Free The Rattle-Rat by Janwillem van de Wetering

Harlingen, just north of the dike. I should be there because I'm a Frisian too. I was bora in Joure, a little farther inland. De Gier is in Fries-land because he drifted after Grypstra."
    "Wasn't Scherjoen murdered here?"
    "That's an effect," the commissaris said. "We're looking for causes, Cardozo. The present hardly matters. Think with me now. Scherjoen has been described to us as an inferior being of a devilish nature. He even parks his car asocially. A ne'er-do-well, this Douwe. It's a first attempt at constructing a theory, but we have to begin in the past."
    "But you've only just heard that Scherjoen is an asocial parker."
    The commissaris sighed.
    "Is your leg hurting badly?"
    "You want to hear the truth?"
    "Why not?" Cardozo asked.
    "I was trying to construct a theory that would take me to Friesland, because I've a new car. I wanted to race it on the dike. Fate got in my way again. My theory was designed to satisfy my selfish longings. But I could still be right. If Douwe is no good, he started by being no good in Friesland. Suppose Frisians wanted to be rid of Douwe and did that here. Couldn't that be possible?"
    "Why not in Friesland?"
    "It's pure out there," the commissaris said. "And messy here. Another misdeed here might attract little attention."
    Cardozo rolled a cigarette.
    "And if the misdeed is Frisian-related," the commissaris said, "the inquiry should be Frisian too, for only we Frisians know the depth of our own soul. Grijpstra and I will be the most suitable sleuths."
    Cardozo lit his cigarette.
    "Grijpstra hunts out there," the commissaris said, "and I drive up and down the dike, to keep contact at over a hundred miles an hour, that's what I had in mind."
    "And I would be hunting here?"
    "Yes," the commissaris said. His phone rang. "I'm on my way, dear," he said, and replaced the phone on its cradle. "Have to go home now, to eat Belgian endives."
    Cardozo coughed and sneezed.
    "You should go home too," the commissaris said.
    They waited at the elevator together.
    "The elevator broke down," a passing constable said. "Everything is down these days, but the elevator got stuck upstairs."
    The commissaris and Cardozo walked down the stairs together. Cardozo limped a little. "Are you imitating me?" the commissaris asked.
    "I fought the Arrest Team, sir."
    "You lost? So why did they complain to me?"
    "I sort of not-lost, sir."
    "I'm in a bad mood," the commissaris said. "You must excuse me."
    "Tomorrow you'll have your car again, sir."
    'True," the commissaris said. "Visit me again tomorrow, my spirits should be up."
    Waiting at the streetcar stop together, they felt better together. "Bald Ary," the commissaris said, "and Fritz with the Tuft, in Friesland too. Yes, things may be looking up."
    His streetcar came first. Cardozo waved good-bye.

\\\\\ 6 /////
    THE COMMISSARIS, WHO HAD ONLY JUST GOT OUT INTO THE new day, looked fresh in the early sunlight. His light gray three-piece summer suit contrasted pleasantly with the luscious colors of the begonia flowers in the windows. His small head, under the last few hairs neatly combed across his gleaming skull, rose energetically from the collar of a starched white shirt that held a bright blue tie clasped with a large pearl set in silver. He related his adventure with the barkeep Troelstra and the possibility of future charges against the criminal Bald Ary and his mate, Fritz with the Tuft.
    Cardozo listened.
    De Gier came in. "Moarn" he said.
    The commissaris and Cardozo questioned the sergeant soundlessly, from under raised eyebrows.
    "Moarn?" de Gier asked. "Haven't I fattened the vowels sufficiently? Is my accent blurring my meaning?"
    The commissaris's and Cardozo's eyebrows were still up.
    "Can I sit down?"
    "We are accustomed here," the commissaris said, "to wishing each other a good morning first. After that we can sit down."
    "But I did wish you a good morning," de Gier said. "In the Frisian language. You're Frisian, I believe?" He held up a small black