by Wudson Silva
08:15 a.m.
The swallows were already flying over the grass searching for insects. Song-thrushes, blue-black grassquits and common waxbills were flying randomly through the air. The night chill was still there, and the sun, a bit shy, was looking more like a full moon, because of the heavy mist that covered the sky in a deep white.
The detective that solves old mysteries was amazed by this nonsense. I had never seen so much childishness in a single person.
He must have been walking around town with Judith’s little chest of old mail under his arms until he got here, because as soon as I arrived I saw that corny thing on the top of the Chief of Police’s desk.
— Good morning, Isaías!
— I’ll try to have a good one.
— And why wouldn’t you?
— You ask this because you don't have a wife that can barely make a reasonable coffee, three stupid children and an uncle that talks nonstop. That is why!
— Even so, good morning! — he said laughing at me. He laughed and contemplated the mountains far away: what a nerve!
— Where will we start the investigation today? — I asked him pretending I wasn’t pissed-off at him.
— I need to know what happened with the gate.
— Which gate?
— The wooden gate smashed on the night of the murder.
— What does that shit has to do with this case?
— Details are important.
I wanted to laugh of that bullshit, however, it was best to do what he wanted — It was his responsibility, anyway.
Clóvis picked up the chest in which Judith kept her mail and put it in my car. We went to the parish house.
The same catechist was there, trimming the favorite plants of Father Lázaro. She must have done something really wrong in other incarnations to deserve a life like this one: praying all the time so that God would save her soul, gossip about the lives of others and trimming the Priest’s plants. It is a punishment or lack of better things to do.
— Good morning! — said the detective. — Is Father Lázaro in?
— Good morning! He is out delivering some food baskets, but he will be back soon. Don’t you want to get in and wait?
— Ok.
We got in and sat at the table, next to the stair that takes upstairs. The detective was amazed by the wooden handrail, engraved by Moisés’ deceased father, the carpenter, that besides being ignorant, he was a natural artist, he was Rio Vermelho’s “Aleijadinho”.
— Please, feel at home — she said. — I have to get back to my plants.
After a while, I saw the priest’s car on the opposite side of the square, right in front of Judith’s house alley. I noticed that the vehicle did not made that scratching noise when it went over the huge speed bump. If I had the money I would buy a car like that for me.
It was obvious that Tobias, the priest’s “handyman” driver, was not happy to see my car parked in front; the priest got off and came in our direction, as Tobias went to the opposite side. Lázaro looked back, finding odd how his driver was acting, but made no comments about it because he had a very important visitor at his home: the famous and old-fashioned detective Clóvis.
Lázaro has long brown hair parted down the middle, similar to Jesus Christ. They are not exactly the same because he passed a little bit over the famous thirty years of age of Jesus. I figure he is about forty five. But people love such resemblance, and they don’t care about the age difference.
— Hail, detective Clóvis! — exalted the priest as if they were old acquaintances. — It is a pleasure to meet the man that is saving our churches, in face of so much violence and misleading interpretation of this fanatic iconoclast. I assume you are almost arresting him.
The priest gave him a strong hug and laughed happy. It seemed like an honor to meet the detective.
— You talk like you work alone, father Lázaro, but you have a qualified team in this case. Actually, according to my projection, the iconoclast is about to be arrested.
— Never before our entity needed so much someone to be protected against such a coward terrorist. By the way, what are you doing in our city?
— We are putting the pieces together in this puzzle so difficult to solve; and maybe you may help us.
The priest got upset when the detective brought up the subject of the murder that occurred in his yard. He walked to the stairs, put one hand on the wooden ball adorning the base of the railway, looked depressed to the floor and whispered, with sadness, God's name. A whisper brought him back.
I noticed that Clóvis, “for a change,” was not looking directly at the Priest. He had his eyes fixed just above where the Priest had an open and large smile. Something made him act like that, but the steps were empty.
— An angel saying “I love you” — said the detective. — That is rare!
— What?! — questioned the Priest, apprehensive with the detective's quote.
— Forgive me. I was thinking out loud.
Lázaro stared at him harshly, spooky.
— If your investigation is directed to the destruction of sacred images, what are you doing here in Rio Vermelho? My church is not at the iconoclast's list, is it?
— This vandal doesn't act logically; I cannot guarantee anything in this regard. We are here only to get information about the old gate, it is an important detail for the murder. What did happen with it after you had it replaced?
— I didn't want my yard getting desecrated by curious people. No priest would. It is disrespectful! However, the citizens of Rio Vermelho have the right to know the truth and that is why I had it replaced, so that only authorized people and people with a judicial authorization could have access to the crime scene. Otherwise, trespassers could get in the way of the police work.
— You did good, father Lázaro, but where is the old gate?
— With Moisés, the carpenter. He replaced it.
— Judith was working here as a catechist. Have you ever, by any chance, noticed anything strange with her behavior?
— Judith was the youngest catechist and the most filled with life. She had such a good soul that not even the incident with Josias and the way he treated her, making threats, intimidated her. About Josias, I do not believe that he is the murderer, even with his fame of sorcerer.
— Did anyone tried to get back at Josias for something and took advantage of the situation?
— I don't know about that.
— Are you certain that you didn't hear anything that night? Even the blows against the gate of something trying to open it?
— It was raining a lot, detective. I wouldn't hear anything even if I was awake; and if I did, I would never think that someone would be forcing the gate. Small towns doesn't suffer with this. Thank God!
— The murder happened later that night, Judith's house was not broken into, the key was in the inside of the door and she was well-dressed, instead of wearing pajamas. The murderer, then, knew her?
— It is likely. They probably lied, saying they needed to take her somewhere urgently, because of a sick relative or something like that. She wouldn't hesitate changing clothes and leave with them, leaving the door open.
— If it happened that way — concluded the detective —, it should be someone really close to her, because she wouldn't open the door to anyone.
Tobias showed up suddenly and the subject was interrupted immediately. He stared at the priest waiting for a reply, without asking questions.
— You are free to go, Tobias, I will only need you after lunch.
The driver put his thumb up and left.
— I want to show you something — Clóvis said to the priest, resuming the conversation. — I found this in Judith's little chest for mail.
The priest took the small paper strip, read what was written and observed the back, which was empty.
— This is blood — concluded Lázaro looking at the stains.
— This is exactly what
I couldn't figure out.
— Maybe this note has nothing to do with it.
— Yeah... maybe.
After asking all his questions, the detective thanked for the assistance and glanced back at the stairs. He opened a big smile. We said goodbye and left.
Outside, the “piano mouth” went back to observe the flight of the lonely pigeon. My body itched impatiently just because he was such an idiot. First because he said some bullshit with the priest: “an angel saying I love you,” and second just for looking the pigeon flying. Is he the same detective that people see on television? If so, the bus trip here must have damaged his head.
Abel, Moisés' son, was speaking to Tobias close to the church. They silenced when they realized that Clóvis took the letters chest and crossed the street in direction to my Variant. I noticed that they were not pleased with our approach and, so, I put my hand back so that I could reach my gun faster.
— Such a great weather to stay home under some blankets, just enjoying the cold, isn't it? — Clóvis smiled.
— That is right — said Tobias. — The weather here is crazy. As soon as the mist vanishes, the temperature rises like a rocket.
— What about the cleaning, everything alright?
— These folks are too scared. I had to help cleaning because the girl I took there said she could feel Judith's presence while she dusted the living room. Does it make any sense?
The detective laughed and turned to Moisés' son.
— Abel, is your father at the carpentry?
— My father is an early bird, why?
— I need some details about the forced gate. since he reformed it, he must know something. Besides, you also helped him fixed it, right?
— Right...
— Answer me this: how could you replace that gate so fast?
— The old gates here followed a standard measure, designed by my grandpa, may God be with him. This makes our work easier because we have gates ready with the same measures, for a construction, for example, of as a replacement. Luckily, the hinges were not damaged because the wood was rotten. We had only to remove the remainder of the old gate and install the new one.
— Which was the position of the gate when you got to the site?
— Where it fell down, it remained, and it was cracked in half, filled with muddy footprints, but what really pulled it off were the nails on the hinges.
— Would a kick to that gate wake up the priest or anyone else nearby?
— I don't think so. The wood, despite of the quality of the wood, it was really old and the fall was lessened by the mud. Maybe three or four hard kicks would be sufficient to break it down; and, probably, with the rain no one would hear anything unusual.
— Where is the remainder of this gate?
— I think my father burnt it down.
— Why?
— The priest asked him to reform it, donate it to someone needing it, however, my father is a very religious man and has aversion to things touched by people with a pact with the devil. He preferred to burn it.
Clóvis whispered dissatisfied.
— Have you found anything in the chest, detective? — asked Tobias, observing what the detective was holding.
— Nothing — he lied. — There isn't a thing that may raise suspicion. I need to return it to its place. Do you still have the keys?
— I do not only have the keys, but I am also available.
— Great! I still have some doubts that I need you to solve for me.
— Doubts about what?
— Let's go to her house and you will know.
The detective thanked Abel and followed his way contemplating, again, the pigeon making turns over the square.
Tobias opened the door, squeaking hideously. He could put on some lubricant in these damm rusty hinges. The detective put the chest on the table and went straight ahead to the framed pictures, hanging on the pantry walls. He started asking who was who on the pictures, and Tobias answered to everything. Of course in a small town as this everyone knows everyone. he was even telling stories about the pictures. Then, Clóvis took four pictures off the wall that had more relatives and friends in it and asked if I knew where the most of them lived in. I replied that I knew everyone, he was happy with it.
— These are more recent — he said picking up a pile of pictures. — These were taken on her birthday and are about one year old. If Judith were alive, she would celebrate her birthday this Sunday, and she would certainly want another of those parties at her sister's house, at Mundo Velho.
— Miss Ruth, her sister, also mentioned this birthday.
— You are not going after these people, are you? — I asked.
— Why do you think I took these pictures?
— This way you are putting everyone as a suspect!
— Why not?
— You saw how Moisés answered the door to us! There are people a hundred times more ignorant than that carpenter in this town. If you are used to those fearful folks in the big city, here it is different!
— Have you ever worked anywhere else, other than in Rio Vermelho?
— No.
— That is why you know so little about people.
Clóvis left the chest in the bedroom and thanked the Priest’s private driver for helping in the investigation. I noticed that Tobias had stopped a little with his laughs and spoke only as necessary, as if he was suspicious of something. It was like he feared Clóvis presence.
Later we went to my car.
— We will visit these people — he said, showing me the pictures. — One by one.
I sighed in despair. I will spend a lot of time, the fuel for my Variant and, further, talk to all these useless people.
The rest of the morning was as I pictured it: nauseating. We went to every home to learn a little bit about Judith’s life; however, the talk was always the same: “she was a really nice person.” Everyone is nice when they are dead. They just don’t know what to say, they only repeat like robots a tradition that they don’t even realize; that is why there is no progress.
Clóvis, always polite with people, asked frivolous questions and left his eyes floating around, watching a mosquito that did not existed. I noticed that he was not happy with the idea of interrogating everyone, so he proceeded with parsimony, but also persistently.
We continued this way in the afternoon, too.
However, the routine of monotonous visits had an ending. We drove to the forum and faced a gathering of people watching Ezequiel, the man with whom Salomé, the sorcerer’s ex-wife, had been together.
He wanted to know who was the responsible for pointing him out as a suspect for Judith’s death, and he wanted to settle this by any means; however, the district attorney responsible for the inquiry was away. The man ignored the argument that no one could do anything to help him at that time. If the idiot had at least called before leaving his town, certainly he wouldn’t have come here for nothing. Misinformed people only get screwed.
We got off the car and saw Ezequiel yelling, pleading and trying to break into the forum, but the employees kept on holding him. Baltazar, the attorney, was one of them.
I raised my head proudly and went towards him; however, a penetrating and absolute silence, followed by the looks converging to the same point, put the detective Clóvis at the center of attention. While I needed to push people around to get through, he had the path cleared without saying a single word. Everyone watched with respect he walking to Ezequiel.
— We need to talk.
The news that there was a top detective in town must have spread around because from a monster, Ezequiel turned into a little boy, confident that a dialogue with that man would solve his problem. Clóvis asked permission to the forum employees and went in followed by that fellow.
Ten minutes went by and both came out.
Ezequiel, much more friendly, wanted to leave as soon as possible, particularly after seeing the police car parked outside. He went away in hi
gh speed so that the police couldn’t chase him.
Clóvis, with his confident smile, went towards the attorney, Baltazar, and asked him to forget the hypothesis of Ezequiel being the murderer. Baltazar accepted the argument without making a fuss; the respect for the detective was such that he said “if you say so.”
The confusion cleared so fast that the only option we had was to get in my Variant and leave behind the bunch of bigmouths staring at the detective as if he was a celebrity.
— We may cross him off of our list of suspects! — said Clóvis inside the car.
I simply smiled. After he easily chasing off Ezequiel and the submission of Baltazar, I had nothing left to say.
We went to the police station.
“We may cross him off of our list of suspects.”
This sentence stuck in my mind, alternating with another questioning I had: “What list?”.
This is the first time in my life that I see a detective that doesn't have a list of suspects or a logical strategy or psychological pressure to find out who is the murderer.
I barely stopped at the police station and Madalena, my wife, came my way with our three children. All with a big smile and staring at the detective by my side.
I found their behavior odd because they didn’t know him and were already happy with his presence.
— It is the television on our side, Isaias. It won’t take long until a bunch of reporters show up in your town looking for me. This means we must act faster in the investigation of Judith’s murderers.
I tried to question what one thing had to do with the other, but my wife got closer to the door by his side and interrupted me right when I was about to talk.
— And the investigation, how is it going? — she started a conversation.
— There is little progress, Madalena, but it is not as bad as one could think.
— Do you know me?
Madalena was excited when she heard that and my kids were amazed; Clóvis got out of the car with a great sympathy, greeting all and reporting how difficult it was to find traces of the murderer.
Matheus, my oldest son, was holding a camera. Maria, a little timid, hugged her mother, but brought a portable recorder. Gabriel, my youngest, had with him his binoculars, and stared at Clóvis as if he were Super Man; and from time to time looked through it to look at the detective closer, despite of being only two steps back. Certainly it had been a gift from my uncle Pedro.
— Is it true that you jumped out of an airplane without parachutes on? — asked Gabriel.
— Yes, I did. However, it was not a good experience. To tell the truth, I will never do something like that again.
— Why?
Madalena told Gabriel to keep quiet and started herself to ask questions to the detective.
— Did you talk to Elias, the butcher?
— We did, why?
— Because he was one of the first to see the crime scene. People are saying that curious people almost ruined everything just to see the body of that poor girl, but Elias didn’t, he didn’t put a single foot on the forced gate because he knew it would ruin the police work.
— We heard about that — answered Clóvis.
— They say that the priest sent everyone away when he saw all those people in his yard. The only thing he didn’t do was picking a stick and hit everyone, as he did with the evangelicals.
— Father Lázaro is very intelligent, Madalena, but he should know how to refrain his impulses.
— He has high blood pressure and has difficulty trying to make Tobias, his driver, to overcome the alcohol addiction and now he faces the death of one of his catechists.
— Tobias has a drinking problem? — asked Clóvis, politely.
— People say he was nearly sacked because he drank too much at a religious celebration at Magalhães, a district far from the town. While Lázaro was celebrating the mass, he drank without limits. The priest doesn't have a driver’s license and must be a good example so that the drivers in town do not get into cars without the proper licenses. But, on this day, he was the one that had to drive, because Tobias was fully drunk. They say…
— People say, they say, others say! — I interrupted her, impatient. — Don’t you have anything else to do other than talk about other people’s lives?
Suddenly I heard my words being repeated by the recorder on my daughter’s hand. Interesting enough, even at distance it reproduced a sound with good quality.
Clóvis started laughing and Matheus took the opportunity to take a picture; then, he handed me the camera and the five of them got together for a picture with my Variant behind them; I did everything so that my car appeared wholly on the picture.
My family went away carrying the camera carefully. They only forgot to ask for an autograph.
The detective loved the warm reception and had a lot of fun talking to my kids. Later he went to the Chief of Police office to make some phone calls regarding the effect of the media at the population in Rio Vermelho.
I leaned against my car and got dizzy thinking so hard about what was going on with the people in Rio Vermelho in view of the celebrity detective, and what a bunch of reporters would do in a the city because of his presence. Then it hit me, I remembered of the question Father Lázaro asked about the possibility of the “icono-I-do-not-know-what” coming here; and why it was so important to find out who killed Judith.
Worst than that was trying to find the reason for the contradiction of this detective between the inexplicable aptitude of reading minds, and the difficulty in finding out who the murderers were. It looked like sometimes it went wrong. Unless he still did not face any of the participants in that horrifying rite; or already did faced them but was waiting for the right moment to get them all... I don’t know! It was so much information that I had to massage my head. I finally got to the conclusion that I definitely needed to watch more television.
The sun had set and the Morning Star was shining in a still clear sky.
Clóvis went out of the police station with a smile on his face and came in my direction trying to talk.
— Where does this street takes us when going up there?
— There is an aviation field at the top of the mountain. An unpaved strip where, once at a lifetime, a small plane lands. It is common to some felonies to go up there because it has a great view, without mentioning that it is the most isolated place in the world, and they can do anything they want up there.
— Interesting: a place that has a good view of the sky.
Clóvis smiled and contemplated the Morning Star.
— It is not a star, Isaias, it is Venus. A planet reflects sunlight, while stars have their own light. By the way, what a family you have! I loved them.
— If you want you may take all of them.
He laughed hard and went back staring at the Star, I mean, the Planet.
— In a planet system, Isaias, in which the sun has no heat at all, would its planets also be cold?
— Obviously!
— What if, by some miracle, this sun became hot again, would such planets also take advantage of this miraculous heating?
— If they are nearby, certainly they would be heated, too. Is this a joke?
— No. It is only a metaphor about the human being.
— What are you trying to say?
— I am trying to say that when we change, people around us tend to change too.
— Are you trying to say that the problem with my family is me?
— Have you ever tried to heat like a sun?
— What?!
— Have you ever tried to give them a good morning, some advice, a hug, or… a flower?
— This is nonsense!
— What did you gain so far with your way of thinking?
I kept quiet. The only thing that came to mind were curse words.
— Have you ever been married? — I asked.
— No.
— Think about it?
— Ye
s, I do.
— So, when you constitute your own family, you will know how it is to be in my shoes.
— You must not treat your children how your parents treated you.
— By any chance, do you know my parents?
— No, but I do know that your personality is the heritage of their personality, and you are transmitting it to your children.
— You do not know what you are talking about — I replied. — If you are not married and live travelling around in this world without stopping anywhere, it is likely that you don't have a steady relationship. Therefore, you do not know the first thing about being in my shoes.
— A perfect solar system, Isaías, needs a perfect sun. That is what you need to understand.
He gave up trying to teach me how to live, but kept the smile on his face.
He preferred to go away on foot, saying that he needed to clear his mind and get to know the city better. So, I gave him good night unhappy about what he told me, obviously, and went home, leaving my car at the police station.
Friday
