“Okay.”
“One thing puzzles me. You’ve been in training with the team in Curitiba, right?”
“Right.”
“But your mother only got those keys last Thursday, and you said she delivered them to you personally.”
“She did. When I came for the party.”
“Party? You broke training for a party?”
There was a long pause. When Tico finally spoke, he sounded sheepish.
“Cintia got this big perfume contract. She wanted to celebrate, said it wouldn’t be the same without me, so I went to talk to Dumbo about it.”
“And he agreed.”
“No. He…”
“He what?”
“He got mad. He said some things about Cintia that I didn’t like.”
“And you told Cintia?”
Silence.
“Tico?”
“Yeah. I told her.”
“And she convinced you to come to Sao Paulo, despite Dumbo’s objections?”
“It wasn’t like she had to convince me. I wanted to come.”
“When was the party?”
“Saturday night. It was no big deal. I didn’t drink a drop of alcohol, and I was in Sao Paulo for less than forty-eight hours. I came up on Saturday morning and went back to Curitiba on Sunday morning. And the team doesn’t practice on Saturday afternoons or Sunday mornings.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about coming to Sao Paulo when last we spoke?”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“Listen to me, Tico. At this stage, there’s no way of knowing what’s important and what isn’t. You have to tell me everything, you understand?”
“I understand. I did tell you everything… except for that.”
“I want you to think long and hard about how those keys got from your pocket to a drawer in the bedroom.”
“I already did. I thought about it, and I got no idea.”
“Are you going to be there tomorrow?”
“I’m not going anywhere until you get me my mother back.”
“Good. Agent Nunes and I will be paying you another visit. I’ll call before we come.”
After Silva hung up, he called Mara and asked her to send one of her people to pick up the keys.
“Is Cintia Tadesco with him?” Mara asked.
“Probably. She was last night. Why?”
“I’ll go myself. I want to see her skin.”
“Her skin?”
“I can’t believe anybody has skin that perfect. I think all her photos must be retouched. Is she nice?”
“No,” Silva said.
O NCE AGAIN, Hector’s trip to Granja Viana was against the flow of traffic. Forty minutes was all it took from his home in Pacaembu to the strip mall where Samuel Arns had his shop.
Arns’s place of business was tiny, dwarfed by a pharmacy on the left and a veterinary clinic on the right. Gold letters on the glass window informed passers-by that he dealt in hardware and alarm systems as well as keys and locks.
When Hector entered, a two-tone chime heralded his arrival.
“Samuel Arns?”
“Mmmm,” the man behind the counter said. Hector took it to be an acknowldgment, but the locksmith, concentrating on his work, didn’t look up. He was putting the finishing touches on a key for an elderly gentleman wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
The bright brass of the blank was almost invisible between fingers thick as dinner candles, but Arns’s dexterity belied his size. The file removing burrs from the metal moved back and forth, like a bow in the hand of a virtuoso.
The chime sounded again. A woman with a haughty expression and too much makeup came in. She was carrying a miniature dachshund in her arms.
Hector smiled at the woman. She didn’t smile back. He looked at the dachshund. The dachshund snarled. Hector tried to remember something he’d once heard about dogs resembling their owners, but it escaped him.
Arns put the original, and the key he’d been making, into a small envelope.
The elderly gentleman laboriously counted out the exact change.
The woman started tapping her foot.
“Who’s next?” Arns said when the elderly gentleman left.
“I’m in a hurry,” the woman said inserting herself between Hector and the counter.
“That may well be, Senhora,” Arns said, “but are you next?”
Hector liked him for that. But he’d just as soon not have anyone else in the shop while he was questioning the locksmith.
“Attend to the Senhora first,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
The woman didn’t thank him, didn’t even look at him, simply slapped down a key on the glass counter.
Arns picked it up. “How many?” he said.
“One.”
While Arns cut the key, the woman looked at the ceiling, the floor, and all around the little shop. Everywhere except at Arns and Hector. The dachshund, however, followed the locksmith’s every move with its bulbous eyes.
When Arns was done, he slipped both keys into one of the little envelopes and put the envelope down on the counter. The woman extended a hand holding a banknote.
“On the counter, Senhora,” Arns said. “Remember last time?”
She snorted, as if he’d said something offensive, and slapped down the bill. He counted out her change and put it next to the envelope. She swept up both and made her exit, nose in the air.
On her way out, she passed another woman, coming in.
“You recognize her?” Arns said when the door closed again.
“Who?” Hector said.
“The woman who just left.”
“No,” Hector said.
“That was Maria Luchesi,” the newcomer said.
Arns nodded. “The first soprano of the Sao Paulo Opera Company. She thought you did. Recognize her, I mean.”
“She thinks everyone does,” the woman added.
“The dog’s name is Gunther,” the locksmith said. “It’s a good thing you didn’t try to pet him.”
“That’s why you asked her to put the money on the counter?”
“That’s why. He almost got me the last time.”
“He’s a nasty little thing,” the woman said.
Arns went to the register, rang up the diva’s purchase and put her money in the cash drawer. Then he turned back to Hector.
“What can I do for you?”
“Why don’t you attend to this lady first?”
The newcomer wore a white coat. It made her look like a doctor, or maybe a lab technician. She smelled of berries and spice.
