Requiem for a Killer

by Paulo Levy

  Dulce smiled. And bigheartedly took in the cat, the cage and the two finches.

  *

  When he woke up on Monday morning Marina Rivera’s situation still weighed heavily on his conscience. He got up early and was at her room in the hospital before eight. There was no one there.

  “Do you know what happened to the patient in room 35, ma’am?”

  “She passed away early this morning. She didn’t make it.”

  Dornelas looked at the floor obviously upset. The nurse tried to comfort him.

  “I’m very sorry, sir. But if you want to you can still see her at the wake.

  “Where?”

  “Right here in the hospital, in the chapel. The entrance is from the street. Go out the main door and turn right.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  Disconsolate, Dornelas dragged himself to the chapel and walked into a room full of people. Local authorities and private citizens were spread around in small groups, speaking in subdued tones. The wooden casket, placed on two metal stands, was surrounded by countless funeral wreathes.

  Visibly shaken, Dornelas approached the casket and looked at Marina’s pale face, her eyes closed, her delicate hands crossed over her chest, and felt a hand touch his shoulder.

  “Joaquim, how are you?”

  He turned around and stuck out his hand to the boss.

  “Hanging in there, sir.”

  “Let’s talk outside.”

  Amarildo led him to the sidewalk, far enough away so that no nosy meddler could hear them.

  “I heard it was you who found her on the bathroom floor.”

  Dornelas nodded, and before his boss could say anything else he quickly began to explain.

  “She called me to talk about Peixe Dourado.”

  “Nildo Borges’ company.”

  “That’s right. A couple of days ago we had a conversation and I asked her to look for covert company documents. Maybe ‘ask’ is putting it too mildly. More like I intimidated her and offered her a plea bargain if she supplied proof of the existence of a slush fund in Peixe Dourado.”

  “Why did you do that without checking with me?”

  “Everything leads me to believe that the company is involved in a drug dealing operation with some local fishermen. It was the strategy I decided to adopt.”

  “And it didn’t work out. Marina Rivera is dead in there because of it.”

  Dornelas didn’t answer. He didn’t need his boss to remind him of the tragic outcome of his decision.

  “Do you know if she found anything that can back your suspicions?”

  “Not yet. But I’m looking.”

  They were both silent for a few seconds, the boss biting his lips while he thought.

  “But I follow your line of thinking,” Amarildo decided. “José Aristodemo dos Anjos would be the distributor of these drugs.”

  “Exactly. I discovered that the pick-up truck that hijacked him from his sister’s house belongs to the Doorman.”

  “So that settles it; a classic drug war for control of the territory.”

  “That’s what puzzles me. According to Maria das Graças’ neighbor, a retired electrician who used to hook up some hot wire connections for the Doorman and some of his cronies, getting rid of someone with insulin just isn’t his style. I believe he wasn’t who ordered the hit, although his people may have done the job at the request of a third party who has some kind of connection to him. It’s this third person I’m looking for.”

  “Do you have a suspect?”

  “Wilson, Nildo Borges’ brother. He doesn’t formally work at the company but he has an office there from where manages a large number of failed businesses that need injections of cash every month. According to Nildo, they both take home the same amount from the company every month, which leads me to believe that it’s this money that’s covering the expenses of these enterprises.”

  “But you have doubts about your suspicion. Why?”

  “It’s too obvious, too simple to be true.”

  “A crime doesn’t have to be complicated to be a crime.”

  “I agree. But in that case, there’s still something behind it that intrigues me.”

  “And do you think the attack at your house has something to do with this too?”

  “I don’t see any other explanation.”

  His boss stuck out his hand and said:

  “Joaquim, I have complete trust in you, but don’t leave me in the dark. My ass is on the line just as much as yours.”

  Dornelas got the message and didn’t try to refute it. He shook the outstretched hand and watched as his boss left the wake.

  Inside, Nildo detached himself from a small group and went over to greet the inspector accompanied by someone following right behind him.

  “This is Augusto Rivera, Marina’s brother,” said the councilman.

  “I’m very, very, sorry,” said Dornelas, as he shook Augusto’s hand and felt the limp shake of a man with his nerves in tatters. “Have you decided where she’s going to be buried?”

  “I offered my family plot,” Nildo interjected.

  “Since my sister chose to live here I don’t see any reason to bury her anywhere else.” And then all of a sudden, becoming very agitated, Marina’s brother blurted out urgently to Dornelas, “You have to catch the monster that did this, sir.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Rest assured that the City Council will contribute with whatever’s necessary to make that happen,” added Nildo.

  Dornelas looked at the councilman and once again saw the slippery politician he had met with Marina Rivera.

  “Excuse me.” He shook both their hands and left.

  *

  Dornelas arrived at the precinct a little after ten. A line of reporters was waiting anxiously for him outside the door.

  “Inspector, does Marina Rivera’s death have anything to do with the Mangrove Crime?” asked one of them, pen and notebook in hand.

  Differently from the other times, when he simply ignored the press and went straight to his office – especially in this case because everything had to first be screened by City Hall - Dornelas stopped. Aware that an opportunity had just fallen into his lap, he decided to answer. As soon as he stopped and turned half a dozen reporters flocked around him.

  “We still haven’t been able to establish that connection.”

  But when another reporter was about to ask him a question he added,

  “But we can’t ignore the possibility. That’s it for now. Thank you.”

  And he went inside, satisfied he had whetted the press’s appetite without revealing anything. His statement was aimed at a very specific target: Nildo Borges. Dornelas wanted to show the councilman he wasn’t kidding about the promises they had made. Either Nildo presented his proof by tomorrow or the press would force him into it, with the additional cost of being a suspect in a murder and drug trafficking case added to his résumé, no doubt resulting in the premature end to his political career.

  “Any messages?” he asked Marilda as soon as he walked in the door.

  “Not yet.”

  Deep inside he was thankful. After such an unusual and hectic weekend the last thing he needed was to begin Monday going full speed.

  “Has Solano arrived yet?”

  “Yes. And he was looking for you.”

  The inspector entered the hallway that led to the detectives’ offices. Solano was already in his, banging away at the computer keyboard.

  “Good morning,” he said walking in the door.

  “Good morning, sir. How was your Sunday?”

  That was when Dornelas realized that he hadn’t had time yet to fully digest everything that had happened in the case and in his personal life over the last two days.

  “Turbulent,” he answered cryptically.

  “Want to know what I found out?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Guess what kind of work Mr. ...” – Solano looked down at a piece of pa
per on his desk – “Jordevino Almeida does, besides being a fisherman and the owner of the boat Cê Que Sabe?”

  “He’s a bricklayer. He’s who sealed up the door in Dona Maria das Graças’ bedroom, right?”

  Solano pouted, like a child who’d just had his favorite candy stolen at school.

  “How did you know that?”

  Dornelas didn’t answer. He wanted to let the conclusion he’d just reached sink in in silence.

  “But there is something I don’t know that maybe you can tell me. When did he do it?”

  “The day before the crime.”

  “That’s what I figured. Go get Maria das Graças. I want to talk to her ASAP.

  “Right away, sir.”

  Solano closed down his computer, picked up his badge and gun from the top of the desk and left.

  Chapter 16

  “I can put you behind bars for lying in your statement,” said Dornelas, sitting behind his desk.

  “What are you talkin’ about, Inspector?” replied Maria das Graças with feigned surprise in her eyes. She was sitting in one of the visitors chairs on the other side of the desk, her purse clutched in her hands on her lap.

  “I know that the client who was with you when they nabbed your brother was not Raimundo Tavares.”

  “Sure it was. You spoke to Raimundo. He confirmed my story.”

  “He did, but he didn’t convince me. Those are two very different things. I’ll try to put it more clearly so you can understand.”

  Dornelas got up and began to wander aimlessly around the room. He continued:

  “That chair you’re sitting in has a name; I call it the Chair of Truth, or Lies, depending on your point of view. Everybody who sits in it comes up with an incredible story, each one more amazing than the one before. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard here.”

  Maria das Graças stiffened in her seat. Dornelas went on:

  “The power of that chair is incredible. While sitting in it people forget important details, or make up new versions, or even tell me some story that someone else asked them to memorize. But what they’re not able to do is convince me they’re telling the truth. Are you with me so far?”

  “Yes, sir,” she murmured.

  “Excellent. There’s something very interesting in movies, the seventh art, that I’m a big fan of. It’s the pleasure some directors feel when they find an actor with the perfect build and the talent to play a particular role. The French call it physique du role. I’ll give you an example: take that American actor, Harrison Ford, he convinced everybody playing Indiana Jones. But can you imagine Tom Selleck, TV’s ‘Magnum’, as Indiana Jones after having seen Harrison Ford in that role, wearing that hat, holding that whip?”

  Maria das Graças shook her head.

  “Well, in fact Magnum was the director’s first choice for the role.”

  She didn’t move an inch in her chair.

  “What I’m trying to say here is that Raimundo Tavares, despite being a very good actor – so good he was able to stay out of the official City Council investigation – did not convince me in the role of your client on the night your brother was killed. I just don’t buy it, you know what I mean?”

  Maria das Graças lowered her eyes as if to examine her shoes.

  “It’s not easy to convince me. Like I said, I like the movies, not just the story lines, I love the performances of the actors, the subtleties, the ability that some of them have to get so deep into the role that you begin to think you’re watching a documentary. I say this because you also didn’t convince me when you stated that the work in your bedroom had been done after your brother’s death.”

  She raised her eyes and stared at him in fear.

  “Mr. Jordevino Almeida did the work the day before the crime,” Dornelas went on. “And what’s more, you didn’t even pay for it, someone else did.”

  “Don’t do this, sir. He’ll kill me.”

  “No he won’t. We’ll deal with him. I just want to know why didn’t you tell me your client that night was Wilson Borges?”

  “He promised he’d kill my mother and me if either of us ever said anythin’ to the cops.”

  “The cops are not the press. It’s not our job to print the names of your clients so people can read them in the paper.”

  “The guy is crazy, sir, a maniac.” She covered her face with her hands and began to sob gently. “The worst thing can happen to a woman in my business is to have her client fall in love with her. It’s a disaster. Lots of men confuse the tenderness we show them in bed with real love. It was like that with Wilson, he fell madly in love with me.”

  “Explain that.”

  “He’d call me all times of day sayin’ he loved me, that I was the woman of his dreams. Came a time it bothered me so much I didn’t answer his calls anymore.”

  “But you did answer, that’s why he went to your house that night.”

  “Cause I asked him to. I wanted to talk to him about his bein’ obsessed, tell him what he was feelin’ had no future, that I’m a prostitute, that I see lots of clients... It was like talking to a kid in school in love with his teacher. The guy just didn’t get it.”

  “And the way you got him to understand was to go to bed with him one more time?”

  She nodded and lowered her eyes again.

  “It was the only way to calm him down,” she said quietly, almost whispering.

  Dornelas left her in silence for a few seconds.

  “When did you see him last?”

  “That same night. Soon’s they took my brother I got out of bed to see what was happenin’. When I opened the door and found the syringe on the ground, Wilson was already dressed and half way out the door. But first he stuck his finger in my face and told me not to say anythin’ about him bein’ with me to the cops. He said he’d kill me and left.”

  “Did he threaten you again after that?”

  “No, never again.”

  Maria das Graças was watching him fearfully, waiting for Dornelas to say something.

  “Why did you faint when I told you the lab had found insulin in the syringe?”

  “My brother’s disease was almost a secret at home, somethin’ we didn’t talk about, not even between us. Dindinho thought it made him look weak, that his enemies could like use it against him. That’s why he said we shouldn’t say anythin’ about his condition to anyone.”

  “But apparently you did tell someone outside the family, just the one.”

  “Wilson Borges.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s a diabetic too. It came up once when we were talkin’.”

  “But that doesn’t make him your brother’s killer.”

  “No, it don’t.”

  “Although the fact that he has access to a large quantity of insulin makes me suspect him,” Dornelas said, thinking out loud. “On the other hand, he could have told someone else, who then used the information to kill your brother.”

  She nodded nervously while rubbing her hands together.

  “Would you like a glass of water?”

  “Please.”

  Dornelas sat down in his chair again, picked up the phone and dialed three numbers.

  “Marilda, please bring two glasses of water to my office, but bring them yourself.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  And he hung up. He didn’t want to be interrupted by Solano’s long looks at Maria das Graças’ cleavage.

  “Do you want to stop for a while?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Good. Did you know that the car that took your brother belongs to the Doorman?”

  Looking down, she shook her head.

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did your brother do business with the Doorman?”

  “Not that I know of. But like I already told you, I didn’t know much about my brother’s business. He’d go down his hole during the day and only come out when he was good and ready to.”
<
br />   A light knock on the door and Marilda came in with two glasses of ice water on a tray. She put one down in front of each of them and started to leave.

  “Thanks, Marilda.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  They both drank.

  “Who do you suspect of killing your brother?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  Dornelas waited a bit in hopes that she would offer some new information. Faced with her silence, he decided to end the conversation:

  “Very well. If I need to talk to you again I’ll ask you to come back in.”

  “Anytime, Inspector. Just don’t tell anyone about Wilson Borges. I’m scared of him, I really am.”

  “Don’t worry. Like I said, we’ll deal with him.”

  Dornelas got up to open the door and saw for the first time that Maria das Graças was exhausted.

  “The next time you see Raimundo Tavares tell him to expect an indictment for giving false testimony.”

  “You tell him.”

  The inspector shut the door as soon as she went out.

  *

  Dornelas went back to his desk and drank the rest of the water in his glass. He felt restless. He got up and went to Solano’s office. He needed to digest out loud the conversation he had just had.

  “Want some coffee?” he asked the detective.

  “Not right now. But I’ll keep you company.”

  They went to the lunchroom and Dornelas poured himself some coffee. He was glad to see steam coming from the cup, a sign that the coffee had been freshly brewed. He didn’t feel like drinking the mid-morning leftover coffee in the thermos, lukewarm and bitter. He sugared and stirred it.

  “The conversation with Dona Maria das Graças was enlightening,” he said, before sipping from the cup.

  “How so?” asked Solano.

  “She didn’t expect us to discover when the job in her bedroom was done.”

  “And how did she take it?”

  “She seemed surprised, but when I said someone else had paid for it her eyes really opened wide in fright. From there it was easy to deduce that it was Wilson who was with her the night of the crime.”