The Body Snatcher (19 page)

How much do they know? I asked.

I know Joel well and know he's suspicious. I sounded out Caleiro and Dudu. Both told me the family still hasn't made it totally clear how the body was found. What does that mean?

If it's up to Dona Lu, they won't want to follow protocol.

That's where you're wrong, said Sulamita. The collection of genetic material from the family to identify the body is already scheduled for tomorrow. I have to find a way to be the one who takes the material to the lab in Brasilia.

And what if you can't?

I'll go anyway, even if it has to be secretly and at my own expense. My impression, she said, is that José Beraba is hiding something. But I could be wrong. Maybe Caleiro knows everything and wants to keep the investigation confidential; that also happens. In fact, Caleiro remained at the morgue the whole time, which isn't usual.

What are we going to do? I asked.

Until the material is collected, nothing.

And then?

Everything goes on like before. Our fate is in the hands of my friend.

She was referring to the worker who wrote up the reports from the laboratory in Brasilia, the one we would try to bribe.

What if he doesn't go for it? What if he turns us in? I bombarded Sulamita with questions, but unlike me she didn't seem worried about the tests. What she was concerned about was Joel's behavior. He's been talking strangely, she said. Asking questions about you and your job. He also said he's having some financial difficulties. Odd, don't you think?

35

The next day, Sulamita called as soon as she got to work, around seven. It's obvious, she said, that there's been a lot of movement here during the night. I saw X-rays from Junior's dentist on Rosana's desk, which isn't going to prove anything because I smashed the dental arches before we buried the body. But how did they get access to those X-rays late Sunday night? The Berabas are cooperating, just the opposite of what we imagined. They phoned the dentist. The question is: which version have they told the police? What does Pedro Caleiro know?

There was another complication, according to Sulamita. Rosana, the coroner in charge, hadn't passed along any information. We always talk about the cases, she said, and this time I sensed a certain holding back.

We hung up after I promised to feel out the terrain and, above all, not to do anything stupid. I need to be sure, she said, that you're in control.

I had a hard time getting up; the night had been infernal. We had stayed up talking till late, replete in extreme agony with hypotheses we had never considered. What if we'd left footprints at the site where we buried the cadaver? What if our phones were tapped? What if someone had seen us? And what if the police knew everything all along?

There was a moment when I was so desperate that I tried to convince Sulamita that we should turn ourselves
in. We would return the ransom money and I would rat out Ramirez. That would weigh in our favor at our trial. You said yourself there's no such thing as a perfect crime. They're going to find out.

What I know is that there are bungled investigations, she replied. I'm on the inside and see a lot of sloppy practices. I know how things work. There are many ways to sabotage an investigation.

By morning, Sulamita had managed to calm me down by saying there'd be no problem at all if we were suspected. Nobody goes to jail for being suspected of a crime, she said. What they can't be allowed to do is establish proof.

I felt exhausted, without the strength to resist what was ahead, but even so, I followed her instructions to the letter.

I arrived at the Berabas' early. The pool was covered with leaves, and clearing them away was an activity that served to calm me. From poolside, holding a strainer with a long handle, I cleaned carefully.

Dalva brought me coffee. They found Junior, she said, confused. Did Sulamita tell you anything?

Nothing, I said, emptying the strainer in the garden.

What does she think of the whole thing?

She was on duty yesterday, I answered. We haven't had a chance to talk.

Dalva looked at me as if she didn't believe me.

You didn't ask anything?

I set the strainer down and sighed.

The police must have a machine, Dalva said, I don't know, some way to tell if it's really Junior. I've seen it on TV.

I was rescued by Dona Lu, who signaled from the window of Junior's room for me to come there.

I went into the house, agitated, my thoughts going from that pulsating black spot in Rita's belly to Sulamita's agile hands breaking the cadaver's bones, while I repeated to myself that they knew nothing, over, I hadn't killed anyone, there was no way they'd catch me.

In the bedroom Dona Lu, looking better than usual, asked if I'd heard the news, and before I could reply she threw open the door of the built-in wardrobe and said she had decided to donate her son's clothes to charity. Choose anything you'd like, she said before leaving me by myself. You're about the same size.

As I separated a few items, pants, shirts, I remembered that until the day she died, twenty years after my father's disappearance, my mother kept her husband's closet intact. It's true, I thought, trying on a red T-shirt, Junior's death is happening at this very moment, and I felt happy for Dona Lu. You could see a certain relief in her expression. She's finally free, I thought.

And it was then, out the window, that I saw the precinct chief Pedro Caleiro coming through the garden, accompanied by Joel and Dudu.

I ran to the bathroom, turned on the faucet and threw cold water on my face, trying to calm myself. It's not the only test we plan to run, I heard someone say minutes later. Junior's bathroom was next to José Beraba's office, with both looking out onto the front garden of the house. I closed the bedroom door and carefully opened the bathroom window, but even then it wasn't possible to hear clearly what they were saying.

I went back to the bedroom and called Sulamita.

Try to listen to what they're saying, she said. I've found out it was José Beraba who called the meeting there. I imagine they're going to talk about the tests. Try to find out.

I hung up the cell phone, chose some clothes at random from the wardrobe, left them in the small outbuilding, and went to chat with the pool man, offering to help him in the garden.

With the garden shears, I approached the window of José Beraba's office without getting so close as to appear indiscreet. What I heard was stray bits of sentences: My wife is living on tranquilizers. Expand the investigation. Inconvenient. Employees. Another way of resolving. Employees. Interrogations. Dalva. Interests. Employees.

What made me uneasy was hearing the word employees several times, always uttered by Caleiro.

And it was like that, squatting, pretending to trim the grass, that I saw Joel's boots approaching. You take care of the garden too? he asked.

I rose quickly and felt my vision go dark.

Helping out, I answered.

It's very good to have friends who help, he said.

I didn't like Joel's manner. A bit arrogant, standing with his hands on his waist, without looking at me directly.

It's my job, I said.

Who's talking about work? he asked, a malign smile on his lips. I'm talking about friends. Real friends. People who cover for you. I myself have lots of friends. Sulamita, for example. She's my friend. I mean, I think we're friends.

And he laughed.

What did you two do on the weekend?

We went dancing, I said.

He looked at me suspiciously.

What a macabre story, eh?

Very, I said.

We're going to have to call you in to make a statement, he said.

I remained silent.

Dalva appeared in the garden and asked me to get Dona Lu's car ready. I said goodbye to Joel and headed for the garage, my heart almost leaping out of my mouth.

The Martins & Sons Funeral Home.

Urns, wreaths, candleholders, prayer beads – the products were displayed like kitchen appliances. Not even death escapes the tactics of business. There are people who lie in the coffin to try it out. There are people who buy with an eye to the future. That's what Martins' son told me as I waited on the sidewalk for Dona Lu. I wanted to be by myself, to call Sulamita, find out what the hell was happening, but the young man wouldn't stop talking, and when he finally figured out I wasn't in the mood for idle chitchat, Dona Lu signaled for me to come help her.

Do you like it? she asked, showing me a dark, overly ornamented casket.

I prefer this one, I replied.

It's more discreet, she said. You're right.

Afterward, we went to the church, where she had a meeting with Father Alfredo to talk about the wake and the mass. Come in with me, she said as I parked. I need your help.

Despite her behavior not indicating she suspected me, I couldn't calm down. What had Joel been insinuating with that talk about friends? What did he know?

Back at the Berabas', as soon as Dona Lu got out of the car I phoned Sulamita at the morgue.

There's no one here, said the operator. They were all called to an emergency meeting at the precinct.

36

You know what I'm going to do with this piece of crap? Do you?

I was at the window, out of control, a knife in one hand and the soccer ball in the other. The boys in the street looked at me, scared. Overcome with fury, I stabbed the ball in several places and tossed the wilted leather hull back onto the asphalt.

Jeez, said one of the Indian kids, it was a professional soccer ball. Alceu bought it for us.

It was after eight at night, and the kids had just broken my window. Generally, I was patient with the little Guatós, but that night my nerves were rubbed raw. After my outburst, the noise stopped, but I could still hear some mews of unhappiness as I attempted to find out what had happened with Sulamita. I had phoned the morgue more than twenty times, and she still hadn't returned from that meeting. What the fuck kind of meeting was it? What was going on? Why had she turned off her cell?

I paced the room, in circles, with the feeling that something bad was about to happen. The kids called me to talk at the window. Jeez, they said. They said, Forgive us. Jeez, they said, darn. I ended up giving them the money to buy another ball. But play a long way from here, I said.

Shortly afterward, Sulamita called. Come to the precinct, she said. There's no describing the fear I felt en route. It was
more like a breakdown, a collapse; I sweated, trembled, my heart raced. I thought, maybe I'm having a coronary. On the radio, the reporter said: São Paulo is still flooded. I imagined the poor in water up to their waists. Furniture floating in the streets. Refrigerators, television sets. The reporter said: Three Muslims flogged in Malaysia for adultery. I imagined the welts on their skin. The reporter said: Court upholds impeachment of the governor. So far, so good, I thought. I'm not in São Paulo. I'm not a Muslim. Or the governor.

When I parked, Joel was standing at the door of the station.

Come to give yourself up? he asked.

It occurred to me at that moment that Sulamita had betrayed me. And then Joel guffawed. You lucky guy, he said.

I don't know how long I stayed in the van, but Joel, smoking on the sidewalk, never took his eyes off me for a second. When Sulamita got in the car, I took off abruptly, and as soon as I turned the corner started shouting Fuck, how could you do that to me? Where'd you disappear to? What the fuck is happening? I roared, slamming my fist against the dashboard.

They've closed the case, she said, taking from her purse a wad of bills she had just gotten from the chief.

Livid, I parked the car in Central Square to hear the rest of the story. I found out early this afternoon that the investigation had been called off, said Sulamita. I had already phoned my friend in Brasilia. Good thing I didn't bring up the subject.

Sulamita added that it had been Dudu who called her to the meeting at the station. Caleiro was there, she said, they asked questions about you, about the two of us, blah blah blah. They talked and talked without saying anything. Then I asked when we would have the material from the
family for the tests in Brasilia. The two of them got even more flustered. They said we needed to respect the family's suffering and blah blah blah, and I finally understood why they'd called me there. Beraba himself doesn't want the test done to identify the body. To spare his wife.

They're not going to do the test?

The rich have their own laws. Case closed. And I, as a member of the team, have to keep my mouth shut. What they wanted to know was my price. We opened a negotiation. Telling it like that, it may seem like we were businessmen talking about sales. But the thing is quite sophisticated. Those guys know how to bribe. They're very efficient and do it in such a way that you're unaware you're being corrupted. Actually, you even believe you're doing them a favor. Helping. The word money was never mentioned. We talked about compensation and collaboration. Facilitation. And mutual benefit. That's how things are done in this country.