“What’s suspicious about them?”
“Mansur knows something he’s not telling us.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“No, I just have a feeling.”
“A feeling, huh? Very scientific. How about the other three passengers?”
“Clancy is an American priest. He went to Palmas.”
“Tocantins? That Palmas?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s suspicious. Why the hell would anybody, particularly a gringo, want to go to Tocantins?”
“Add to that the fact that Clancy has dropped off the map. So has Kloppers.”
“Kloppers? What the hell kind of name is that?”
“Dutch. But he carries a Brazilian passport.”
“Born here?”
“Born here. He was traveling with his son. We’ve spoken with his parents by telephone. They claim they have no idea where he is. Or his son either.”
“Their own grandson? How likely is that?”
“Not very. Arnaldo Nunes is going to speak to them.”
“All right. That leaves one.”
“Darcy Motta.”
Silva related the story that Lina Godoy, Bruna’s friend and fellow flight attendant, had told Goncalves.
Sampaio rubbed his chin. “So Motta may be the one who framed the kid?”
“It seems likely. And I should add that he, too, has disappeared.”
“Using an alias?”
“We think so.”
“So what are you sitting around here for? Get back out there and find the killer. And be quick about it. I can’t hold off the whole damned Brazilian government for much longer.”
Silva nodded and stood up.
“And, Mario?”
It was Mario again, no longer Chief Inspector, a sign that the storm had blown over-at least for the moment.
“Yes?”
“Make sure you’re here for the meeting.”
“I’ll be here. But since you brought it up, would you mind telling me what it’s all about?”
“All right. But keep it under your hat.”
Silva nodded his assent.
“It’s about next year’s budget,” Sampaio said. “I’m going to explain why none of you can count on any raises.”
Chapter Twenty-two
When Hector was ushered in, the window behind Sergio Bittencourt’s desk was framing an Airbus 320. As it sank out of sight behind some shrubbery, the office was suddenly filled with the roar of reverse thrusters being engaged. The racket precluded conversation.
Junior Arriaga’s mother had been right when she called the delegado little. He didn’t quite come up to Hector’s chin. She’d also called him a bastard. Bittencourt went on to prove it.
“I hope this isn’t gonna take long,” he said. “I got better things to do than waste my time on a little punk of a dope smuggler, much less a dead one.”
“A dope smuggler, is it?” Hector said. “Guilty, was he?”
Bittencourt shrugged. “Caught with the goods, wasn’t he?”
“Arriaga was fifteen. You should have taken one look at him and transferred him.”
“It happened early in the morning, before I got in,” Bittencourt said. “I never even saw him, not until he was dead. And what makes you think you got the right to barge in here and tell me how to run my delegacia?”
Before Hector could reply, an oncoming roar built to a crescendo. Another aircraft sailed into view, the heat from its turbines distorting the air behind it. He watched it disappear, waited until he was sure the delegado could hear him, and said, “I’m here because the minister of justice wants a full investigation. Take it up with him if you’ve got a beef. I’ll even wait until you have him on the line.”
Bittencourt’s mouth tightened. Then he seemed to realize Hector might be perfectly serious, and he forced a smile.
“Sergeant Rocas gave me your name,” he said. “I forgot it.”
“It’s Costa. Hector Costa.”
“Okay, Hector, let’s start this conversation all over again. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. You call me Sergio, okay?”
“Sure, Sergio. Now, about the kid?”
“First time I saw him, he was on the shower-room floor.”
“You told his mother you were going to investigate. Did you?”
Bittencourt squirmed. “You know how many prisoners this place was built to hold? Fifty! You know how many I got back there right now? Hell, I don’t know how many I got, but it’s more than two hundred. You got no idea of what I have to put up with.”
“No, I don’t. And you know what, Sergio? I don’t care. I’m here to talk about the kid.”
“I am talking about the kid. He wasn’t the first person to die in here, and he wasn’t the youngest either, and he sure as hell won’t be the last. Only difference is, most of them get stabbed.”
“Stabbed, huh? Where do they get the weapons?”
“The walls in this place are concrete, like sandpaper. These guys got nothing to do all day, so they sit around and scrape away on spoons, and bedsprings, and anything else they get their hands on. They keep scraping, and sharpening, until they have a weapon. Once a week, we do a search, but you can’t imagine the places they think of to hide things in. We got cases in here that’re always on the lookout for tender young ass, but they steer clear of kids raised in the shantytowns. First thing that kind of kid does is arm himself. The perverts don’t want to get stuck, so they wait for the ones like Arriaga. And when one comes along, they settle on him like flies on honey. We don’t get many of them, so the competition is fierce when we do.”
“You’re telling me your people knew Arriaga would be attacked?”
“Hey, it’s easy for you to take the high moral ground. You don’t have to deal with it. First thing people learn when they come to work here is that, if they get between the flies and the honey, they’re the ones who get stuck. You think I can find guards who’re willing to lay their lives on the line for eight hundred reais a month? Give me a break!”
“So these guards of yours, they just let it happen?”
“It’s like this: a lot of prisoners really look forward to their showers. Washing, fighting, fucking. It’s recreation for them. Hell, I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath explaining this. I really don’t expect you to understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“As far as that kid is concerned, if I’d known he had somebody’s juice up his ass, I woulda been on it in a flash. I don’t want any more trouble than the next man. Last thing I want to see on my record is a reprimand. And juice up his ass, coupled with the time that’s gone by without me doing anything about it, is sure as hell gonna get me a reprimand. But those pricks at the medical examiner’s office never told me a goddamned thing. They kept me in the dark. First thing I heard about it was when those two guys from homicide showed up to take samples.”
“Which was when?”
“Yesterday. Up to then, we had it down as an accident. We thought the kid fell.”
“Sure you did. So between the time the kid was killed and yesterday, you did absolutely nothing?”
