me.
“She’s the fifteen-year-old granddaughter of Roberto Malan,” he said.
Father Vitorio responded in a hoarse whisper. “Malan? The deputado? That Malan?”
Silva took a sip of coffee and nodded. “Him.”
The priest ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek. “The old story,” he said.
“What old story?”
“The rich and famous get priority treatment. How many of the thousands of fifteen-year-old girls in this country could have brought three federal policemen to Manaus?”
“It’s not just the girl, Padre. This case is far more complex than you think,” Silva said.
“Is it? Tell me.”
“I can’t do that, not at the moment. But I promise to brief you thoroughly before we leave this city. Now, what have you got?”
“The deputado’s granddaughter is here in Manaus.”
Silva put down his cup and sat upright in his chair. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you just said-”
“I know where she was. From there, it should be possible for you to discover where she currently is. ”
“I hope to God you’re right. Where was she?”
“In a brothel.”
“Goddamnit,” Arnaldo said. He sounded as if he’d been expecting it all along.
The priest turned on him. “No need to take the Lord’s name in vain, Agente. He’s taken good care of her up to now, and I’m confident He’ll continue to protect her. She entered that brothel a virgin and she left a virgin. She-”
“Which brothel?” Silva’s voice was a whip.
“All in good time. First, I want-”
“Padre, please,” Silva said. “Time is critical.”
“She’s been in Manaus, Chief Inspector, for more than two months. I don’t see that an extra few minutes-”
“If what you’re going to say is that an extra few minutes won’t make any difference, you’re dead wrong. They could make every difference. Who’s your source?”
“I insist on discretion.”
“You’ll have complete discretion. Who’s your source?”
“His name is Lauro Tadesco. He’s one of my ex-students. His ambition is to become a priest.”
“How did he-”
“He’s my own undercover investigator, my inside man. He gathers information we’ll be able to use in a future legal action against those whoremongers. He does it by visiting brothels.”
Both of Arnaldo’s eyebrows went up. “He does what?”
“You heard me, Agente. But you can wipe that expression off your face. Lauro has made a vow of chastity. Once he gets the girls alone, he makes it clear he doesn’t want sexual congress, only information. He always takes the precaution of asking them to keep his inquiries confidential.”
“Let me tell you something about whores,” Arnaldo said. “Somebody starts asking a whore questions, she knows her pimp is going to want to know all about it. Whores will shop your boy for a flask of cheap perfume, or a bottle of cachaca. They probably already have. It’s their discretion you should have been worrying about, not ours.”
The priest frowned.
Silva intervened.
“I doubt that Lauro is in any immediate danger, but I’m very much afraid that Marta is. Come on, Padre, out with it. Tell us everything you know, and tell us right now.”
T HE GIRL’S name was Topaz, at least that’s what she’d said. She’d claimed to be sixteen, but looked younger, and she worked at a brothel owned by an ex-police sergeant whom everyone called The Goat.
According to Topaz, The Goat had been holding Marta for two months. He’d applied a lot of pressure, but she’d always refused to cooperate, kept saying there was no way she was going to let him turn her into a whore. On the afternoon of the previous day, she’d been taken from the boate by an older woman, a brunette. “This brunette,” Silva asked, “did Topaz see her personally?”
“Only for a moment and only from the rear,” Father Vitorio said. “She was unable to give Lauro an adequate description.”
“Merda,” Silva said.
“Merda, indeed,” the priest agreed, “and it’s partly my fault. The Goat specializes in underage girls. I knew that. Perhaps I should have sent Lauro as soon as I spoke to Agente Nunes here, but it didn’t immediately occur to me. Our investigation is far more extensive, you see. We’re not concerned with only one girl.”
“I appreciate that, Padre. You’ve been a big help. Now, if you’ll excuse us-”
Silva started to get up, but the priest put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.
“You’re going there, aren’t you?” he said. “To The Goat’s?” “Immediately,” Silva said.
“I want to go with you.”
“You what?”
Silva was totally surprised and made no attempt to hide it.
Father Vitorio plunged on: “I want to be there when you question The Goat. I want to look into that man’s eyes when you confront him.”
Silva shook his head. “Out of the question.”
The priest leaned forward. “This is important to me. I can’t tell you how important.”
“You’re not a cop. I couldn’t answer for your safety.”
“You don’t have to answer for my safety. God takes care of my safety.”
“The answer is no.”
The priest flushed. “I helped you. I gave you a lead. You have an obligation to me.”
“Right on all three counts, Padre. But you’re not going with us, and that’s final. Don’t waste your breath trying to get me to change my mind, because I won’t.”
Father Vitorio clenched his jaw. Then, without another word, he stood and made for the door.
T HE G OAT’S boate -his “nightclub” brothel-was a sorry sight in daylight. The weathered wood of the facade was badly in need of paint. Beer cans and empty cachaca bottles littered the parking lot. The three cops had to sidestep a pool of vomit to get to the front door.
Silva lifted his fist and pounded on the wood.
There was no response.
“Wake them up,” he said.
The house was isolated. Arnaldo got the message. He looked around him, then took out his Glock and pulled back the slide. Silva and Hector covered their ears. Arnaldo pointed the muzzle in the air and pulled the trigger. The sharp report came echoing back from the hill across the road.
“That should do it,” Silva said.
He was right. Seconds later, they heard stirring inside.
“Go away, you crazy bastard,” a woman’s voice said. “We’re closed. Go sleep it off. Come back tonight.”
“Police,” Arnaldo said.
“I told you to beat it.”
“You hear what I said? Police.”
“Yeah, I heard what you said. Go home and jerk off. Or maybe you want me to call Chief Pinto?”
“ Federal Police,” Arnaldo said, “and you’re the one who’s jerking me off. Open the fucking door before I shoot off the lock.”
That produced some nearly inaudible muttering. Two voices now. One of them could have been male.
Arnaldo hit the door with the butt of his Glock, leaving a visible dent in the wood.
