Half an hour later, a small crowd of the curious was still milling about in the lobby of the Hotel Excelsior. As Hector threaded his way through them, leading the way to the elevator, he spotted an unexpected figure: Father Francisco, the late bishop's secretary.
The priest's attire was rumpled, he was showing a day's growth of beard, and there were dark rings under his eyes. He tossed aside the newspaper lying in his lap, wearily pulled himself out of his armchair, and extended a hand.
Hector took it, introduced the priest to his two companions, and said, 'I hope you'll pardon me for saying so, Father, but you look as if you could use a good night's sleep.'
Self-consciously, the priest ran a hand over the stubble on his chin.
'I daresay I do, Delegado, but I'll have to put it off a little while longer. I've been waiting for you and the chief inspector. Have you time for a cup of coffee?'
'Of course. You heard about what happened to Father Angelo?'
'Yes. The desk clerk told me about it. He had it from some people who saw it all.' The priest seemed neither scandalized nor surprised.
Hector glanced at the hotel's coffee shop. Yellow crimescene tape still sealed off the entrance, and people were leaning over it, staring at the bloodstains on the floor.
'No coffee to be gotten here,' he said. 'Let's go upstairs and order it from room service.'
When he was seated on the sofa in Silva's suite and the coffee had been ordered, the priest said, 'Shortly after two o'clock this morning Father Angelo called me.'
'He called you at two AM?' Silva asked. 'You were awake?'
'Asleep, but I have a telephone next to my bed. Last rites, you see. I'm often asked to give them in the early hours of the morning.'
'So you weren't particularly surprised to get a call?'
'Not until I picked up the telephone and heard Father Angelo's voice.'
'What did he want?'
'To talk to me, he said, about a matter of the utmost urgency.'
'What matter?'
'He refused to discuss it over the telephone.'
'Sounds familiar. He did the same with me. Only it was hours later. Just after eight-thirty. He woke me out of a sound sleep and asked me to meet him in the breakfast room downstairs. He was shot to death before we could talk. I'm still wondering what it was all about.'
'Perhaps I can shed some light.'
At that moment someone rapped on the door. It turned out to be room service with the coffee. Father Francisco waited until everyone had been served, and the man had left, before he resumed his story:
'Angelo asked me to come here, to Cascatas. There was something in his voice, something in the way he made his request. It was… well, I hope you don't find I'm being too dramatic, but his voice was almost funereal. I told him I'd come immediately.'
'To his home?'
'No. That was something else I found strange. He told me to come to Santa Cecilia's. That's the old church, the one they're going to demolish to build a school. He said he had a key, and he'd leave a door open. He described how to find it.'
'And you did as he asked?'
'Yes. We met this morning, a few minutes past seven.' Father Francisco reached into his pocket and removed an envelope. 'He gave me this,' he said, 'and asked me to deliver it to you, personally. He said you'd be in the breakfast room of your hotel. I was to hand it over at nine-thirty AM precisely.'
Silva examined the business-sized envelope. It was sealed and unmarked. 'What's in it?'
'I'm not sure.'
'So why didn't you? Hand it over at nine-thirty, I mean.'
'When he left, I sat down on one of the pews near the altar. I was exhausted from the journey and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, it was almost ten. I hurried here, but you'd already gone off to the jail with Orlando Muniz.'
'What did you and Father Angelo talk about?'
'I think it would be best if you were to read the letter, Chief Inspector. Afterward, I'll respond to your questions.'
Silva tore open the envelope, perched his eyeglasses on his nose and began to read aloud:
Dear Chief Inspector Silva, I am writing to confess to the murders of four men: Colonel Emerson Ferran, Major Osmani Palmas, Father Gaspar Farias, and Euclides Garcia.
'Jesus Christ,' Arnaldo said.
He looked at Father Francisco and reddened, but the priest ignored his interjection.
Silva continued reading:
Please note that I take no responsibility for the death of the fazendeiro Orlando Muniz Junior. The men who killed him are all dead, murdered by Colonel Ferran in an unprovoked attack on the encampment of the Landless Workers' League.
'That's just too much of a coincidence,' Arnaldo said. 'And I'll believe it when I go back to believing in Santa Claus.' Silva cleared his throat and went on:
I staged the deaths of Father Gaspar and Euclides. My motive in misleading the police about the true nature of the crime was to sow confusion, and to thereby ensure that I would be given the time to carry out some other plans that I had on my agenda.
Gaspar's confession, although obtained under duress, is truthful. He planned the murder of Bishop Antunes and his manservant carried it out. There will be ample proof of this in the degree of detail set forth in his handwritten document.
In the case of Ferran, his crimes are too numerous to list and many may never be known. They certainly include the murders of Diana Poli, Vicenza Pelosi, Anton Brouwer, various members of the Landless Workers' League, and at least five street children.
'That man Ferraz was a fucking murder machine,' Arnaldo interjected. 'Uh, sorry, Father.'
'No apologies necessary, Agente. I happen to agree with you.,,
In all of Ferraz's crimes, his adjutant, Major Osmani Palmas, was a willing participant. In the case of the street children, Ferraz was also assisted by a death squad consisting of Tenente Lacerda, Sargento Maya, Cabo Cajauba, and Soldados Prestes, Porto, and Najas, the first four of whom also participated in the attack on the encampment.
'So that bucket of lard Menezes is out of it,' Arnaldo said. 'But there are still six of them. They'll be elbowing each other to be the first in line.'
Silva nodded. As cops, Ferraz's men would be quick to recognize that the first of them to turn state's witness would get the best deal from the prosecutors. He adjusted his reading glasses and turned to the last page of Angelo's letter:
As for me taking the law into my own hands, I want to make one thing clear. I would have liked to have gone to my grave believing in Brazilian justice. If I regret nothing else, I do regret that I was unable to do that.
By the time you read this, I will have taken my own life. My last gesture before doing so will be to meet with Orlando Muniz in order to give him some degree of comfort by communicating to him what others have told me about his son's last hour.
God's blessings upon you, Chief Inspector Silva, and-to please my ghost-try to see that those as yet unpunished suffer the fate they deserve.
Yours,
Fr. Angelo Monteiro, S.J.
Silva folded the letter and looked at Father Francisco.
'A Jesuit, was he?'
Father Francisco nodded.
'Brouwer, too?'
