    "Yes."
    "Our Douwe. In an Amsterdam dory? Shot and burned?"
    "His skull looked at me," de Gier said. He curled his fingers around his eyes and dropped his head a little. "Like this, but worse, of course, for he was staring at me from some distance."
    "Subject wasn't known to us," Grijpstra said. "Do you have something on subject here?"
    The lieutenant stacked his boxes. "Mrs. Scherjoen is a good friend of my wife, Gyske. The tax detectives have been after Douwe for a while; they were about to bring charges, and if they had, he might have