“Well,” said Mattos, “he came here to ask us to release one of his employees who’d been arrested for involvement in a scuffle. I didn’t know he was a numbers racketeer. By phone I requested the record of the prisoner and the two others involved in the dustup. Since all of them were first-time offenders and fighting is nothing, shouldn’t even be part of the penal code, and since the lockup was full, I decided to let everyone go. Soon after freeing the employee, who, I repeat, I didn’t know until then was a lawbreaker, he stuck his finger in my face and said, ‘I don’t want this to happen again, you hear?’ I asked the guard: ‘Do you know this gentleman?’ The guard answered in a respectful tone, ‘He’s Mr. Ilídio.’ That’s when I realized the guy was a bankroller for the numbers game. At that moment he turned to the guard and pointed to me and said: ‘That young guy has a lot to learn.’ I got irritated and kicked him and threw him in the holding pen. But he wasn’t there for long. I let him go early in the morning. I released his employee first.”
“You acknowledge assaulting Mr. Ilídio?”
“Yes. It was a mistake. I could charge him with a 231, disrespect of authority. I lost my head.”
“You know, then, that you committed the crime of unprovoked violence? Article 322, practicing violence in the exercise of office or the pretext of exercising it.”
“Yes.”
“Headquarters has established that suppression of the numbers game should be handled by Vice. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”
For the first time, Chief Ramos had the inspector in a situation of inferiority. The pleasure he felt showed on his face.
“You also violated Article 319, failure to perform an official act to satisfy personal interest or feeling. The term for that is malfeasance. As this is your first infraction,” continued the superintendent, “I’m inclined to overlook it. But I require more obedience on your part.”
“Malfeasance? Unprovoked violence? Look here, Ramos, do whatever you want. But spare me the sermons. You don’t have the moral standing for it.”
“I’m your superior. I won’t allow you to talk to me like that.”
“I’ll talk however I like. You protect the numbers people, you’re in cahoots with them.”
“I have orders from HQ to leave suppression of the numbers game to Vice,” shouted Ramos.
“Everybody’s been bought by numbers money. Not just you. Vice is a den of thieves,” said the inspector.
“You can’t—” Ramos began. The inspector turned his back and left the superintendent talking to himself.
Later, Rosalvo returned to the inspector’s office.
“Mr. Ramos is pissed off. He said you’ll get what’s coming to you.”
“What that guy says doesn’t matter to me. You can tell him that.”
“How can you say that, sir?”
“At the next Marian Congregation meeting you can tell him.”
“Sir, I haven’t entered the Congregation yet. I’m still thinking about it. I went to a meeting last Tuesday, at the Liceu Literário Português, to see what it was like. There were over four hundred congregants. The president of the Catholic Archdiocese Confederation, Eurípedes Cardoso de Meneses, gave a speech against Samuel Wainer’s magazine Flan.”
“Rosalvo, I’ve got other things to do.”
“Those Jews who run Flan published an article that’s offensive to our Catholic pride. Eurípedes had come from a meeting with Cardinal Dom Jaime de Barros Câmara, at the Palácio São Joaquim, where it was decided that priests would say in their sermons that Catholics shouldn’t read newspapers that support corruption. The congregants were pissed off at the article. Eurípedes asked people to send protest telegrams and letters to Flan and Última Hora with two phrases: ‘Long live the Pope!’ and ‘Down with Última Hora and Flan!’”
“Long live the Pope. . Changing the subject, what did you find out about Pedro Lomagno?”
“Just let me finish the story. Suddenly everyone at the Liceu Literário Português was yelling ‘Long live the Pope! Down with Última Hora and Flan!’ Mr. Ramos told me that normally they ended the meeting by reciting a Salve Regina, but Tuesday there was nothing but vivas and down withs. As soon as the meeting was over, we went out into the street shouting ‘Long live the Pope!’ and ‘Down with Última Hora and Flan!’ Suddenly we were ripping up copies of Última Hora on newsstands in the neighborhood. You know that I’m Catholic and a Lacerdist, but I’m not a fanatic like those congregants. I think I’ll tell Mr. Morais that I’m not going to enter the Congregation.”
“I’m not interested in that. Talk about Pedro Lomagno.”
Rosalvo took a small notepad from his pocket.
“Lomagno’s father was a well known fascist who financed the Brazilian Integralist Party until 1938, when the ‘green hens’ attempted that putsch that failed. Then Lomagno’s old man changed sides and backed Getúlio, who had wiped out his party. The son was never interested in the Integralists, but it’s also true that he was a young child when Plínio Salgado ran the party. In any case, the boy’s thing is to make money. He was Gomes Aguiar’s partner in Cemtex but never performed any function in the firm. Cemtex, according to the Tribuna da Imprensa, obtained a scandalous import license from the Bank of Brazil, through the skullduggery of a fast-buck operator named Luiz Magalhães.”
Luiz Magalhães again. Mattos’s stomach burned.
“Claudio is also a Cemtex partner. The way things look, our friends have been up to their necks in the same schemes from an early age. I think that’s the crux of it.”
“Enough of crux. Proceed.”
“Lomagno plays polo at the Itanhangá Club. High-class guy. A polo player uses four thoroughbreds during the match.” Pause. “One good thing about being a cop is that you’re always learning things.”
“What about José Silva?”
“It’s hard finding the boy, I mean, the thirty-year-old fag he must be by now. I got hold of his old address — my brother-in-law the beadle arranged it. I don’t do anything for him, but even so—”
“Proceed,” Mattos interrupted.
“He lived in a house on Avenida Atlântica. I went there, and you know what I discovered? An enormous building where the house used to be. And the houses on each side had also been demolished. It won’t be long before all the houses on Avenida Atlântica are turned into skyscrapers.”
“Proceed.”
“There’s no neighborhood left where I can ask questions. I’m back at square one.”
“Stop in bakeries, grocery stores, businesses on nearby streets.”
“Good idea.” Pause. “Did the madam come through?”
“No.”
“She didn’t say anything?”
“Nothing. Move ahead.”
Rosalvo left. Mattos called Antonio Carlos at Forensics.
“Got anything for me?”
“We’re running a complete examination of everything found at the scene. You know how long that takes. And we found a lot of stuff, trace evidence, blood, mucus, saliva, sperm, feces, urine, hair samples. All I can give you is some preliminary information.”
“Start with the blood.”
“The blood on the sheet isn’t the same as the victim’s. The victim’s is AB, Rh negative. The blood on the sheet is A, Rh positive. Probably the criminal’s. The victim had blood in his mouth that wasn’t his. He must have taken a good bite out of his killer.”
“Hair?”