by Jerold Last
“Yes. I have. I couldn't have said it as eloquently as you just did, but this feels like my kind of place. Are you ready for another beer?” I asked. I certainly was!
“That would be great,” answered Suzanne, enthusiastically staying in character as a slightly tipsy tourist talking a little too loudly and a little indiscreetly.
“Dos cervezas, por favor,” I requested from the bartender, who had been standing near us listening to our conversation. He brought us the beers and remained standing at the other side of the bar from us.
On impulse, I said to him “We’re here for a few days as tourists. Can you suggest anything we should go to see or do while we’re in town? Or maybe you could suggest a typical restaurant for dinner?”
“For dinner, all tourists should try eating beef at the Mercado del Puerto at least once,” he replied. “For something to see that is a little off the beaten track, the Maritime Museum just off the Rambla Wilson has a special exhibit on World War II by Uruguayan and Argentine artists, both current and from that era, that I would highly recommend. There is a special showing of the work of one of these artists planned for tomorrow evening at 7 PM that you might really enjoy. It is by invitation only, but if you show them my card they will admit you. The wine and hors d'oeuvres are free and I can assure you that you will meet some interesting people at the showing.” He handed me two business cards after writing something on their backs.
“Thank you very much,” I replied. “We'll definitely go to this show if our schedule allows.”
The bartender moved off. We finished our beers and walked back to the hotel to wait for our dinner hosts from the Faculty of Chemistry to pick us up. After leaving the bar, we discussed what had just happened.
“I can’t believe it's going to be this easy for us to make the kind of connection with the local Nazis that Lieutenant Gonzalez hoped we could,” said Suzanne hopefully.
“It won’t be,” I replied. “My guess is that we either are part of an amazing coincidence, which I doubt, or this will be a chance for them to check us out a bit more, but nothing much else will happen at tomorrow’s party.”
“What made you ask the bartender for tourist advice like that?” asked Suzanne curiously.
“Thanks to the large mirror behind the bar where we were sitting, I was pretty much able to keep track of everybody in the bar. The bartender was the only one I saw who seemed to be listening to us. I thought a seemingly innocent question like that might encourage him to get the ball rolling.”
“I totally missed his interest in us,” replied Suzanne thoughtfully. “I just assumed he stayed more or less at the middle of the bar when he wasn’t serving drinks.”
“That might be true and we may waste an hour or two eating mediocre hors d'oeuvres and drinking mediocre wine, but the art show may be fun and we could meet an artsy crowd that's very different from your new chemistry friends.”
A short while later we were back at the WiFi-enabled hotel checking our email while waiting to be picked up for dinner. Suzanne’s future colleagues arrived at 9:15 and called up to the room. We met them in the lobby and our group of eight people walked to a nearby restaurant on San Jose Street.
Professora Colletti (“call me Patricia”) pointed out the bus running along San Jose and told us “the bus service in Montevideo, especially in the downtown area, is pretty good. Each of the major buses comes by every 20 minutes, and costs 50 cents for a trip anywhere on its route. The 522 bus runs between the downtown and the Facultad de Quimica. It's almost as fast as a taxicab, which would cost about $3 or $4 (U.S.). Any of us at the University takes the bus everywhere without thinking about it.”
We were about to taste the Uruguayan parrillada compleada, which was much better than the Argentine version because Uruguayan beef was better. At least this was the Uruguayan version of the story. And we were going to have a uniquely Uruguayan varietal red wine made from the Tannat grape.
A huge platter of cow parts came to the table. Suzanne selected lomo, the filet mignon of South American beef, and pieces of a few of the other types of steaks for her contribution to eating the enormous platter of meat. I took some of each of the steaks, the sweetbreads (“molleja de res” or just “molleja”), and the sausage (chorizo). I passed on the other grilled cow innards available on the platter, including liver, kidney, heart, intestines, blood sausage, and I'm not sure what. A dish of chimichurri, which accompanied the meat, was the only condiment served. This green herbal suspension contains a lot of olive oil, garlic, parsley, and vinegar, and small amounts of a few other herbs. Since the meat was bland except for some added salt, I used quite a bit of the garlicky chimichurri, which I liked a lot, with the meat. We had a lettuce and tomato salad as a side dish and a strange little cold salad called Ensalada Rusa ("Russian salad") of potatoes, carrots, and green peas with mayonnaise that was actually pretty good.
The tannat wine was a very pleasant surprise. The French use tannat grapes in very small doses (5% typically) for blending to add tannin and a deep purple color to their red wines. Uruguayan winemakers have developed it as a 100% varietal that has a strong fruity flavor and an intense dark red color. I found the Stegnari tannat wine we had much like the malbec wines in Argentina and Chile, but with a more intense fruit flavor and enough tannin to taste like a good California wine.
The discussion over dinner was dominated by shoptalk, mostly in Spanish. I could follow the conversation but had little to contribute. When the group realized that I was expected to entertain myself all day without Suzanne they made several suggestions about what I should see and do, including visiting the Currau winery in Cannelones, just outside of Montevideo, and several museums, especially the Blanes Art Museum, in various parts of the city. I already had two appointments scheduled for tomorrow, lunch with Columbo and the 7 PM art show at the Maritime Museum with Suzanne. I also wanted to visit the U.S. Embassy in Montevideo to check in and let them know that we were here as visitors. I thought, naively as it turned out, this could serve as a special type of travel insurance that seemed appropriate in our current potentially high-risk assignment as detectives.
That night, as we went to bed, Suzanne seemed unusually thoughtful.
“What’s going on?” I asked as sympathetically as I could.
“I’m not sure. I think it has to do with seeing the dead body this morning, but I’m suddenly thinking about my own mortality. Roger, do you ever think about having a house full of kids?”
“Yes, I do. I’ve thought about it since the first time I met you. For me a full house would be two or three kids.”
“Two or three would work for me. I’m also suddenly very aware that my biological clock is ticking. I’m tenured now. Do you think it's time for us to do more than just think about it?”
“Let’s come back to this conversation when it’s less morbid. How about in a few days when we’re on a real vacation? In the meantime, let’s think long and hard about what we really want. It's probably exactly the same thing.”
We got settled in bed.
"Hey, Suzanne, what did the three little empanadas say to the Mommy empanada when she told them to eat all their vegetables?"
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"We can't possibly eat any more, Mommy. We're stuffed!"
Chapter3. A Day On My Own in Montevideo
This morning was for sleeping in, till almost 8. There was a steady drizzle and a gray sky, so the idea of a run was unappealing. Suzanne was expected at the Facultad de Quimica by 9:30, with her lecture scheduled for 10. She checked the PowerPoint slides on her computer and her envelope full of papers and reprints, and was ready to go by 8:45. We planned to meet at the hotel at 6, allowing us plenty of time to get to the Maritime Museum for the art show.
Our taxi dropped Suzanne off at the Facultad de Quimica while I went across the street to see what the inside of the Palacio Legislativo looked like.
The Legislative Palace is the Uruguayan equivalent of the U.S. Congress. It's
where the two chambers of the Uruguayan parliament meet in a turn-of-the-century marble building. The floor of the main hall, called “Salón de los Pasos Perdidos” (literally, “The room of the lost steps”) is made of Uruguayan granite. The reception room has a gold leaf ceiling and contains portraits of some of the country’s heroes and leaders and paintings depicting episodes of Uruguayan history. Well-dressed men with expensive haircuts, obviously politicians, stood around the huge main hall talking. I overheard part of one conversation between two of the movers and shakers who had their heads very close together. One was a well-barbered man in his 60s who looked like a successful politician. The other was younger, probably went to the same barber, and looked like an up and coming politician. I couldn't understand every word because they were speaking so softly and my Spanish isn't that good, but clearly they were talking about the murder of the Ambivalent Corpse.
There were guided tours, with an English-speaking guide available on request, every hour starting at 9:30. I joined the first tour. The Palace featured large rooms with ornate chandeliers hanging from high ceilings. Granite and marble were everywhere. The politicians lived well, even in a poor country of only 3.5 million people like Uruguay. The guide explained everything well, filled in a lot of history and anecdotes about the individuals in the paintings, and thoroughly entertained our bilingual tour group for our half-hour tour.
I asked the guide, "Who are those two men over there talking to one another?" while pointing at the two guys I had overheard talking about the murder.
The guide, a middle-aged woman, looked very frightened as she told me, "One of them is a Senator from Maldonado and the other is a representative from the same part of our country. Both of them are from one of our right wing political parties."
She rapidly, and obviously, changed the subject to point out yet another painting on the wall to our group. She carefully avoided me for the rest of the tour and afterwards.
Next stop was the US Embassy. After a long taxicab ride, I arrived by 10:30 at an ugly, fenced, fortified embassy that was a tribute to State Department paranoia. At reception (a separate concrete building about 100 feet from the actual embassy) all visitors went through a metal detector and had to leave any electronic devices (cell phones, PDAs, translators). Entry to the main building was through ultra-heavy doors. Immediately inside was another screening area.
My escort told me (in Spanish, interestingly enough), "Take a seat. Someone will come to get you soon. We're here to serve U.S. citizens, as you know, and we'll be extra sure to take very special care of you."
About an hour later nothing had happened and I was still just sitting there, getting more and more frustrated. I was getting up to leave when my person finally showed up.
She said rather abruptly, "We've been expecting you. No one told me that you were here. Fill out this form and give it to one of the staff behind the glass partitions."
Conspicuous by its absence was even a token, "I'm sorry you had to wait so long."
The form asked for my name, home address, passport number, local contact information, reason for visit, and duration of stay. The rudeness of manner and lack of consideration permeated the embassy staff, many of whom cowered behind bulletproof glass partitions as they did their jobs ever so slowly and inefficiently. Long lines waited for their turn to hand in meaningless paperwork like I had just filled out that could all have been more efficiently prepared and submitted on-line via the internet. The service was even worse for the Uruguayans than for the American visitors. I checked Suzanne and me in as American citizens visiting Uruguay as tourists. The Embassy staff person behind the glass wall assured me once again they were here to serve U.S. citizens like us, a message delivered with all the sincerity of a $3 bill.
The original embassy, a large concrete building protected with a large fence, was later expanded all of the way south to the Rambla. The expansion increased its security perimeter while making it even more ugly. Two blocks from the embassy I could catch a bus that would take me downtown for my lunch date. I waited at the stop, looking back towards the embassy. Directly across the street, between the bus stop and the embassy, was a building wall with sprayed graffiti: “Peligro! A 100 mts, Bastion Terroristas!” obviously referring to our embassy. It’s amazing how bad a job of PR our State Department does in a friendly nation.
I got to the designated restaurant for my lunch date with Lieutenant Gonzalez on time and went inside. The room was small and the Lieutenant easy to find in a booth at the back. We shook hands and I sat down at his table.
“Suzanne isn’t here with you?” he asked.
“No, she had to spend the entire day with her colleagues at the university. It’s just me today.”
“Good. First, let’s decide what we want to eat for lunch, which I will let you buy for both of us since you are a well-off tourist from the United States. Then we can discuss business.”
The lieutenant chose meat, as Uruguayans call beef, for his lunch. There is no "other meat", white or red, in the minds of Uruguayans. He ordered the lomo. There was no surprise there. I thought this was a good time for me to try “the other white meat” for a change, so I ordered an appetizer of Jamon Crudo, cured ham similar to Italian Prosciutto. The thinly sliced ham was served with garlic toast and was delicious. For the main course I had an interesting dish made from rolled pork stuffed with prunes and baked in the oven. This was served with the ubiquitous lettuce and tomato salad and applesauce. We shared a bottle of agua con gas and an undistinguished Uruguayan Cabernet Sauvignon.
“Well, back to business,” said the lieutenant with his characteristic efficiency after our meal was served and the waiter left our table. “Has anything happened that I should know about since yesterday afternoon?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” I answered. I told him about our dropping into the bar in the Old City, our discussion with the bartender, and our invitation to the art show at the museum this evening. “This could be nothing, or they may try to sell us something at the show, but it seems worth an hour or two to see whether anything interesting happens there.”
“I agree,” said the Lieutenant. “I must remind you again to be careful. Will Suzanne be going there with you?”
“Yes”.
“Then you must remember to be doubly careful!” he told me.
“How about your investigation?” I asked him, letting him hear some curiosity in my voice. “Is there anything new from your end that you can tell us?”
“Yes, there are a couple of things. First, I should tell you that I have a good friend on the Los Angeles police force that gave you a very strong recommendation. So it seems my instincts were good yesterday. I also noted that your passports were stamped for entry and exit into Argentina several months ago, so you may be a bit less naïve about the Mercosur region than the usual tourists who come to Montevideo from the USA. Second, Interpol thinks they have identified the body you found. She is a most interesting murder victim. There was not a high enough quality set of fingerprints in their files to be 100% sure, but with a probability of about 98.5% she is Maria Fajao, a Paraguayan citizen of German descent originally from the city of São Miguel do Oeste in Santa Caterina, the German speaking province of Brazil. What makes her interesting is that Interpol has her partial fingerprints on file because they suspect her of being an agent of the Israeli Government. I have thought about your travel plans and have some very specific suggestions to make.”
He pulled out a map and traced out a route for us to drive from Montevideo to Iguazu Falls and Paraguay that passed through Sao Miguel do Oeste. “This will be a lot of driving for the two of you and will probably take at least a week, but it could be very worthwhile. Your itinerary will include parts of Uruguay, Brazil, and Paraguay that few tourists get to see and may allow you to participate in bringing some very bad people to justice for their crime."
With the hint of a small smile he imitated a travel agent trying to sell an expensive packaged tour to a hesitant client. "You'll
experience the life of the modern day gaucho in rural Uruguay, the primitive natural forests of Eastern Paraguay, the most spectacular waterfalls in the world, and several border towns with duty-free shopping.”
The lieutenant continued, “I’d like to see you and Suzanne one more time before you go. I can arrange your car rental and insurance for you even though you will have to pay for it. You'll both need visas to enter Brazil as U.S. citizens. I can take care of that and save you $200 as my contribution to your budget for the trip. I'll give you a few names of good people along the way that you may go to in an emergency. I'll also give you the name of my counterpart in Paraguay who you absolutely must meet. I hope your invitation tonight will result in your receiving a similar list of the names of bad people for you to meet ‘accidentally on purpose’ in your personas as right wing Americans.
"Let’s meet for breakfast at your hotel tomorrow morning. I'll bring your rental car and its paperwork at 9 AM. I thought about offering you a pistol, but that's a terrible idea since you will cross several national borders where you might be searched. You can start your trip up Route 5 tomorrow morning, which will give you plenty of time to play cowboy in Florida. At this time of year there's no real tourism in Uruguay outside of Montevideo, so you can make this entire trip without reservations. We'll meet again when you return to Montevideo, and I would very much like for you to meet my family at that time.”
