When he was gone and they were alone, Silva said, “So you’re too busy to go to Azevedo, eh?”
Barbosa smiled. “You have no idea.”
“Actually, I think I do.”
The door opened and his secretary came in. There were three cups of coffee and three glasses of water on her tray. “Agent Nunes is outside making a call,” Barbosa said, pointing to the door. “Take him his.”
She nodded, put down two coffees, two waters, and left.
The interruption gave Silva time to get a rein on his temper. “Tell me about Azevedo,” he said.
Barbosa took an appreciative sip of his coffee. “The fishing is great.”
“I’m not into fishing.” Silva tried his own coffee. It didn’t surprise him to discover how good it was. Barbosa made a habit of treating himself well.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Barbosa said. “I love it, and I’m willing to put up with a little discomfort in order to do it. Work is something else. When I’m working, I set a lot of store by my creature comforts. If I had to go to Azevedo to work, I’d dread it. But when I go there to fish, I see it with different eyes.”
Silva wondered if he was being provocative or just insensitive and concluded it was the former, but he wasn’t about to give Barbosa the satisfaction of showing his irritation. “What else can you tell me about the place?”
“Named, I’m told, after Enrique Azevedo, who came up from Rio Grande do Sul and settled there.”
“Population?”
Barbosa scratched his chin. “Two thousand? Three? It’s growing pretty fast, but it’s still a fucking hole in the ground. Smack in the middle of the rainforest. Television and Internet only via satellite. Lots of poor people. A few rich ones, fazendeiros mostly, except for one businessman who’s got a finger in everything and owns half the town. Half a dozen bars, a couple of whores, one of everything else.”
“What do you call everything else?”
“One doctor, one lawyer, one delegado, one hotel. Like that.”
“Tell me about the delegado.”
“Friendly. A good fisherman. Big family.”
“Professionally, I mean.”
“I never worked with him. But I told him you’re coming, and he said he’ll do anything he can to help.”
Silva drained his cup, took in some coffee grounds that had been lurking at the bottom. He reached for the water, spooled it around in his mouth to get the grains out of his teeth.
Barbosa watched him doing it. “I should have warned you about that,” he said. “She boils the coffee in the water and then strains through a cloth, but the cloth has a loose weave, and—”
Silva cut him short. “What’s his name?”
“Borges.”
“Why didn’t he help?”
“The alleged crime took place on the reservation. Not his jurisdiction.”
“How about the mayor? Who is he?”
“His name is Hugo Toledo.”
“What do you know about him?”
Barbosa rubbed his lips with a forefinger, thought about it before he spoke. “Son of one of the earliest settlers, has one of the larger fazendas. His daddy was the mayor before him. Let me see what else.” He scratched his head. “Oh, yeah, he hates Indians. Hell, they all do. Like I said, the town’s growing fast, but they all think it would grow faster without that reservation.”
“So if that last Indian were to be out of the way—”
“Toledo sure as hell wouldn’t be shedding any tears about it. But poison a whole tribe? Nah! I don’t think he’d go that far. Matter of fact, I don’t think any of them would. You want my opinion?”
“What is it?”
“You’re wasting your time. Either disease killed those people or another tribe did.”
“That’s not what the survivor says.”
“The survivor is a murderer. Why shouldn’t he be a liar as well?”
“I don’t exclude the possibility. Who else pulls weight in the town?”
“Paulo Cunha.”
“Who’s he?”
“The businessman I mentioned. He’s got a fazenda as well, but it isn’t one of the biggest.”
“Who owns the biggest?”
“I couldn’t tell you. Borges will be able to fill you in.”
“Okay. Who else might we have to deal with?”
Barbosa pursed his lips, unpursed them when the answer came to him. “The town doctor, a crotchety old bastard, name of Pinto. You’re not going to find it easy to get along with him.”
“I don’t have to. We’re bringing our own.”
“Rodrigues?”
“No. Someone else.”
“Wise move. Rodrigues is a pain in the ass.”
If Silva had shown any sign of agreement, Barbosa, being Barbosa, would undoubtedly play the comment right back to Doctor Rodrigues—and cite Silva as the source. The Chief Inspector already had enough problems with the woman, and judged it better, therefore, not to react to the remark at all.
“Who else?” he said.
“A lawyer by the name of Kassab, Renato Kassab. I only met him once, but he struck me as a real shyster. Then there’s the guy who owns the hotel—”
Barbosa stopped talking when the door opened. Arnaldo came in. “No luck,” he said. “It keeps going to voicemail.”
“Could be the cell phone tower is down,” Barbosa said. “It happened the last time I was there. It’s the highest thing in town, and it rains a lot, so it’s constantly getting hit by lightning.”
“No generator?” Arnaldo asked.
“Are you kidding? This is Azevedo we’re talking about. The town has outgrown its electrical net. The power is off at least a quarter of the time, and in the rainy season, it’s closer to half.”
“This isn’t the rainy season, is it?”
“No. You’re lucky. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t rain a lot though. It just rains more during the rainy season.”
“So,” Arnaldo said, “I don’t suppose we can count on the air-conditioning either?”
“Nope,” Barbosa said, blandly. “And when it comes to air-conditioners, there’s an additional problem.”
“Which is?”
“Fluctuations in the voltage. They get fried.”
Arnaldo took a deep breath. “What other delights await us?”
“Flies. Billions and billions. Beetles, too—as big as bars of soap, but they don’t bite like the flies do. They’re just scary. And you don’t want to go wandering around in the rainforest. It’s full of snakes.”
All of Barbosa’s bad news was being delivered with a broad grin, but when he saw the way Arnaldo was looking at him, he tried to suppress it.
“Accommodation?” Silva said, to defuse the situation.
“Like I said, there’s only one hotel. It’s called the Grand, but it’s anything but.”
“Simple?”
“Let’s put it this way, if one of those tourist publications was handing out stars, it wouldn’t get any.”
“I can’t wait,” Arnaldo said.
Barbosa couldn’t resist a final dig. “You would if you knew what you were getting into.”
“How do we get there?” Silva said.
“You could rent a jeep. The road’s unpaved, so you don’t want any vehicle that isn’t four-wheel drive.”
“How far is it?”
“About seven hundred and fifty kilometers, and there isn’t much along the way, except for two gas stations. One’s about two hundred kilometers out, another about six hundred. No hotels. If you can’t make it in one go, which you probably can’t, you’ll have to sleep in your jeep.”
“How long is it likely to take?”
“If you’re lucky, between eighteen and twenty hours. But if you get heavy rainfall along the way, all bets are off. The road turns to mud, fifty centimeters deep in some places, and you can’t move in either direction. You just have to sit and wait until it firms up.”
“So we fly?”
> “That would be my advice. But there are no scheduled flights. You’ll have to charter a plane. You figure Sampaio is going to pop for that? He’s not exactly famous for sharing the wealth.”
“If he refuses,” Arnaldo said, “we’ll squeal to his sister.”
“His sister?”
“Never mind,” Silva said. “Just Arnaldo’s little joke.”
Barbosa looked at his watch. “As much as I’m enjoying this visit,” he said, “you’d better leave right now if you want to have any hope of getting there today. The runway doesn’t have lights. You can’t land after dark.”
“This is getting better and better,” Arnaldo said.
“You think getting there is bad?” Barbosa said. “Believe me, what’s waiting for you is worse.”
Chapter Ten
“THIRTEEN THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED Reais,” the woman at the air charter company said.
“Thirteen thousand four hundred?” Silva echoed, incensed. “That’s crazy.”
“Out and back, fuel and tax, thirteen four,” she rattled off, stone-faced. “That’s the price.”
“That aircraft shouldn’t cost more than fifteen hundred an hour.”
“It never did until the other charter company went bust, and we became the sole option. That’s when my boss raised his prices.”
“Your boss is a thief.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“We can’t afford thirteen four. No way.”
“I hear that a lot, too.”
“And yet it’s a matter of life and death. We have to get there before dark.”
“Is that a fact?” She looked like she’d heard that one a lot as well.
“It is. Look.” He showed her his warrant card.
“Oh,” she said. “Cops.”
“That’s right. Federal cops.”
She lowered her voice, looked around to make sure no one was listening. “It’s just the two of you, right?”
Silva nodded.
“Well, I didn’t tell you this, but our other three-forty is fueling for a flight to the same place and with only one other passenger. The three-forties accommodate five. Maybe you could team up and split the cost.”
“Bless you,” Silva said. “Where is he?”
THE OTHER passenger wasn’t a he, it was a she.
“You dropped from heaven,” the young woman said. “I was just sitting here trying to figure out how I was going to explain to my editor how I managed to spend thirteen thousand four hundred Reais to charter a plane that should have cost half that.”
“So you’re a journalist?”
She nodded. “Folha de Manha, São Paulo. And you’re Mario Silva, right?”
“How did you know?”
“I read my own newspaper. Your picture is in it all the time. Your boss’s, too. Now there’s a publicity whore if ever there was one. He can’t get enough of the limelight, that guy.”
“No comment,” Arnaldo said.
She turned to him. “And you’re Arnaldo Nunes.”
“And you’re well-informed.”
“Actually,” she said, extending a hand, “I’m Maura Mandel.” She shook hands with Silva as well. “Don’t you just love Belem? If I’d known what these people were going to charge, I would have hired a plane in some big town further south, skipped this hellhole entirely, and had them fly me directly to Azevedo.”
“We’ve got three more people coming up tomorrow from São Paulo,” Silva said, “and that’s what I’m going to tell them to do.”
“Maybe,” she said, “we can do the same deal on the flight back. Hire a flight down there, and have them come to pick us up. I could drop you off in Brasilia on the way. It’s not much of a detour.”
“No,” Silva said, “it’s not. Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Fire away.”
“It’s got to be more than a coincidence that a journalist from one of the country’s major newspapers just happens to be going to a little town in Pará on the same day we do. Do you, by any chance, know a young lady by the name of Lana Nogueira?”
“I do.”
“And you’re aware that she’s the niece of my boss, with whom you also seem to have a certain degree of familiarity.”
“Yes.”
“May I therefore assume that you not only know why Arnaldo and I are on our way to Azevedo, but that you’re going there to report on it?”
“People have told me that you’re good at what you do, Chief Inspector. I’m beginning to see why they say that.”
“Don’t try flattering me, Senhorita Mandel. It doesn’t work.”
“I’m sorry you thought it was flattery. It wasn’t.”
“Then I apologize. Do you also know Jade Calmon?”
“She’s my best friend. She and I and Lana all went to school together. Sacred Heart, in São Paulo.”
“What inspired Jade to call you?”
Maura told him.
“I regret,” he said when she was done, “that the three of you had to go to such lengths to get the justice system working on this. As an officer of the law, it embarrasses me.”
“I don’t regret it at all. If we hadn’t done what we did, and I mean this most sincerely, we wouldn’t have had you working on the case. We would have been stuck with the fellow who runs your field office here in Belem, and he wouldn’t have done shit.”
“Very eloquently put,” Arnaldo said.
“It comes from hanging around in newsrooms. We all talk like that.”
“Delegado Barbosa’s reputation precedes him, I see,” Silva said, “even among the ladies and gentlemen of the press.”
“There are no ladies and gentlemen of the press. We’re all vulgarians. But yes, his reputation precedes him. Follows him, too, and hangs over his head. I checked up on him after he gave Jade the runaround. If it wasn’t for his political connections, I’m told, he would have been out on his ass a long time ago.”
“No comment,” Silva said.
“But there are those,” Arnaldo said, “who might say you’ve been told correctly.”
She grinned. “I see you have some experience of journalists.”
Chapter Eleven
DESPITE HER SPIRITED DEFENSE of Amati to Borges, Jade harbored doubts. The Indian was capable of violence. She’d witnessed that the previous day, had almost been a victim of it herself. But if he was guilty, what spark could have set him off? And why would he have chosen Torres as a victim? And how likely was it that he’d consumed alcohol?
Osvaldo might be able to help her answer those questions. She grabbed her purse and made for his hotel, where she found him seated in the bar, almost as if he’d been waiting for her to arrive.
“You heard?” she said.
He nodded. “I think maybe you could use some coffee.”
“I could.”
The bar was otherwise empty. Amanda was nowhere in sight. He got up from the table and returned with two cups.
“He didn’t do it,” he said, resuming his seat.
“What makes you so sure?”
“I slung a hammock for him not fifteen minutes after you left. He fell into it like a dead man, was asleep before I left the room.”
“So how likely is it that he would have crawled out of it in the middle of the night, gotten drunk, found a machete, and killed Omar Torres?”
“As unlikely as anything could be.”
“So someone rendered him unconscious and carried him?”
“That would be my guess.”
“How could they have done that without being seen?”
“The back stairway, the one we used when we brought him in.”
He took a hearty swig from his cup. Jade picked up her own. It was too hot, and she set it down again.
“What time did Omar leave?” she asked.
“Around midnight.”
“Drunk?”
“Any drunker and he would have fallen flat on his face. I remember thinking, some day he’s going to kill someb
ody with that jeep of his.”
“Who was with him before he left?”
Osvaldo closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, as if he was trying to see the scene in his mind. After a moment, he said, “Five, no, make that six guys. They were all sitting around a table playing poker.”
“Who were they?”
He started counting them off on his fingers. The mayor, the priest, three fazendeiros—”
He’d extended three fingers at once. She put her hand on his. “Which three?”
“Bonetti, Frade, and Lisboa.”
“And the sixth man? Who was he?”
“That foreman of Lisboa’s, Pandolfo.”
“I don’t think I know him,” she said.
“You don’t want to. He’s an animal, a pistoleiro. Lisboa uses him to keep his laborers in line. He carries a gun, but mostly he uses his fists and his boots.”
“Did Torres fight with anybody about anything?”
“No more than usual. Lisboa can’t play cards for shit, but he keeps doing it. Torres had a gift. He could play well even when he was drunk. He’s taken a lot of money off of Lisboa down through the years, and he can’t help crowing about it.”
Jade picked up her coffee again. Still too hot. “And that would have made Lisboa angry, right?”
“Not just Lisboa, but that bulldog of his as well. And there’s something else that would have pissed them off about Torres, if they knew about it. But I’m not sure they did.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t like to gossip.”
She set down the cup, still untasted. “That’s crap, Osvaldo. You love to gossip. And you wouldn’t have started unless you intended to finish. So let’s hear it.”
“You know that waterfall on the Jagunami?”
“The one with the pool? The one where people go to swim?”
“Yeah, but mostly on the weekends. During the week, the place is almost always deserted.”
“And?”
“And a couple of months ago, on a weekday morning, Torres came into town to buy something or other. His way home goes right by that waterfall. He decided to stop by for a swim. So he parked his jeep, walked through the brush to the falls, and what did he see?”
The Ways of Evil Men Page 6