They continue in silence down the hillside. Harley is convinced it’s worthwhile to butt in where they’re not invited, despite the risks. He shares with Otto repugnance for what is happening in both police forces, military and civil. He agrees about the need to act, even if it’s the last thing they do before being demoted to desk duty or resigning.
“Either we change this shit or everything’s going to hell.”
“You’re right, my man, those machines of death will grind us up and destroy everything we think we are until nothing’s left — not memory, not desire.”
They decide to carry out a clandestine investigation in parallel with the Internal Affairs investigation, in which they have no confidence. If they obtain proof, they will give it to a serious and respected journalist, Harley’s former boyfriend, and the scandal of police corruption, putting children’s lives at risk in the heart of touristic Rio de Janeiro, affecting the international image of the city, will lead to a transformation of some kind. Maybe not. Other scandals have exploded without producing changes. In any case, it would be a step. Probably enough for the two friends to postpone leaving the force. They like so much what they do that they can’t imagine themselves in a different profession. And the dream of a police force deserving of the work is worth the trouble.
“At least as homage to the dear departed Elton,” says Harley.
“At least as homage to the old man,” murmurs Otto.
“Next step?”
“To get the most information possible about Mindinho.”
“I know that, Otto. The question is how to go about getting the maximum possible information on Corporal Vito Florada of the Military Police on a sunny Saturday at three in the afternoon.”
“Torturra.”
“Who’s Torturra?”
“What do you mean, Who’s Torturra? The congressman. Torturra.”
“Ângelo Torturra?”
“Is there another member of the Chamber of Deputies with that surname?”
“I can just imagine what Francisca goes through with you. You’re not easy to put up with. I had no idea you were on such good terms with the congressman that you could interrupt his family’s privacy on a weekend. I’d be embarrassed if I were you. However much he might have given me the okay to call him, I’d be super embarrassed.”
“I’m not going to feel the slightest embarrassment.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not going to look for the guy.”
“No?”
“Negative.”
“Otto, didn’t you just say the next step would be to go to the congressman?”
“Yes.”
“Then how can you say you’re not going to look for the man?”
“I’m not. You are.”
“You’re crazy, Otto. I’m not going, period.”
“While you’re at his house, I’ll find out who’s heading up the team that handled the crime scene investigation this morning. I want to find out if there’s anything fishy about the story. It’s too perfect. Everything fits together too well.”
“You’re right about that. I have the same feeling. Something’s wrong when everything fits together so neatly. The challenge is to find out what’s missing, what was left out that we didn’t notice.”
“Or what’s left over, the residual, the excess. In this case, I would bet on excess, Harley. There are too many things fitting together and fitting together too easily and too quickly.”
“The incident itself was excessive, Otto. You’re right. I get the feeling there’s something there.”
“True. Excessive. Rifle fire among children and gardens in the city’s international five-star hotel on a sunny Saturday, in the morning.”
“Another detail, Otto. It may be nothing, I know, but hey, we’re brainstorming, right? Nelson, my ex, taught me a lot about how the media works. The Sunday edition is the most important and the most read. And it goes to press the day before.”
“Every edition goes to press the day before.”
“The Sunday edition goes to press at noon on Saturday because it starts being distributed Saturday afternoon. Either it was one hell of a coincidence, or whoever planned the spectacle did it just right to achieve the greatest repercussion possible.”
“You think it has to do with politics?”
“Doesn’t seem like it. No.”
“In any case, the increase in the bribe doesn’t explain everything.”
“It did contribute, Otto, but it certainly doesn’t encompass the whole truth.”
At five o’clock, Harley is sitting in the office of Ângelo Torturra’s apartment, a space packed with books and documents, in the São Francisco district of Niterói, separated from Rio de Janeiro by the ocean and linked by a bridge that even today bears the name of a general-president, decades after the end of the military dictatorship.
“That’s Brazil, inspector, that’s our country. It treats the crimes of the dictatorship with euphemisms and kid gloves. They torture, kill, whatever, and the democratic governments, once the dictatorship falls, turn a blind eye and wink at the audience. The elites always end up understanding one another. It’s the people who get fucked.”
Harley thanks the congressman for his courtesy. After all, to be received on a Saturday in his home is a courtesy. Torturra praises Otto, to whom he is grateful for having helped him in some investigations conducted by the Parliamentary Committee of Inquiry, for which he had written the report. They had ended with the indictment of over two hundred militia members — active and retired police organized like local mafias.
“Any request of Otto’s is my command.”
Harley explains the reason for the visit. They talk about the episode that morning in São Conrado. He addresses his partner’s absence: they have divided the tasks because of the need to follow the forensics team’s work first-hand, and that is Otto’s forte. Harley would like access to the findings of Corporal Vito Florada’s investigation. He knows the materials are public and can be researched in the archives of Rio’s Legislative Assembly and in the electronic data bank, but there’s no time or personnel available to invest in such a large-scale effort. Harely is cut short by the congressman. Ângelo Torturra can’t resist the opportunity to talk about the PCI. He of course remembers Vito, a.k.a. Mindinho. He quickly opens a file on his laptop and shares every detail of the investigation with his visitor.
Ten o’clock Saturday night. Otto and Harley evaluate what they have collected, sitting side by side on the sand of a deserted beach in the moonlight and in the metallic illumination of the São Conrado oceanfront. Nothing unusual in the forensic report. A lot of data from the visit to Torturra.
Complaining of back pains, Otto lies down, resting his head on Harley’s backpack. The key seems to lie in the odd contacts of Mindinho. Intimate contacts with individuals quite distant from Rocinha and the poverty-stricken West Zone. There is something beyond traffickers and militias. Characters not identified by Torturra’s investigation, which ran into legal barriers imposed by the Justice Ministry. The congressman isn’t sure, but he believes that a powerful firm of attorneys acted indirectly, protecting Vito and, above all, his network of relationships. He doesn’t know what that means, nor did he have any way to demonstrate the judicial relevance of expanding the investigation to include those contacts of Vito’s. Because, in fact, nothing indicated that those persons had any connections to any crimes. The congressman had no choice but to suspend the investigations.
After listening in silence to Harley’s account, Otto admits he is exhausted and lost. Ready to throw in the towel. He doesn’t know who could be the target, what is at stake, or how to go forward. But his partner has an idea. It’s Harley’s turn to inject adrenaline and change the mood.