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Act of passion, say. But who in Holland has a weapon like that or access to one?’
    â€˜You don’t think soldiers do?’ He was utterly incredulous, as though this were some sadistic fairy-tale.
    â€˜Both ideas look equally silly, don’t they? That you killed your wife in unpremeditated passion, not caring that the choice of weapon might seem to point to you – or that someone killed her in cold blood, choosing a weapon that might be thought to point to you.’
    His voice, light, unemotional, seemed to bring the man’s feet to the ground.
    â€˜A machine-gun – of course we have them here – but you’d never got it off the camp. Controlled – counted, checked, signed for – every time.’
    â€˜That’s right – go ahead and eliminate the whole silly notion.’
    â€˜Nobody here even knew my wife.’ Harshly. ‘She never came here – had nothing to do with it – didn’t like it.’
    â€˜She didn’t like your being a regular soldier?’
    Zomerlust rocked his head from side to side like a man bothered by flies.
    â€˜She didn’t mind that, but she wanted nothing to do with camps or soldiers or my life here. Our life was – was a private life.’ Lamely, a little desperately.
    â€˜Well, that’s all,’ said Van der Valk. ‘I’ll be seeing you again of course. I’ll keep you in touch. And I’ll hang on to Ruth for a while, shall I? – till you get things straight.’
    â€˜Yes,’ dully. He still hadn’t assimilated it altogether.
    Van der Valk opened the door. The commanding officer was sitting boyishly on the edge of the desk, on which lay an ochre-coloured file.
    â€˜Sorry to have kept you from your desk, Colonel.’
    â€˜You weren’t long.’ The voice sounded so genial that either he had phoned the War Department and been told to go easy on those civilian police, or that the office was bugged – who knew what Nato Security would get up to next? – or (likeliest,on the whole) he was now as convinced of his man’s innocence as Van der Valk was.
    â€˜All right, Zomerlust. Just a minute, will you – I’ll be needing you … Well, Commissaire?’
    â€˜Very nice fellow. Didn’t kill anyone.’
    â€˜Yes. Likeable chap. Not always an advantage for a noncom – but he’s good at his work.’
    â€˜Got an archbishop’s alibi – I have to send a man to take short statements from the men working with him. Clear him formally; I’d be grateful if you could arrange cooperation on that. I suppose you give him compassionate leave, mm?’
    â€˜He’s in the Army. We’ll stand by him.’
    â€˜I’d like to study this file if I may. I’ve no lingering suspicions but it may help me with background.’
    â€˜Yes – well – it’s military property – but you’ll treat it as confidential matter?’
    â€˜Sign for it if you like,’ thinking of the military way with weapons.
    â€˜No, no but uh – your eyes only.’
    â€˜I’ll ring you up, Colonel, very shortly, and in all likelihood I’ll return this by messenger, tomorrow.’
    â€˜If you would. You know your way? Sarntmajor! …’

Chapter Four
    Van der Valk’s office desk was full of pencilled messages. He disliked tape-recorders.
    â€˜Piet Hartsuiker reports all negative on intruder in flat-block Van Lennep.’
    â€˜Rik and Gerard have neighbourhood pattern on Zomerlust/ Marx. Negative on unusual circumstance or particular friendship.’
    â€˜Labo much interested by weapon reported Uzzi s.m.g. what the hell?’
    Indeed. What the hell?
    â€˜Get me Amsterdam, Technical Services … Lab? Ballistics there? … Sam? – Sam? What is this animal? – a Japanese motorbike?’ Jewish snickers came down the line.
    â€˜Now you’ve come to exactly the right