The circulation of the newspaper, that day, reached an alltime high. Pundits accredited the spectacular newsstand sales to the high degree of interest in the case.
Arnaldo Nunes accredited them to purchases made by Sampaio himself.
Silva wasn’t surprised that the Director had snatched the credit; he was surprised when Sampaio summoned him to demand a detailed accounting of every aspect of the case. Sampaio loathed detail.
“I’ve been invited,” the Director said, “to dine with the Minister of Justice. Telling him stuff he can read in a newspaper isn’t going to cut it. I need some tidbits to go with the coffee and dessert.” He picked up his Mont Blanc ballpoint. “Start talking.”
“Samuel Arns signed a full confession,” Silva said.
Sampaio started scratching away, taking notes.
“He did, did he?” he said, without looking up. “When?”
“Less than an hour ago.”
“Good. That’s good. Hold it back from the press until tomorrow morning. What about his accomplice, that Pitanguy woman? Is she talking?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter. We recovered the weapon she used to kill the maids. Her fingerprints are all over it. Arns’s prints aren’t—and he says Vitória did it. We don’t need any more than that.”
“What if she says he did it?”
“Before Juraci used the pistol, there were two bullets missing from the magazine. In her home, on the day of the kidnapping, she heard two shots just before Arns injected her with the Ketamine. She’ll testify to that.”
“Good. Too bad there’s no death penalty in this country.”
“True.”
“But let’s look at the bright side. That Pitanguy bitch will get thirty years at least.”
“Not that long, I’m afraid.”
“No? Why not?”
“Her lawyer is Dudu Fonseca.”
Sampaio tossed down his pen in disgust.
“Fonseca? That shyster? What’s with that? Pitanguy worked in a pharmacy. She’s nothing more than a glorified shop girl. Where does she get the money to hire a heavyweight like Fonseca?”
“Juraci shot her twice in the spine. She’s paralyzed from the waist down; she’ll never walk again.”
“So?”
“So Vitória’s bringing a civil suit against Juraci. She and Fonseca are discussing how they’re going to split the proceeds. He wants half; she’s offering him a third.”
“How do you know that?”
Silva didn’t reply.
“Are you listening in on conversations between Vitória Pitanguy and her lawyer?”
“That would be illegal, Director, a violation of attorney/client privilege.”
“It sure as hell would. But it’s a juicy story. I’m gonna use it.”
“If you go public with that information—”
Sampaio picked up his pen. “I’m not going public with it. I’m going to talk about it at a dinner, that’s all.”
“Still, if it gets out—”
Sampaio waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not going to get out. And, even if it does, can they prove you’re bugging them? No, they can’t.”
“I’m not concerned about—”
“Am I not making myself clear, Chief Inspector? I’m going to use it, and that’s it. Fim do papo. You think she’ll win?”
Silva gave up trying to talk his boss out of divulging the information. “Win her civil suit? Yes, I think it’s likely.”
“And that prick Fonseca thinks so too, otherwise he wouldn’t be wasting his time talking to her. So the money to pay for Vitória’s defense is ultimately going to come from the Artist?”
“Ultimately, it is.”
Sampaio snorted in disgust. “It’s not right.”
“No. Not right.”
“Couldn’t you just …”
“What?”
“You know.”
“Claim Vitória got shot while resisting arrest?”
“You said it. I didn’t.”
Silva shook his head.
“It wouldn’t wash. Vitória was shot with her own pistol, which proves she was unarmed at the time. Also, she was shot in the back. If we made a claim like that, Fonseca would make mincemeat out of us. No, Director, I’m afraid it’s Juraci, or us.”
“Too bad for her then, because it certainly isn’t going to be us. Take me through Arns’s story. Start right at the beginning. Maybe there’s something else I can use.”
Silva took a moment to gather his thoughts, then began.
“One morning, about eight months ago, things were slow at the pharmacy, and Vitória dropped by Arns’s shop to have a chat. Somehow, they got on the subject of Juraci. Arns told Vitória how she was always firing her servants, changing her locks. From there, they started gossiping about her son, how there was a rumor he was going to be sold to Real Madrid, how much money he’d earned over the last few years.”
“So that’s when they started thinking about how they could get their hooks into some of it?”
“Not right then. But Vitória kept thinking about it, and a few days later, she hit Samuel with a ‘what if.’”
“What if we kidnap the Artist’s mother and hold her for ransom?”
“Exactly. At first, he said, he thought she was joking.”
“But, when he found out she wasn’t, he bought into it.”
“According to him, he did’t. According to him, he put up objections.”
“Like?”
“What if someone got hurt? What if he and Vitória were recognized? What if Juraci fought back and needed to be subdued? How would they go about collecting the ransom?”
“And she kept coming up with answers?”
“He said they made a game of it. But every time they played it, the game became more serious. Eventually, he said, a plan emerged: on one of the occasions when she changed her locks, he’d make up an extra set. That would give them access to her house. No one was supposed to get hurt. They’d use hoods so they wouldn’t be recognized. They’d subdue her with a sedative. Vitória said she’d have no trouble getting her hands on a drug made to order for the job: Ketamine. Where they got hung up, and hung up for quite a while, was how they could collect the money without getting caught.”
“Until?”
“Until one day Edson Campos came into Vitória’s pharmacy and started singing the praises of carrier pigeons. She recognized the potential immediately, but she also recognized that the pigeons wouldn’t be able to carry cash. It would be too heavy.”
“So she hit on the idea of diamonds?”
“She did.”
“And Samuel ran out of objections.”
“Actually, he did’t. His biggest objection remained. He was petrified by the idea of getting caught. But she kept wearing him down. She wrote away for travel folders, showed him ads for gold watches and sports cars, painted a life of luxury and eternal bliss. And, finally, his greed got the better of him.”
“So they started trying to find someone to buy the stones, and that bicheiro, Captain Miranda, heard about it, and he got in touch with you.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Samuel said they never consulted anyone.”
“So what did Miranda intend to tell you?”
“We’ll never know. Whatever it was, it would have been a false lead, a dead end.”
“So no one else was involved in the kidnapping? Just those two?”
“Just those two.”
“Who evaluated the stones?”
“Samuel.”
“He’s a locksmith. What does he know about diamonds?”
“He studied up on diamonds, learned enough to make sure they weren’t grossly cheated and bought the equipment he’d need to do it: a jeweler’s loupe, reference books, a set of scales, a hardness kit, a light box for grading, and God knows what else. We found it all when we searched his house.”
“And to convert the diamonds to cash? How were they going to do that?�
��
“Samuel’s parents are German. He’s got dual nationality. He and Vitória planned to marry. As husband and wife, they could live anywhere in the European Economic Community.”
“And sell a few stones at a time?”
“A few in London, a few in Paris, a few in Rome. They thought they could go on forever. When we caught them, they’d already sewn most of the stones into clothing they’d be taking with them.”
“Most?”
“Some were lost in transit. A bird of prey attacked one of the pigeons. Some were stolen by the caseiro of the sitio where they kept the birds. Those we recovered. A few Vitória sold for seed money.”
“Seed money?”
“The cash they’d need to set them up in their new life.”
“Who did she sell them to?”
“Samuel doesn’t know, and she won’t tell us. She’s not talking to us about anything.”
“The jeweler in Riberão Preto tipped us off. How come the same didn’t happen in São Paulo?”
“Samuel’s a handy fellow. He bought gold, made rings, mounted the diamonds before she sold them. He says she planned to offer only one ring to each jeweler, and to claim it was a present from her ex-husband.”
“Why don’t we just canvas all the shops?”
“We’re working on it, but we haven’t got our hopes up. Samuel says they realized very little from the sales. That’s probably an indication the jewelers thought the rings were stolen. I don’t expect them to come clean.”
“So how much is the Artist out of pocket? How much did it cost him?”
“In Reais, about two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“That’s small change for him. He probably thinks he got off cheap.”
“In fact, he does. His girlfriend, Cintia, is more concerned about the money than he is.”
“Because she’s already looking at what’s his as hers?”
“Probably.”
“Tell me about the day it happened. How did it go down?”
“Pretty much as Lefkowitz hypothesized it did. They got to Juraci’s at four-thirty in the morning, cut the telephone wires and went to the kitchen door. Samuel had the flashlight. Vitória had to put her reading glasses on to get the key into the lock, so she took off her hood. She planned to put it on again as soon as they were inside, but—”
“—but there was one of the maids, standing at the sink, getting a glass of water.”
“Correct. It was Clara, the younger sister. She dropped the glass and started screaming. Vitória pulled out a pistol. Samuel says it came as a surprise. He didn’t know she’d brought it.”
“You think he’s lying?”
“No, I don’t. He doesn’t seem like the bloodthirsty type.”
“But she is?”
“Oh, yes, Director, she’s definitely the bloodthirsty type.”
“What happened next?”
“Juraci’s dog came running in and sunk her teeth into Samuel’s ankle. Vitória stamped on it and killed it. Then she sent Samuel to find Clara’s sister.”
“Which he did?”
Silva nodded. “Hiding in a wardrobe cupboard. He pulled her out, and forced her into the kitchen. Vitória made her kneel on the floor and sent Samuel upstairs to subdue Juraci.”
“She must have been awake by then, what with all the racket they were making downstairs.”
“She was. She locked the bedroom door, but it was flimsy. Samuel had no problem breaking in. He was going for her with the syringe when he heard the shots. Up until that moment, he said, the thought that the sisters might be in danger never entered his head.”
“You believe that?”
“Actually, I do.”
“I don’t. I don’t think a jury will either. And then?”
“He threw Juraci on the bed and injected the Ketamine. She fought back. He tossed the syringe aside so he could use both hands to immobilize her. Vitória told him she’d be unconscious in thirty seconds, but it took longer. So long, he began to believe the drug wasn’t working. It made him nervous. So nervous, he forgot to pick up the syringe when she finally passed out.”
“So now the maids are dead and Juraci’s unconscious. And then?”
“They bundled Juraci into their car. Vitória waited behind the wheel while Samuel locked the door and smashed it with a sledgehammer.”
“To make it appear as if that was the way they got in.”
“Exactly. The noise woke the neighbor, Rodolfo Sá. Samuel had just remembered that he’d left the syringe in Juraci’s bedroom when he saw Sá’s light go on. He assumed Sá was going to call the security people.”
“Did he?”
“No. But Samuel didn’t know that, so instead of going back for the syringe, he made a dash for the car. Less than ten minutes later they had Juraci under lock and key.”
“Where she stayed until we broke in and rescued her?”
We. Sampaio believed in his own press releases.
“And that’s it,” Silva said. “That’s the whole story. It was, as we suspected in the very beginning, all about money. No other motive.”
“When did they decide to murder her?”
“I think Vitória had it in mind since the beginning.”
“Arns tell you that?”
“No. And I don’t think she told him, either. She would have known it would make him squeamish. But she kept working on him. Ultimately, he agreed. But I don’t think his heart was ever in it.”
“Juraci never realized that one of her captors was a woman?”
“She had her suspicions, but she was never really sure. Not until the very end.”
“How were they able to get their hands on the Ketamine?”
“Nothing easier. Vitória simply failed to enter the arrival of a shipment into the ledger. She paid for it with a personal check and fudged the bookkeeping.”
“Okay, let’s leave it at that. I figure I’ve got enough to talk my way through the whole damned dinner, if I have to. And all’s well that ends well.”
“Senhor?”
“Vitória and Samuel are going to get what’s coming to them. A bicheiro is dead. The filho da puta who sold the Artist to Real Madrid is dead. The Artist’s mother came out of it without a scratch. Her son is itching to kick Argentinean ass, which I have little doubt he will. The President of the Republic is happy. And I get to have dinner with the Minister of Justice. Don’t you think that, all in all, it worked out well for everyone concerned?”
Except, Silva thought, for two young women, shot to death as they kneeled in terror on a kitchen floor.
The Director was looking at him, waiting for a response to his question. Silva groped for something to say.
And then didn’t need one, because Sampaio’s telephone rang.
Author’s Notes
FOOTBALL (CALLED SOCCER IN the USA) is played by more people, in more places, than any other game in the world. The FIFA (Fédération Internationale de Football Association) the body that governs the sport internationally, is composed of 208 national associations, 16 more than there are countries represented in the United Nations, three more than in the International Olympic Committee.
The World Cup, a battle for the most-prized trophy in the history of sport, is played out every four years and always in a different country. In 2010, when the Cup was held in South Africa, 204 countries competed to fill 32 slots. Close to one billion people watched the final game live on television.
In 2014, for the first time in sixty years, the Cup will be held in Brazil, the only country to have participated in every Cup since its inception, and the only country to have won the trophy five times.
In Brazil, the kidnapping of a football star’s mother is, by no means, a rare occurrence. Three members of the Brazilian National Team who participated in the 2010 World Cup were so victimized (Robinho, Luis Fabiano and Grafite). All the players expressed their willingness to pay ransom, and all the victims were returned unharmed.
“The Artist
”, Tico Santos, is a fictional character and should in no way be confused with “The Phenomenon”, Ronaldo Luís Nazário de Lima, one of the greatest players the sport has ever produced. It’s true that Ronaldo, like Tico, has had a number of problems with women, and that he once married a top-model, who took him for a bundle and initiated divorce proceedings within a week—but that’s purely coincidental.
Some readers might find it difficult to accept that a judge might be forced to take refuge in his own courthouse. It is, nevertheless, true. My character, Pedro Cataldo, is based on Odilon de Oliveira, a Brazilian federal judge. Oliveira, who, in a given year, brought more organized crime figures to justice than any other judge in the country, was condemned to death by the criminal elements he was sentencing and, at the time of this writing, has spent fifteen months living in a court house in the town of Ponta Porã, close to the frontier between Brazil and Paraguay. Oliveria, 56 years old, sleeps on the floor of his office and is under constant guard by the Federal Police. The price on his head has risen to half a million dollars.
The jogo do bicho also exists. It’s an enormously popular illegal lottery, a feature of Brazilian life for over 100 years.
Here’s how the game works: the numbers between 0 and 100 are divided into 25 ascending number groups, each corresponding to a different animal. (In Portuguese, Jogo do bicho means “animal game”.)
Numbering begins begin with the ostrich (01, 02, 03 and 04) and ends with the cow (97, 98, 99 and 00).
Let’s suppose you bet on the ostrich. The following day, to discover if you’ve won or lost, you open a newspaper and check some previously stipulated (and totally unpredictable) number. It might be, for example, the last two numbers of the total volume of the previous day’s trading on Rio de Janeiro’s stock exchange.
If those numbers are 01, 02, 03 or 04, you’ve won—as has everyone else who played the ostrich.
You can buy your tickets at news vendors, in stores that sell cigarettes, from thousands of different locations—and also from people who sell them on the street.
You cash-in the same way.
A Vine in the Blood Page 24
