The Street Angel

by Robert Gollagher

  “I know, Bob. I’m prepared to do this. I still see that boy being shot. It’s still there in my head, burned in my memory. I can’t forget it. I can’t let his death go without justice, and I can’t let them kill any more children. You know, Bob, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Richards was worried by her strong words. “You said it yourself, Sue. We’re in this together. I promised you I wouldn’t do anything without telling you first. That promise goes both ways, okay?”

  “Okay,” said Susan, after a long pause. “It goes both ways.”

  “All right, then. I’ll see you tonight. Wish me luck.”

  Susan kissed him. “Good luck.”

  Antonio Marcus looked out of the window of his third-storey office. It was a grand old building. A polished mahogany staircase, each step underfoot cut from heavy stone, led down from his expansive judicial rooms to the lobby. The heavy limestone and plaster walls kept the heat out, while everywhere there were large, elaborate ceiling fans stirring the air. His office was quiet, like the altar of a church or the waiting room of a high-class bank. It pleased the judge to look down from his window to the two-hundred-year-old cobbled courtyard, the old cathedral opposite, and the little shops. It gave him the illusion of wealth, to sit here in these expensive surroundings, but he did not in fact own the building. He was a mere tenant in all this luxury.

  His office door was always open. Open to all manner of people. For the appropriate fee, he was always willing to help bend the law just a little, just enough to solve the problems that people presented him with. Of course it was expensive to bend the law, but not quite expensive enough. Antonio Marcus lived in hope that one day through his door would come someone wealthy enough to really make a difference before his retirement. That day he would do the deal that would allow him to retire in the luxury to which he had become accustomed. Money was a comfort to him, a comfort to an old man with no wife and no prospect of ever having a wife again.

  A legal clerk poked his head in the open door. “Good morning, Judge Marcus. I have the mail for you.”

  “Thank you. Put it on the desk.”

  Marcus watched the clerk go. Then he looked absent-mindedly at the courtyard a second time. A smartly dressed woman was making her way from the shoe shop, below him, to the church. She wore a miniskirt and a short blouse. Marcus wondered if she was an attorney. Had he seen her in a courtroom somewhere? Perhaps so. She looked to be in her early thirties. Ah, but she was beautiful, he thought forlornly. So beautiful, all these women, but he knew none of them would ever look twice at an old man who was not truly a man at all. Not any more. He watched the woman walk slowly across the cobblestones in her new shoes. The shoes suit you, he thought silently to her. They suit you well, they suit your long legs. He followed her with his eyes all the way to the church, until she disappeared inside.

  Marcus walked over to his desk and sat down. He rifled through his mail and scattered it angrily across his desk. The usual rubbish, he thought.

  Then he came across a package. He picked it up and shook it. He ripped open the paper and out fell a video cassette and a brown envelope. Carefully, he took a letter opener and slit the envelope open. Inside there was a note made of newspaper cuttings glued to form a pattern. The judge’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he read the Portuguese words.

  T H I S M A Y H E L P Y O U W I T H Y O U R O L D

  F R I E N D T H E G E N E R A L. R E G R E T I C A N N O T

  R E V E A L M Y I D E N T I T Y. L E T ’ S J U S T S A Y

  W E S H A R E C O M M O N I N T E R E S T S.

  T H E S T R E E T A N G E L

  Marcus found this intriguing enough to pursue immediately. He went to his always-open door and closed it. Then he locked it. He took the tape to a television he kept in a corner of the large office for examining tapes admitted as evidence in criminal cases, and made ready to play it. Then he sat down in one of the armchairs and watched carefully.

  At first there was nothing much to see. A few grubby children playing by the side of some kind of building. A red-brick wall. A chain-link fence. A tall boy with a small pistol, shooting cans. Marcus was beginning to wonder why he was bothering to watch the tape at all, when all hell broke loose. There was the sound of machine gun fire. The camera panned wildly to show two military police soldiers jogging towards the children. Soon a military police captain appeared in the frame, walking up to a captured boy with his revolver pointed right at the boy’s head. Marcus leaned forward in his chair. The camera zoomed in on the captain and the boy. There was an interrogation, although the tape did not record the words. And then the captain had the boy turn around to face the wall. Suddenly, without warning, the captain had brought his revolver up behind the boy’s head and fired; there was a blur of blood exploding across the screen as the boy dropped to the ground. The camera was shaking badly at this point. Then the view zoomed right in on the officer. Marcus pressed the pause button.

  After a moment calmly scrutinising the frozen face of the captain on the large television screen, Marcus whispered a single word. “Sollo.”

  He unpaused the tape and watched it to the end. It showed Captain Sollo overseeing the removal of the body. Two soldiers threw the dead boy in the back of a military police van, Sollo got in, and they drove away. Then the television went blank. The tape was over. Marcus let it keep playing until the screen was filled with static and a loud hiss came from the speakers. He spoke softly to himself. “Ah, General. Very sloppy work. Very sloppy indeed.”

  He switched off the television and the room went quiet. Then he took the tape over to the huge safe in the opposite corner of the room and locked it carefully inside, putting it underneath a stack of legal documents to make it less conspicuous. Finally, he went back to the window and looked out again at the courtyard. It was a beautiful, clear morning. He felt almost like singing, but contented himself with a slow, wry smile and his own thoughts.

  This was indeed a fortunate day. General Fernando del Campo was a very wealthy man. A very wealthy man whom he hated very, very much. Judge Marcus decided he would go to church. For this he must give thanks.

  Chapter 16

  The view from the steps of the cathedral was interesting. Around the large cobbled courtyard were many exclusive shops. There were three excellent tailors, two bookshops, a handful of fashion boutiques, a small cafe, and a shoe shop. Well-dressed shoppers, mostly women, made their way quietly across the square to whichever shop was their favourite. The studious ones went to the bookshops. The obedient ones went to the tailors, to buy suits for their businessmen husbands. The pampered ones went to the boutiques. The ones who had brought their children went to the cafe and ordered candy and biscuits to silence complaints of hunger and boredom. The man sitting on the steps of the church watched them all. He was a careful observer, even more carefully dressed. No one paid any attention to him, just another beggar trespassing in the better part of town, sitting in his bare feet and tattered clothes, his dark skin slowly turning an even deeper ebony in the inescapable midday sun. Occasionally someone would drop a coin in his cup, as they passed him on their way into church, but they would barely look at him as they did so. This pleased the man greatly.

  The most interesting thing of all to him was the white, stone building above the shoe shop. It housed the rooms of Judge Antonio Marcus. It was the second day the man had sat patiently on the steps, watching the comings and goings from that building, but he was not especially bored. He was trained for this work. It was how he made his living. Two days was nothing. In any case, the pay was good, and the American stockbroker who hired him had even handed over three hundred dollars in advance. The investigator liked working for foreigners. They always paid more, sometimes stupidly so, and foreign currency was so much more useful than cruzeiros. So the man waited and watched, as the afternoon slowly died. It was just before sunset that he finally got lucky. He recognised a man’s face.

  “You might have worn your uniform, Sollo,” Judge Marcus sai
d in disgust. “What business would a man like you have in visiting me, other than official business? I told you to come quietly and not to create attention.”

  “And how should I avoid attention in the uniform of a captain of the military police? To wear civilian clothes was the only way.”

  Marcus closed his always-open door for a second time in a week. “No matter. You are here now. Sit down, Captain. There is much to discuss.”

  Sollo went to take a seat at the judge’s desk, but Marcus indicated instead the armchairs at the other end of the room.

  “What is so important that you can only tell me in person, Judge? And why did you have your idiot clerk check me for a gun? This is absurd.”

  “He wasn’t checking you for a gun, Captain Sollo. He was checking you for a wire. In legal matters one has to be careful, you know.”

  “What is this about legal matters? I have no quarrel with you.”

  The judge got up and switched on the television. “No, of course not, Captain. But I think you shall be most interested in this recording.”

  “I have no time to waste watching home videos.”

  “Hmmm. Well, do you recognise this place? This is a warehouse, here. My sources tell me it is on the edge of a local slum.”

  “No, I do not recognise it.”

  “What about these children, playing here?”

  Sollo began to feel uncomfortable. “I see them. And what of it?”

  “Let’s not waste time, Captain. Let me fast-forward.” Marcus resumed his seat and glanced at Sollo. “Perhaps you recognise these two soldiers, the ones rounding up the children? And all that noisy machine gun fire?”

  “These are my men, yes. Dispersing a group of young thieves. Hardly worth dragging me into your office, Judge Marcus.”

  “Indeed. Then let me go forward to the interesting part.” After a moment, the judge played the tape again. “I believe this is you, Captain Sollo, is it not? Interrogating a boy? Your face is clearly visible. They give the most excellent images, these modern video cameras.”

  Captain Sollo did not answer.

  “Ah, now, Sollo, you lift up your gun. But the poor boy is facing the wall, not even looking at you. His hands are empty. He has no gun. Now you are raising your gun to the back of the child’s head. Why is that? I wonder.”

  There was a sudden splash of red on the television screen, coming from the boy’s head and spattering onto the warehouse wall, and there was the sound of a gunshot. The body of the murdered boy dropped to the dirt, then the shaking camera zoomed in on Captain Sollo’s face. The judge paused the tape, leaving the image of Sollo’s face frozen on the screen.

  The judge spoke calmly and rationally. “Ah, now we see why. You raised your gun to shoot the boy. Because you had decided to execute him. Just another little devil off the street. Who would miss him?”

  Sollo leaped up from his chair. “You know – you know perfectly well – that these little bastards have to be disposed of somehow. It’s been going on for years. I don’t have to watch this. You’re wasting my time.”

  “Ah, but you do have to watch it, Captain. I’m afraid you do. Sit down.”

  “General del Campo will hear about this, Judge. I assure you of that.”

  Marcus remained in his chair. “I don’t think that would help, Captain. You see, I obtained this tape from the general. From the document vaults at the barracks, if you must know. You must have heard that things have gone missing lately, that there is a security leak. Hmmm?”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “Well, this is one of those missing things, my dear Captain. And if I were you I’d be asking myself who else but the general could have known just when you would be in the slum? Who else could have had you followed?”

  “The general gave the order to search the slum himself.”

  “Exactly. And it appears he had you tailed, just for insurance. You know there’s been a lot of bad press in Rio this year. The New York Times reporting on the murder of ‘innocent’ children. All that nonsense. It’s much ado about nothing, of course. But all this publicity could cost someone’s career, sooner or later. And if that happens, you don’t imagine that General del Campo would take the blame, do you? As you know, Sollo, it is not the general but his lieutenants – his captains – who end up in prison. The generals always walk free.”

  Sollo stood motionless for a moment, then resumed his seat.

  “That’s better. As I was saying, if this kind of thing ever comes to court, the general is not going to admit giving the order, is he? But here we have you, on tape, doing the deed. This is very bad, Sollo. Very bad indeed. We can’t have our police running around killing children, can we? At least, not on camera. No, the existence of this tape, and its undoubted copies, is very bad. I must say that any judge would be inclined to convict, given this evidence. And I imagine a man like you would have quite a few enemies in prison. Isn’t that right, Sollo?”

  Sollo growled his reply. “Are you threatening me, Judge?”

  Marcus laughed. “Look at me, Captain. I’m an old man. You think an old fossil like me wants to waste his time threatening the police? I could care less that you’ve killed a few worthless little street urchins. As far as I’m concerned we’re better off without them. Well done. You have my applause. No, this isn’t about you, Captain. It’s about a mutual friend of ours, General Fernando del Campo.”

  “What about the general?”

  “What indeed. He is not a man I like, Sollo. I have no quarrel with you. But del Campo owes me many things. It is time to collect payment, I think.”

  “And why should I want to help you with that?”

  “Ah, yes. Because what you need, Captain, is a little insurance policy of your own. Should this whole nasty affair ever reach the courts, what you will need to prove is that you were ordered to kill the boy. Yes, you will do a little time, but it will not be the end for you. What you need is proof of that order.”

  “And how should I have that, Judge?”

  “You will wear a wire. You will go to see the general. You will record him confirming that he gave the order. Then you will bring the tape to me. Naturally, you may keep a copy for yourself. Think about it, Sollo. The American reporters pay good money for secret material. Who knows when the videotape may be leaked to the press? Somewhere is the cameraman who took this film. Perhaps he needs money. You must be ready.”

  “I have never trusted the general. That much is true.”

  “Well, there you are. We agree on something. I regret that this unpleasantness involves you, Captain, but I have an agenda to settle with the general. And it would be so much better if you simply played along.”

  “Another threat, Judge?”

  “Call it a piece of friendly advice.”

  Sollo nodded. “Very well. I could use this kind of ... insurance.”

  “Then I’ll consider we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” Sollo grunted, standing up.

  “Thank you, Captain. You are a very smart man.”

  Sollo ignored the judge’s outstretched hand, and walked out.

  Bob Richards was pleased when the telephone call came from the private investigator, even if it had cost him three hundred bucks. With a smile, he picked up his home phone and dialled a number in Rio de Janeiro, a number he hadn’t had reason to call for a long time. A familiar, gruff American voice answered with a single word.

  “Louis.”

  “Chester,” said Richards. “Chester Louis. It’s Bob.”

  “Bob? Where the hell are you?”

  “Still in Recife. Where else?”

  “Still, huh? So the guy from Rio’s still looking for you?”

  “Yeah. Rio’s not a real good place for me right now. But it’ll blow over.”

  “You’re a survivor, Bob. I’ll say that for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What the heck can I do for you, buddy?”

  “Yeah. Look, Chester, there’s a story up here you might want t
o see for yourself. It’s not something I can talk about on the phone.”

  “I’m real busy right now, Bob. What’s it about?”

  “I can’t talk about it on the phone. Take my word for it, it’s big. You won’t be disappointed if you come up here and see for yourself.”

  “Well, I was planning a trip to Amazonia next week.”

  “Come up early, Chester. I’m telling you, this is gonna be a huge story and you can be the one to break it. Have I ever let you down?”

  Chester Louis thought for a moment. “Hell, no. You never have.”

  “Then I’ll see you?”

  “Ah, Jesus, Bob. All right, you’ll see me. I’ll fly up tomorrow. But this had better be good. There’s a lot of stuff happening in Rio right now. I’m supposed to have a story in for the magazine by Friday.”

  “It’s good, Chester. It’s good. I’m telling you.”

  “Okay, Bob. I’ll see you.”

  Richards put down the phone. He figured it would be no more than thirty-six hours before Chester would have the story on the front page of every newspaper in the country. And that was exactly what he wanted. Richards went to the little safe behind the Stars and Stripes on his living room wall, and took out a copy of the videotape. It was his only hope.

  By the following evening, Chester Louis was sitting on Richards’ decrepit sofa and watching the videotaped murder of a fifteen-year-old boy. Chester was a big man. His expression was almost always serious, but as he ran his hand over his bald scalp he broke into a false laugh.

  “Jesus Christ, Bob. You had this thing sitting in your wall-safe?”

  Richards replied soberly. “Uh huh. You guessed it.”

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed? That’s an MP captain executing a street kid. Do you know what the MPs would do to you if they knew you had this tape? On the second thoughts, don’t answer that question.”