“Forget the fucking river. We only got three boats. We’ll never be able to stop everybody. You got any idea how much traffic there is, how many boats are out there?”
“A good reason not to try, right?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“I want people covering the airport as well.”
“We can’t go stopping every woman in a car, on a boat, or getting ready to board an airplane.”
“You don’t have to. You only have to stop one. I’ve got a picture of her. I’ll let you copy it. I want it back.”
“Where did you get a-”
Silva didn’t let him finish.
“She might be traveling in the company of a fifteen-year-old girl. I’ve got a picture of her too. You gonna get on board with this, or you want to hear from the mayor and the governor?”
The chief gritted his teeth.
“Give me the goddamned pictures,” he said.
Manaus’s chief crime-scene investigator was Caio Lefkowitz, but nobody called him Caio, only Lefkowitz. A paulista resident of the state of Sao Paulo-from Campinas, he had curly black hair, ears that stuck out like a chimpanzee’s, and thick eyeglasses. The glasses made him look like a studious monkey.
“Pleased to meet you, Chief Inspector.”
Unlike almost everyone else Silva had met in Manaus, Lefkowitz sounded like he meant it. They were standing in the front yard, watching the assault team pack up their gear. “Lefkowitz?” Silva said, rubbing his chin. “You have a brother who’s a federal cop?”
“Uh huh. Jaime. Two years older than I am. Works out of Rio de Janeiro.”
“I’ve heard good things about him,” Silva said.
“And I about you. What brings you to Manaus?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.”
“My wife,” Lefkowitz said, glumly. “She’s a biologist, loves poking around in the jungle, and I love her. Otherwise…”
“We get the picture,” Arnaldo said, and stuck out a meaty paw. “Arnaldo Nunes. This here’s Hector Costa. That punk over there is Joaquim Almeida, and he can go fuck himself.” “Hey,” Joaquim said. “How about that doctor, huh?”
Everybody ignored him.
“The ladies and gentlemen of the press will be here any minute,” Lefkowitz said.
“Merda,” Silva said.
“Yeah. I thought I’d warn you. Pinto called them just now. That’s why he’s scribbling away over there, working out some kind of eloquent statement. He’s a real hound for publicity, the chief is. Never misses an opportunity for an interview, and a murdered priest doesn’t come along every day.”
There was something about Lefkowitz that inspired Silva’s confidence. He made a snap decision.
“How about we go inside the house?” he said. “Just the two of us.”
“Sure.”
He and Lefkowitz started walking.
“You asked me what I was doing here,” Silva said, stopping when they were out of earshot, but still outside. He told Lefkowitz everything he hadn’t told the chief: about the missing girl, about the woman who’d been calling herself Carla Antunes, about the snuff videos. By the time he’d finished, the eyes behind Lefkowitz’s glasses were huge.
“So Carla Antunes is really Claudia Andrade,” he said shaking his head. “The chief’s gonna shit a brick.”
“No, he isn’t,” Silva said, “because you’re not going to tell him.”
“You’re going to keep Pinto in the dark?”
“You bet I am.”
“How come you decided to come clean with me?”
“Because I trust you to keep your mouth shut, because I sense you’re not a great fan of the chief-”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
“And because it will help you with your investigation. There are certain things you should look for.”
They started walking again, climbed over the remains of the front door, and entered the house. When they came to a room with a king-sized bed in the middle of the floor, Silva let his eyes roam over the ceiling and the walls. Both were white, but the walls were a shade lighter.
“Fresh paint,” Lefkowitz said.
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“We’ll find out for sure,” Lefkowitz said, “and we’ll also find out if there’s anything under it. How long will it take you to get me Claudia Andrade’s fingerprints?”
“A few hours, no more.”
Lefkowitz looked around him. He’d been sweating in the heat outside, and his glasses were slipping down his nose. He pushed them back up with his forefinger, ran a forearm across his brow, and started to roll up his sleeves.
“Good,” he said. “She must have left a few more around here somewhere. And, if she did, we’re gonna find them. First, though, let’s see if there’s any blood.”
Lefkowitz and his two assistants mixed and sprayed Luminol, closed the heavy curtains, and turned on a blue light. The wall, and patches of the floor, lit up like Copacabana on a Saturday night.
“I did a job in a favela once,” Lefkowitz said, looking at the glowing spots where blood had once splashed and pooled. “A whole family had been slaughtered: mother, father, and three kids. Drug thing. Father was a dealer, and he didn’t pay his suppliers. They killed the lot of them, threw the bodies in the river and scrubbed the place with a liquid detergent.” Lefkowitz turned toward him, his face eerie in the blue light. “This place is worse. There have been times when this room was swimming in blood.”
“How many?” Silva asked. “How many did she kill here?”
Lefkowitz blinked behind his thick lenses. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to tell you that, but I’ll try. First thing we’ll do is to sort the blood residue by type.”
“That the best you can do?”
“No. DNA testing is best I can do. But DNA analysis is expensive. The chief will never approve it.”
“Fuck the chief,” Silva said. “The federal government will pay.” “I like your style,” Lefkowitz said, “especially the fuck-the-chief part.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Marta’s mouth was dry, and it wasn’t only because she was afraid. The handkerchief they’d stuffed into it was sucking up her saliva like a sponge.
It was obvious, now, what they were up to, as obvious as the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her captors would be thinking they were tears of fear, about which they’d be right, and tears of resignation, about which they’d be totally wrong. There was no way she was going to give in to rape that easily. She wasn’t some simple country girl from the backwaters of the Amazon. She was a Malan. She’d resist them every centimeter of the way. She’d punch, and kick, and scratch. If they took out the handkerchief, she’d sink her teeth into the animal’s ear. With luck, she’d get it clean off before he knocked her senseless.
Claudia beckoned to Delfin.
“Here,” she said, and dropped a glittering thing into his palm.
“Put it in your mouth,” she said. “Keep it in your cheek.” Delfin stared at the little brass key, bright against his skin. “What’s it for?”
“The cuff on her ankle.”
“What about the-”
He would have said cord I use to strangle her with, but Claudia cut him off. The girl was right next to them,
