Ferraz kept him waiting for a total of sixty-three minutes. No federal employee could have gotten away with it, but Ferraz reported to the State Secretary for Security, and Silva's department had no power over him. In the interim the colonel received three other visitors.
Two of them were together, a married couple in their sixties who arrived shortly after Silva did. The woman was carrying a toy dachshund with a collar that matched the necklace she was wearing. The gems on both the necklace and the collar could have been green tourmalines, but the man was using a gold Rolex watch, which led Silva to believe that he was looking at a dog that was draped with emeralds. Both the man and the woman were wearing jeans, designer jeans but still jeans, wealthy landowners by the look of them. Ferraz received them after a short wait.
They stayed about twenty minutes and came out with smiles on their faces. Their host didn't accompany them to the door.
Another ten minutes went by and another visitor arrived. His uniform and badges of rank identified him as a major in the State Police. There was a thin scar high on his left cheekbone. A scabbard in black leather that matched his holster hung from the opposite side of his gunbelt. The bone handle of a knife protruded from the scabbard. He ignored Silva, nodded at the secretary, and went into Ferraz's office without knocking. Ten minutes later, on his way out, he gave Silva the look that policemen generally reserve for felons, not colleagues.
More time went by. Finally, the secretary's telephone buzzed. 'He'll see you now,' she said, replacing the receiver. 'Go on in.' She made no effort to open the door for him as she'd done for the couple.
Silva stepped into a haze of cigar smoke and would have left the door ajar, but she came out from behind her desk and slammed it shut.
The colonel didn't waste any time on pleasantries. He didn't offer Silva a hand. He didn't even offer him a seat. Silva took one anyway.
'Okay, Mario, now that you've made yourself at home, what can I do for you?'
Ferraz said it with an insolent smile. The use of Silva's first name without having such usage offered to him was a breach of etiquette bordering on insult.
'Thanks, Colonel, for coming right to the point. I'm sure you're a busy man and wouldn't appreciate me wasting your time any more than I appreciate you wasting mine.'
The smile faded. 'Crap. If I'd shown up to see you without an appointment, wouldn't you have kept me waiting?'
'Not if I could help it. And I would have taken your call. You know what brings me here. I can hardly imagine you have anything more important on your agenda.'
'What the fuck do you know about my agenda?'
Silva ignored the question. 'How come you haven't informed us about those street kids?'
'What?'
Ferraz seemed genuinely surprised.
'The serial murders, Colonel. My business, as much as yours.
'Oh. That.'
Ferraz made a dismissive gesture. 'Paperwork,' he said. 'I didn't get around to it.'
'The first one was four months ago, Colonel. Four months.'
'I thought you were here because of the bishop.'
'I am, or rather I was. Now there appear to be other matters that require my attention, notably serial murders, and the disappearance of the fazendeiro, Orlando Muniz.'
'Junior,' Ferraz corrected him. 'Orlando Muniz Junior. How did you find out about the death squad?'
'From the newspaper in your waiting room. So you confirm it's a death squad?'
'Pretty damned obvious, isn't it? But they're only killing street kids, so who cares? It's not like they're knocking off honest citizens.'
'It's still serial murder.'
'Look, if you want to waste your time, I'll send you the paperwork, okay? I'll try to have it waiting for you when you get back to Brasilia, which I hope is going to be real soon. What else do you want? I'm a busy man.'
'Have your men made any progress in investigating what happened to the bishop?'
Ferraz took another pull on his cigar and launched a jet of smoke toward the ceiling. 'Nope,' he said. 'But we don't have to worry, because now we've got the Federal Police in town and if they can't catch the bad guy, who can?'
'You asked me what I wanted. I'm going to tell you. I want you to help me locate someone called Edson Souza.'
The colonel blinked, obviously mystified. 'Who?'
'Edson Souza.'
'Why?'
'I think he might have information about the bishop's murder.'
'You got a description? A profession? Age?'
Silva shook his head. 'Only a name.'
Ferraz puffed on his cigar. 'So what makes you think-'
'We talked to the bishop's secretary. This Souza called Dom Felipe a few days before he was shot. They spoke about something so confidential that even the secretary doesn't know what it was. Maybe it's related.'
'Okay,' the colonel said. He picked up a pen and made a note. 'Souza, Edson. I'll get back to you. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.'
Chapter Twenty
The following morning, Arnaldo got to the breakfast table first. He was already poking at a cheese omelet when Silva arrived.
'Look at this thing,' he said. 'I told you they couldn't even boil an egg.'
'That's not boiled.'
'The hell it's not. It's boiled in warm oil.'
Hector joined them five minutes later, his eyes still puffy from sleep. His uncle made a show of looking at his watch.
'Yeah, sorry,' Hector said, and then to the waiter: 'Coffee, black. I'll have the breakfast buffet.'
'Good choice,' Arnaldo said, and put down his fork.
'So, how did it go with Brouwer?' Hector asked. 'What did you think of him?'
As if on cue, the buzz of conversation in the restaurant came to a sudden stop. Heads turned toward the door.
A tall man in blue jeans and a Landless Workers' League T-shirt was standing there, scanning the room.
'Speak of the devil-' Silva said.
'That's him?'
'That's him.'
The conversation around them resumed, but something about it had changed. There was tension in the air. Eyes followed Brouwer as he walked toward them and stopped at their table.
'May l?'
'Sure. Have a seat,' Silva said, indicating the empty chair. 'Padre Anton Brouwer, meet Delegado Hector Costa and Agente Arnaldo Nunes. Coffee?'
'Please.'
Hector raised a hand to summon the waiter, who seemed to be the only person in the room who wasn't looking their way.
'I'll go get him,' Arnaldo said, and stood. As he lifted his bulk out of the chair, he did a visual sweep of the room. People started taking a sudden interest in their food.
Silva raised his eyebrows. 'We seem to be attracting quite a bit of attention. Is it you, Father, or the T-shirt?' He pointed to the league logotype emblazoned on the priest's chest.
