“It must have been the same man,” Clarice said. “The shop owner said he had a mustache and black, oily hair, just like the man who came to fetch Edmar, Augusta, and their kids. Not only that, he gave the shop owner the same name he’d given us.”
“The same name?” Silva said.
“When we first spoke to Delegado Tanaka,” Clarice went on, “he asked me what the man’s name was, and I couldn’t remember. Neither could Ernesto. But then the shop owner went and fetched the check, and he read it off. And I’ve been able to remember it ever since.”
“Roberto Ribeiro,” Silva said.
Hector and Babyface looked at Silva in surprise, but they knew better than to interrupt.
“Yes,” Clarice said brightly. “That’s the man. Roberto Ribeiro.”
Chapter Forty-one
Ernesto was proving to be of no help at all. In fact, he was proving to be a downright pain in the ass. To every-one’s relief, including Clarice’s, Silva suggested Babyface take him home.
“Why?” Ernesto asked suspiciously.
“We’re going to see that secondhand furniture dealer,” Silva said. “There are three of us and your wife makes four. It’s a small car.”
“I’m not a big guy. You can pack me in. I know my rights.
Rights? What rights?”
“My wife hasn’t done anything. Me neither. You got noth-ing to arrest us for.”
“We’re not arresting you.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So you need my wife to go with you voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t need me?”
“No.”
“Clarice, you want to go with these cops? You want to go back to that shop? Again?”
“I want to see the end of this, Ernesto. I want to find out what happened to Augusta and her family. I’m going.”
“You see?” Silva said. “It’s voluntary. She’s simply agreeing to help us with our inquiries.”
“Aha,” Ernesto said, as if he’d caught Silva in an admis-sion of wrongdoing.
“What do you mean, aha?”
“It’s the duty of every citizen to help the cops with their inquiries, right?”
“Yes.”
“So it’s my duty to go along, too.”
“But we don’t need you,” Silva said.
“Let me get this straight. Are you suggesting I don’t do my duty as a citizen? What kind of cop are you, anyway?”
“You’d better let him come, too,” Clarice said, putting a hand on Silva’s arm. “Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it.
Gonna be a tight fit,” Babyface said.
When they entered his secondhand furniture shop, Goldman was standing at a counter near the door, reviewing some paperwork. He looked up when he heard the bell, but the budding smile vanished from his lips when he saw the Portellas and their companions.
“What, again?” he said.
“It’s the federal police this time,” Clarice said apolo-getically.
“Federal, schmederal,” Goldman said, “the police are the police.”
“I’m Chief Inspector Silva. This is Delegado Costa and that’s Agente Goncalves.”
They all shook hands.
“No offense,” Goldman said, “but I think your visit is a waste of time. I already told everything I know to that Japanese fellow.”
“Delegado Tanaka,” Silva said. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Somebody blew him up with a bomb. It happened before he filed his report of his conversation with you. We think it might have had something to do with what you told him.”
“
“Two. Both daughters.”
Goldman shook his head.
“The violence in this town is beyond belief,” he said. “I should move to Israel.”
“Or maybe not,” Silva said. “They’ve got bombs there, too.
Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Okay, how can I help?”
“What can you tell us about this guy Roberto Ribeiro?”
“She was here,” Goldman said, pointing at Clarice. “She must have told you.”
“We want to hear it from you,” Hector said.
“Not much to tell. Ribeiro came in here with a load of fur-niture. I bought it off him, sold some of it. Then this lady and her husband-”
“Me,” Ernesto said.
“Yeah, you,” Goldman said, looking at Ernesto’s T-shirt and beret with distaste, “came in and started looking at the merchandise.”
“
“You told me that the first time you were in here,” Goldman said. “You don’t like my prices, go buy from some-body else.”
“I’ll buy from anyone I like,” Ernesto said. “Last I heard it’s still a free country, although God knows for how-”
“Shut up, Ernesto,” Clarice and Silva said in almost per-fect unison.
“Just get on with the story,” Silva said.
“Okay, so this lady here finds some furniture she thinks belongs to a friend of hers. I tell her I bought the stuff fair and square and that I’ve got a canceled check to prove it. She says her friend would never have sold it. I say she must have. She goes off and a couple of days later she comes back with the Jap. . uh, I mean, Delegado Tanaka. He says he wants to see the canceled check. I give it to him. End of story.”
“So Tanaka held on to the check?”
“And the receipt.”
Silva had a sinking feeling in his chest, but he asked the question anyway: “And you didn’t make a copy?”
Goldman’s answer surprised him: “Of course I made a copy. You think I’m gonna send original checks and receipts to my accountant? What if he loses them? What then? How would I justify my expenses?”
“Senhor Goldman,” Silva said, “I would be most grateful if you would give me those copies.”
“No way,” Goldman said.
Silva frowned.
“I’ll make copies of the copies and give you those,” Goldman said.
The man they were steered to at Ribeiro’s bank, the man who could have given them access to all his
