know that. But you don’t seem to be one of them. So think hard. How did you come to know about a recreational drug called Special K?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try hard. It might be important.”
After a while, Edson said, “It was at the Maksoud Hotel, just after a presentation put on by one of the pharmaceutical companies. There was this guy I was sitting next to. He struck up a conversation. We went out and had coffee together. He told me.”
“How did the subject come up?”
“Look, I never saw this guy before, or since. I don’t even remember his name. I didn’t like the way he talked about animals. Hell, I didn’t even like him. I thought he was a slimeball.”
“I ask you again: how did the subject come up?”
“He was dealing, okay? He wanted to buy Ketamine. He said he could offload anything I could supply, said he’d pay a good price for it. But I wasn’t interested, and I told him so, and that was the end of that.”
“Where else might a kidnapper get his hands on some Ketamine?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on. Give me some help here. Think!”
“If he was a certain kind of vet tech, he might go to a pharmacy.”
“What do you mean by a certain kind?”
“Some of the guys, not me, pick up extra money by doing operations.”
“What kind of operations?”
“Spaying, neutering, removing growths, stuff like that. After a few years in the business, after seeing those kinds of operations a few hundred times, they get to thinking there’s nothing to it.”
“So they offer to do it cheaper.”
“That’s right.”
“And they need Ketamine.”
“Uh huh. And pharmacists, well, hell, you know how pharmacists are. If they know you, and they think you have a good reason…
Edson left the rest of what he might have said hanging in the air.
But he didn’t have to spell it out. Goncalves knew what he was suggesting. Brazil’s National Health Service suffered from a shortage of doctors. It could take weeks to get an appointment. Private doctors were too expensive for many people, so they turned to pharmacists to prescribe. The pharmacist who insisted on being shown a doctor’s prescription for every drug he sold was soon a pharmacist without a clientele.
“That pharmacy on the corner,” Goncalves said. “You think they’d sell Ketamine to a vet tech without a prescription?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never asked.”
“But you did buy Ketamine there.”
“A couple of times, but only when Doctor Polo told me to and always with a prescription.”
“Always?”
“Always. Every single time. I swear.”
Goncalves believed him. But he decided to have a chat with the pharmacist anyway.
The clinic was closed, and the doctor’s mother had left for the day, but the reception area wasn’t empty. The vet was there, watering plants with a green plastic pitcher.
“I like to do this myself,” he said. “Mom always gives them too little or too much. You like gardening?”
“Not particularly,” Goncalves said. “Who owns the pharmacy on the corner?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I want to have a chat with him about their stock of Ketamine.”
“Where’s Edson?”
“Cleaning cages.”
“Good boy. Are you convinced, now, that he didn’t have anything to do with kidnapping Senhora Santos?”
“We don’t jump to conclusions, Laerte. We leave our options open.”
Doctor Polo shook his head. “With all due respect,” he said, “I know the man, and you don’t. He didn’t have anything to do with it. You’ll see.”
“Okay. Your opinion is duly noted. Now, as to the guy who owns the pharmacy…”
“His name is Guido, Guido Brancusi. But it’ll be a waste of time talking to him. He’s hardly ever there. He’s got another job with one of the chains downtown. He only comes in at night, and it isn’t always every night. He’s got this terrific woman who runs the place for him. She’s the one to talk to.”
Goncalves perked up. Women were both his recreation and his passion.
“Pretty?”
“Not particularly.”
“So what do you mean by terrific?”
“Efficient. Capable. Smart. Reliable. Nice figure. Just not a pretty face. She does everything for Guido, controls the stock, pours and labels the prescriptions, handles the bookkeeping, works behind the counter, hires and fires the other women who work in the shop. If I could get rid of my mother, I’d hire her in a heartbeat.”
“What would your friend Guido think of that?”
“He’d be furious. But he’s not my friend, so I don’t really care.”
The pharmaceutical paragon esteemed by Doctor Polo went by the name of Vitoria Pitanguy.
“Not here,” the girl behind the pharmacy’s counter said. She was a teenager with a silver nose stud.
“Day off?” Goncalves asked.
“Out to lunch.”
Goncalves looked at his watch. “Lunch?” he said. “At this hour.”
“That’s what she calls it. Actually, she’s with her boyfriend.”
“Maybe you can help,” Goncalves said and showed her his warrant card.
The studded one studied it. “I’m at your service,” she said. “Like completely.”
Goncalves, sensitive to such things, picked up on the innuendo immediately. And, just as quickly, concluded she was too young for him.
“Do you know what Ketamine is?”
“Something vets use.”
“Do you know what they use it for?”
“Not the faintest.”
“Do you sell much of it?”
“Not so much.”
“To whom do you sell it?”
“Well, duh! To vets, of course. It’s a controlled substance. All the sales will be in the book.”
“Can I see the book?”
She leaned her elbows on the counter, displaying cleavage.
“Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Ask.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I’m eighteen; eighteen, as in the age of consent.”
“Thank you for sharing. Please get the book.”
The book, to Goncalves’s disappointment, was arranged by date and wasn’t cross-referenced to specific drugs sold. The pharmacy appeared to be doing a good business. To break out sales of Ketamine could take some time.
“Thanks,” he said. “I may have to borrow this.”
“I can’t give it to you. Not without Vitoria’s permission. I’ll have to check with her first.”
“When’s she due back?”
“That depends. Was the shop next door still closed?”
