by John Koloen
Duncan explained what he’d learned from Montes, who had learned about it from a friend in the prosecutor’s office.
“He doesn’t seem to know a lot about it, just that there’s this other investigation.”
“I think you should leave immediately,” Maggie said firmly. “They didn’t take your passport, did they?”
“No, I have it right here. You really think—?”
“Something’s going on behind your back, Howard,” she said uneasily. “That’s never good. Don’t you see?”
Duncan hated being in the middle of things with no place to hide. He trusted Montes, who planned to accompany him to the hearing. Montes suggested that Duncan not leave the country, which could be construed as proof that Duncan had something to hide.
“I’m an American citizen. They can’t just throw me in jail,” Duncan said boldly, pausing before adding uncertainly, “Can they?”
“Of course they can.”
“Wouldn’t the embassy come to my aid?”
“Not like you’d think,” she said. “You’re pretty much on your own. Your lawyer didn’t tell you to leave, did he?”
“Nothing like that. He just said it would’ve been better if I hadn’t come. He didn’t know about this other investigation until I was already on the plane. He left a voicemail, but I didn’t get it until I was already in the hotel. I don’t know what to do.”
Frustrated by the scarcity of information, Duncan thought of and discarded a half-dozen plans following the phone call, concluding that the best course was to do nothing, relying on the hotel restaurant and bar to alleviate his apprehension with a steak dinner and several margaritas.
20
Duncan didn’t know what to expect when he and Andre Montes arrived at a nondescript office building in sprawling downtown Manaus. Montes had spoken with the prosecutor, Marcelo Lima, the previous day and was assured that he was simply trying to close the book on an investigation that had taken on a life of its own, and that Montes was welcome to accompany the American during his interview.
Lima’s department had been moved temporarily into the building while its offices were being remodeled. Occupying the entire second floor, the hallways stacked with cabinets and sealed boxes, Duncan couldn’t tell whether the occupants were moving in or out. Lima apologized about the clutter and offered bolo de rolo, or roll cake, and cocadas, a coconut confection, with coffee.
“I hope you’ll pardon the mess, but we’re still settling in. Normally, we would conduct the interview in a more accommodating room, but we all have to make do,” Lima said in English as Montes and Duncan passed on the sweets but took the coffee. In addition to Lima, who sat behind a smallish, metal desk, were a stenographer and a heavy set, middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard whom Lima introduced as a lawyer representing the family of Luiz Cardoso. Montes eyed the man suspiciously.
“I was given to understand this was an interview of Dr. Duncan.”
“It is,” Lima responded matter-of-factly.
“I have to ask, why is he here?” Montes said, nodding toward the bearded man.
“He’s here to observe.”
Although he could only understand bits and pieces of the conversation, Duncan sensed that Montes was growing uncomfortable, which made him uncomfortable. After several minutes of back and forth, Montes whispered to Duncan, “Be careful what you say.”
“I heard that,” Lima said.
“No disrespect intended, but I’m advising Dr. Duncan to not participate as long as this person is in the room. As far as I am concerned, this meeting is being conducted under false pretense and we are leaving.”
Duncan kept his eyes on Montes as he and the prosecutor argued back and forth, until Montes abruptly stood and motioned for Duncan to rise as well. Not wanting to delay the interview any longer, Lima nodded toward the bearded lawyer, who left the room without comment.
“May we start now?” Lima asked wearily, as Montes and Duncan took their seats, the stenographer poised to tap away at his stenotype.
21
“No, my dear, I’ve heard nothing. Should I? Where are you?” Maggie Cross said loud enough for George Hamel to hear in the kitchen and Howard Duncan to hear in Manaus. She had her boyfriend on speaker. He’d called her to fill her in on how the interview went.
“I’m in my hotel. My lawyer thinks something’s going on and he’s worried. Can you believe it?”
Hamel returned to the room as Duncan described the interview and how he had thought it had gone well, while his lawyer drew a different conclusion.
“He thinks they’re not trying to wrap things up the way they said,” Duncan said. “He thinks they’re going after me, if you can believe that.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. The prosecutor asked a lot of questions about how we escaped. Not from the country but from the gang. It got kinda intense. But I didn’t think I did anything wrong, you know.”
“You never do,” Hamel mouthed, drawing a dirty look from Maggie.
“What do you suppose is happening?”
“I don’t know. They want me to attend a hearing tomorrow. Andre thinks the interview was just a pretense to get me on the record, and tomorrow they’ll use it against me. But I can’t for the life of me think of how. But, you know, that’s what lawyers do.”
“Is the hearing voluntary?” Hamel asked.
“As far as I know.”
“Then why don’t you get the hell outta there?” Maggie glanced at Hamel coldly.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been thinking. At first Andre thought it was a civil thing, but now he’s not so sure.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“He thinks it’s a criminal investigation, if you can believe that. But how could they charge me for escaping a band of thieves? I know this is Brazil and all, but still, how could they do that? Why would they do that?”
Maggie regretted not having taken a more cautious tone when Duncan first considered returning to Brazil. Although she hadn’t been enthusiastic about it, she knew how important it was to him to put his past behind him. But her concerns were eased when her attorney agreed that attending the interview was perhaps the only way to close the books on this chapter of her boyfriend’s life.
“So, what are you going to do?” she asked.
She could hear his sigh over the phone.
“I don’t know,” he said resignedly. “I wish you were here.”
“I wish you were here. I wish you’d never gone.”
“Yeah, me too. Except, you know, it could turn out differently tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you could end up in jail,” Hamel snorted.
22
Duncan was torn with doubt, his mind deeply involved in a debate over his next move. His lawyer was skeptical of the hearing planned for tomorrow. He was convinced that the interview with the assistant state prosecutor was a pretense to gather information that would be used at the hearing. Duncan couldn’t quite see how that could be, since the questions seemed straightforward and helped flesh out his role in the incident which, he believed, was exculpatory if nothing else. How could leading an escape from kidnappers be held against him?
“There’s something else that we don’t know about,” Montes told him when Duncan called him after talking with Maggie.
“What could that be?”
“I’m afraid we may find out tomorrow. You understand, this hearing may be adversarial, unlike today. I will be there with you, of course, but I don’t know what to prepare for. I mean, you’ve told me everything that happened. Isn’t that correct?”
“As far as I know,” Duncan replied. “Maybe this is a way to get back at me for the way I left the country.”
“I don’t really think so. I would know if there were charges, and there aren’t any.”
“As far as you know.”
“Yes, of course, as far as I know.”
Though it may have been nothing more than a throwaway line, Duncan wond
ered if Hamel was right and that it would be appropriate to pack up and leave the country, never to return. He could see no reason why he would ever return to Brazil, and once out of the country the ball would be in his court and the prosecutor could suck an egg.
“I don’t know if this is legal, but why couldn’t I just leave the country? Like you said, I haven’t been charged with anything. I have my passport. I’m free to go. Aren’t I?”
“On the surface, yes, I don’t see why you couldn’t do that. But that’s as far as I know and so far, whatever is going on is below the surface.”
“Yeah, but what could they do to me? And you tried to get me not to come. It’s just that I really hate things being up in the air like this. I feel like I’m not in control and the people that are aren’t on my side.”
“Oh, I understand how you feel, Dr. Duncan,” Montes said sympathetically. “But I’m afraid I can’t really give you advice on this. As an officer of the court, I can’t encourage you to avoid appearing. The assumption would be that you are guilty.”
“Guilty of what? Of having saved the lives of the people who depended on me? For chrissakes, what is going on here?” Duncan said, his volume rising with his frustration.
“I agree with you.”
“You don’t think I should do it?”
“It’s risky. Is that how you say it?”
“Yes. But why?”
“Why would they have gone to all this trouble to get you here in the first place?”
“I wish I knew,” Duncan said, ending the conversation with a promise to meet Montes in the morning at a coffee shop near the prosecutor’s office. However, whether he would keep the promise was up for debate as he opened his laptop and browsed through flight information for Eduardo Gomes International Airport. He told himself he was just looking, but the more he looked, the more it seemed he would find what he was looking for and when he did, the debate would be over.
23
Andre Montes had a bad feeling when Howard Duncan was late for their rendezvous at the coffee shop. The lawyer waited ten minutes before calling the first time. Again, after five minutes. And again. He watched the opening of the B3 stock exchange and checked how his shares were doing on his phone. By the time he left to attend the hearing, he was struggling to explain why his client was not available. It seemed hopeless. Perhaps he’d misjudged the American. Perhaps he wasn’t as reliable and earnest as he’d believed, to stand him up like this. More charitably, perhaps he overslept, he thought as he made his way past the prosecutor’s office to a room at the end of the long hallway with a ceiling-to-floor door bearing a hand-labeled sign, rom de audição. A computer printout alongside the door listed the reservation schedule. The form was blank.
Hesitantly, he entered the makeshift hearing room more as a supplicant than an advocate, still mentally rehearsing how he would explain his client’s absence. The room was laid out simply. A desk at the front faced two tables with chairs in several rows behind them, separated by an aisle. Marcelo Lima sat behind the desk talking to an assistant. Several others in business suits stood around one of the tables, arranging piles of folders in neat stacks, talking in hushed tones. One of the men he recognized as the Cardosos’ attorney from the interview, who nodded toward him when their eyes met. Leaving his briefcase on his table, Montes approached Lima, who rose from his chair to shake hands.
“I must say I wasn’t expecting this,” Montes said, tilting his head toward the man’s table.
Lima shrugged, seemingly preoccupied with preparations for the hearing.
“I’m sorry, but this may all be a waste of time,” Montes said apologetically.
Lima gave Montes a puzzled look.
“Why is that?”
“I haven’t been able to reach my client. I’m afraid he’s overslept.”
Lima shook his head and nodded in the direction of the doorway as it opened. Entering the room was Howard Duncan, escorted by a tall, slender man in a short-sleeved white shirt and red tie, who led his charge to his lawyer’s table.
Montes glared at Lima.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked furiously.
“Calm down, meu amigo. We picked him up at the airport last night. It looked like he was trying to flee so I issued a material witness hold and we returned him to his hotel to make certain he would appear. We’re holding his passport, of course. We are actually doing you a favor.”
“You should have told me,” Montes insisted.
“I didn’t want to wake you. It happened late at night, as I said. We can argue about this if you like, but I’m ready to start the hearing now that our witness has appeared. I suggest you join him.”
Montes glanced at his watch as he approached Duncan, who had taken a seat. It was shortly after nine a.m. Disappointment with his client battled briefly with his anger at the prosecutor as he struggled to regain his composure. The hearing hadn’t even started and already he felt beleaguered, as if the Brazilian national soccer team had given up two goals in the first minute of play. He could barely bring himself to look at Duncan, who, from all appearances, seemed oblivious to the delicacy of his situation.
Opening his briefcase, the lid acting as a shield, Montes leaned toward Duncan and whispered, “Did you try to leave the country? Tell me the truth.”
“I didn’t buy a ticket, if that’s what you’re asking. I just went there, you know. I didn’t know what I was going to do. Hell, I left my stuff at the hotel. You’re the one who said I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Yes, yes, but I didn’t suggest you go to the airport. In fact, yesterday, I told you not to do that.”
“How was I to know they were watching me?”
“I didn’t suspect that either,” Montes whispered. “But now we know a lot more than we knew yesterday.”
“We do?”
“Yes, we know that there’s much more to this than we know.”
24
Montes didn’t exactly say the fix was in. He didn’t need to. It was apparent from the start of the hearing that the lawyers representing the family of Luiz Cardoso were, if not running the show, at least co-hosting with assistant prosecutor Marcelo Lima. Surprisingly, it was not adversarial as Montes had expected. The family’s representative seemed to be checking off responses to questions like a mechanic diagnosing a misbehaving electrical system. Based on several questions, Montes suspected that the family had access to the transcript of yesterday’s interview, but couldn’t pin it down with certainty. It was obvious, however, that Lima wasn’t completely in the Cardosos’ pocket, as he limited questioning to what Duncan had witnessed, dismissing any attempt to expand the hearing beyond his testimony with hypotheticals. The hearing lasted less than a half hour. The Cardoso representatives were out the door before Montes had closed his briefcase, rapt in a whispered conversation.
Lima approached Montes’ table as he and Duncan started to leave.
“Cavalheiros,” he said, as they turned toward the door. “Please give me a moment.”
The three stood in the space between the two tables, the five-six prosecutor facing the two unsmiling six-footers.
“I must say that I’ve never attended a hearing quite like this,” Montes said.
Lima shrugged, pointing his finger to the ceiling.
“It’s the people upstairs. I’m simply here as a moderator. You disapproved of my performance, Senhor Montes?”
“No, I thought you were professional. I just don’t understand why the Cardoso family has standing in this case. I understood their relative died, but he was the perpetrator of the crime, not my client.”
“Yes, I agree. You may have noticed that the state has not filed charges against your client, and it has already convicted several of the perpetrators of this lawlessness. But that does not preclude the family from pursuing civil or even criminal penalties. You know as well as I that money talks, that the justice system for the wealthy is different than the justice system for everyone else,” Lima said. Lo
oking at Duncan, he added “I’m sure it’s the same in America as it is in Brazil. No?”
Duncan could not hide his surprise that the prosecutor would admit to such a thing. Montes showed no reaction, which told Duncan that it was simply a statement of fact, so he just shook his head dejectedly at what he considered a sad state of affairs.
“So, can I go now?” Duncan asked tentatively.
“I’m afraid not,” Lima said. “At least not for several days.”
“Several days?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I realize it’s an inconvenience, but now that this hearing has concluded the family will either pursue a case against you or drop it. Normally they have seventy-two hours, so we should know by the end of the week. I agree that this is an unusual situation, but my hands are tied.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what crime can they possibly think I committed?” Duncan asked.
Lima shook his head.
“I have no idea what they think, or what evidence they have that the state overlooked. That will come out if the family decides to pursue their case. That’s all I know.”
“Or that’s all you’ll tell us,” Duncan said, curtly.
Lima smiled and shrugged.
25
It wasn’t that Maggie Cross didn’t believe what her boyfriend told her, it was that she didn’t want to. It was a good thing that George Hamel was in the room to help her get past the I-told-you-so stage. She’d cautioned him about returning to Brazil. But it was like trying to talk a moth out of flying toward a flame. It was also a good thing that once he started talking, Howard Duncan couldn’t stop. Words poured through the phone’s speaker in torrents, giving her time to calm down.
“It sounds like you’re on house arrest,” Hamel said.
“I can come and go, but I can’t leave the city. Did I mention I went to the airport last night and that’s when they slapped me with the material witness thing?”