Buried Strangers

cup-boards was orderly, the rug in the living room was vacuumed, the sheets on the bed had recently been washed and even ironed, and the towels in the bathroom were neatly arranged on a rack.

A thorough search of the apartment turned up nothing of interest. No photos, no letters, no record of Roberto’s work-place. The only papers they found were a stack of bills, some paid, some unpaid, and a checkbook from the Bradesco Bank.

After tossing the place, Silva and Hector canvassed the other apartments in the building. There were sixteen in all, four floors and four apartments on each. They’d already spoken to the woman with the cat. Seven of the other fourteen resi-dents didn’t answer their doors or weren’t at home. They made a note of the apartment numbers for subsequent follow-up.

No one they questioned seemed to know anything about Roberto Ribeiro. He had no social relationship, as far as they could determine, with anyone else in the building. Finally convinced they’d done as much as they could, Silva called in a two-man team.

When the men arrived, he told them to keep the building under surveillance in the hope that Ribeiro would come home sometime soon. He and his nephew went back to Hector’s office.

“Pictures,” he said to Babyface when they got there. “Get me pictures. Ribeiro must have a national identity card, maybe he’s got a record, maybe he’s got a driver’s license, maybe you can track down his family. Make up a circular and an e-mail. Get them to all the field offices, to local and state police, and to the border-crossing checkpoints, particularly the border-crossing checkpoints.”

“Gonna cost a bundle to do all of that,” Hector said. “Sampaio isn’t going to like it.”

“I don’t care. Just do it.”

Babyface nodded and left the office.

“You think he’ll try to get out of the country?” Hector said.

“Pray that he does,” Silva said. “And get the word out that I’ll personally eat the liver of any agent who allows him to do it.”

Chapter Forty-two

“Why can’t I just go to Bahia or someplace?” Roberto asked.

He sounded like he was half in the bag.

One of Helena Ribeiro’s hands whitened as she tightened her grip on the telephone. The other continued to stroke her cat. She’d called his cell phone while the federal cops were still tossing his apartment, reached him in the bar where he liked to drink his lunch.

He tried her patience, that son of hers did. He’d tried her patience ever since he was a little boy, always wanting to know why he had to do this, why he had to do that. Why he had to eat his rice and beans. Why he couldn’t sleep in the same bed when she had a customer. There was a time when she’d thought he’d grow up, stop besieging her with questions, but, no, here he was, forty-one years old and still doing it.

She hovered over him too much. She knew it. She did his cooking, did his cleaning, made his decisions for him, treated him like a kid. So maybe she was at fault. Maybe the reason he’d never gotten married was because he’d never found a woman who would take care of him as well as she did. But it was too late now. He was grown. He’d never change.

“You can’t go to Bahia or someplace,” she said patiently, “because the men who’re looking for you aren’t the Sao Paulo cops. They’re federal police and they’re everywhere. They’re in Bahia, and Rio Grande do Sul, and Rondonia, and Minas Gerais. Everywhere! If you want to avoid them, you have to do as I say.”

There was silence on the other end of the line as he thought it through. She knew he didn’t want to leave the country, didn’t want to go anywhere they didn’t speak Portuguese, anywhere he didn’t know the ropes. But he’d wind up doing what she told him to do. He always did.

“How come you’re so sure they’re federal?” he finally said.

She took a deep breath.

“One of them waved his ID right in my face. And he wasn’t just any federal cop, he was that Silva, the one who’s on tele-vision every now and then. He’s a big-shot chief inspector or some such. And, if he’s on your case, it shows they’re serious.

I’m not scared of him. I’ve had trouble with cops before.

It’s not like the last time. Or any other time for that mat-ter. You’re not going to be able to bribe them like you do the locals. These people are relentless. If they catch you, they’ll put you away for a long time. Is that what you want?”

“No, mamae.”

“Then for God’s sake, stop arguing with me and do as I say.”

It was hard for her to accept that she’d given birth to a dunce. Roberto’s half brother, Jose Antonio, dead these five years after a drug-gang shoot-out, had inherited the brains in the family. Roberto was no more than a lout, but he was her lout, and she couldn’t help loving him with a mother’s love. That was the reason she’d moved into the apartment across the hall, to be close to her only surviving son.

“I have some money for you,” she said.

“How much money?”

“After I pay for your passport, I should be able to give you five thousand American dollars.”

“Only five? Caralho, mamae, I’m going to need more than that. I’d better drop by the bank.”

“Are you crazy? Remember how that Jap tracked you the last time? Who’s to say the federals haven’t done the same thing? No, Roberto, you stay away from that bank. Five thousand will keep you in food and lodging for five or six weeks at least. I’ll send you more once you’re settled. Now, listen care-fully. I want you to go to one of those machines that make photos, you know the kind?”

“Where you put in some money and sit inside and-”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. You have to get me a photo. There are different options you can choose from, but the one I want has to be passport sized. You’re not allowed to wear any sun-glasses, you have to look directly into the lens of the camera, and for God’s sake, take that gold chain and that stupid medallion off your neck.”

“It’s not stupid, it’s-”

“Don’t argue with your mother, Roberto. If I say it’s stupid, it’s stupid.”

“Alright. Alright. How long is it gonna take, this passport?

After I have a suitable photo, probably three or four days. I’ll try to pay them extra for a rush job. We have to move quickly. They’ll be circulating your photo before long, might even put it on television. Why, oh why, did you ever have to take up with those disgusting people? Now, see where it’s brought you? You should have listened to me when I told you-”

“Okay, okay, you were right. Now, stop being a pain in the ass.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Roberto Ribeiro. Apologize to your mother.”

Silence.

“Tell me you’re sorry.”

“Alright, I’m sorry. But don’t you think you’re going over-board? All they got is a description. You know how those police artists are. They hardly ever get it right. I’ll just shave off my mustache and cut my hair. It’s not like they’ve got a photo of me or anything.”

“Roberto, they have a picture of you.”

“A picture? No way.”

She sighed. Jose Antonio would have been one step ahead of her all the way. With Roberto, you had to explain every damned thing.

“They’ll have gotten it from your national identity card.

That one’s no damned good. I was what? Fourteen? Fifteen?

They’ll age it. We’ve wasted enough time in talking. Cut your hair, shave off the mustache, get the photograph, and then check into some cheap hotel downtown. Call me from there, and I’ll come over and pick up the photo. Don’t go back to that clinic. Don’t even put your head out of the door of that hotel room until I come to you with the passport and an airline ticket.”