Tumbleweed Read Online Free PDF Page B

that way. Late in the day, just before the light goes. It has a life of its own and I am trying to catch it. It also has a row of ventilators on its roof which turn around all the time. I haven't done the ventilators yet, it'll be very difficult to get their movement. The best thing would be to cut small holes into the canvas and make little metal ventilators and build them in, and make them turn around. I could install a little electric motor."
    "No, no," Grijpstra said, "it would become a pop thing. You'll cheapen it."
    "Perhaps."
    De Gier was now also looking at the painting. "It might be very good," de Gier said, "but it's not original. I have seen paintings of windmills and the mill's sails turned."
    "Nothing is original," Bart said. "Whatever you do has been done before. Only our combinations are our own but even combinations have been done before. I am sure someone else, at this very moment, is thinking of building rotating metal miniature ventilators into a two-dimensional painting."
    "Yes," Grijpstra said.
    "You really want to know about Mrs. van Buren's death, don't you?" Bart asked.
    "And about her life," de Gier said.
    Bart was rolling himself a cigarette from a dented tin. His hands weren't shaking.
    "I can't tell you about her death. Do you know when she died?"
    "Not the exact time," de Gier said, "but the doctor will be able to tell us tomorrow."
    "Well, whatever the exact time was, I am sure I won't have an alibi. I am always by myself and it would be easy for me to sneak over to her boat and kill her. Easier for me man for anybody else for I can see her boat from my windows and I could find out whether she was alone or not. How did she die?"
    "I told you already," de Gier said. "Somebody put a knife in her back."
    "Ah yes, a knife. I would never use a knife."
    "What would you use?"
    "Nothing, I wouldn't kill. I would let them kill me. Perhaps I would kill to protect my child but I don't have a child. I wouldn't protect myself."
    "So you don't know anything about her death," de Gier said. "Well, tell us about her life."
    Bart shook his head. "I told you already. I never got to know her very well. She has had me in there for coffee but there was never any conversation. I have some geraniums and they weren't doing well and she told me to put some special plant stuff in the water, she even gave me a carton full of it. I often fed her cat so perhaps she wanted to do something in return."
    "Will you be looking after the cat now?" de Gier asked.
    "Are you concerned?"
    "Yes," de Gier said. "I have a cat myself."
    "Don't worry. I'll look after the cat. It'll mess the boat up with all its hair but I'll keep him if nobody else wants him."
    "Good," de Gier said.
    "Who do you think killed her?" Grijpstra asked.
    "One of her clients maybe?"
    "Perhaps. Do you know who they are?"
    Bart thought for nearly half a minute. "No. I can describe their cars. A new black Citroen with a CD plate and a Belgian number. A big Buick with a USA number, must be some army officer stationed in Germany; and another Citroen, also new, with real leather upholstery and a lot of chromium plating, a silver-colored car. I don't have the numbers. There were always the same cars. I often wondered what would happen if they arrived at the same time but they never did. She must have received them by strict appointment."
    "Did anyone else ever visit her?"
    Bart thought again. "Yes. The man with the red waistcoat. He used to come on Sunday mornings. A fat chap with a face like one of those small Edam cheeses, no expression at all on it. And he always wore a dark red velvet waistcoat with a gold watch chain. I couldn't make out what he came for. He used to have a small boy with him, five years old maybe, and he always came on Sunday mornings. Sometimes he came without the boy."
    "Did he come by car?"
    "No. On foot, with the boy."
    "And when he was without the boy?"
    "Also on foot."
    "Tall man? Small man?"
    "Just under six foot and getting fat. Forty years