Requiem for a Killer (10 page)

“I do. But where was your mother during all
this? I didn’t know she existed until coming here today.”

Maria das Graças opened her eyes wide in
astonishment.

“Oh my God. I forgot all about my mother in
my statement,” she said, putting her hands on her head.

“You did, and that’s serious.”

“Sure it is. You want to question her
again?”

“I do. But first I really do have to go to
the bathroom.”

“Be my guest.”

Dornelas went in the bathroom with the dog
still sniffing his legs. He considered getting rid of it with a
swift kick, as he didn’t know the animal might react he closed the
door with the dog inside. When he unzipped his pants and took aim
at the toilet, the animal stopped sniffing him and instead glued
its eyes on his dick. Inhibited, Dornelas gave up, put his pecker
back in his pants, zipped them up, and flushed to mislead the lady
of the house before going out. Maria das Graças was in front of the
stove making coffee. As soon as she saw him she yelled towards the
living room:

“Mom, the inspector wants to speak to you
again.”

There was a light creaking from the chair as
the old woman began her shuffling walk from the living room to the
kitchen. She entered, put a hand on her back and leaned on the
table with the other.

“What is it now?” shouted the old lady.

“Forgive me for bothering you again, but I
need to know where you were when they grabbed your son.”

“What?”

“I want to know where you were when they
grabbed your son,” he repeated, louder this time.

“Asleep, of course, in my room, out in the
back. It’s what I do every night after the soap.”

Dornelas wanted to ask her what had happened
in last night’s episode, the one he missed while having dinner with
Dulce Neves, but he refrained.

“Could you show me where it is?”

“Are you going to take me to bed,
Inspector?’

‘
Sweet old girl, Maria das Graças’
mother,’
thought Dornelas.

“If you show me the way it would be my
pleasure.”

Totally indifferent, not a muscle moved in
her face. Then she raised her arm and pointed her bony index finger
at the inspector.

“Come here,” said the old woman going around
the table and heading towards the door next to the stove. She
opened it and went out; Dornelas followed.

The room they entered took up half of the
little guest house, the left side, under a roof that covered the
back part of the property from one wall to the other. The window
opened to a small patio between the bedroom and the kitchen.

The old woman went through the side door
next to another that appeared to be the entrance to a bathroom, if
an electric shower hung over the toilet and with a pot for a sink
could really be considered a bathroom. A deep washtub, an empty
bucket and an ironing board propped up against the wall completed
the scene.

“This is my room.”

Dornelas stopped in the doorway and saw a
29-inch TV on a narrow little table in front of the bed blasting
out a live audience show. The old woman went around the bed and got
a ball of yarn and two long needles from the top of the night
table. She sat down on the edge of the bed and began knitting.

“What else do you want to know?”

“If you heard anything strange the night
your son disappeared.”

“Inspector, I can’t even hear my own farts.
How can I hear what’s happening on the other side of the
house?”

Dornelas sighed in resignation and suddenly
felt an immense desire to get out of there.

“Thank you for your kindness,” he said
loudly into the room.

Immersed in her kitting, the old woman
didn’t answer. Dornelas went back to the kitchen, accepted the
invitation to sit down at the table and was offered some coffee. He
was immediately impressed with the aroma and taste. As far as
coffee went, Maria das Graças knew what she was doing.

“I’m going to need your help to identify the
body. Would you do that?” asked Dornelas, already halfway out the
door.

“It won’t be easy Inspector, but yeah, I
will.”

“Thank you. I’ll have one of my men get in
touch and take you to the City Morgue. The two of you can figure
out when’s a good time.”

“Okay.”

“Great. One more thing; exactly where was it
that you found the syringe you gave me?”

“Right where you’re standin’.”

“You didn’t tell me your brother was a
diabetic.”

“Since he was mixed up with drugs I didn’t
think it made any difference. It’s such a common disease!”

“It made a lot of difference. He died due to
excess insulin in his blood. That’s what was in the syringe.”

Maria das Graças’ eyes opened wide, her face
went pale and then she slowly started slumping to her knees like a
building being imploded. Dornelas was able to catch her under the
arms before she crumbled to the floor. He took her back into the
house, closed the door and laid her down on the couch. He got a
glass out of the cupboard under the television, rushed to the
kitchen and came back with a glass of cold water. She drank it
slowly, in small sips. After a few minutes she had recovered.

“I’m sorry, Inspector. I dunno what came
over me.”

“Don’t worry. We can talk about this later
if you like.”

“That’d be better. I need to rest.”

He got up and turned on the TV to the same
program the old lady was watching in her room.

“Thank you. I’m gonna stay here for a while.
I’ll finish my cleanin’ later.”

“Are you going to be all right? Is it okay
to leave you alone?”

“Yeah, sure. My blood pressure musta gone
down in this heat.”

“Okay then. If you need me you have my
number.”

The inspector looked at her adding:

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Inspector.”

As Dornelas reached the door the old woman’s
voice echoed in his brain. He opened it wide and left.

Chapter 8

N
eeding to take a
leak so bad his back teeth were floating, Dornelas went looking for
a tree, a lamp post, a wall, just like a dog. He was in a strictly
residential area and couldn’t very well just ring the doorbell at
someone’s house and ask to use the bathroom.

About a hundred meters from Maria das
Graças’ house he found an empty lot surrounded by houses, closed
off by a few stakes held together by three loose strands of barbed
wire. There was no one on the street. It wasn’t easy but he got
through the wire and went straight for the wall. He unzipped his
pants and started pissing. It felt like a pool being emptied with a
straw.

Suddenly he heard the sound of a motor, a
car approaching. The noise got louder until the car appeared,
cruising slowly in front of the lot in first gear. Feeling the
driver looking at him, Dornelas glued his eyes to the wall, held
his breath, scrunched down as much as he could and stood stock
still, like a statue, a urinating statue. What the hell, maybe he’d
become invisible. The car went by and stopped in front of a
neighboring house. The noise of the motor died and Dornelas could
hear a car door opening and closing. A few seconds later a man
appeared. The guy stopped, leaning one arm on a stake a couple of
meters away from him.

“Good afternoon, Inspector.”

“Good afternoon,” he grunted.

“I recognized you as soon as I went by.”

“Aha.”

“It’s good to see you around here. You know
I even thought of stopping by the precinct.”

“That’s great.”

“But since you’re here, let me take
advantage of your visit.”

“Could you give me a minute?”

“I’m sorry. Carry on.”

The man went silent and looked at the
ground, his watch, the sky. Dornelas kept going down to the last
drop. Feeling relieved, he went back through the fence onto the
street, stuck out his hand and…found nothing. He drew it back
immediately, embarrassed. Making a face, the guy had already put
both of his in his pockets. They exchanged a formal bow like two
Japanese men.

“Sorry about that…you know how it is. I
couldn’t find anywhere else around here…”

“No problem, Inspector.

“Thanks. You said you wanted to go by the
precinct…”

“That’s right. Very late the night before
last I heard screaming coming from a house right around here.”

“Excuse me, but what’s your name?”

“Luis Augusto dos Reis.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. It’s not every day
the cops show up around here, much less an inspector...”

Dornelas gave him a kind smile and noticed
the man had a tic. Every so often he would blink violently and move
his head in a funny way; a spasm projected his chin forward, as if
an electrical current was running through his spine and delivering
a shock inside his skull.
‘This guy must have a 220 volt wire
stuck up his ass
,’ thought Dornelas childishly. He successfully
resisted the impulse to look for a cable on the ground going up the
back of the man’s pants.

“You said you heard screaming the night
before last.”

“So loud it got me out of bed. I went to
take a look from the window in the front room,” said the guy,
pulling Dornelas by his arm to the gate of a small two story house
and pointing to a window on the upper floor, “but I couldn’t see
where it was coming from. A few minutes later I heard car doors
slamming, an engine being turned on and then it sped right by here
like a bat out of hell.”

“What kind of car was it?”

“A pick-up truck, foreign make, with a
covered cargo bed. It was black, with tinted windows. You couldn’t
see inside.”

“Would it be asking too much if you can
remember the make or the license?”

“I couldn’t see it, even with the
streetlights. It went by too fast.”

“What time was that more or less.”

“Around two. I often wake up around that
time. I usually get up to take a leak, drink some water…”

His face contracted again, another spasm. He
continued:

“You know, this is a residential
neighborhood. Everybody around here is poor. Although there’s a lot
of activity at Dona Maria das Graças’ house going on at all hours.
And there’s always some big shot showing up there in one of those
big cars.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Dona Maria das Graças is one of those
women…”

“A prostitute?”

“That’s right, she’s very active, with a lot
of talents, so to speak. A lot of important people stop by there.
There’s always some fancy car parked in front. These people arrive
and leave the neighborhood slowly and with no fuss. People who
don’t want to be recognized come by cab. That night was different
though. The car took off with its tires squealing. A satisfied
customer doesn’t do that.”

“Are you trying to say the car came from her
house?”

“It had to. She lives four houses down from
here and the car came from that direction. It’s usually really
quiet around here at that time. The screaming sounded like it came
from that direction too.”

Another piece that fit in the jigsaw puzzle
that was taking shape in Dornelas’ mind.

“Can you think of anything else that might
help us?”

“No, that’s all I had to tell you.”

Another shock hit the man.
‘This guy must
be constantly short-circuiting,’
thought the inspector.

“If you remember anything else please call
me,” he said, taking a card out of his pocket and giving it to Luis
Augusto. “And once again, sorry about the way we met.”

“Forget it, I thank you for coming. And when
you come around again you can always use the bathroom in my house.
Just ring the bell.”

Dornelas thanked him and said good-by with
another Japanese style bow. You never know, one handshake and he
might get electrocuted too.

*

The inspector went back and forth, stooping
down and comparing the tracks. He assumed they were from wide band
tires, definitely made by a heavy vehicle since the ruts were set
deep in the damp earth. And the tires must be new because the
grooves were well-defined. He took his cell phone out of his pocket
and took several pictures.

He found drag marks and countless footsteps
that led down to the water.
‘Fishermen either push their boat
from the bow or they pull it by the stern into sea,’
he
thought.
‘So either the footprints are superimposed over the
boat tracks or vice versa.’

However, in the right corner of the mangrove
that sloped down more gently and where mud prevailed, Dornelas came
across a wide, continuous and well-defined track that went down to
the water in two deep, longitudinal grooves.

There were no visible footprints in them and
nothing that looked like the keel of a hull in the middle. He did
see several footprints on both sides running alongside it to the
sea, probably belonging to two or more men dragging a body by the
arms, with its heels making the grooves in the mud. He took some
more pictures and left.

*

Police headquarters was in an uproar.

“What happened?” Dornelas asked Lotufo, who
was racing through the reception area.

“Some cuckolded husband killed his wife’s
lover in the middle of the street,” replied the detective. “It all
happened really fast. There wasn’t even time to let you know.”

“Did they arrest the guy?”

“He was caught red-handed. After shooting
the poor sucker five times, point blank, he sat down on the
sidewalk and started crying.”

“That makes it easy. Have one of the duty
cops deal with it.”

“Right away, sir.”

Four reporters were sitting on the bench in
the reception, anxiously waiting for Dornelas to throw them a look;
that would be the cue for an interview. He picked up his messages
from Marilda and went straight to his office.