Richards went to the television and turned it off. Then he handed the tape to Chester. “It’s yours, Chester. Use it well.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I can’t tell you that. I didn’t film it myself. The, uh, man who shot the tape is in real danger. He’s a dead man if his name gets out. But he asked me to get it to a good reporter. You’re the best I know.”
Chester turned the tape over in his hands. “Why are you risking your neck for this, Bob? I hate these murdering MPs too, but when did you become a vigilante? Life could get awful hard for you in this town, you know.”
“I trust you, Chester. You’re not gonna tell anybody you got it from me.”
“Sure, but even so ...”
“It’s a friend of mine. Somebody playing with fire. I’m doing a favour.”
“That’s quite a favour. Why didn’t you just bury this thing?”
“It’s personal.”
Chester Louis looked Richards in the eye. “That personal?”
“Yeah. That personal.”
“You poor bastard. You’re doing this for a woman, aren’t you?”
Richards sighed. “Tell me about it. Look, we’ve got a chance to do some good here, for the kids, and maybe to save the necks of a couple of idiot foreigners who are up to their chins in shit, one of which is me.”
“Is she pretty?”
“It’s not like that,” Richards replied angrily.
“No. I don’t suppose it is, Bob. Not this time. You’ve really got it bad.”
“You’ve got your story, Chester. Just get it in print.”
“Okay, good buddy. If you say so. I hate to do it to you, but this is a helluva story. I’ll probably even end up on CNN.”
“Just as long as you don’t mention me, Chester, do whatever you like.”
“Okay.” Chester Louis put the tape in his canvas bag and headed for the door of Richards’ apartment. “And ... good luck with the lady, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Richards to himself, as he pushed the door shut again. He knew all hell would break lose once the story hit the papers, but he was convinced that it was the best option. It just might work.
Maria Anna del Campo drank her coffee slowly. This infuriated the general. She always insisted he sit with her at breakfast and not leave until she was done. And then she would sit with her newspaper and turn the pages, making stupid comments about the stories as if she knew anything about the real world – the world in which he commanded the military police, did business, and made all the money which she so much enjoyed spending. He could see she was about to make another stupid comment.
“Have you seen the newspaper today, Fernando?”
“No, my dear. How can I see it when you have it yourself?”
“Well, you should see this. Here it is right on the front page. ‘Child Killed by Military Police.’ They even have a picture. Look.”
The general took the newspaper in silence. He looked incredulously at the huge photograph of Captain Sollo firing his revolver into the back of a skinny boy’s head. “This is an outrage,” he said at last.
“An outrage, Fernando? It is not true then?”
“True? Of course not. You think I have my men run around shooting children? Of course there is no truth in this. You know reporters, my dear.”
“Oh. I see. Then can I have the newspaper back, Fernando?”
“Yes, yes, just let me see what it says. ‘The identity of the officer in the photograph has not yet been confirmed, but sources indicate he is a member of the Military Police of Pernambuco. This local murder comes after recent reports in the international press of the widespread execution of street kids in Rio.’ What nonsense. This is scandalous rubbish.”
“Then you must speak to the press, dear, and put it right.”
“The press do not believe the good citizens of this state, Maria. They only believe the hoodlums who falsify this kind of videotape. There is no point in making any comment. This is a forgery. That is all there is to it.”
“Very well, Fernando. Now may I have the newspaper back?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course. There you are, my dear.”
Maria Anna del Campo turned to the social pages. “Do you have a busy day today, Fernando?” she asked, as she looked at the party photographs.
“Today, my dear? Oh no. Nothing but a routine day.”
“That’s good.”
It was difficult not to succumb to the temptation to call Sollo immediately, but the general managed to sit through breakfast and then wait until he had driven to the barracks, whereupon he summoned the fool. It was two hours after his wife had shown him the newspaper when the general finally had his chance to respond to the publicity with genuine fury.
Sollo saluted in front of the general’s desk. “General del Campo.”
“Captain Sollo. You will not take a seat. You will remain standing and you will explain to me the meaning of this.” The general tossed a copy of the morning newspaper across his desk, with the execution photograph upmost.
Sollo stepped forward and looked in horror at the headline. Forgetting himself, he picked up the paper and read it anxiously, then he remembered the general was watching him and put the paper down again.
“Well, Captain?”
“It shows the execution of a street kid, General.”
“So it does, Captain Sollo. So it does. And who is this who holds the gun, who shoots the bullet? It is you. On the front page of the newspaper!”
“I am sorry, sir. I don’t know how I was photographed.”
“You don’t know?” The general stood up. “You don’t know?”
“No, General.”
The general walked around behind the captain and yelled. “You imbecile. When I tell you to have one of these little runts killed, I mean you to do it in private! You take him away, somewhere there are no cameras, and you dispose of him there. You do not pull out your pistol and shoot him in public. Are you a moron, Captain Sollo?”
“I did what I was told, sir.”
“Did what you were told? I told you to kill the boy quietly, not to make a circus out of it. I gave you a simple order. Was that too hard for you?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I thought this was what you wanted.”
“I wanted the boy dead, yes, but not with his blood on my hands. Do you realise what the press are going to do with this? They are going to make so much noise that the federal bureaucrats in Brasilia will start asking questions. Then there will be an inquiry. And who do you suppose they are going to point the finger at? Me, goddamn you, Sollo.”
Sollo stood to attention, without moving a muscle.
“Well, I tell you, Sollo, that is not going to happen. It will only be a matter of time before you are identified from this photograph, and then you will be linked with me. So I am suspending you from active duty, effective immediately. I’ll do my best for you, Sollo, but there is only so much I can do to protect you from your own stupidity. If you go down, I’m not drowning with you. Why could you not do a simple job properly?”
“I did what you told me to do, General. What more could I do?”
The general was enraged. “You could do it like a professional, not like some kind of petty thug. You could do it behind closed doors!”
“I am sorry, General.”
The general calmed down. “Sollo, you have been loyal to me and I respect that. I look after those who put their trust in me. We shall see.”
“Sir?”
“We will see what we can do to get you out of this mess. All this, over some pathetic little street bastard. I will do my best for you.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The general waved at him. “Get out, Sollo. Get out.”
Once Sollo had gone, the general collapsed into his chair and shook his head. Never in his entire life had he been faced with such a pathetic situation. He wished he had never agreed to buy The Tears of the Angels.
That same afternoon, when Sollo
reported to Judge Marcus with the audio tape of his conversation with the general, Marcus was happier than he had been in many years. Never in his life had he come across such an excellent situation from which to make money. He took the tape and the wire back from Sollo, listened to the recording, then spoke.
“Well, Captain Sollo. It appears you have your insurance.”
“He said everything I wanted him to say, Judge.”
“Indeed he did. You have saved yourself, Captain. He cannot touch you now without being incriminated himself. It may even be worth some money to you, once I finish with him. You’ve made an old man very happy.”
“But what about the newspaper?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. General del Campo will find a way to discredit the videotape as a forgery. You have nothing to fear.”
“He has suspended me from duty, Judge.”
“Has he now? Well, we can fix that. Leave it with me.”
Once Sollo had left the office, Marcus reflected that the man was very possibly the most arrogant fool ever to have risen to the rank of captain in the Pernambuco Military Police. From his office window, Marcus watched Sollo make his way across the busy courtyard, one uniformed captain in a sea of civilians. It was certainly no pity, Marcus thought, that this idiot must soon die. And there was much to gain from his death.
Judge Antonio Marcus knew he would retire a wealthy man.
Chapter 17
Susan leaned over in her deckchair and kissed Richards. It was a rare opportunity to be romantic in public. She was a long way from Recife, relaxing on a beach an hour’s drive from the city limits. No one would recognise her. Here it was as if Adrian didn’t exist, at least for one blissful weekend. No news of this kiss could ever return to her husband.
“You seem relaxed, at last. I thought you never would,” said Richards.
“I know I should still be worrying about the children, but ... I just want to be with you. Is that too bad of me, Bob?”
“Junio’s safe with Fabriola’s family. You know that. If you had any contact with him it would just put him at risk. The police might be watching the orphanage. You’re doing the best thing you can do – lying low.”
“I haven’t even been back to the slum,” Susan said guiltily.
“Great. No contact between you and the street kids means no connection between you and the videotape.”
“I know you’re right, Bob. It’s the waiting. Not knowing.”
“I told you, Judge Marcus met with Sollo just like I said he would. And the only thing that matters to Marcus – the only thing – is getting even with del Campo. The judge will make his move soon enough. Once the general realises his ass is going to get dragged through court over the kid’s murder, he’ll have to back down from having the rest of them killed. Especially now the press is involved.”
“But what’s in it for the judge?”
“Money. What else? Enough money will make the whole thing go away. Nobody’s going to get convicted, video or no video, unless someone in power wants them to get convicted. That’s just how it works. As long as del Campo pays off Marcus, they’ll find a scapegoat for the whole thing, probably Sollo, and then it’s business as usual. But if the general doesn’t pay up, heaven help him. Judge Marcus is very well connected. He’s untouchable.”
“I don’t know, Bob. I just don’t know. What if something goes wrong?”
“Sue, we’re doing the best we can. You know we are. I’m not ... I don’t know ... John Wayne. I don’t pack a six-shooter and shoot it out with the bad guy at high noon. We’re just two little people. We don’t mean squat to a man like del Campo. What do you want me to do? Go to his house and make threats? He’d have his soldiers take turns at beating me to death.”
“No. I’m sorry, Bob. I’m just worried about the children. I wish there were more we could do to keep them safe. You know.”
“Sue, I’m a stockbroker. You’re a teacher. This is Brazil. And we’re a couple of gringo foreigners. This isn’t even our business. If we can do anything at all to help these kids, it’s more than we should be able to. But we are doing all we can, okay? You know that.”
“Yes. I know we are. Sorry.” Sue leaned across and kissed Richards again. “Let’s not bring it up again, okay?”
“Sure.”
They were sitting on a crowded beach, not a tourist resort but a favourite holiday spot for those in Recife fortunate enough to own beach houses in the nearby village. It was a spectacular place. The Atlantic Ocean glistened under blue skies and the beautiful white beach stretched north and south as far as the eye could see. There were no high-rise buildings, only a line of beach shacks and a few simple seafood restaurants. Families were at play in the water and on the sand. Vendors sold cool beer.
Susan heard the faint drone of a chainsaw engine coming slowly closer. First she looked at the many jet skis racing around in the waves, but the noise from their water turbines was different. Neither was it the noise of the speedboats racing out to favourite fishing spots, or of the motor launches towing parasailors steadily through the air. “Bob, what’s that noise?”
“What noise?”
“That engine sound.” Suddenly it was a whole lot louder.
“Just look up,” said Richards, delighting in Susan’s puzzled expression.
Susan leaned forward, so she could see beyond the beach umbrella, and was startled to see a huge orange shadow drift overhead. “Oh, God!”
Richards laughed uncontrollably. “It’s only an ultralight, Sue. You look like you saw a ghost.” He watched the flimsy aircraft fly slowly away.
“That scared the hell out of me!”
“Sorry,” said Richards lamely.
“But, really ... what kind of pilot flies that low over all these people? That aeroplane couldn’t be more than fifty feet up! What if the engine fails? Somebody will get killed. Aren’t there rules against that sort of thing?”
“Safety isn’t a real high priority around here, Sue.”
“I can see that.”
“That was just the first of them. You’ll see lots more. This beach is all about having fun. It’s a pity they’re only single seaters, or maybe we could ask one of the pilots to take you for a ride.”
“No, thank you.”
Richards laughed again. “I love this beach. It’s a great place. All you have out here are people having fun. Ordinary people. No big shots.”
Susan watched a large motor launch pull away from a nearby boat ramp and speed out to sea. “No big shots?”
“Well, everything’s relative. You get your ordinary folks. You get your businessmen. But they’re all small fry out here. The really important people go to the big tourist resorts, or to their private beaches. And good riddance. Out here, you don’t have to worry about all that crap.”
“Do you have to swear, Bob?”
“Sorry. You don’t have to worry about politics, about who’s watching. You have a barbecue, invite the neighbours. You have a beer on the beach. And most of the beach houses are pretty much the same. Nobody’s here to show off. You can pretty much forget your troubles.”
“Have you had your beach house for long?”
“Couple of years. I had some friends build it for me. One of them’s the caretaker. I’ll introduce you to him later. He’s a great guy. A real character.”
“Then I suppose quite a few of your ... girls have been to visit?”
Richards looked at Susan for a moment. “You’re not one of my girls.”
“I’m just jealous. Don’t pay any attention.”
“Actually, I haven’t seen any of them, since we ...”
“You haven’t?” said Susan. “Is that really true, Bob?”
“Sure. I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t.”
“No. But I thought your ... your philosophy of life was just to have fun.”
“I’d rather be here with you than with any of those girls.”
Susan smiled at him. “I know. I’m jus
t feeling insecure. I don’t know why. I am an adulteress, after all, cheating on Adrian. Why should I expect you to be any better?”
“Don’t call yourself that. You’re not that.”
“But I am. That’s what this is. Adultery.”
Richards put down his beer and put a hand on Susan’s arm. “Don’t beat yourself up, Sue. Why are you saying that?”
“Because I’m happy with you, Bob. Because I’m so happy with you, and I’m not supposed to be. I’m supposed to be miserable. This is supposed to be evil. It’s supposed to be an empty sin. That’s not how it feels.”
Richards sighed. “I wondered when this was going to come up again.”
“I’m sorry, Bob, I can’t help it. It’s my faith.”
“Is it part of your faith to be unhappy?”
“The biggest part.”
“Come on, Sue,” said Richards angrily, “be serious.”
Susan looked at all the children playing on the beach, building sandcastles, learning to jet-ski, eating ice creams, laughing. “You know what bothers me the most, Bob? I’m so happy with you, but I’ve only known you for such a short time. I feel closer to you than I ever did to Adrian, and we’re so different to each other. You don’t even believe in God.”
“I don’t have a cent, either.”
Susan was beyond pretence. Bob could see through her too easily, so she didn’t even try to argue. “Yes, you don’t even have a cent.”
“I’m a great guy,” Richards muttered sarcastically.
Susan grabbed his hand suddenly. “No, no. Bob, I’m sorry. That’s what I mean. You are a great guy. Better than Adrian ever was. I never wanted to have a family with Adrian. I couldn’t bring children into that kind of family, couldn’t give them that kind of father. So cold. And now it’s too late.”
“You could adopt.”
“I’m forty-five years old. Who’s going to let me adopt?”
“You don’t look it,” said Richards, with an amorous smile.
Susan laughed. “Stop it, now. None of that.”
“What, flattery?”
“Yes, no more flattery. I can’t take it.”
The Street Angel Page 15