Both of Muniz's capangas reached for their pistols.
'Calma, garotos,' their boss snapped, dropping his revolver and raising his hands.
The capangas froze, looking back and forth between Arnaldo and Muniz.
'Calma, I said,' Muniz repeated. 'Put the guns down.'
The gunmen relaxed and lowered their weapons. It wasn't enough for Arnaldo. He went up to each man, relieved them of their pistols, and patted them down. Muniz watched it all with a confident smile, a smile that didn't change when Arnaldo went over and frisked him as well.
'Clean,' Arnaldo said at last, and holstered his pistol.
Silva went to the prostrate man, knelt and placed two fingertips on the carotid artery. Father Angelo's skin was warm to the touch, but there was no pulse.
The room was filling with people.
Muniz took the opportunity to play to the crowd. 'It was self-defense,' he said, raising his voice. 'Self- defense. He had a gun under the table.'
'There's no gun, Senhor Muniz.'
'What?'
'There's no gun,' Silva repeated.
'No? Then what's he got in his hand?'
'A pack of cigarettes.'
'Cigarettes?' Muniz said, mystified. 'No. Look again. He said he was going to shoot me, said he had a gun.'
'He said that, did he?'
'You're goddamned right he did.' Muniz's surprise gave way to anger. 'And that's not all he said. He said he killed my boy. Junior may not have amounted to much, but he was mine. Was I supposed to just
… why are you looking at me like that?'
'You just murdered an unarmed man, Senhor Muniz.'
'Murdered? Like hell! I shot him in self-defense. I told you what he said. Are you calling me a liar?'
'No, Senhor Muniz, I'm not calling you anything. Cuff him, Arnaldo. Take him up to my suite.'
'Cuff me? Cuff me? Don't you dare touch me, you fucking Neanderthal. I'll have your goddamned job.'
Arnaldo walked up to the fazendeiro and kicked his ankles out from under him. Before Muniz had recovered from the shock, the big cop's knee was pressing on his kidneys, and Muniz's arms were being forced behind his back. As Arnaldo led him away, Silva started going through Father Angelo's pockets. He found a cigarette lighter (a cheap affair in pink plastic), a rosary, a few folded bills of low denomination, some small change, two more packs of cigarettes (one of them almost empty), and a single cartridge casing. He brought the casing close to his eyes for a better look. It was a. 22-caliber short. Other than that, there was nothing. No papers, no identification, no other personal effects. The priest's eyes were closed, his features composed, even content. There was no horror written there, no shock. He appeared to be sleeping.
Silva rose to his feet. As he did, someone touched his shoulder.
He turned and found himself looking into a pair of limpid gray eyes.
Merda! Silva thought.
His reaction had nothing to do with the eyes themselves or even the rest of what went with them: dark blonde hair, a flawless complexion, full, sensuous lips and a button nose.
No. His reaction had exclusively to do with the camera that some guy was poking over her left shoulder. There was a tiny red light on the front of that camera and the light was blinking.
'You were a witness to the shooting, weren't you Chief Inspector?' the blonde asked, holding a microphone up to his lips to capture his reply.
'No comment.'
'Oh, come on,' she said. 'We were a couple of seconds too late, but you were right here in the room. You must have seen Senhor Muniz shoot the priest.'
'No comment, Senhora…'
'Ferraz. And it's not senhora, it's senhorita, but you can call me Natalia.'
'Ferraz. Any relation to-'
'The colonel? No. No relation. But, while we're at it, what's your comment about what happened to him?'
'Happened to him?'
'His murder.'
Silva stared at her and blinked. She studied his expression.
'Hey, you didn't know about it, did you?'
'No,' he said with a sigh, 'I didn't.'
She was going to make him look like an idiot. But then, to his surprise and relief, she let him off the hook.
'Cut it, Joao,' she said to the cameraman.
The tiny red light gave a final blink and went out.
'To be fair,' she said, 'there's no reason why you should have known about the colonel. They only found him a little over an hour ago. Shot to death in his living room. Him and that adjutant of his, Major Palmas.'
'How did you find out about it, Senhorita Ferraz?'
'Natalia,' she said. And then, turning her gray eyes onto Hector, but still speaking to Silva, 'Who's your friend?'
'Delegado Hector Costa,' Hector said, before Silva could reply.
'Oh, yeah,' she said, 'you're the nephew, right?'
As Hector's smile faded, she turned back to Silva. 'Heard it on the police scanner,' she said. 'His driver found the bodies.'
'Whose driver?'
'The colonel's driver. He picks him up every morning. There's no sleep-in maid, so it's the driver who makes the colonel's coffee. He's got a key to the house. He called it in from the car radio. We picked it up. Got there just when everybody else did.'
'And how did you get here so fast?'
'We got a tip somebody'd been shot.'
'A tip? From whom?'
'Anonymous. He-it was a he-called it in to the network.'
'When?'
She looked at her watch. 'Maybe twenty minutes ago, which is at least fifteen minutes before it actually happened. Funny, huh? Maybe the caller was a psychic.'
With the colonel dead, there was no reason not to use the local jail, so that's where they took Muniz.
He was entitled to one telephone call and he promptly made it. His personal judge, Wilson Cunha, got there in five minutes flat, called for an immediate arraignment, and assured Muniz that he wouldn't have to spend the night in a cell.
Silva told Cunha that he intended to file federal charges and that, by law, he had twenty-four hours to do it. In the meantime, Muniz wouldn't be going anywhere.
'What federal charges?' Cunha sputtered.
'I haven't decided yet. I'm still thinking about it.'
'I protest.'
'Protest all you want. Your patron is going to spend the night in jail and I intend to make sure he doesn't get a cell to himself. Who knows? Maybe he'll find love.'
Silva waited until Cunha had stormed out, then called a friend at the revenue service in Brasilia and initiated an audit of the judge's last five years of income tax statements.
Chapter Fifty
