Requiem for a Killer (18 page)

Wilson straightened up in his chair and
scratched his immense belly like a monkey, wrinkling his yellow
shirt.

“Alright, Inspector. Sit down.”

Dornelas and Nildo sat down in the two
chairs in front of a cluttered desk: stacked cans, artificial bait
of various types and sizes, plastic bags holding seasonings, books,
magazines and papers, building plans, a jar of Vaseline, a plane
propeller, the Steve McQueen sunglasses, a total mess.
‘Whatever
this man is involved in, there’s absolutely no connection between
anything and anything else’
, thought the inspector while he
took a card out of his pocket and gave it to Wilson, who lifted his
reading glasses in front of his nose to study it carefully.

“How can I help you?” asked Wilson.

“I’d like to know what you do here in Peixe
Dourado.”

Nildo was looking at Dornelas
apprehensively.

“Zero,” responded Wilson emphatically while
he folded his hands over his stomach and stretched his fat body out
in the reclining chair. “I just have this office where I conduct my
own business from.”

“And what business would that be?”

“I’m involved in many enterprises,” he said
proudly. “I set up a little factory that makes artificial bait for
the fishermen and tourists around here. I began planting aromatic
herbs and spices on a small property nearby. I have two employees
who package the products in plastic bags, glue on the labels with
the brand name I created myself and sell them to restaurants and
supermarkets in the region. I’m involved in a new business that’s
going to skyrocket. But I can’t say anything about that yet... let
it get off the ground first. You know how these things work, don’t
you, Inspector!”

“Do these businesses pay for themselves? I
mean, do you make any money from them?”

Dornelas could feel Nildo stiffening in the
chair beside him.

“Not yet. But I’m very close.”

“That means you have to put in money from
your own pocket every month,” stated the inspector.

Wilson’s pleasant expression
disappeared.

“Yes, you could say so.”

“And where does the money come from?”

Nildo interrupted before his brother could
answer.

“Inspector, although he has no formal
function in the company, we are equal partners in it. That was my
father’s wish and I respect it in full. That means that both he and
I receive equal monthly stipends in the form of director
remuneration, as well as sharing equally in the company’s profits,
when there are any, at the end of the fiscal year.

Dornelas gave the outward appearance of
being satisfied but inside he was still suspicious. He didn’t want
to go any deeper into the matter right then. To do so might
compromise what he suspected, and which needed to be confirmed with
what Solano had seen while they were apart.

“Great. That makes it all very clear. Thank
you.”

“Any time, Inspector,” said a relieved
Nildo.

As soon as Dornelas got up to leave Wilson
buried himself back in his computer without even offering to shake
his visitor’s hand.

Solano met them at the foot of the stairs.
From there they went towards the exit.

Dornelas feared for the golf cart’s battery
as it agonized going uphill with three passengers, one of them
being well overweight.

“Nildo, I appreciate the opportunity to have
you show us the work you’ve developed here at Peixe Dourado. Once
again, my congratulations,” said Dornelas when they arrived at the
car.

“Any time, Inspector. If you’d like to come
back to see what we weren’t able to today, please call me and we’ll
set a date.”

“Thank you in advance for that.”

They shook hands. Solano shook the
councilman’s hand as well and they got in the car to go back to
town. Dornelas turned on the headlights against the late
afternoon’s coming darkness as soon as they went through the
entrance gate and got on the road.

*

“So?” shot out the Inspector.

“What do you mean?”

“What did you see while I was learning how
to gut a snook?”

“Is the fat guy in the yellow shirt the
councilman’s brother?”

“That’s him.”

“He’s who gave the wad of cash to a guy on
the boat that was being unloaded.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’”

“What was in the plastic boxes, under the
layer of ice?”

“Pink shrimp. But they wouldn’t let me stick
my hands in without gloves.”

“Why not?”

“They claimed I’d contaminate the
merchandise.”

“What do you mean, contaminate?”

“They said I could only touch anything if I
wore gloves.”

“And you didn’t ask them to lend you a pair
of gloves?”

“I did, but they didn’t give me one.”

“Spit it out, man! Do I have to ask every
single thing?”

“They didn’t give me any gloves because
they’re all numbered, each employee is responsible for his own.
That’s what they told me. What was I supposed to do?”

“Jesus, we’re talking about a pair of gloves
here…,” Dornelas slammed his hands on the wheel. “How can a company
that size not have an extra pair of gloves?”

“Sir, they didn’t want me to put my hands in
there, picking around the shrimp. The gloves were only an excuse. I
didn’t want to insist so I wouldn’t arouse their suspicion, like
you said.”

“It’s possible.”

There was a brief silence.

“Or not,” pondered Solano.

“What do you mean?”

“If the trafficking is done using the boxes
that come off the boats and enter the company, then the employees
who unload the cargo and those in the processing room are all part
of the scheme. I mean, if that’s true, then it’s a part of the
company’s business, its daily routine. Don’t you think that’s just
a little weird? That sort of thing is done on the down low, in the
middle of the night, with only a few people involved.”

“That makes sense,” said Dornelas. “But what
about the payoff you saw, isn’t it sort of strange for one of the
company’s owners to be giving a pile of cash to a fisherman?”

“That is strange.”

“Damn right it is! A serious company
wouldn’t do business that way, payments are only made against a
receipt or an invoice. And a company belonging to a councilman
who’s constantly in the press’ sights wouldn’t operate any
differently.”

“But don’t you believe they have a slush
fund?”

“I do, but I don’t think everybody knows
about it.”

Solano agreed with a nod of his head.
Dornelas continued:

“If Wilson’s doing something under the
table, he’s doing it without his brother knowing.”

“That’s possible.”

There was a new, brief silence.

“But on the other hand, maybe not,” Solano
pondered once more.

“You’re a real pain in the ass today, you
know that?!” the inspector fumed.

“Bear with me, sir. What’s wrong with an
owner giving money to a fisherman? Maybe they were settling up some
other service he provided, a job outside the company, I don’t know.
These things can happen.”

“Maybe something he did related to Wilson’s
businesses, which, by the way, don’t seem to have much of a
future.”

“What businesses are we talking about?”

Dornelas explained in a few words and
added.

“A front, I don’t know.”

Solano nodded in understanding just as the
inspector’s cell phone rang and he answered.

“Dornelas.”

“We need to talk.”

“When’s good for you?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. I don’t have to work at
the cabinet.”

Marina’s voice was quivering in a strange,
nervous way.

“I’ll call you later to pick a time and
place.”

She hung up. Dornelas parked the car in
front of the precinct and asked Solano:

“Do you remember the name of the boat?”

“
Cê Que Sabe
.”

“Great. Get more information on it and its
owner. We’ll go from there.”

“Okay, sir.”

Chapter 13

I
t was after eight
and Dornelas still hadn’t found a gift to bring Dulce Neves. He
couldn’t show up at her house empty-handed. How she might interpret
whatever he gave her, however, frightened him. He would pay dearly
for the wrong present.

Flowers would signal the blossoming of a
passion. He gave up on that idea. A bottle of wine might be seen as
disguising his desire to get her drunk so he could get her in bed
right away. He didn’t want to rush things. A blouse or a dress was
out of the question. Not only were they too personal, but if he got
the size wrong he’d have to find an elegant way to answer the
fateful question – to which there is no safe answer – women often
loved to throw out: ‘do you think I’m fat?’

He left the dress on the hanger.

In an imported goods store he found the
ideal gift; not too big, not too small, perfect for defining the
situation between them.

He paid, had it gift wrapped and left.

*

With the present in his hand and butterflies
in his stomach, Dornelas entered Vito’s bar at precisely 8:30.
Showing up at Dulce’s door exactly on time would never do. Fifteen
minutes, half an hour late would be politely right. He sat down,
put the package on the table and ordered coffee.

“And the
cachaça
?” asked Vito.

“On second thought, let’s do the following:
cancel the coffee and bring me just the
cachaça
.”

Vito, satisfied, went behind the counter. He
came back a minute later with a bottle of Canarinha, the
inspector’s favorite, and a small glass which he filled to the
brim. Dornelas brought the glass up to his nose, breathed in the
fiery and sugary aroma, took two sips like a humming bird and then
downed the rest in one shot.

He put down the glass, paid the bill, took a
deep breath and went out.

*

The ruffles on her blouse fluttered as soon
as the door opened, flowers in the breeze.

“Good evening, Joaquim,” Dulce murmured with
a waggish smile. She was positively radiant.

Dornelas, stunned, was left speechless,
glued to the spot. Pleased by her friend’s reaction, Dulce stepped
closer and kissed him on the cheek, giving him a sweet whiff of her
perfume.

“Please, come in.”

He did so mechanically. She closed the door
and went to the living room, leaving a trail of perfume in her
wake. Like a predator tracking its prey, Dornelas followed the
scent.

“You look beautiful,” he got out.

“Today I believe you,” she said without
modesty.

“I brought you a little something.”

Dulce took the package and carefully, not
wanting to ruin the ribbon or rip the paper, unwrapped a
rectangular red velvet box and opened it. Her eyes opened wide in
surprise.

“How romantic! A Swiss army knife!”

In his male obtuseness Dornelas was unable
to grasp the extent of her sarcasm, so short a distance is there
between a compliment and contempt in the curves and twists in a
woman’s way of communicating.

“It’s very useful to carry in your purse,”
he said, somewhat disconcerted. “The blade is very sharp... it has
a magnifying glass, tweezers, even a little pen.”

Dulce came closer and planted a wet kiss on
the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you very much. It’s the most original
present I’ve ever received.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it, really.” She pressed the little
box to her bosom. “How about a drink? I have wine, scotch... I know
you like
cachaça
.”

“It’s too late for that. What are you going
to have?”

“White wine. What do you think?”

“Great.”

“I’ll go get a bottle. Make yourself at
home.”

Dulce went to the kitchen. Dornelas sat on
the wicker couch among the white jute pillows and studied the room
around him: the wooden pillars, the mirrors and engravings on the
walls, the fishing net and its old glass buoys hanging from the
ceiling, the maritime artifacts in polished copper on the coffee
table; the antique and mismatched furniture artfully placed around
the room gave the environment an aura of casual good taste that
pleased him.

Dulce came back with a chilled bottle and
two crystal wine glasses that she handed to him along with the
corkscrew.

“A man’s job.”

“Leave it to me.”

He opened the bottle and poured the golden
liquid in the two glasses. He passed one to her and picked up
his.

“
Tim-tim
, as they say in my mother’s
country.”

“
Tim-tim
,” repeated Dulce, touching
her glass to his.

They drank.

“Very good,” said Dornelas.

“So, as we agreed, while you watch the soap
I’ll take care of dinner. Here’s the remote.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Just make yourself at home.”

Dulce skipped away. Dornelas settled in on
the couch and turned on the TV feeling at ease and pleased by her
genuine and mature enthusiasm. He couldn’t remember the last time
he’d seen Flavia like that, happy simply to be enjoying his
company.

As he crossed his legs he brushed his hand
along his left calf and was reminded of the tension that arose
between him and his ex-wife when he was shot. Like a crack that
gradually widens due purely to being left untended, their marriage
had crumbled less than a year later.

Resigned, Dornelas picked up his glass of
wine, took another sip and turned his attention to the last chapter
of the soap that had already begun with scenes from yesterday’s
episode.

*

“José dos Anjos’ sister went to the morgue
this afternoon with one of your detectives. Caparrós, right?” asked
Dulce, taking a scoop of vanilla ice cream from the container and
placing it on Dornelas’ plate, right on top of the slice of apple
pie.