“What?”
“Julio Arriaga didn’t kill anybody. Julio Arriaga hasn’t been in Brazil. He never left the States.”
“Harvey, are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure. He’s been camping in Chekika.”
“Chekika?”
“It’s in the Everglades. He’s been there for the last two weeks.”
“And he can prove it?”
“He can. You want to camp in there, you gotta get a license. The park rangers come around to stamp it. I saw the license, I saw the stamps, and I just got off the phone with one of the rangers. He remembered Arriaga, said he’s seen him every day for the last two weeks. And I do mean every day. He worked both weekends.”
“Goddamn it. So that’s another dead end.”
“Far from it. Hold on to your seat. Julio says Aline took his pistol when they split. Says he thought long and hard about going down there for his son’s funeral. He really wanted to, but in the end he didn’t. Why not? Because his new wife is pregnant, and he was afraid of what his ex might do to him with that gun. Turns out she blamed everyone for the death of her son, everyone including him.”
“But it’s been months since it all happened-”
“Julio said he talks to Aline’s mother every now and then, said they always got along. The old lady told him Aline is still as bitter as she ever was-and just as angry. According to her, Aline is keeping Junior’s room like a shrine; pictures, votive candles, the whole nine yards. She even puts chocolates on the pillow of his bed. And she does it every single night.”
“So Aline’s insane?”
“‘Crazy’ was the word Julio used. And, oh yeah, Junior owned two baseball bats, wooden ones.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
They went for her at eight o’clock in the evening. She’d been home for more than an hour by then.
Durval Kallos, one of Hector’s men, was stationed within sight of Aline’s front door. He’d found a convenient bench at a bus stop, and stood up when he saw the brass approaching.
“Evening, Durval,” Hector said. “Who’s in the rear of the building?”
“Serginho, Senhor.”
“Your radios working?” Silva asked.
“Sim, Senhor.”
“We’re going to take her. You stay here, tell Serginho to stay there. Neither one of you is to leave his post for any reason. If she comes out of that door, and we’re not with her, bring her down.”
Durval looked shocked. “Use my gun, Senhor?”
Silva nodded. “The only way she’s going to get out of there alone is to shoot her way out. And she’ll be looking to shoot you.”
“You’re certain, then? Certain she’s the one we’re looking for?”
“Not a hundred percent. More like ninety-nine.”
“How many security guards covering the building?” Arnaldo said.
Durval pointed with his chin. “Just those two over there, the fat one and the thin one.”
The other four cops turned to look.
“Like Laurel and Hardy,” Goncalves said.
Hector snapped his fingers. “I knew that fat guy reminded me of somebody.”
The rent-a-cop who came to meet them was the fat one. Silva held up his warrant card for inspection. The guard studied it carefully before he opened the gate.
“You’ve seen my name,” Silva said. “What’s yours?”
“Virgilio, Chief Inspector. Virgilio Ycaza.”
“Okay, Virgilio, listen up. We’re going to arrest Senhora Aline Arriaga. You’re going to help.”
Virgilio looked mystified. “The four of you need help? With her? But she’s just a little thing. No taller than that.”
Virgilio held a hand below his double chin.
“It’s not muscle we need, Virgilio. Come along. I’ll explain on the way.”
Halfway to the front door, Virgilio waddling next to Silva, they were intercepted by the other guard.
“What’s going on?”
“They’re federal cops,” Virgilio said. “They’re going to arrest Senhora Arriaga.”
“Why? What did she do?”
“Maybe nothing,” Silva said. “Maybe she killed eight people.”
The thin guard blinked, looked at his companion, back at Silva. “Why?” he said. “Why would she do a thing like that?”
“Revenge,” Silva said.
“For her son?”
Silva nodded.
“He was nice kid,” the thin guard said. “But eight people?”
“Six of whom didn’t have a damned thing to do with it,” Silva said. He pointed to the Taurus. 38 lodged in a holster suspended from the guard’s belt. “You know how to use that?”
“We’re Policia Militar,” the man said and stood up a little straighter. “Both of us are.”
Silva had suspected as much. Most rent-a-cops were moonlighting policemen. If you were in the ranks, it was a stretch to live on your salary.
“Good,” he said. “You stay here and cover the stairwell. If she comes down, tell her to lie down with her face to the floor. If she doesn’t, or if she tries to get up, shoot her.”
“You gotta be kidding.”
“I’m not.”
The guard’s face paled. His hand went to the butt of his gun.
“And me?” Virgilio asked.
“You’re coming with us.”
In the elevator, Silva explained what he wanted Virgilio to do: “You ring her bell. You tell her you’ve got a delivery. When she opens the door, you step back. Not left. Not right. Back. Leave the rest to us.”
Virgilio swallowed.
“We don’t deliver packages,” he said. “People pick them up downstairs.”
“This time, you decided to do her a favor. She knows you, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, Senhor. She knows me.”
“So there’s no reason for her to suspect anything. She’ll probably think you’re after a tip.”
The elevator stopped on Aline’s floor. All of them stepped out. Virgilio lowered his voice to a whisper. “What if she asks to see it through the peephole? The package, I mean.”
“Then it will mean she’s suspicious.”
“What if she is? What if she starts shooting through the door?”
“I don’t think she’ll do that.”
“You don’t think?”
“Are the doors steel?”
The guard shook his head. “Wood.”
“Good,” Silva said. “Let’s go.”
Virgilio grasped his arm. “ Good? A bullet goes through wood like a whore goes through condoms.”
“I’m not thinking about bullets. I’m thinking about getting into that apartment. Let’s go.”
Virgilio didn’t say anything else, followed along meekly, but Silva could see the tendons standing out on his fat neck.
The sound of a television program, one of the evening soaps, was coming from inside Aline Arriaga’s
