Okay, but is there a way to find out?
Look, I’ll talk to a friend of mine, a source in the Department of Justice. Maybe he’ll have a suggestion. I’ll get back to you, okay?
He washes the three days’ worth of dirty dishes piled up in the sink and then looks for something to eat. He hasn’t been shopping in days and doesn’t find anything nourishing in the kitchen except for a packet of peeled shrimp in the freezer. He thaws it and cooks the shrimp in salted water for a few minutes. He squeezes lime over them and eats them with the remains of a packet of crackers. He is doing the dishes again when his cell phone rings.
Hey, Gonça.
Hi. I talked to the guy.
What’d he say?
It’s like this, man. Let’s suppose it really was a police chief from Laguna. The guy may have started an inquest or not. If he did, he may have named a suspect or not. Sometimes there is no one to name, or sometimes an agreement is struck because there are important people involved, that kind of thing. Okay? At any rate, the police chief has to refer the inquest to the Department of Justice. The judge sends it to a public prosecutor even if there are no suspects. When there is a suspect, the prosecutor seeks an indictment. When there isn’t a suspect, he can either ask the investigators for further information or request that the case be archived, which is most likely in this nobody-knows, nobody-saw-it kind of crime. It’s the judge who makes the final decision.
Right. So you think it must have been archived straight off, then?
It’s most likely. If there was an inquest. So let’s consider this hypothesis. The guy had it archived. In 1969. So what happens forty years later? What matters now is that the case has two destinations. One copy has to go to the civil police archives. After twenty years the statute of limitations expires, and if no one has reopened it, the police send it to the state public archive. Right?
Right.
And another copy goes to the state court.
So all I have to do is go to those archives?
In theory, yes, but here’s the thing. The archives should be kept forever, but in some cases the states get authorization to have them incinerated because they take up a shitload of space. You’ll have to see what the story is in Santa Catarina. The upshot is that if there was an inquest and if it was correctly archived and if it hasn’t been incinerated or lost in the last forty years, you might find it — if you’re lucky and you look properly and talk to the right people.
Right. And…?
That’s it.
Okay.
Did you get it all?
I didn’t get anything, to be honest.
What part?
I dunno, I’ve already forgotten everything. I don’t know how you memorize all that crap. You’re a journalist. I’m dumb. Any chance you could e-mail it to me?
Fuck, man.
Sorry. It’s the state archive, right? Civil police.
Look…
Gonçalo thinks for a moment on the other end of the line.
Look, leave it with me. I know how to talk to these people. I’m snowed under covering the traffic department scandal here — have you seen what’s going on? They siphoned off forty-fucking-four million. It’s blowing up in the governor’s face — but as soon as I have a minute to breathe I’ll make a few calls and try to get something for you.
Great. Thanks. Thanks a lot, Gonça.
No problem. You’ve done me lots of favors. It’s my pleasure. I think I might even owe you money.
You don’t owe me anything.
I’m going to visit you there one of these days.
Do. Bring the girls.
Man, Valéria’s so big. You won’t believe it. And you should see her typing on a keyboard. It’s frightening.
Is she, what, seven now?
Six. But she’s like a little grown-up. She only acts like a kid when it’s convenient. What about you? I heard about your dad. That was pretty heavy shit. I didn’t find out until ages afterward. I’m really sorry.
Thanks. Everything’s fine. It was fucked up, but it’s over. You still swimming?
Me? Fuck no. Just smoking like a chimney and drinking nonstop. It’s over for me.
No, it isn’t. You just can’t allow yourself to fold, Gonça.
It’s too late for me. How’re you doing?
I’m great. I’m working at a gym here, I can swim in the ocean whenever I want, and I can keep to myself. I really want to see this thing with my granddad through.
But is there any special reason why you want to dredge it all up?
As he thinks about his reply, he looks at Beta, who is asleep on the living room rug, kicking her back paw, perhaps struggling to remain in a dream.
There is. But I don’t know how to explain it.
Did your dad ask you to?
No. Or maybe he did ask without asking. You know? Or maybe I just decided I had to know, and now I have to know.
Okay. Don’t sweat. We’ll find something.
Thanks, Gonça.
I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got something to tell. Take care there, swimmer.
You too.
• • •
The running group now has four members. The other three were brought by Sara. Denise, her best friend from the pharmacy, is overweight but has a lot of willpower and is immune to tiredness. Clóvis wears glasses and seems like an intellectual sort. He doesn’t know how to explain what he does for a living but he has a state-of-the-art watch with a heart-rate monitor and a GPS that costs several hundred dollars. Celma is a slender, elderly woman who runs a home bakery business specializing in banana and muesli pies and delivers her wares to her customers by bicycle. They all meet three times a week in front of the Embarcação Restaurant at seven in the morning with still-sleepy bodies and tight muscles. Sara always gets out of her car in the same way. She activates her car alarm and approaches the group with a focused, studied air, as if she cannot forget that she has an important part to play on a stage. By the time she has walked down the ramp, she is already in character. She loosens up, laughs with her eyes, and shakes her ponytail, clapping her hands and encouraging the group. Shall we go, then? Let’s shake a tail feather?
Clóvis says he woke up with a dwarf clinging to each leg. He grumbles that today isn’t going to be easy. He coordinates his students’ stretching, and Sara shows off her brand-new Asics running shoes filled with cushioning gel.
How’re your shins, Sara?
Much better!
She squats down and massages the muscles along her bones as he taught her.
They’re better, but they still hurt a bit.
Are you doing your exercises at the gym?
Yep.
Let’s take it slowly. You’re going to use this here today.
He shows her a watch with a heart-rate monitor and explains how she should position the chest strap right under her breasts.
Your mission today is to control your heart rate. Let’s keep it at a hundred and forty, okay? If it drops below that, you pick up the pace. If it passes, it you reduce it.
Can you give me a hand?
She shows him the strap. It appears to be in the right place.
What’s the problem?
Is this the right height?
He pushes it up a quarter of an inch.
There.
The ocean is choppy. Much of the sky is covered in clouds, but orange streaks indicate that the sun has just risen behind the hill. An enormous catamaran is anchored about five hundred yards from the beach with its sails down and its mast conducting the rise and fall of the waves. The group sets out running along the sand, slowly. Sara’s watch beeps. Her heart rate is already one hundred and fifty-five, and they slow their pace. Clóvis takes off ahead of the group. He lets him go. At the end of the beach, they take the road to Siriú, which has a short paved section and then is all dirt road and sand. A kid shoos chickens from the patio of a roadside hut. Every two or three minutes a car or motorbike goes past, and he insists that they all run single file along the edge of the road and keep an eye out on bends. Sara finds her pace, and Denise accompanies her, puffing loudly. Clóvis has left them all behind, and Celma, who has yet to build up her endurance, has started to tire. He tells the girls to go ahead and stays with Celma, alternating between running and walking. Celma says it is a blessing to live here and to be able to go for an early-morning jog in such a beautiful place. She says that God made her go through a lot before she arrived here. He encourages her, and she tells him her whole life story.