“Sixty,” Hector said.
Campos didn’t bother to conceal his surprise. “ Sixty? Sixty birds?”
“That’s what I said.”
“That’s a lot. Nobody I know has sixty birds. It’s complete overkill.”
“They had a lot of diamonds to transport.”
“Diamonds?”
“Juraci Santos’s ransom was in diamonds. Five million American dollars worth.”
Campos whistled. “Five million dollars. That’s more than ten million Reais.”
“Considerably more.”
“Where were the birds released?”
“About two hundred and eighty kilometers from Sao Paulo, a spot near Caverna do Diabo.”
“Who did the releasing?”
“We did,” Silva said.
“You did? You? The Federal Police?”
“The Artist decided to pay. We assisted him. We didn’t know they’d be using pigeons until we got there. We had to follow their instructions and dispatch the diamonds. If we hadn’t, they would have killed Juraci Santos.”
“How were the diamonds attached to the birds?”
“Little carrier bags made especially for the purpose. Instructions were waiting on how to affix them.”
Campos stroked his chin. “And once it was done…“
“The birds flew away, and we lost them.”
“You simply let them fly away? You didn’t try to follow them?”
“We managed to plant a tracking device, but we only had one, and a bird of prey brought down the pigeon carrying it.”
“So you have no idea where the diamonds wound up?”
“In fact, Senhor Campos, we do.”
“Where?”
“At a sitio near Riberao Preto. The owner rents the place, but hardly ever visits. A caseiro works there. He was paid to feed and care for the birds, but he knows nothing. He wasn’t involved in the plot.”
“Chief Inspector, are you aware of the fact that those birds have to be conditioned from the time they start moving around on their own?”
“We know that, yes.”
“That’s why nobody buys or sells fully-grown carrier pigeons. It would make no sense. Once they were released, they’d just fly home to wherever they were raised.”
“So we’ve been told.”
Campos started pacing back and forth. “The birds would have to be at least three months old before they could fly the distance you’re describing. It would be nothing for a fullygrown bird, but it’s a long way for a young one.”
“Conclusion?”
Campos ran a hand through his hair. “This thing must have been planned months in advance.” He stopped pacing and turned and looked at Silva. “You mean to tell me that the people who supplied the birds didn’t go back, at least once, to make sure they were being properly conditioned by this caseiro? And, if the caseiro wasn’t involved in the plot, someone else would have had to have made the pickup, right?”
“Someone did. She’s-”
“She?”
“It was a woman.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“We’re sure.”
Silva took him through it, step by step. He told him about the jeweler, told him about Tancredo Candido, told him how the woman had threatened Tancredo with grave bodily harm if he didn’t follow instructions. By the time he’d finished, Edson Campos had come over to their side and entered into the spirit of the chase.
“So you’ve got a description of this woman?” he said. “You know what she looks like?”
“We have a description, but it’s a sketchy one.”
“Don’t you people normally do an artist’s rendition in a case like this?”
“We’re trying. We’re not being very successful. The witness doesn’t have a good memory for faces.”
“Tell me your sketchy description.”
“About thirty-five years of age, of average height, with curly, brown hair, a somewhat abrasive attitude, a foul mouth and what the cut-out described as a nice ass.”
“Brown eyes?”
“Why? Does the description suggest someone to you?”
“You may think this is a weird question, but was she wearing Promesse?”
“What?”
“Promesse, from Cacharel. It’s a perfume, a springtime scent, more for teenagers than for a woman of her age. But that’s beside the point. The question is was she wearing perfume?”
“As a matter of fact,” Silva said, “she was.”
“Holy Crap.”
“Holy Crap what?”
“Holy Crap,” Edson Campos said, “I know who you’re looking for.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The kidnapper was too anxious to eat, too excited to watch television, too agitated, even, to sit down. He put all of his nervous energy into digging the grave. From the time his partner left until he heard the sound of her car crunching gravel in the driveway, all he’d done was dig.
But here she was, back at last. He threw the shovel aside, climbed out of the hole and circled the house at a run. She saw him coming, grinned, and held up her leather bag like it was the World Cup and she’d just brought it home.
He reached her, wrapped his arms around her, held her close.
She dropped the bag and pushed him away with the heels of her hands.
“You’re filthy,” she said.
“I can get dirtier than this,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “Want a demonstration?”
“Mmmm,” she said. “Let’s go inside. But not without this.”
She picked up the bag.
He took her hand and led her to the house. She’d shed her blouse before he’d locked the front door, was out of her panties before he’d removed his shirt.
They made frenzied love on the couch. But she didn’t linger when it was done. Still wearing her socks, and nothing else, she grabbed the bag, opened it, and turned it upside down over his naked belly.
The banknotes tumbled out, six bundles, bound together by rubber bands.
“How much?” he said.
“Thirty thousand.”
“Thirty thousand? That’s all? Thirty thousand for all six rings? The bastards cheated you.”
“Sure they did. Every one of them. And I don’t care.”
“Because that makes it all the more likely they’ll keep their mouths shut?”
“Exactly. Did you finish?”
“It’s not deep enough. I want to go down another thirty centimeters or so. When are you going to do it?”
“As soon as you’re done. I’ll need your help to carry her. That bitch is fat. I won’t be able to get her up the
