Angels - the Judith's secret

by Wudson Silva

  The day was so nice that I wasn’t even angry at the detective contemplating the damm butterflies at the mediocre police station yard.

  — Good morning, Isaías!

  — What a great day!

  — Excited today?

  — Friday is always like this.

  — And why not being like this every day?

  — Well, because not every day is Friday!

  — That is true! — he laughed.

  — Let’s take the pictures and continue our investigation, detective?

  — Later. Right now there is someone that wants to talk to you.

  — Who? — I asked.

  — The Chief of Police, Jonas.

  Finally some good news. I hope he brings good news, by the way, great news, to make my day even better. First, because Jonas will tell me in detail who is this honorable detective. Second, because the Chief of Police is the one that will follow this investigation from this point on. Finally, because I am going back to where I belong without anyone disturbing me. Thank God!

  Dr. Jonas was admiring his desk so neat and organized, feeling pleased. What called most of the attention at the poor bastard was his wavy hair in a thin and brown face, in addition to that antipathetic mustache.

  — Is everything okay, Isaías?

  — It could be better.

  — Are you alone?

  — Yes. The detective is outside watching butterflies.

  — Close the door.

  The Chief of Police looked through the window to make sure there was no one around. I got immediately anxious. He sat down and placed a typical smile of a bigmouth that is about to tell a bombastic information.

  — How the investigation is going?

  — Without rhyme or reason — I replied.

  — But I heard he always finds out everything!

  — The only thing he finds out are thoughts.

  — How do you know this, Isaias?

  — Stay close to him and soon you will know. And what do you know about this detective?

  — I know he’s been to a mental institution — he said whispering. — Considered crazy.

  — Really?!

  — This was about five years ago. He was an ordinary person, but he got this way after climbing to a mount top to pray and got down saying he had spoken to God, and that God had granted him the gift of translating the language of the angels.

  — And he came to Rio Vermelho to translate the language of the angels?!

  — No! He is cured of this psychosis, so they say. The mystery is in how easy he finds out about things.

  — This is true — I said. — It looks like the devil himself tells him everything.

  — It is not the devil — the Chief of Police laughed. — They say he still talks to those angels. Everyone has a guardian angel; the detective just have to get close to the person and make the right questions, and the angels tell everything.

  — And do you believe in this, Chief?

  — You are the one that have to tell me if anything like this is possible or not. Aren’t you working with him?

  I started thinking about it.

  Clóvis, then, had been in a mental institution. Logically, it is likely that his madness is coming back gradually. As he doesn't have conscience of reality, for sure, he keeps pretending that there are angels everywhere.

  — Well, Jonas, sometimes he is scary … but who told you all this?

  — Have you heard about the investigation of a so called iconoclast?

  — Yes. That is all they talk about here in Rio Vermelho.

  — Here is the thing…

  Dr. Jonas told me a little bit about the story of the so called iconoclast, but I couldn’t understand much. The method that this detective uses is weird, and I am not in the mood to keep talking about images of saints.

  — You will take over this investigation from now on, right?

  — God forbid! — he replied. — I am off-duty, but you may use the police car, that is much better than your old car.

  — But I…

  — I can’t, Isaías. I have an appointment.

  — But I thought that…

  — You thought it wrong! Keep on with your work and tell this detective that I am thankful for him having my desk organized while I was away.

  — How do you know it was him and not me?

  The Chief of Police puffed his cigarette, laughed in sarcasm and said:

  — Since when do you know how to do anything?

  I left his office pissed off. This Chief of Police will have what is coming for him, and I want to be around to celebrate the day he gets it!

  On the other hand, I will not use my gasoline. As soon as the day goes by, I will be free again. The only thing I must do is observe the “detective that came from the mental institution” making the same questions to the people without at least changing the sequence of his inquiry; driving from one home to the other according to the photographs he selected and laughing at the people that still live in the past and that stop on their way just to see a police car just because it carries a detective that appeared on television. People from the countryside are always like this.

  The morning flew away. The sun, little by little, was getting stronger until the temperature was unbearable. Even so, I didn’t complain, because I was counting the minutes to the end of the day.

  When I drove downtown, Matheus, my son, waived for me to stop.

  — How are you doing, Clóvis?

  — Everything ok!

  — What do you want? — I asked.

  — Mom asked you to buy some good steak for our lunch today at the Elias’ butcher shop.

  — Elias? That pig?! He is always with his hands filled with blood and doesn’t even wash them to sleep. Never mind, I will buy it somewhere else.

  — If you say so.

  Matheus commented with Clóvis that earlier, on the radio, the only thing heard was about the TV detective acting in Judith’s murder case in our town. Clóvis thanked him for the message and asked me to drive away urgently.

  — Let’s go to the Elias butcher shop — ordered the detective.

  — But I do not buy meat there. Elias is a pig…

  — Let’s go there, now!

  Clóvis entered the butcher shop decided to do something.

  He gave a quick pick at the establishment, which is the same as any other butcher shop in this world: mosquito everywhere and a bunch of dogs in front waiting for some leftovers. After observing the inside of that hole, he stared at the frail man on the other side of the counter.

  — May I help you? — said Elias, the butcher.

  — Yes, you may — answered Clóvis, serious. — We want you to explain this.

  He reached in his pocket the piece of paper stained in blood where it could be read a single thing: “Today?”, and placed it over the counter. I noticed immediately that Elias changed his color, flabbergasted, ashamed; he couldn’t say anything to explain what was going on and started shaking.

  I barely thought about picking up my revolver and Clóvis lifted his hand ordering me to stay put.

  — May we talk, Elias?

  — Please, come in.

  What we saw at the back of Elias house was a yard partially cemented, a bunch of violets and bromelias. Other than that, a wall so high that you couldn’t see the neighbors. The roof extended up to a certain point, making the place a little fresher; there was a rustic table at the center of the protected and aired area.

  Elias is single, apparently at his thirties and his simplicity leaves him away from gossips about his life. He is thin, with a thin nose, clear brown hair and parted down the middle; someone that doesn't draw the attention of anyone because he barely leaves home. I don’t know if he has a relationship or not. But he is definitely related to the crime.

  — Where did you find this paper? — the butcher asked, acting like a victim.

  — At the chest in which Judith collected her mail.

  — I
thought she threw it away — he whispered. — I didn’t even remembered anymore of that.

  — When, exactly, did you gave her this?

  — Three or four months ago.

  — Please, tell us what happened.

  “About two years ago she became a customer. She always came here to the shop excited. In the beginning, I was a bit shy, but little by little I started going with her ways, and we became intimate.

  Until one day she invited me to go to a party at her sister’s house; this was last year. I wasn’t in the mood, but she told me that, if I did, she had a surprise to me later on. She insisted until I was convinced to go.

  It was a great party. Miss Ruth’s farm, her sister, got crowded with people. Photographs were taken of every guest, except me — I hate being photographed.

  After a few days, she came by saying she was feeling lonely and invited me to go to her home so that we could talk a little alone; she mentioned the surprise again. Then, I waited till it was night and went to her home at the time in which almost the whole city is sleeping… and I had an unforgettable night. But that was not it. We saw each other many other times, always late at night.

  Until one day, when the butcher shop was filled with customers, she showed up to get her order. I wanted to see her later, but since our relationship was secret, I had no way to indicate my intentions. So, I had the idea of writing this note and putting it inside her order. “Today?” would be enough for her to understand my message. It had to be quick and, therefore, I ripped off the paper and wrote down without even having the chance to wash my hands. No one at the shop realized it.

  It was a shame when she called later saying she had a commitment, and that she probably would not be home early, and, if she did, she would be too tired to see me”.

  — How long did this relationship last? — the detective asked.

  — About eleven months.

  — Did you see each other very often?

  — No. Most of times she made some kind of excuse, but I never cared about it.

  — Did she have another lover?

  — I don’t think so; if she had, I wouldn’t be with her.

  — Anyone else knew about this?

  — No — the butcher replied, laconic.

  — Did anyone ever see you going in or out of Judith’s house?

  — Almost, but I don’t think so.

  — Almost?

  — Yeah… It was last month. We had agreed to meet at night. There was no one at the street, I went through the church square and got into the alley, as usual. When I was close to her house a car suddenly showed up at the corner of the square. The engine wasn’t on and I didn’t hear it scratching the floor at the speed bump. I got in quickly at her porch without letting anyone, whoever that person was, see me.

  — Did you see the car?

  — I only saw that there was a car at the square thanks to the lights that illuminated the alley all of a sudden, and I ran in without looking back.

  Elias made a silence, as if he had nothing else to say. The detective stared at the table, focused. I noticed he was not satisfied with what he heard, and pushed him further.

  — What else you have to tell me? — questioned, suspicious of something.

  — That is all!

  — I have the impression that you are hiding something… and it is best if you tell me.

  — That is all, I swear! — the butcher, restless.

  — Are you sure?

  — I already told you everything — he whined. — What else do you want to know?

  — About the wind!

  The butcher’s eyes opened wide, and his mouth opened in terror. Clóvis words were almost like a knife cutting the poor bastard’s in half.

  — I… I… I only found it odd the door opening by itself — answered Elias, pale. — How did you know this?

  — It doesn’t matter. Tell us everything in detail.

  The butcher sighed deeply and said:

  — After the shock with the car going down the street with the lights and engine turned off, I got in and told Judith what happened. She didn’t pay too much attention to that and we went to bed. Half hour later, the door squeaked. Afraid that someone was breaking into, Judith got up to see what was going on; she locked the door and came back saying it was just the wind, without giving much attention to what happened.

  The detective itched his head impatiently and looked at the empty chair in front of him, as if someone was sitting there.

  — Did she ever tell you any dreams?

  — What do you mean?

  — A wish, some project, or anything that would suddenly change her life.

  — Once, but…

  — What did she say?

  — Nothing important. Well… she wanted to leave and start over somewhere else. That was all.

  — But was she planning something?

  — She used to say she was tired of this countryside life and that she wanted more. Oh! She also talked about a prince charming.

  — Prince charming?! — I laughed.

  — That’s right. She always said that one day she would get her clothes and would move away with her prince charming.

  — Was there some seriousness in her voice?

  — I think she didn’t mean it.

  — Your secret will be safe with us, Elias, and we are thankful for your help — he said to the butcher.

  — Thank you. Is there anything else I could do?

  — Yes, there is.

  — What is it?

  — One kilo of prime steak to Madalena, the wife of my friend here.

  — On the house! — smiled Elias.

  Clóvis had a look of disappointment, no wonder. First, because Elias report did not validate his theory that Samuel, Moisés son, broke up with Judith and left to the United States because he found out she had a secret lover. Samuel left two years ago and the relationship with Elias lasted for the last eleven months. Second, because he had applied every part of his brain in a dirty dating note he believed was related to the crime. Finally, because it all took him back to square one; and, this way, he had no other hypothesis to work with.

  We visited some other possible suspects up to lunch time, as directed by the “mental detective.”

  At the afternoon little changed. We still had two pictures to look for, and it was likely that we wouldn’t have enough time to question everyone before the sunset.

  Clóvis no longer showed his piano mouth. No wonder, after finding out that the bloody note wasn’t what he thought it was, he had no strength to think.

  The sun was getting closer to the mountains. The clouds spread around painted the sky in a grayish orange, and the temperature was cooling down. It was the end of my work day. So, I left the detective back at the hotel, went straight to the bar and had the first swallow of beer as if it was sugared water.

  But the physical tiredness combined with a deep and inexplicable sadness persuade me to go home. If at least my friends were there to tell some jokes, maybe I would awake. The worst part is that I keep forgetting that my mother is at the hospital; I have to visit her later.

  I had only one beer and went home.

  Saturday