“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t worry about it too much,” Da Silva said coldly. “He was responsible for five deaths. Murders.”
He turned back to Wilson. Behind the nondescript American, Isabela was standing, having arrived in time to hear his conversation. She was staring at him with horror in her eyes. He studied the girl for a moment and read the answer to his unspoken question in the disgust on her face. What had he once said to Wilson? You couldn’t construct omelets without destroying eggs. How true! Still, Isabela should have realized before now that police work sometimes included violence, often to save the innocent. He looked away from the accusing eyes, speaking to Ruy.
“Ruy — this lady is Senhora Castro. See that she gets taken home.” He turned his back on Isabela, not wanting to see the expression of distaste any longer, looking at Wilson. “Let’s go upstairs and have a drink, shall we? I know I could use one...”
“That judge is quite a guy,” Wilson said reminiscently, staring into his drink. “I wonder if he flew the plane, or if it was one of his godsons. No matter; he’s still quite a guy. Not a man to take chances, that’s sure. I’ll take his gun back next time I go up to Paraíso, which I think I’ll do next time I get leave. It’s nice up there and I never did get a chance to check out those girls you claim are all over the place up there.” He looked up and noted the expression on Da Silva’s face “Take it easy,” he said. “She’ll change her mind. Or you will, if I know you,” he added softly.
“I—”
“Captain?”
Da Silva looked up from his drink to see Lieutenant Perreira standing almost at attention at his side. He pushed his glass to one side and glowered at the man; at last he had someone to take his frustrations out on.
“And just where in hell have you been lately?”
Perreira looked hurt. “Me, Captain? On the assignment you gave me! Night and day! And with success, too, I might mention. Ruy said on the car radio that you were here, so I thought I’d come and report here and save time.” He looked about a bit self-consciously; people were staring at him. “May I sit down, sir?”
Da Silva waved a hand. Perreira pulled up a chair alertly and sat down quickly. He seldom sat in the captain’s presence, but this was, after all, a bar and not an office. Besides, he did have good news. He pulled his bulky notebook from a pocket and opened it to the proper place.
“About Valadares, Captain,” he said, unable to keep a note of triumph from his voice, “I told you somebody at one of the airports might have seen somebody getting on the plane with him, and they did! Got on the plane with him here at Santos Dumont the afternoon he flew to Paraíso. It was a woman and they were holding hands! I’ve got her description right here. She — what’s the matter, Captain?”
“He drank something the wrong way,” Wilson said, and raised a hand for the waiter, even as he smiled approvingly at Da Silva. “That’s better. Laugh it off if you can’t get rid of it any other way. But be careful how you spill good liquor...”