Free The Corpse on the Dike by Janwillem van de Wetering Page A

Ursula said, “the great boom-boom orgasm. I have heard about it but I have never had it. The Cat is too busy; he’s an adventurer, not a lover. I want a lover. You haven’t got a ring on your hand; are you married, sergeant?”
    “No,” de Gier said.
    “You have girls of course,” Ursula said sadly.
    “No,” de Gier said, “it isn’t that.”
    “Boys?”
    “For God’s sake,” de Gier said.
    “So?”
    “The Cat,” de Gier said. “You are living with the man, aren’t you?”
    “Are you frightened of the Cat?” Ursula asked. “You don’t even know him. He isn’t jealous. He’s busy. Sometimes I don’t see him for a week.”
    “No,” de Gier said. The petrol on his shoulder had dried but the smell was still hovering in the car and he felt bilious. The child had begun to snore and some spittle was dribbling down his chin. Ursula had adjusted her hair and he had seen the wet spot under her armpit. The woman was still beautiful—he could see that—but all he wanted now was a bath and the company of his cat, Oliver, and a glass of iced coffee perhaps. No. The thought of coffee aggravated the sick feeling in his stomach. Just a bath, and Oliver stretched out next to him. The cat would have sense enough to be quiet. Ursula was still talking.
    “Boom-boom orgasms. You think that’s silly talk, don’t you? You think I am a frustrated girl living in the body of a woman. Perhaps you are right. But surely I have a right…”
    “Yes,” de Gier said, “you have your rights. Here’s the address.” They had arrived at a large modern warehouse. The sign at the entrance said “Sharif Electric.”
    The Cat was waiting for them in the lobby. Ursula introduced the two men.
    “De Gier. Municipal Police. Ursula asked me to drive her here. I have some questions to ask.”
    The Cat looked as he had been described by Evelien. He was smiling and shaking de Gier’s hand.
    “Diets is my name,” the Cat said, “but call me Cat, everybody calls me Cat. I have to think of my real name sometimes.”
    “Listen,” de Gier said, “I am running behind schedule and have to leave. Would it be convenient for you to come see me at Headquarters this afternoon at four-thirty?”
    “Sure,” the Cat said; “I’ll be there. What is it about? Tom’s death?”
    “Yes,” de Gier said.
    “Poor fellow. I don’t know if I can tell you anything but I’ll help as much as I can. Tom was a friend of mine.”
    “Good. Good-bye, Ursula; thanks for the coffee and the ride.”
    “And the cream?” Ursula asked.
    “And the cream.”
    “And the pineapple?” Ursula asked.
    “And the pineapple.”
    “Goodbye, uncle,” the child said.
    De Gier left. He stopped a police car and asked them to drop him at a taxi stand. He took a taxi to the dike, collected the VW and drove home. He had an hour to wash and lie on his bed.
    Oliver greeted him at the door by standing up against his leg. The cat’s nails were out but his gesture was so slow and gentle that de Gier only felt a vague scratch. Oliver’s eyes were half-closed and he was growling. De Gier scooped him up, turning him upside down, and the cat’s face touched his cheek. The growl changed into a deep purr. Oliver stretched his front paw, spreading his toes, each toe ending in a long razor-sharp claw, and touched de Gier’s nose with the furry underneath. “Careful,” de Gier said and shook the cat. The paw stayed on his nose but the nails were only touching air.
    “Oliver,” de Gier said, “would you like a boom-boom orgasm?” The cat purred.
    “You wouldn’t know, would you, since I had you castrated? Remember? Fours years ago now? How you got your injection and you fell asleep and when you woke up the balls were gone and the little bag sewn up?”
    The cat stopped purring, stretched and twisted himself free, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
    “No, it didn’t hurt,” de Gier said. “You were sleepy, that was all. I’m sorry I had it done to you,