knows. They only begin to care about nobodies when they become somebodies. So one of the ways to get a new snowball rolling is to link the person you’re trying to promote with someone who’s already famous. A man with a man, a woman with a woman, a man with a woman, it doesn’t matter. Before long, the unknown person becomes known. Got it?”
“Got it. And in Cintia Tadesco’s case-”
“Leo Marques linked her to Marco Franco.”
Goncalves scratched his head. “But Marco was already famous. Why did he go along? What was in it for him?”
“Two things: first of all, no matter how famous you are it never hurts to have a photogenic female on your arm. It generates more pictures.”
“And the second thing?”
“Timing. Marco Franco’s public was overwhelmingly female. There was a rumor going around he was gay. It could have killed him. He needed somebody like Cintia Tadesco.”
“And is he? Gay, I mean?”
“Let’s say he’s sexually confused.”
“Which means?”
“It’s never been clear, even to him, if he’s bisexual, or homosexual. But one thing’s for sure: there was truth to the rumor.
At the time, Marco was having an affair with a male tennis pro and the news was getting out and it was bad news for him because most of that huge female audience of his had fantasies about being in bed with him. There was no way they’d take kindly to a gay tennis pro being in there with them.”
“Understandable. So, as far as the press is concerned, Marco and Cintia became an item?”
“It started out that way, but before long, so the story goes, Marco is boffing Cintia and loving it. He buys her a BMW. He gives her a weekend place out in Granja Viana. He takes her on a tour of Europe. He rejects his old ways and becomes a raging tower of testosterone.”
“But?”
“But Cintia has no sense of gratitude. She’s hard as a diamond, and she’s always looking for ways to better herself. She’s introduced to the Artist. She doesn’t hesitate. She makes a play for him, and she snags him. He’s not only a step up; he’s a whole flight up. He’s famous all over the world. He can buy and sell Marco Franco twenty times over.”
“And he’s ugly as sin and dumb as a post.”
“That’s why I said I wouldn’t want my son to get involved with her. It’s obvious to everybody, as it was obvious to Juraci, that what her son has going for him has nothing to do with physical beauty or intelligence, both of which Cintia has in abundance. Of course, she might love the Artist for the kind and gentle soul he is. But how likely is that? Juraci didn’t buy it. She’d already pegged Cintia as a social-climbing, mercenary harpy. As far as I was able to learn, so has everyone else who’s ever had contact with her. Everyone except the Artist, that is.”
“And Franco? What happened to him?”
“She returned his letters, wouldn’t take his phone calls, told him to get lost. She humiliated him in public and in private, leaked to the press that the rumors about his being gay were all true. Then, when the reporters came to talk to her about it, she did this teary-eyed television interview saying that she really loved him until she found out he was cheating on her with the aforementioned tennis pro.”
“Which he wasn’t.”
“Which he wasn’t. That was all before Cintia came along. The tennis pro, though, felt jilted and wanted to get back at Marco.”
“So he said it was true.”
“He did, and the gossip press had a field day. They went on about it for weeks, every sordid exchange, every scandalous revelation. Well, the rest of the story is quickly told. Marco couldn’t get any more work. He’s still got money, but fame is an addictive thing. He misses it, and he’s drinking heavily. People in the know tell me he’s drinking himself to death and won’t last out the year. Cintia, sweet thing that she is, has allegedly said she doesn’t give a shit.”
“Did you report all of this to Juraci Santos?”
“I did. But think about it for a minute. What did I really get? Nothing, Agent Goncalves, nothing that Cintia couldn’t easily refute. If she sticks to her side of the story, and if the Artist believes her, Juraci really has very little that she can condemn her for, nothing she can go to her son with.”
“When did you make your report to Juraci?”
“I called her the day before she was abducted.”
“No written report?”
“I prepared one. I was going to mail it this morning. But then there didn’t seem to be much point.”
“Will you make me a copy?”
“If I must.”
“You must. Were you able to find out anything else about Cintia? Does she have other boyfriends?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But you wouldn’t rule it out?”
“My recommendation to Juraci was to put Cintia under around-the-clock surveillance.”
“Around the clock, eh? It wouldn’t have been cheap.”
“It certainly would not have been. But I think she was going to agree to it.”
“You could have earned a bundle.”
“I most certainly could have. If you catch those people, and it is my earnest hope that you do, would you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Give each and every one of them a kick in the balls from me.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Back so soon?” Pedro Cataldo said. “What happened with Talafero?”
Silva told him.
“You believe him?”
“I’m suspending judgment. Meantime, what can you tell me about Miranda?”
“Captain Miranda? Now, there’s a piece of work. I’ve been after him for years.”
“How close are you to nailing him?”
“Not close. He’s a slippery bastard.”
“Why ‘Captain’?”
“Because he was.”
“Military?”
“An army officer. During the dictatorship, he worked in Section II.”
Silva’s mouth crinkled in disgust. Section II was a torture squad, the most notorious of them all. The Section’s members received monetary rewards for capturing, or killing, left-wing militants-and they’d sooner kill than capture. After the country reverted to democracy, it became known that many of Section II’s victims weren’t militants, or even left-wingers.
“While he was busy killing people for the government,” Pedro continued, “he also got involved in contraband.”
“Smuggling?”
Pedro nodded. “Whiskey and cigarettes, but it didn’t work out. He and a dozen of his buddies got busted.”
“He confessed?”
“He confessed, but when he got in front of a judge, he claimed it was beaten out of him.”
Silva snorted in disgust. “And?”
