“I didn’t notice. What’s that got to do with it?”
“The guy who owns the shop is her boyfriend. He hangs a sign on the door, and they take off, sometimes for hours. Want to know what I think?”
“What?”
The girl leaned closer, lowered her voice and giggled.
“I think they go to that motel on kilometer 31 for a quickie. I’ve got a proposal for you, though.”
“What?”
“I could talk to her as soon as she gets back. And then, if she agrees, I’ll give you a call, and you can come back, and uh oh-”
“Uh oh what?”
“She’s back.”
Behind him, Goncalves heard the front door shut. A woman hurried in and set a course for a door marked office.
“Vitoria,” the girl said, her tone of voice changing from playful to serious, “this gentleman is from the Federal Police.”
Vitoria Pitanguy changed tack and approached them. To Goncalves, who was somewhat knowledgeable about such things, her spicy perfume smelled expensive.
“Federal Police?” she said.
“It’s about this book.” Goncalves tapped it with his finger. “I need to borrow it.”
“I can’t give it to you,” she said.
“Why not?”
“We’re required, by law, to maintain it here at all times. We could get a visit from a fiscal, or we could be fined.”
“It’s a federal investigation. We need it. Why don’t you just let me give you a receipt?”
“Because we also need it to enter new shipments and purchases. What do you want it for?”
“To track your sales of Ketamine.”
“That’s not much of an answer, Agent…”
“Goncalves. No, it isn’t. But it’s the only answer you’re going to get.”
“I assure you, you’re not going to find any irregularities in that book. Every new shipment that comes in I enter myself. I always check the sales in the book against the stock and the prescription records. And we never sell Ketamine without a prescription.”
Goncalves, in spite of his frustration, was impressed. Vitoria Pitanguy was every bit the efficient manager Doctor Polo had described.
“If I have to,” he said, “I’ll get a warrant.”
“Why don’t I just copy it for you?”
“Can you do that?”
“Sure. There’s a copier in the back. And a little espresso machine as well. Would you like one while you wait?”
Chapter Thirty
“It’s tiny, ”Mara said, “no bigger than a five-yearold’s thumbnail.”
She’d found a tracking device that fit Silva’s specifications, small and powerful, and she’d called a meeting to tell them about it.
Arnaldo raised a hand. “Is that your description or someone else’s?”
Mara raised an eyebrow. “Someone else’s. What of it?”
“Would I be correct in assuming she’s a female?”
“Is that relevant?”
“And that she has a five-year-old daughter?”
“Arnaldo Nunes,” she said, “the sexist detective. May I go on?”
“Granddaughter?”
“Mario, please tell Senhor Nunes to shut up.”
“Shut up, Arnaldo. Go on, Mara.”
“Unfortunately,” she said, “the device is a prototype.”
“In other words,” Silva said, “they only have the one.”
“Correct.”
“How long would it take to get a second one made?”
“Three weeks.”
“Damn. What are the chances of it breaking down on the job? How reliable is it?”
“I’d better let Lefkowitz tell you about that. He called Brasilia and talked to her.”
“Did I hear you say her?” Arnaldo said.
“Get him in here,” Silva said.
Minutes later, Lefkowitz joined them.
“Well?” Silva said. “What do you think?”
“I’m sold on it. Mind you, the lady I spoke with is hardly objective. She talks about it like it’s her baby. If she was here with us right now, she’d be opening her purse to show us a picture of the little darling.”
“I rest my case,” Arnaldo said.
“As I recall, Senhor Nunes,” Mara said, frostily, “Mario told you to shut up.”
“What’s going on?” Lefkowitz said, looking back and forth between Mara and Arnaldo.
“They do it all the time,” Goncalves said.
“And you should ignore them,” Silva said. “Keep talking.”
“There’s a base station that comes with it. The read-out is along the lines of a GPS receiver. As a matter of fact, it is a GPS receiver-adapted specifically for the purpose. It’s mapped for the entire country and accurate to a radius of two meters. The device itself is shockproof. You can drop it out of an airplane, and it’ll keep working. It’s waterproof. You can implant it under skin. If Juraci had been wearing one when she was kidnapped, we’d know exactly-”
Lefkowitz stopped short when Germaine, one of Mara’s people, opened the door.
“New email from the kidnappers,” she said.
“Let’s hear it,” Silva said.
“The answer to the proof-of-life question is a blue Volkswagen Beetle.”
The answer was correct. The question the Artist had asked during the press conference was What present did I give my mother when I signed my first contract with the Spartans?
“Continue,” Silva said.
“Put the diamonds in a brown leather case. Tie a white string to the handle. There are to be two couriers, not one. Instruct them to go to the Rodoviaria Tiete, arriving no later than 10:15 tomorrow morning.”
Arnaldo snorted in frustration. The Rodoviaria Tiete was the largest bus station in all of Latin America. At 10:15 in the morning it would be a busy place, crowded with pickpockets and thieves as well as honest citizens.
“Tell them to stand near the public telephones to the right of the ticket windows. At 10:30, precisely, one of them will ring. They are to answer it. The couriers are not to be placed under surveillance. They are not to carry cell phones. Follow these instructions exactly, or Juraci Santos will be killed.”
Germaine finished reading and looked up. Mara thanked her, and she left. Silva turned to Lefkowitz.
“Will that tracking device work in the Metro?”
The Metro, Sao Paulo’s underground railway system, ran directly under the bus terminal.
“No,” Lefkowitz said, “it won’t.”
“Why not? Cell phones do.”
“Cell phones get their signal from an antenna strung through the tunnels. The device works via
