Requiem for a Killer (22 page)

She almost certainly would have done this
thinking it was he, Dornelas, who had arrived. Which meant that it
was either the purest of coincidences or the killer knew he was
coming. But why take that much of a risk and commit a crime only
few minutes before the inspector’s arrival?

On the other hand, it was highly improbable
that the killer would know she was going to talk to the inspector
at that exact time unless she had told him about their meeting. It
would be useless to ask for her phone records. Going through
channels would take weeks and he wanted this all tied up before
then.

Then he had an idea.

He put the cat on the bed, searched the room
and, not finding what he was looking for, went down to the living
room. Marina Rivera, a confirmed single woman, like many single
people who don’t spend a lot of time at home, didn’t have a land
line telephone in her house, only the cell phone that she always
took with her. Dornelas was now looking for that phone – the
assassin’s number might well be in it.

But he found nothing; no phone, no
number.

He went back up to the bedroom and saw the
cell phone on the night table behind a stack of books. He tried
turning it on; the battery was dead. He opened the drawer and there
was the charger. He stuffed them in his pocket, cell phone and
charger, closed the window, grabbed the cat and went downstairs. He
opened the door to the patio, took the bird cage off the wall, and
closed the door behind him.

Hands full, he locked the front door and
headed home. He changed his mind on the way. He knew Lupi would
cause an intolerable ruckus as soon as he walked in with a cat
under his arm. He changed direction and ten minutes later was
knocking on Dulce Neves’ door.

“I have a surprise for you. Two, in
fact.”

She looked at him incredulously.

“Joaquim, we only just made love and you’re
already moving in?!”

He smiled and kissed her cheek.

They’re Marina Rivera’s pets. I can’t take
them to my place. I already have a dog.”

“How long will I have to take care of
them?”

“I don’t know yet. What’s the rush?”

Dulce smiled. And bigheartedly took in the
cat, the cage and the two finches.

*

When he woke up on Monday morning Marina
Rivera’s situation still weighed heavily on his conscience. He got
up early and was at her room in the hospital before eight. There
was no one there.

“Do you know what happened to the patient in
room 35, ma’am?”

“She passed away early this morning. She
didn’t make it.”

Dornelas looked at the floor obviously
upset. The nurse tried to comfort him.

“I’m very sorry, sir. But if you want to you
can still see her at the wake.

“Where?”

“Right here in the hospital, in the chapel.
The entrance is from the street. Go out the main door and turn
right.”

“Thank you very much.”

Disconsolate, Dornelas dragged himself to
the chapel and walked into a room full of people. Local authorities
and private citizens were spread around in small groups, speaking
in subdued tones. The wooden casket, placed on two metal stands,
was surrounded by countless funeral wreathes.

Visibly shaken, Dornelas approached the
casket and looked at Marina’s pale face, her eyes closed, her
delicate hands crossed over her chest, and felt a hand touch his
shoulder.

“Joaquim, how are you?”

He turned around and stuck out his hand to
the boss.

“Hanging in there, sir.”

“Let’s talk outside.”

Amarildo led him to the sidewalk, far enough
away so that no nosy meddler could hear them.

“I heard it was you who found her on the
bathroom floor.”

Dornelas nodded, and before his boss could
say anything else he quickly began to explain.

“She called me to talk about Peixe
Dourado.”

“Nildo Borges’ company.”

“That’s right. A couple of days ago we had a
conversation and I asked her to look for covert company documents.
Maybe ‘ask’ is putting it too mildly. More like I intimidated her
and offered her a plea bargain if she supplied proof of the
existence of a slush fund in Peixe Dourado.”

“Why did you do that without checking with
me?”

“Everything leads me to believe that the
company is involved in a drug dealing operation with some local
fishermen. It was the strategy I decided to adopt.”

“And it didn’t work out. Marina Rivera is
dead in there because of it.”

Dornelas didn’t answer. He didn’t need his
boss to remind him of the tragic outcome of his decision.

“Do you know if she found anything that can
back your suspicions?”

“Not yet. But I’m looking.”

They were both silent for a few seconds, the
boss biting his lips while he thought.

“But I follow your line of thinking,”
Amarildo decided. “José Aristodemo dos Anjos would be the
distributor of these drugs.”

“Exactly. I discovered that the pick-up
truck that hijacked him from his sister’s house belongs to the
Doorman.”

“So that settles it; a classic drug war for
control of the territory.”

“That’s what puzzles me. According to Maria
das Graças’ neighbor, a retired electrician who used to hook up
some hot wire connections for the Doorman and some of his cronies,
getting rid of someone with insulin just isn’t his style. I believe
he wasn’t who ordered the hit, although his people may have done
the job at the request of a third party who has some kind of
connection to him. It’s this third person I’m looking for.”

“Do you have a suspect?”

“Wilson, Nildo Borges’ brother. He doesn’t
formally work at the company but he has an office there from where
manages a large number of failed businesses that need injections of
cash every month. According to Nildo, they both take home the same
amount from the company every month, which leads me to believe that
it’s this money that’s covering the expenses of these
enterprises.”

“But you have doubts about your suspicion.
Why?”

“It’s too obvious, too simple to be
true.”

“A crime doesn’t have to be complicated to
be a crime.”

“I agree. But in that case, there’s still
something behind it that intrigues me.”

“And do you think the attack at your house
has something to do with this too?”

“I don’t see any other explanation.”

His boss stuck out his hand and said:

“Joaquim, I have complete trust in you, but
don’t leave me in the dark. My ass is on the line just as much as
yours.”

Dornelas got the message and didn’t try to
refute it. He shook the outstretched hand and watched as his boss
left the wake.

Inside, Nildo detached himself from a small
group and went over to greet the inspector accompanied by someone
following right behind him.

“This is Augusto Rivera, Marina’s brother,”
said the councilman.

“I’m very, very, sorry,” said Dornelas, as
he shook Augusto’s hand and felt the limp shake of a man with his
nerves in tatters. “Have you decided where she’s going to be
buried?”

“I offered my family plot,” Nildo
interjected.

“Since my sister chose to live here I don’t
see any reason to bury her anywhere else.” And then all of a
sudden, becoming very agitated, Marina’s brother blurted out
urgently to Dornelas, “You have to catch the monster that did this,
sir.”

“You have my word.”

“Rest assured that the City Council will
contribute with whatever’s necessary to make that happen,” added
Nildo.

Dornelas looked at the councilman and once
again saw the slippery politician he had met with Marina
Rivera.

“Excuse me.” He shook both their hands and
left.

*

Dornelas arrived at the precinct a little
after ten. A line of reporters was waiting anxiously for him
outside the door.

“Inspector, does Marina Rivera’s death have
anything to do with the Mangrove Crime?” asked one of them, pen and
notebook in hand.

Differently from the other times, when he
simply ignored the press and went straight to his office –
especially in this case because everything had to first be screened
by City Hall - Dornelas stopped. Aware that an opportunity had just
fallen into his lap, he decided to answer. As soon as he stopped
and turned half a dozen reporters flocked around him.

“We still haven’t been able to establish
that connection.”

But when another reporter was about to ask
him a question he added,

“But we can’t ignore the possibility. That’s
it for now. Thank you.”

And he went inside, satisfied he had whetted
the press’s appetite without revealing anything. His statement was
aimed at a very specific target: Nildo Borges. Dornelas wanted to
show the councilman he wasn’t kidding about the promises they had
made. Either Nildo presented his proof by tomorrow or the press
would force him into it, with the additional cost of being a
suspect in a murder and drug trafficking case added to his résumé,
no doubt resulting in the premature end to his political
career.

“Any messages?” he asked Marilda as soon as
he walked in the door.

“Not yet.”

Deep inside he was thankful. After such an
unusual and hectic weekend the last thing he needed was to begin
Monday going full speed.

“Has Solano arrived yet?”

“Yes. And he was looking for you.”

The inspector entered the hallway that led
to the detectives’ offices. Solano was already in his, banging away
at the computer keyboard.

“Good morning,” he said walking in the
door.

“Good morning, sir. How was your
Sunday?”

That was when Dornelas realized that he
hadn’t had time yet to fully digest everything that had happened in
the case and in his personal life over the last two days.

“Turbulent,” he answered cryptically.

“Want to know what I found out?”

“Tell me.”

“Guess what kind of work Mr. ...” – Solano
looked down at a piece of paper on his desk – “Jordevino Almeida
does, besides being a fisherman and the owner of the boat
Cê Que
Sabe
?”

“He’s a bricklayer. He’s who sealed up the
door in Dona Maria das Graças’ bedroom, right?”

Solano pouted, like a child who’d just had
his favorite candy stolen at school.

“How did you know that?”

Dornelas didn’t answer. He wanted to let the
conclusion he’d just reached sink in in silence.

“But there is something I don’t know that
maybe you can tell me. When did he do it?”

“The day before the crime.”

“That’s what I figured. Go get Maria das
Graças. I want to talk to her ASAP.

“Right away, sir.”

Solano closed down his computer, picked up
his badge and gun from the top of the desk and left.

Chapter 16

“I
can put you
behind bars for lying in your statement,” said Dornelas, sitting
behind his desk.

“What are you talkin’ about, Inspector?”
replied Maria das Graças with feigned surprise in her eyes. She was
sitting in one of the visitors chairs on the other side of the
desk, her purse clutched in her hands on her lap.

“I know that the client who was with you
when they nabbed your brother was not Raimundo Tavares.”

“Sure it was. You spoke to Raimundo. He
confirmed my story.”

“He did, but he didn’t convince me. Those
are two very different things. I’ll try to put it more clearly so
you can understand.”

Dornelas got up and began to wander
aimlessly around the room. He continued:

“That chair you’re sitting in has a name; I
call it the Chair of Truth, or Lies, depending on your point of
view. Everybody who sits in it comes up with an incredible story,
each one more amazing than the one before. You wouldn’t believe the
things I’ve heard here.”

Maria das Graças stiffened in her seat.
Dornelas went on:

“The power of that chair is incredible.
While sitting in it people forget important details, or make up new
versions, or even tell me some story that someone else asked them
to memorize. But what they’re not able to do is convince me they’re
telling the truth. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes, sir,” she murmured.

“Excellent. There’s something very
interesting in movies, the seventh art, that I’m a big fan of. It’s
the pleasure some directors feel when they find an actor with the
perfect build and the talent to play a particular role. The French
call it
physique du role
. I’ll give you an example: take
that American actor, Harrison Ford, he convinced everybody playing
Indiana Jones. But can you imagine Tom Selleck, TV’s ‘Magnum’, as
Indiana Jones after having seen Harrison Ford in that role, wearing
that hat, holding that whip?”

Maria das Graças shook her head.

“Well, in fact Magnum was the director’s
first choice for the role.”

She didn’t move an inch in her chair.

“What I’m trying to say here is that
Raimundo Tavares, despite being a very good actor – so good he was
able to stay out of the official City Council investigation – did
not convince me in the role of your client on the night your
brother was killed. I just don’t buy it, you know what I mean?”

Maria das Graças lowered her eyes as if to
examine her shoes.

“It’s not easy to convince me. Like I said,
I like the movies, not just the story lines, I love the
performances of the actors, the subtleties, the ability that some
of them have to get so deep into the role that you begin to think
you’re watching a documentary. I say this because you also didn’t
convince me when you stated that the work in your bedroom had been
done after your brother’s death.”

She raised her eyes and stared at him in
fear.

“Mr. Jordevino Almeida did the work the day
before the crime,” Dornelas went on. “And what’s more, you didn’t
even pay for it, someone else did.”