“And what will happen to Raoni?”
“I’m going to send him to an orphanage in Belem. It’s a dreadful place, but there’s nothing else I can do.”
“Let me think about that one,” Silva said.
“Is there some way you might be able to help? Get him into an institution where he’d get better care?”
“Maybe.”
“The Chief Inspector is full of maybes,” Maura said.
Silva didn’t rise to the taunt. “How does it come about that a fellow I’ve heard described as a half-breed, a man whose mother was an Indian, came to be the owner of this hotel? Where did he get the money?”
The change of subject seemed to do Jade some good. The tendons in her neck became less taut. She leaned back in her chair and reached for her drink.
“Osvaldo’s mother died when he was born,” she said. She took a sip, then another sip, before she continued. “They were poor, but he was an only child, and his father doted on him. The old man scrimped and saved and somehow got the money together to send Osvaldo to school in Belem.”
Silva drained the last of his whiskey and held up his glass for a refill.
Amanda saw the gesture and nodded at him from behind the bar.
“Why Belem?” he said.
“In those days, there were no schools here in Azevedo. None at all. Most of the children grew up illiterate, and most of the parents didn’t care, because they were illiterate themselves. But Osvaldo’s father was different. Like I said, he doted on him.”
Amanda arrived with a refill and removed Silva’s empty glass. He thanked her with a nod.
“While he was in the capital,” Jade continued, nodding at Amanda’s retreating back, “he met her. Amanda’s folks had left her a small inheritance. They’d owned a hotel themselves, and she’d worked in the business. Azevedo had no hotel at all, and a little bit of money goes a long way here. They built this place, and they’ve made a success of it.”
“How? I can’t believe there are that many visitors.”
“There aren’t. But a lot of … sexual recreation goes on. And, other than in the rainforest, this is the only place to do it. The restaurant, too, is a going concern. And so is this bar. According to Amanda, they’re doing well.” She turned to Maura. “Where’s your luggage?”
“Upstairs.”
“Go get it. You’re staying with me.”
“Jade, I don’t think—”
“I need you, Maura. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Maura nodded and stood up. When she was gone, Silva leaned closer.
“There’s something I’d like to tell you. But if I do, you’re going to have to keep it to yourself.”
“You mean you don’t want me to tell Maura?”
“Or anyone else.”
“She’s my best friend. She’s here on my behalf.”
“Nevertheless, if you want to see justice done—”
“Of course I want to see justice done! If it’s my discretion that concerns you, why run the risk? Why tell me anything at all?”
“You’re going to guide us to the village. I think it’s likely you’ll witness things there that we’d like to keep to ourselves.”
“Why are you so concerned about confidentiality, Chief Inspector?”
“When information leaks out, it warns the guilty. And that makes our work more difficult, because they react by covering their tracks.”
“You’ve already discovered something, haven’t you?”
“We have.”
“Tell me.”
“Not until I have your word.”
“You have it. Tell me.”
“The slash wounds on the murdered man’s neck are closely spaced.”
“So what?”
“An intoxicated person wouldn’t have had the degree of physical control necessary to strike over and over again in the same place.”
“So that means—”
“It means, Senorita Calmon, that your Indian friend was almost certainly innocent.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I THINK I’M GONNA be sick.” Osvaldo Neto bolted from his chair and headed for the toilet.
“There goes his breakfast,” Arnaldo said, studying the hotelkeeper’s retreating back. “He must have really tied one on.”
“Did I ever tell you,” Silva began, “that my father was stationed in Italy during World War Two?”
“You did. Brazilian Expeditionary Force. What’s that got to do with Osvaldo?”
Silva took a sip of his coffee. He didn’t intend to be hurried. “Does the name Emmet Till mean anything to you?”
“Black kid in America, murdered for talking to a white woman? That one?”
“That one.”
“I saw the movie. So what?”
“His father, Louis, was an American soldier.”
Arnaldo expelled a sigh that lowered the oxygen level in the Grand’s restaurant. “Mario, where are you going with this?”
“Pisa, nineteen forty-five. Louis Till raped and killed an Italian woman. They hanged him for it. My father witnessed the execution and was sick for a week. Watching a hanging, he told me, could do that to a man.”
“You think that might be Osvaldo’s problem? The hanging and not the cachaça?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“So talk to him about something else.”
“I’m about to do just that.”
Arnaldo put a finger to his lips. “Here he comes.”
Osvaldo resumed his seat. He’d brought a paper towel and was using it to blot his mouth. “I didn’t quite make it. I suggest you guys avoid the toilet for a while. If you need the facilities, use the ones upstairs. What else do you want to know?”
“Let’s talk about the townsfolk,” Silva said, “those of them who would most profit if the Indians were out of the way.”
Osvaldo leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If Torres wasn’t already dead, he would have been one. Now that he is, it leaves five.”
“Who are they?”
Osvaldo glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone in the restaurant, then started counting off the Big Five on his fingers.
“Hugo Toledo. He’s the mayor. Hugo’s old man, Hugo Senior, and Enrique Azevedo, the founder of the town, were friends and partners. Azevedo never married. When he died, Hugo’s father bought up his land and then croaked before he had any other kids. Two years later, his wife died, too, and Junior inherited the lot. His Honor can deliver three thousand votes in any election. And that, I’m told, has bought him a piece of the governor and also a piece of a federal deputado.”
“Only a piece?” Arnaldo asked.
Osvaldo smiled. “What do you expect for three thousand votes? Even deputados are worth more than that.”
Silva took out his notebook, jotted down Toledo’s name, and kept his pen poised over the paper. “Who else?”
Osvaldo extended another finger. “Roberto Lisboa. Lisboa fancies himself a painter. Not houses. Canvases.”
“Is he any good?”
Osvaldo lifted his shoulders. “I couldn’t say. But I can tell you this much: he’s lousy at poker. He’s lost thousands to Torres. Nobody knows exactly how many thousands, but some folks say Torres could have taken over Lisboa’s place any time he wanted to.”
“Damned good reason for Lisboa to kill him,” Arnaldo said.
“And not the only one,” Osvaldo said. “Lisboa has a foreman, a guy by the name of Toni Pandolfo.”
“And?”
“And Torres was running around town telling people he saw Pandolfo buggering his boss.”
“Buggering?”
“Yeah, like sticking his dick—”
“I get the idea. When was this?”
“A couple of months ago, and if that story got back to the loving couple, there’s no knowing what Pandolfo might have done. He’s a hard case. He broke a man’s jaw once, right over there, just because the guy laughed about one of L
isboa’s pink shirts.”
“Okay. Who else?”
Another finger. “José Frade. An absolute pig, but lots of men like him because he’s generous when it comes to buying drinks.”
“Why did you call him a pig?”
“He beats his wife and he treats his daughters like shit, tells everybody he wanted sons, and blames Sonia for not giving him any. She’s a little thing, shy, skittish, and scared to death of him. Frade proposed to her down south somewhere. Porto Alegre, I think. She was an orphan, not even eighteen and all on her own. She accepted him without knowing anything about this place or what she was getting into. But she’s miserable here. Not cut out for this life. If she had money, she would have left him long ago. Probably would have left him anyway if she didn’t have her girls to worry about.”
“How come you know so much about her personal life?”
“She talks to my wife. Matter of fact, Amanda is about the only person she does talk to. Like I said, she’s shy.”
“Did Frade have anything in particular against Torres?”
Osvaldo squirmed in his seat. “Well …”
“It’s a murder investigation, Osvaldo. You have to tell us.”
“All right. But you didn’t get it from me.”
“Agreed.”
“Sonia was having an affair with Torres.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“I do.”
“How? She told your wife?”
“No. Even I didn’t tell my wife.”
“So how come you know?”
“Out back, there’s a door opening on a staircase leading to the second floor. Torres had a key, one he used to get to a room he rented from me by the month. I was up there, one night, changing a light bulb, when I heard footsteps on the stairs. I figured it was Torres, and I knew he wouldn’t appreciate me seeing whoever he had with him, so I hid in a closet. But I was … well, you know, curious, so I left the door open a crack. And who do I see but Torres and Sonia going into the room together. He had an arm around her shoulder and a hand on one of her tits. There wasn’t any doubt in my mind about what they were about to do.”
“It surprised you?”
“It surprised me. But you know what? I don’t blame Sonia. I question her taste, but I don’t blame her. God knows, she has no joy in her marriage.”
“You think Frade knows his wife was cheating on him?”
“Not unless he found out recently. What I just told you, that was a couple of months ago.”
“But?”
“But if he did, you’ve got another suspect right there. In this part of the world, men look down on other men who don’t defend their honor.”
“And defending his honor would have constituted killing Torres?”
“Yeah, and maybe her, too. You see why I kept my mouth shut? Not for Torres. For her.”
“Okay. Next?”
Another finger. “Cesar Bonetti. He’s from Paraná, another one of those guys who came north to make his fortune. He keeps saying he’ll go home once he has. Can you beat it? Going on twenty years in Pará, and he still calls Paraná home.”
“He have anything against Torres?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Okay. Anyone else?”
“Just one more. Paulo Cunha, the guy who owns the pharmacy.”
“Pharmacy?”
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking, right? Looks like the tribe was poisoned, and a pharmacist would know all about poisons.”
“A pharmacist would.”
“He’s also got some other shops, but it’s with wood that he made—you’ll excuse the expression—a killing.”
“Wood?”
“Hardwood. From the rain forest. Around here, they call it ‘green gold’ ’cause it’s worth so goddamned much. You get it to the docks in Belem, you can sell it for upwards of sixteen hundred American dollars a cubic meter.”
“Where does Cunha get it from?”
“He used to get it from the other guys we’ve been talking about.”
“No more?”
Osvaldo shook his head. “None left. They’ve cleared their land.”
“So now he gets it from …”
“Take a guess.”
“The reservation?”
“I can’t prove it, but—”
“He’d need licenses from the IBAMA to ship it.”
“He would. And the IBAMA guy here in town owns two new cars and a sixty-inch television set.”
“What’s his name?”
“Raul Nonato.”
“I think maybe we’ll have a little chat with Senhor Nonato.”
“Again, you didn’t get it from me.” Osvaldo had been balling the paper towel in his hand. Now, he used it to wipe his sweating brow. “Listen, guys, I’m not feeling well at the moment, so if you don’t mind, I—”
“Sorry,” Silva said. “Just a few more quick questions. We’re expecting reinforcements. Have you got room to lodge three more?”
Osvaldo shook his head. “Only two vacancies. It would have been one if that reporter hadn’t checked out.”
“Two are a couple. Can they share?”
“Sure. Are they from down south?”
“They are.”
“So it’s beds, not hammocks?”
“You offer a choice?”
“Uh-huh. All hotels do in this part of the world. Lots of white folks have never slept on anything else, so I’ve got hooks in every room. When do they arrive?”
“This afternoon.”
“I’ll arrange it. Anything else? Really, guys, I gotta go lie down.”
“We’ll need cars.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll need jeeps. Once you get outside of town, the roads are shit. A vehicle without four-wheel drive is as good as useless.
“Thanks for the tip. Where’s the rental agency?”
“That would be me. There are no real rental vehicles in town, but there are folks who own jeeps and are looking to pick up a few extra Reais. I serve as intermediary. Their vehicles may not look good, but they’ll run. Tomorrow morning okay?”
“I was hoping we could go out to the Awana’s village this afternoon.”
“Forget it. You haven’t got time to get there and back before dark. And believe me, you do not want to get stuck in the rainforest at night.”
“How about we visit some of those fazendas?” Arnaldo asked. “Start working our way through the list of people we need to talk to?”
“Some,” Osvaldo said, “would be too ambitious. You might get in one, no more than that.”
“They’re that far apart?”
“They are. The holdings are huge and the roads are bad.”
Arnaldo muttered something. The days they were likely to spend in Azevedo were adding up.
“Then we’ll leave those visits for later,” Silva said. “Just as well. We’ll be here when our people arrive. Are you free tomorrow? Could you accompany us to the village?”
“To help communicate with the boy?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Glad to.”
“And could you arrange for some men to dig for us?”
“You gonna unearth bodies?”
“Yes.”
“Have to be guys with strong stomachs.” The word stomach seemed to remind Osvaldo of his own. He ran the hand not holding the towel over his abdomen, and was looking more miserable by the moment, but he soldiered on. “How many do you want?”
“Six should do it.”
“Consider it done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really—”
“Just one more,” Arnaldo said. He put a hand on Silva’s arm. “You got enough people going out to that village with you. You don’t need me and Babyface, right?”
“I suppose not. Why?”
Arnaldo turned back Osvaldo. “How many ways are there to get from here to Belem?”
“By road? Only one. And you don’t want to drive it unless you have to.”
“I’m n
ot thinking of driving it,” Arnaldo said. “I’m thinking of blocking it.”
Chapter Eighteen
THE TWO FEDERAL COPS dedicated the remainder of the morning and the better part of the afternoon to interviewing the townsfolk. Arnaldo’s conversation with Carol Luz, a cashier in Cunha’s supermarket, and Silva’s with Renato Kassab were conducted with people from opposite ends of the social spectrum, but the information they gleaned—or rather the lack of it—was strikingly similar.
Arnaldo hadn’t been talking to Luz for more than five minutes before she began her attack.
“Are you dense, Agent Nunes, or are you trying to irritate me?”
“Neither one, Senhora. It’s a simple question. How can you justify a lynching as self-defense?”
The cashier, a blousy woman with black roots in her blonde hair, blew out a breath he could feel on his face. “Because my children could have been next, that’s how!”
“Assuming the Indian did it—killed Torres, I mean—what makes you think he’d go after your kids?”
Another breath. She could have benefitted from an oral disinfectant. “Assuming he did it? Are you serious? How much proof do you need? Do you know where they found him? What he had in his hand? He was a crazy, murdering savage. He was running around town with a knife the size of a stallion’s dick. Would you have taken a risk like that if it was your kids? What kind of a father are you?”
“You don’t like Indians, do you?”
“Oho. Well, a question like that shows where you stand, doesn’t it? Around here, we’ve got a name for people like you.”
“I don’t want to hear it. And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Turning the conversation around. I don’t want to talk about me. I’m here to talk about what you saw, what you heard, what you think.”
A third exasperated breath. Arnaldo almost raised a hand and waved it in front of his nose, but caught himself before he did.
“What I think?” she said, and then repeated, “What I think? I think you should drop this stupid investigation of yours, go back to wherever you came from, and leave us alone. Whatever you say, those masked men, whoever they were, did this town a favor.”
“Whoever they were, eh?”
“You heard me. And there’s nothing you can say that will ever make me change my mind about that.”
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