Free The Corpse on the Dike by Janwillem van de Wetering

liters?”
    “Mate,” the attendant said. “Please! We have no cans and we’re busy. There are three cars waiting for me now— this is peak hour.”
    “Please,” de Gier said.
    “Sorry.”
    “Look,” de Gier said and put a hand on the man’s shoulder, “look over there. See that small red car with the lady and child standing next to it? That’s my car and my wife and my child. We are stuck. The child has to go home to eat. He’s howling. You have to help me.”
    “I have a can without a handle,” the man said.
    “Anything.”
    “Let me serve those three cars first.”
    De Gier waited. The second car wanted oil as well. The third car wanted oil, its screen wiped and the pressure of the tires checked. The attendant got a big tip in advance and spent a full seven minutes. The can was an awkward size and de Gier had trouble carrying it. It was hot and his jacket stuck to his back. He carried the can on his shoulder and the petrol slopped out.
    “You are slow, aren’t you?” the child asked.
    “Be nice to uncle,” Ursula said. “He’s helping us.”
    “He can’t drive.”
    “I can’t drive,” de Gier said.
    “Your father had a long walk, didn’t he?” the attendant said to the child as they stopped to return the can and fill the tank.
    “He is not my father,” the child said. “He is my uncle and he can’t drive.”
    The attendant raised an eyebrow at de Gier, who shrugged. “Would your wife like a pair of free sunglasses?” the attendant asked. “We are giving them away today. Every tenth car gets a pair.”
    “Wife?” Ursula asked.
    “No thanks,” de Gier said and looked at Ursula. “The bill came to twenty-five guilders.”
    “I didn’t bring my bag,” Ursula whispered.
    De Gier paid.
    The traffic was very thick and a number of accidents had clogged the city. They waited at lights that changed color without causing any movement in the interminable rows of cars, buses and trucks that had formed at the crossroads. It was getting hot in the car and the child complained. He wanted a drink and he wanted to go to the toilet. De Gier freed the Morris from the queue and parked the car on the sidewalk. He gave Ursula some money and she took the child to a café A uniformed constable stopped and began to fill in a ticket. De Gier showed his identification.
    “Are you on duty, sergeant?”
    “Yes.”
    “Sure?”
    “Yes.”
    Ursula came back with the child. As the constable opened the door for her, he bent down and whispered over to de Gier, “You are quite sure, aren’t you, sergeant?”
    “Yes.”
    “That wouldn’t be your wife and child?”
    “No.”
    “Suspects in a murder case?”
    “Yes.”
    “We have been asked to write reports about things like this, sergeant.”
    “Do that.”
    “I won’t,” the constable said and wandered off.
    De Gier was sweating. He was still sweating when they reached the speedway and were coasting toward the south. The child had fallen asleep on the back seat and Ursula’s hand was resting on de Gier’s thigh.
    “Sergeant,” Ursula’s low voice said, “I am unhappy.”
    De Gier didn’t answer. He tired to concentrate on the traffic and his hands, holding the diminutive steering wheel, were wet.
    “Do you know why?”
    He shook his head.
    “The Cat is boring me. The house is getting smaller every day. I want to get out; I want to fly away. Where do you live, sergeant?”
    “Not far away,” de Gier said, pointing vaguely ahead.
    “Let’s go there.”
    “With the child?”
    “We can give him a toy. He is a nice little boy.”
    “No, no,” de Gier said.
    Ursula looked out the window. She was talking to herself. “Another scared little man. Like the milkman last week. You asked him and he didn’t dare. Scared little men can’t do anything for you. You’ll have to wait. One day it will come.”
    “What will come?” de Gier asked.
    “Were you listening?”
    “You were talking at the top of your voice.”
    “The boom-boom,”