Requiem for a Killer (16 page)

“That is why,” continued the public servant,
“we have summoned here the appropriate city authorities to give all
of you more information.”

After each authority had stated his position
on the case, a succession of questions was fired at each one. The
answers provided nothing new. The show went on and Dornelas
remained quiet, waiting for instructions from Amarildo should he be
needed. A girl in a tight suit was in charge of taking the
microphone to the journalists. The little Chinese dog raised his
hand. The girl went to him and he grabbed the microphone.

“This is a question for Inspector Joaquim
Dornelas.”

Caught by surprise, Dornelas sat up in his
chair.

“Inspector, can you confirm that the body
found in the mangrove was White Powder Joe, or better, José
Aristodemo dos Anjos?” he asked while reading from a piece of paper
on his lap.

Amarildo Bustamente opened his eyes wide and
turned to Dornelas, who tried not to show surprise.

“I cannot. We still don’t have a definite
identification of the body.”

“Does that mean it may be White Powder
Joe?”

‘
How I’d like his handler to give this
dog a beating’
, fumed Dornelas to himself.

“It merely means we don’t know yet who he
is,” replied the inspector in the hope of putting the issue to
rest.

The reporter lowered the microphone
thoughtfully. He seemed satisfied. Amarildo relaxed. All of a
sudden the little Chinese dog picked up the microphone again.

“One more question, Inspector. Do you know
who threw a brick through one of the windows in your house
yet?”

Amarildo was jolted in his chair and stared
at Dornelas, who suddenly became livid. No doubt Dona Carmelina had
been shooting off her mouth. An assault on a police inspector’s
house was too interesting a story to keep secret.

“Not yet. But we’re investigating to see if
the assault is connected to the case.”

“Thank you.”

The girl took the microphone from the
reporter and gave it to another one, who asked one of the other
authorities a pointless question and received a bureaucratic
answer. And this went on until the end of the press conference.
Visibly irritated, Amarildo called Dornelas over to a corner as
soon as the room emptied and the buzz of conversation had died
down.

The inspector prepared himself to be
severely rebuked.

“How do you explain a reporter knowing the
dead man’s identity if we didn’t give that information to the
press?”

Dornelas racked his brain, remembered the
events of the day and had an epiphany. He told his boss about the
visit to the morgue, the crowd outside, the press, the escape out
the back door.

“The only explanation is that this reporter
was also covering the demonstration in front of the morgue and
somehow got the information from a frightened employee.”

“But if your friend didn’t identify the
body, how could he?”

“His name was on the report. It was just
waiting for confirmation.”

“I see.”

“Or maybe,” Dornelas went on, “he has a
connection to the same source Nildo Borges does.”

“That seems more likely.”

“I’m going to meet Nildo in a while. And I’m
going to look deep into the source who gave him the information
about White Powder Joe.”

“Watch out for that guy.”

“Don’t worry.”

“And why didn’t you tell me about the attack
on your house?”

“Dr. Amarildo, I didn’t have time,” he
spurted out.

“Joaquim, when it’s just the two of us, drop
the ‘Doctor’, please.”

Dornelas nodded and continued:

“It happened last night, right after I got
home, around seven. The brick came through one of the front windows
and had a note wrapped around it with a piece of string.”

The boss looked around and approached
Dornelas conspiratorially, eager to hear more.

“The note said: ‘Don’t go sticking your nose
where it don’t belong’.”

Amarildo slowly digested the phrase.

“We’re meddling with a snake pit, Joaquim.
There’s something much bigger hiding under this corpse,” said the
boss in a fortune-teller’s voice. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry.”

“And please keep me informed of every step
you take. The press is all over my back too.”

They shook hands and went their separate
ways. Dornelas left City Hall and went directly to the precinct. It
was a quarter to four and he still needed to get Solano before
going to Peixe Dourado.

*

When he got to the precinct Solano was
already waiting next to the car with the key in his hand, as eager
and courteous as a car salesman delivering a new car.

“While I talk to Nildo Borges, try looking
around, walk around a bit. Two pairs of eyes are better than one,”
said the inspector as they got on the road that circled the bay.
That’s where Peixe Dourado was located, outside the city.

Solano nodded, silent and smiling because he
knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Dornelas trusted him and
he knew it.

“Copy that, sir.”

A brief silence and then the inspector
said:

“I don’t know what to expect at this
meeting. I’m flying blind here.”

The confession took Solano by surprise
because it wasn’t like the inspector to open up this way.

“Why do you say that, sir?”

“Think about it. If Marina Rivera had told
Nildo about our conversation, the councilman would have already
disappeared by now with all the company’s records and anything else
that could incriminate him, assuming there is anything. If she
didn’t tell him, and Nildo is just playing the part of a helpful
politician, maybe the incriminating documents are at the company.
Again, if in fact they exist. Do you follow me?”

“Perfectly.”

“Good. And even if she hasn’t told him and
the records do exist, we can’t get our hands on them without a
warrant. And if we give him cause to suspect that we’re going to
get a warrant for the company books, he’ll end up disappearing with
them as soon as we’re out the door.”

“I understand... but at the same time I
don’t.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“So what are we looking for?”

“We’re going to look for what he wants us to
find, whatever that is. Depending on what it is, we’ll know how
helpful he really is or if he’s hiding something.”

“But why do you think these records, if they
exist, are at the company? Why would he keep incriminating files or
slush fund records in the company itself?”

“It’s a good question for which I have a
good answer: because Peixe Dourado is located far from the city, on
the other side of the bay, on the open ocean side. In the event of
any type of official inspection or search, escape would be quick
and easy. It’s the safest place to keep the files. And if the
company is involved in drug trafficking, it’s the perfect place,
because I figure the payments to the fishermen are always made in
cash as soon as the merchandise is handed over. Give-and-get, old
friend.”

“Makes sense. But where does White Powder
Joe fit in?”

“Hey, you’re really on the ball today,
aren’t you!”

Solano ignored the sarcasm because he knew
the inspector’s poke at him was only evidence of an older brother
type of friendship. And that pleased him.

“White Powder Joe is the link between Peixe
Dourado and the fishermen,” explained the inspector. “A respectable
company like this one would never have one of its own employees
deal with this, they’d get someone from the outside, a known
dealer, so that if there was ever any trouble the company would be
able to distance itself from it, claim it knew nothing about
it.”

Solano was impressed with his boss’s
reasoning.

“So that’s why I want you to look around
very discreetly. I’m going to act like the Queen of England. You’ll
be my eyes at this meeting.”

“You got it.”

Chapter 12

T
he guard,
impressed to see a police car arriving, pushed a button and opened
the gate before the vehicle even stopped, as if by magic. Without
asking to see any identification, the man told them to proceed
directly to the reception desk.

Dornelas parked the car in front of the main
building, a ground floor construction made of concrete blocks
painted white, with sliding glass windows, set above a small bay. A
narrow paved road wound around the hill down to the sea connecting
the headquarters to two other buildings: a similar one, half way
up, and another much larger one, a kind of industrial hangar, from
which a small pier protruded. Four fishing boats were moored to
it.

The inspector got out of the car and went
crunching up the gravel path to the reception. Solano followed him.
It was past four in the afternoon. The sun hadn’t let up all day.
They walked through the glass door and were happy to be hit by the
efficient air-conditioning.

The receptionist was a wizened woman wearing
a bright yellow pants suit, her hair in a bun and too much makeup.
While she talked into a little earphone, her fingers flew over the
keys of some machine hidden behind the counter that she used to
answer and redirect calls with incredible efficiency. Dornelas
imagined her standing up in the aisle of a commercial flight giving
passengers instructions with a life vest around her neck.

“Can I help you?” asked the telephone
operator as soon as there was a lull in the phone calls.

“We have a meeting with Mr. Nildo Borges.
I’m Inspector Joaquim Dornelas and this is Detective Vladimir
Solano. We’re a bit late.”

She was not impressed.

“One second. I’ll announce you. Please, sit
down,” she said, pointing to three low, soft-looking armchairs
surrounding a small coffee table with old magazines on it.

“Thank you.”

They both sat down.

Before they had time to choose a magazine
the flight attendant came to take them to a conference room next to
the reception area. As soon as they sat down and the woman had
left, an impeccably dressed serving maid appeared with a tray, two
cups of coffee and two glasses of ice water.

“Thank you,” they said in unison before the
maid left, gently closing the door behind her.

It didn’t take long before Nildo Borges
burst into the room, almost yanking the door off its hinges.

“My dear Inspector Joaquim Dornelas.” He
stuck his hand across the table; it was promptly shaken as soon as
the inspector got up, with Solano following suit.

“Good afternoon, Councilman. Sorry we’re
late. We had a press conference at City Hall that went longer than
expected.”

“Not Councilman. Here I’m just Nildo.”

“So be it,” replied Dornelas. This is
Vladimir Solano. He works with me.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Solano and Nildo shook hands. Everyone sat
down.

“I watched the press conference on TV. From
what I saw the investigation is going sideways, isn’t it
Inspector?” asked Nildo with open sarcasm.

“Not at all,” retorted Dornelas.

“Then you must know things I don’t.”

“The same way I don’t know anything about
what happens in the City Council.”

“True, true,” said Nildo, with a treacherous
expression like that of a reptile. He took a drink of water and
sipped his coffee.

Dornelas noticed that Nildo Borges was not
his normal self. Something about him was out of place, out of
balance. And it wasn’t the lack of a tie and jacket, nor his hair,
usually combed and gelled, now unkempt and disheveled, giving him
the shaggy look of a sea dragon just up for air. It wasn’t that, it
was something much deeper, below the surface, something Dornelas
wasn’t able to identify and that bothered him. Then again, maybe
this was the real Nildo Borges and not the other one, the elegant,
well-dressed man he’d met at the City Council.

“But let’s make the best of your visit,
Inspector. I have a lot to show you about how this business
works.”

“It will be a pleasure.”

The three of them got up, left the building
and got in an electric cart, the kind used by lazy golfers. Nildo
drove with Dornelas next to him and Solano in the back.

“This is how I move around here. Otherwise
I’d have a heart attack going up this hill,” said Nildo on their
descent to the middle building. “We just left the administration
building, with the accounts payable and receivable departments, the
office where we handle the money so to speak. Nothing special.”

‘
Like a slush fund’
, thought
Dornelas.

The cart began gliding down the hill on the
perfectly smooth asphalt carpet. The only sound was the whirring of
the electric engine.

“We’re nearing the building where we keep
our research center and the farm where we produce and sell
oysters.

Nildo parked the cart under the shade of a
Chapéu-de-sol
tropical almond tree. They got out and entered
what seemed to be a stark and narrow waiting room with no
furniture. Nildo greeted a fellow with long, grey hair wearing a
short white lab coat and jeans who was coming out of the door they
were heading to. As they went through it Dornelas and Solano could
see a number of cisterns the size of water tanks lining the walls.
In the cisterns enormous oysters were stuck to tiles and plastic
bottles submerged in salt water. Little bubbles rose to the surface
of each tank.

The room ran nearly the entire length of the
building and had a strong odor of salt and dry algae. The
thermostat on the air conditioner next to the door showed
twenty-five degrees centigrade.

“This is our hatchery, where we produce the
oyster seeds we cultivate in the sea-based nurseries,” Nildo said
when he saw Dornelas leaning over one of the tanks to look inside.
“In this environment we’re able to control the water temperature
and also the food supply.”