A Window in Copacabana

by Luiz Alfredo Garcia-Roza

  “How long—”

  “—have I been an alcoholic?”

  “I was going to ask how long you’ve been in AA, but it’s the same question.”

  “I realized I was an alcoholic almost ten years ago, but I only started going to AA when I was twenty-seven, right before I married Guilherme.”

  “Was he an alcoholic as well?”

  “Nobody was an alcoholic. Some people have been in the program for twenty years and still consider themselves alcoholics. They know that a single sip will unleash something in them that won’t let them stop before they’ve drunk the whole bottle. Guilherme’s not an alcoholic, even though he drinks almost all day long. But not quite all day long. After I met Guilherme, I went to a meeting almost every day. We got married the next year and almost broke up before our first anniversary. But it wasn’t because of my drinking; it was because of my past. People suffer most from their memories. Memory is like a little inborn parasite that grows and grows until it almost devours you. Some people have no choice but to give in. Except in my case the parasite took hold of my husband. I don’t regret my life before I met Guilherme. Before that I wasn’t so worried about my drinking as I was about my voice and my performances. I thought I had a good voice and sang well. I sang and drank for five years. When I met Guilherme, I’d stopped singing and was struggling to quit drinking.”

  It was one of the busiest times of day in the Largo do Machado. They left and headed toward Flamengo Beach, arm in arm, and all he could think of was how that arm had ended up wrapped around his.

  “From what you say, though, the worst is over.”

  “But not completely. It’s still dangerous. It’s like a rabid dog that’s temporarily calmed down. Someday it can still bite you.”

  Espinosa called a taxi, and Serena had to unglue herself from his arm to get into the cab. As soon as they were in the back seat she took it again.

  “Where to?” asked the driver.

  “Leme,” said Serena before Espinosa could open his mouth.

  During the ride they barely spoke. When the taxi stopped in front of her building, Serena released his arm and kissed him softly on the lips before getting out of the car. “Thanks,” she said, “it was a fabulous evening!”

  Standing on the sidewalk, still holding the door open, she turned around.

  “Next time, no Alcoholics Anonymous.”

  The cell phone rang while Espinosa was in the shower. It rang for the second time when he was waiting for the lasagna to defrost in the microwave. Only one person could be calling on that number.

  “What’s up, Welber?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Who are you? Who do you want to talk to?”

  “To the owner of this phone.”

  “I’m the owner of that phone. Who are you?”

  “Doesn’t matter—you don’t know me.”

  “Where’s Welber?”

  “Never heard of the guy.”

  “So what are you doing with his phone?”

  “I don’t know whose phone it is. I picked it up off the ground.”

  “So how did you call me?”

  “I just hit redial.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the Peixoto District.”

  “Where in the Peixoto District?”

  “On a bench in the middle of the square.”

  “Wait for me. I’ll be there in a few seconds.”

  It wasn’t hard to find the man. It was dinnertime and the first soap opera was on, so the square was deserted. He was still holding the phone and looking up and around, as if waiting for someone to materialize out of the thin air. Which is more or less what happened. In less than two minutes Espinosa arrived breathlessly, still tucking in his shirt, shoelaces untied. A twenty-something kid with smooth dark hair, of apparently Japanese origin, looked at him, terrified.

  “I’m the owner of the phone.”

  “Fine. Take it. That’s why I called.”

  “Thanks. Sorry if I was brusque with you, but I’m waiting for an important call. Did you see who dropped the phone?”

  “No. It was just sitting by the curb, on the other side of the square. It might have fallen out of someone’s pocket when they were getting in a car.”

  “Did you see any car driving off? Any confusion? Anybody fighting?”

  “No, nothing. Is it something serious?”

  “I hope not. What’s your name?”

  “Marcelo. Marcelo Ishigara.”

  “Thanks, Marcelo. I’m Espinosa.”

  He shook the kid’s hand and went back to the apartment, waiting for another call. It was eight-twenty. Espinosa hadn’t managed to get the lasagna out of the microwave; the three beeps must have sounded when he was talking to the kid in the square. He ate the pasta there in the kitchen, thinking about what could have happened to Welber. He might have hurried after someone, not noticing that he’d lost his phone. Or he could have dropped it on purpose, hoping that someone would do exactly what the kid had done. A way of letting him know that something had gone wrong.

  Nine-thirty. More than an hour after Marcelo Ishigara’s call. Sitting on the living room couch, Espinosa looked at the lights on the hills. All he could do was wait. He felt guilty for leaving the detective alone, but there was no other way. The cops who ordinarily might have helped him were under investigation. Of course, some deserved more credit—either because, like Artur, they were new to the police force and hadn’t yet been exposed to the virus of corruption or because they were honest. But his trust in Artur was far from limitless; they hadn’t worked together long enough for Espinosa to be a hundred percent sure. At ten-fifteen he was still thinking along these lines when his cell phone rang. He answered quickly.

  “Chief, sorry, I lost my phone.”

  “Welber!”

  “What happened, sir, is something wrong?”

  “No. I have your phone.”

  Espinosa told him about the kid’s call and the meeting in the square.

  “I had to run after a car. I’m not sure, but it might have been the same woman who was here the other night. In any case, it was a woman, unless it was a man in drag.”

  “Welber, listen up. It might have been a woman who looks like the one you saw the other night, but I don’t think it’s the same one.”

  “If for no other reason than that you dropped her off at home only a couple of hours ago…. Why would she come back in her car to spy on your apartment? And sir, with all due respect, maybe you’d like to tell me what’s going on with Alcoholics Anonymous.”

  “So you saw.”

  “Following orders, sir.”

  “I didn’t know you were so good.”

  “Sir, I’m not. You get in the subway and get off at the Largo do Machado, meet a pretty woman, and go into a building arm in arm; I’m thinking we’re going to take in a movie. Instead you get in the elevator and force me to flash my badge at the elevator operator to find out what floor you got off on. Luckily I decided to get off on the top floor and look into the courtyard. And there you are, still arm in arm, at an AA meeting. It was too much.”

  “And the woman you followed?”

  “I didn’t. I was outside the car, trying to find a place with better reception for the cell phone. That’s when I noticed a woman in a cab looking up at your window. I ran back to get my car, which was on the other side of the square. When I managed to get out of the square, I couldn’t tell where she’d gone; I chose the wrong side.”

  “Welber, there’s no need to follow me anymore, unless I say otherwise.”

  “You sure, Chief?”

  “Don’t worry. Celeste knows my phone might be bugged. The one at the station is just as suspect, and the best way for her to find me is personally, without warning. Maybe she felt someone was watching her. She’s really sly, and she’s afraid of getting killed.”

  “I don’t think she could have felt me watching her. Even when I was in full sight she would never have suspected me. If y
ou yourself looked right at me, you wouldn’t have recognized me. Should I quit now?”

  “Go home and rest; tomorrow I’ll give you the phone back.”

  6

  Espinosa spent the day waiting for a phone call or some other contact with Celeste. He went out to have lunch by himself, settling on the Galeria Menescal. It took him longer than usual to eat his falafel sandwich and drink his soft drink. He decided to head back to work via the Avenida Copacabana, which at that hour was full of people. That would make it easier for Celeste to approach him if she had a mind to try. She didn’t.

  He thought it was unlikely that she’d call the station. He was surprised to pick up the phone and hear a feminine voice at the other end of the line.

  “Officer?”

  “Celeste?”

  “Who’s Celeste?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Serena.”

  “Serena! Sorry, I was thinking about …”

  “Celeste. Men are always thinking about women, almost always some other woman.”

  “That’s exactly what was happening, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Of course not. But I’m not calling to talk about another woman. Do you want to meet me tonight, at six? I promise we won’t be going to an AA meeting.”

  “Sure, but as I said yesterday, there’s always the possibility that something might come up. How are you?”

  “Fine. Nothing’s going to come up. Take down this address.”

  When he’d written it down, she said:

  “It’s also in Leme. You won’t have any trouble finding the building.”

  Moments after Serena’s call, Welber showed up in Espinosa’s office. He looked like he’d just woken up. Espinosa led him over to the window, gave him the phone he’d dropped the night before, and the two spoke with their faces turned toward the loud corner of Barata Ribeiro.

  “Tell me something, Welber. The woman you saw in the car last night—you said yourself it might have been a man dressed as a woman.”

  “True, but only as a possibility. I didn’t think it was a man. Are you thinking about the murderer?”

  “I am.”

  “It wasn’t him.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “Because it was such an amateur way to follow someone.”

  “Maybe that’s what he wanted you to think.”

  “Sir, over the last few days you’ve only been watched by three people: the woman you met yesterday, the woman I saw in the car, and me. If anybody else was around, it was a specialist, a master of the trade.”

  “Maybe our man, besides being a master killer, has other skills as well. But what’s important now is that Celeste is hiding. She must be terrified and is trying to get in touch. Maybe she’d seen you somewhere else some other time. No need to keep watch for the next couple of days. Let’s give her a chance to get closer.”

  “That is, if what’s keeping her away is the fact that she saw me, which I doubt. You’re the boss, but I don’t want you to be exposed.”

  “I’m not the one the murderer wants. He wants Celeste, and the only reason he’d be interested in me is if she comes looking for me. If she gets in touch, I’ll call you and we’ll come up with a plan to protect her.”

  It was ten to six when Espinosa left the station with a note in his pocket. On it was the address Serena had given him. The cab driver didn’t mind the short trip, which Espinosa saw as a promising sign for the evening. When the taxi stopped at the address he’d given the driver, they were in front of Serena’s building. Espinosa took out the paper and checked again. It wasn’t the same building. It was an even number; her building’s address was odd. He looked at the building across the street. That was the one. He looked back at his note. It was the same floor as Serena’s own.

  He gave the number to the doorman, who simply pointed to the elevator. He got off at the floor indicated and found the apartment. There was no need to ring the bell; the door was ajar. Serena was standing in the middle of the room in a simple dress. Espinosa felt genuinely befuddled. He was charmed by Serena’s beauty but didn’t understand what she was doing in the apartment, looking for all the world like she owned the place. She greeted him with a soft kiss on the lips, just as she had left him the night before, and took him to the window, where he could see a bit of the sea and the day’s last rays of sun over the islands on the horizon. Directly in front of them was Serena’s apartment.

  “Isn’t it incredible?” she said. “Now the roles have been reversed.”

  “What do you mean? What is all this? What are you doing in this apartment?”

  “So many questions! Nothing’s happening … except that we’re alone here.”

  “What do you mean by all this?”

  “Maybe I should ask you the same question.”

  The answer disconcerted Espinosa momentarily. Of course he had something in mind, or else he wouldn’t have left work to meet a married woman at a place other than her home. Of course he had something in mind. Besides, she was beautiful and incredibly provocative in that dress, the straps of which barely seemed to hold it up. It was more than obvious what he’d had in mind.

  Before he could think of something to say, Serena put her arms around his neck and said, “Relax, we’re not in an AA meeting. It’s just us here. I know it might look weird to you, but I’ll explain everything. Let’s have a seat.”

  “Whose apartment is this?”

  “First let me tell you what I have to drink. Coffee, soft drinks, tea, and water. I’m sorry, but in the home of an alcoholic you don’t get real drinks.”

  “Thanks, I’m fine, for now. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on here. Whose apartment is this?”

  “I don’t know who the owner is, but I rented it for a month.”

  “You rented it? But don’t you live across the street?”

  “That’s exactly why I rented it. Now the roles are reversed.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that from here I can see what’s going on in my apartment across the street.”

  Espinosa got up, and Serena followed.

  “Serena, please, make yourself clear.”

  “I’ll explain. I said I saw what happened in this apartment. I saw the two fighting. I saw her throw her purse out the window. I saw the woman fall and hit the sidewalk. I saw someone take away the purse. That window there. He doesn’t know how much I saw, but he must assume it was a lot. And: he must think I saw him throw her out of the window and that I could identify him. And if that’s what he’s thinking, he’ll try to kill me. He knows where I live. Except that when he comes for me, I’ll be here, looking at him.”

  “And you think a professional killer who in the last month has killed three policemen and three women is going to sit playing cat and mouse with you, running back and forth across the street?”

  “If there’s no other way …”

  “But there is another way. All he has to do is cross the street and kill you.”

  “Not if you’re there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We can come up with a way to communicate quickly so I can warn you if he shows up. I won’t be waiting for him to cross the street, and if he does I’m not going to sit here waiting for him to throw me out the window.”

  “Serena, he’s not an amateur. He’s a cold-blooded killer.”

  Espinosa looked at Serena, standing in front of him, without taking his eyes off her cleavage or her legs, and tried to think rationally about what she’d said.

  “Your eyes are telling me something,” she said.

  “What?”

  “They’re asking a question.”

  “What question?”

  “They’re asking what would happen if I slipped out of my dress.”

  “And what would happen?”

  Serena removed the two shoulder straps and let the dress slide to the floor. She was stark naked.

  7

  When he got
back to his apartment at eleven that night, the answering machine registered three calls, but there were no messages. While he was in the shower, he listened for the phone, but it didn’t ring.

  The next day at the station, at close to ten in the morning, he called Welber and invited him for coffee around the corner. But before they’d even made it down the stairs they doubled back to his office.

  “This is ridiculous. We don’t need to go around the corner, we can talk right here.”

  “Either way, Chief. I’ve already gotten used to our coworkers and their nasty looks. What happened?”

  “Do you think Artur is trustworthy?”

  “I think so. What do you want from him?”

  “I want you two to be on duty this weekend.”

  Espinosa told the story of Serena, omitting certain intimate details and emphasizing her decision to set herself up as bait for the killer.

  “Which means that as of today we have two women as probable future victims,” Espinosa concluded.

  “How is she going to attract him?”

  “She doesn’t have to do anything. She thinks the murderer saw her when he threw the woman out of the window.”

  “And did he?”

  “She didn’t see him push her, but she saw the two fighting before the woman threw her purse out and then fell. She thinks he’ll try to silence her.”

  “Why hasn’t he tried already?”

  “Because he’s been too busy trying to find Celeste.”

  “Sir, do you think someone who’s killed six people is worried about being identified by a witness who was in another building, across the street, fifty feet away, at night?”

  “Maybe. Cop killers have a tough time of it. He might be wanting to protect himself. So much that he still hasn’t let himself be seen.”

  “And what do you want us two to do?”

  “I want you both to have cell phones on you at all times, for our use only. I need to be able to reach you night and day, and I need you to be able to get to where I need you to go immediately. I can get the phones for you today.”