'It's like this. I'm the senior man on duty tonight. A little after midnight, I got a call from the colonel. He said he got an anonymous tip that something had happened here. He said to check it out, and if there was really anything wrong to get in touch with you. As for him, he said, he's going back to bed and doesn't want to be disturbed before eight o'clock tomorrow morning.'
'Doesn't sound like him at all.'
'Oh, yes it does. You don't know the colonel. He keeps banker's hours. Likes a good night's sleep, the colonel does.'
'I meant the part about calling me. He's normally not so cordial.'
'Oh. Well, I wouldn't know about that. I just do what I'm told.'
'How about Palmas? Where's he?'
'No idea, but you don't often see him without the colonel. They're like Siamese twins, those two. Anyway, I sent a patrol car over here. They found the house all lit up and the front door unlocked, but nobody was answering the bell. They tried calling on the phone. No answer. So I took a chance and authorized them to walk in. This'-he waved his arm, taking in both bodies-'is what they found. Murder and suicide. Pretty obvious.'
'Not to me. Not yet,' Silva said.
'Ah, but that's because you don't know,' the sergeant said smugly.
'Don't know what?'
'About the note.'
'What note?'
The sergeant wouldn't be hurried. He was enjoying the opportunity to show the big city boys a thing or two. 'It was right here on the desk. I had my doubts at first. So what did I do? I went to that file cabinet over there and looked for samples of Father Gaspar's handwriting. Then, I put them side-by-side with the note, and compared them. No doubt about it. A perfect match.'
'So Gaspar wrote something. A suicide note?'
'Not exactly,' the sergeant said. 'Something better. Much better. He confessed.'
'Confessed to what?'
The sergeant dropped what he thought was his bombshell. 'Killing the bishop,' he said.
He was visibly disappointed when Silva showed no sign of surprise.
'So he confessed to that, did he?'
'Sure did. Turns out he was a pedophile. The bishop found out about it, and they killed him to make sure it didn't come out.'
'They being?'
'Him and that guy on the floor over there. He was the one who actually pulled the trigger. It's all in the confession. Want to read it?'
'I sure as hell do. Where is it?'
'I'll get it.'
Sergeant Menezes walked over to one of the crime-scene technicians, exchanged a few words, and came back with two plastic envelopes, a rose-colored page of stationery in each.
'So I guess the colonel was right,' he said. 'We didn't need you guys after all.' He extended the envelopes to Silva. 'Here. See for yourself.'
Silva read both sides of the first sheet, passed it to Hector, and went on to read the other.
The confession contained details that only the murderer would know. There was information about how and where the rifle had been purchased, and even the price that had been paid for it. It revealed that Euclides, during his military service, had been trained as a sniper. What it did not say was that the writer had decided to end it all, or that he'd intended to take his manservant with him. It was, most definitely, a confession but it wasn't a suicide note.
Silva walked over to Ishikawa, who was examining the wound in Father Gaspar's temple. 'Any preliminary conclusions, Doctor?'
'Two cases of death by gunshot to the head, inflicted with a small bore weapon, consistent with that one there.' Ishikawa pointed to the semi-automatic pistol still clutched in Father Gaspar's right hand. Then he pointed to the area around the wound. 'Powder burns. The muzzle was right next to his head when the shot was fired. Probably a . 22 caliber short. No exit wound on either body. The bullets are still inside their skulls.'
Silva reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of latex gloves and put them on. 'You already photographed this?' he asked the crime scene technician, pointing at the hand clutching the gun.
The man nodded.
'You painted the skin for powder residue?'
'Sim, senhor.'
'And found it?'
'Also.'
'Good. May I touch this?' He pointed to the weapon. The crime scene technician looked to Sergeant Menezes.
'Go ahead,' the sergeant said with a verbal shrug.
Silva gently pried the weapon from Gaspar's grip, removed the clip, ejected the round in the chamber and counted all of the cartridges. He came up two short of a full magazine.
'You see,' Menezes said. 'Two wounds, two dead men, two shots. Case closed.'
'Excuse us for a moment, Sergeant.'
Silva put pistol and clip on the desk and drew his nephew aside, out of earshot. 'What do you think?' he said.
'I don't buy it,' Hector said. 'A few hours ago Gaspar was denying everything. He knew damned well that we had no proof. Then he's suddenly overcome by his conscience, kills his accomplice, and shoots himself? Not likely.'
'No,' Silva said, 'not likely at all. Conclusion?'
'Someone else did it.'
'And the powder residue on Gaspar's hand, and the fact that there were only two shots fired?'
'Everybody who watches television knows that a pistol shot leaves residue on the skin of the person who fired it. Without it, it's not suicide. The killer would have wanted to make sure that Gaspar's hand had the necessary traces of gunpowder.'
'Good boy. So?'
'The killer added another cartridge to the magazine after he shot them. Then he put the gun into Gaspar's hand, and pushed his trigger finger to fire off a third shot. That way, Gaspar would test positive for the telltale powder residue, but there'd still only be two cartridges missing from the magazine.'
'Take it a step further.'
'Somewhere in this room there's another bullet hole, and the bullet we dig out of it will have been fired from the same weapon.'
'My thinking exactly,' Silva said. 'Let's find it.'
Fifteen minutes later they did. It was in the wall, behind one of the curtains. Silva told the crime scene technician to remove the section of plaster and concrete, bullet and all.
'We'll want a ballistics comparison between the bullet in there and the ones that the M.E. is going to take out of the bodies.'
'Of course. I understand.'
The technicians had already discovered two empty shell casings. They now went on to search for a third, but they didn't find it.
'So three bullets and only two casings,' Hector said. 'The murderer must have taken it.'
A careful search of the remainder of the room turned up nothing more of interest except for a box of ammunition and some stains in Gaspar's top right hand drawer.
'. 455 caliber,' Hector said, rolling one of the cartridges from the box between his thumb and forefinger. 'Very unusual.'
Hector was the expert on firearms. Guns were nothing more than a tool to Silva, but for his nephew they were a hobby as well.
