The judge looked shocked. But then he reached out, tentatively touched Silva just above his kneecap and cleared his throat. "You have to understand, Chief Inspector, that my friend Senhor Muniz is justifiably upset. He's worried about his son, as any father would be, and he's outraged that those… people had the effrontery to invade his property."
He paused, and appeared to be waiting for Silva to respond. When Silva didn't, the judge continued. "Before you arrived, we were discussing Senhor Muniz's legal recourses with respect to the occupation. The situation seems very clear to me."
"Does it? I'm told that Senhor Muniz's son wasn't using that land."
"What the hell has that got to do with it?" Muniz snapped.
"The law states," Silva said, "that the government can appropriate uncultivated land by paying a fair price for it. The law further states that the government can grant land thus appropriated to landless farmers. If you, judge, would entertain an act of appropriation, I'm sure the league people could be convinced to leave the property until the case is settled."
It was Muniz's turn to look shocked. "Are you insane? Whose side are you on, anyway?"
Before Silva could answer judge Cunha intervened. "Do you own any land, Chief Inspector? I'm not talking about a piece of property with a house on it, or a little chacara. I'm talking about real land, a fazenda."
"No.'›
"No. I didn't think so." The judge looked at Muniz and gave a faint nod, as if he'd just scored a point. "Then we could hardly expect you to understand, could we?" he said to Silva.
Muniz stood. The interview was over. "We'll solve it our own way," he said. "The way we always have. We don't need your help anymore. Go home."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Silva said. "I wasn't sent here because of your son, and I have my orders."
"We'll see about your orders. Get out."
"MERDA," THE director said twenty minutes later, and he said it loud enough to cause Silva to move the cell phone away from his ear. "I told you to treat him with kid gloves. What am I going to tell the minister? Get on a plane and get out of there. Muniz won't stay for more than a day or two. You can go back just as soon as he's gone."
"You're the boss, but…" out what?"
"It's pretty obvious what Muniz is up to. He's got a local judge in his pocket, and I have no doubt he's got more than the two capangas I saw in his suite. He'll have brought them in from one of his other fazendas, or from Paraguay. This town is already packed with people from the national press. If Muniz gets his way there's going to be a slaughter, and when there is, the journalists are going to spread it all over the media."
The director reflected for a moment, considering the consequences.
"I'll have the minister talk to him," he finally said.
"As you wish. But if you do, and if Muniz ignores him and goes ahead with his plans, the minister won't have any deniability. He might not thank you for that."
There was a long silence on the other end of the telephone. Finally, the director said, "Well, then, get that State Police Colonel Whatshisname to stop it."
"With respect, Director, Colonel Ferraz will do what judge Cunha tells him to do, and the judge will do what Muniz tells him to do. Ferraz, by the way, has a large landholding of his own."
"A cop with a fazenda?"
"Yes, Director, a cop with a fazenda, and that should give all of us an idea about what kind of a cop he is, don't you think? Anyway, he's got no sympathy for the league. If they need his protection, the odds are that he'll be somewhere else. He might even be the person they'll be needing protection from."
"Can't you get that judge to do something?"
"No. But I'm sure Muniz can. I'm also sure that, if he does, we're not going to like it."
"So what do we do?"
"I'll try to defuse the situation. Meanwhile, I'll keep trying to find out what happened to the bishop and to Muniz's son. It's possible the two events are connected."
"Connected? How?"
"I'm not sure, and I could be wrong. I just have a hunch."
"What's your next step?"
"I still want to go to Presidente Vargas and talk to the bishop's secretary."
"That again? We've been through that already. You want to leave Cascatas? At a time like this? Not on your life."
The director seemed unaware that he'd just undergone a complete reversal of position.
"Just for the day," Silva said. "I-"
"Out of the question," the director said. "Not on your life. You stay right where you are. Send that nephew of yours."
Chapter Fifteen
Father Francisco Caporetto was in his midthirties and darkly handsome. When he met Hector in the reception area, he was wearing a tailored black suit that fit him like a glove. They shook hands, and he led his guest down a long corridor toward the back of the building.
"This is-was-Dom Felipe's room," he said, opening a door. "Shall we sit over there?" He pointed at two chairs nestled into the alcove of a bay window.
The late bishop's office was a spacious chamber with white-painted walls, modern furniture, and an oil painting which Hector thought might be a Pignatari above the fireplace.
The two men sat, and the bishop's erstwhile secretary rang for coffee.
The novice who brought it, a girl of seventeen or eighteen, couldn't seem to take her eyes off Father Francisco. She used no makeup, was radiantly beautiful, and smelled of toilet soap. Hector suppressed a libidinous thought and waited until she left before he got down to business.
"Have you been with Dom Felipe a long time?"
"Since before he took up his most recent appointment. It would have been three years, this June," Francisco said, without betraying whether he thought three years was a long time.
"You were his friend?"
"I was his secretary, Delegado. I don't believe the bishop had any friends."
"De mortuis nil nisi bonum, eh?"
Father Francisco smiled, but not, Hector thought, because he found it funny, only to show that he understood the Latin. The priest settled back in his chair and crossed his ankles.
"Did you like him?" Hector persisted.
"It wasn't my place to like or dislike him."
"That's not what I asked."
Francisco looked through the bay window. Hector followed his gaze. Two boys were kneeling on the street, playing with a wooden top. Hector hadn't seen a wooden top for at least twenty years.
"Hardly any television here," Francisco said, as if he could read the thought. "No antennas. No cable. Some of the wealthier people have satellite dishes, of course, but most of the children are still being raised without it. They play the same games their parents and grandparents used to play."
"Nice."
"A little dull, actually. But to get back to your question: No, to be frank, I didn't really like him. He was severe with himself and severe with others. Mind you, I'm not saying he was unjust, just severe."
"Father Gaspar called him a friend."
"Did he?"
Father Francisco lifted an eyebrow. Hector waited for him to say more. When he didn't, Hector went off on a new tack. "How about enemies?"
"No one who hated him enough to kill him."
"Pardon me for asking this, Padre, but I have to: A relationship?"
The urbane priest seemed to take the question in stride. "A relationship of a sexual nature you mean?"
"Yes."
"No. I think not. He never struck me as a man who had to struggle to maintain his vow of chastity. He really wasn't interested in women. And he often expressed a distinct dislike of homosexuals and homosexuality. He found it an aberration."
"Money, then. Was he particularly fond of money?"
"Some people might say so. He was always trying to raise money to build a new church, or a new school. He was good at it, too; some of the donors wouldn't have been anywhere near as generous if Dom Felipe hadn't been so persistent."