“Magali was killed between midnight and three in the morning. At that time of night, anyone who doesn’t live in her building has to ring the doorbell. They can only come in if they’re expected, unless they’re with someone who lives in the building, in which case obviously they don’t need to call the doorman. Everyone testified that on nights Magali went out with Vieira she didn’t make other plans, so she wouldn’t have been with a client at that hour. If the murderer came home with her, they wouldn’t have had to ring the bell, which means that it had to be either Vieira or some other friend.”
Vieira shifted in his seat, stretching his hand out and making contact with his gun with the point of his finger, moving it back and forth across the tabletop.
“The doorman stated that Vieira was so drunk he couldn’t even get out of the car when he arrived with Magali; and he said that he saw the couple leave in the car together with Flor, who had run into them at the entrance to the building. He didn’t see any of them again that night. If that story is true, it’s improbable that Vieira would have come back later that night to kill his friend. So let’s eliminate Vieira, on that basis. But make no mistake: I’m not necessarily saying he’s innocent. I’m just speculating. So if we suppose that Vieira’s innocent, even simply because all the witnesses agree that he couldn’t even stand on his own two legs, the only remaining suspects are Vanessa, who lives one floor above Magali, and Flor, Magali’s best friend.”
Vieira picked up his gun, moving it from one hand to other, not looking at anyone. Flor stared at Vieira and Espinosa, visibly agitated.
“I spoke several times with both of them. The only one who defended Vieira on every occasion was Vanessa, even though she didn’t consider herself his friend. She really only knew him through Magali’s stories.”
“Shit! What does this guy want, Vieira?”
Vieira pointed the revolver in Flor’s direction, but aimed the barrel at the ground. Espinosa slightly shifted the position of his leg, which was still throbbing painfully.
“My suspicion—since it’s no more than a suspicion—is that Flor killed Magali.”
Flor gave a cry and stood up. Vieira raised the revolver. Espinosa placed his right hand on his back. Vieira turned the weapon against him.
“That’s right, Vieira, shoot the son of a bitch; he forced me to fuck him—kill that faggot, shoot him!”
“I imagined …”
“Shoot, Vieira!”
“… the following course of events: Magali and Vieira leave the restaurant and go to her apartment. Upon arriving there, they meet Flor on the sidewalk in front of the building. The two women try to get Vieira out of the car, but he’s sound asleep. Flor offers to help take him home. Upon arrival there—or rather, upon arrival here—the three of them come upstairs. Vieira, practically carried by them, at no time wakes up—”
“Shoot, Vieira! Are you scared?”
“In the bedroom, semilucid, he tries to take off his clothes, tugging at his belt, which falls out of his hand, and his pants fall to the floor. Flor and Magali pull his pants off, get him into bed, and depart, leaving him to sleep it off. Once on the street, Flor realizes that she’s holding Vieira’s belt along with her purse—”
“What are you waiting for, Vieira? Shoot him!”
“Going through the glove compartment or her friend’s purse, she finds the Mace; she hears her friend tell her to be careful, that it’s powerful, that even a little is enough to knock someone out—”
“Crazy! You’re crazy!”
“Once back in Magali’s building, the two go upstairs, probably to discuss the evening. In Magali’s room, still holding the Mace in her hand, Flor decides, as a joke, to try it out on her friend, who passes out immediately—”
“Motherfucking faggot piece of shit!” Flor, standing, was shouting at Espinosa. Vieira kept the gun aimed at a point on the floor between Flor and Espinosa.
“Seeing her friend passed out, she tries to revive her; she doesn’t know if she’s alive or dead, and she panics. She remembers Vieira’s belt, which she’d tossed onto the bed, sees the plastic bag within arm’s reach—”
“Kill him! Kill the fucker!”
“She ties up her friend with clothes she gets out of a drawer, ties her feet with a scarf and Vieira’s belt, and sticks her head in the plastic bag.”
“Faggot!”
Vieira slowly turned the weapon toward Flor.
“Kill him, Vieira, kill him! Yesterday the son of a bitch forced me to fuck him, he said he was going to turn us in, that the two of us planned to kill Magali. I didn’t want to do it … the gas came out … I didn’t mean to … I didn’t …”
Vieira’s single shot hit Flor in the chest.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank my friend and attorney Marcio Donnici for facilitating my access to Rio de Janeiro’s police stations and Forensic Institute, as well as for putting up with my telephone inquiries about criminal matters.
The translator wishes to acknowledge the kind help of Luciane Moritz Sommer of Rio de Janeiro in preparing this translation.
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