"Almost."
"You earned another hundred. Put this on."
He felt the plastic bag, took it, and slipped it on. He had to turn it to position the hole in front of his mouth.
"Okay. The same drill. Hands on my shoulders."
Fifteen minutes later he was back on Republic Square, 250 reais richer, feeling dirtier than he had in all of his young life and with the wallet still in his pocket.
Chapter Forty-two
Edson came to the end of his story without meeting Father Angelo's eyes.
The old man put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Look at me," he said.
Edson did, and something in the priest's expression must have encouraged him. His posture straightened and his sunken shoulders rose.
"Tell us the rest of it, why don't you?" Father Angelo said.
"The wallet belonged to that canalha Farias," Edson went on, faster than before, eager to get it over with. "There wasn't much money, but there was his identification card and his driver's license and even a credit card. I tried to use the credit card, but that was only the next day, in the afternoon. He'd canceled it by then."
"What did you do with it?"
"Threw it in the river."
"The wallet too?"
"All of it. Everything except the cash."
"Where?"
"I threw it off the Goulart Bridge."
Silva looked at Father Angelo.
"The river is deep there, and fast flowing," the priest said, shaking his head. "I think it's highly unlikely you'd find anything."
Silva addressed Edson directly: "What did you do then?"
"I sent a letter to Dom Felipe."
"Why didn't you tell Father Brouwer or Father Angelo?"
"I… I was embarrassed. I didn't want them to think…"
"Okay. Why the bishop?"
"Because I didn't know him, and he didn't know me, and he's the boss of all the priests."
"Did you tell the bishop everything you just told us? About what they did to you? About the wallet?"
"Yes."
"Do you think he believed you?"
"Maybe not at first, but after a while he did. He asked me to go with him to the police."
"That doesn't necessarily mean-"
"Yes, it does. Because I told him I was afraid of the police, and he said that he couldn't stop Father Gaspar without me coming forward, and I said I'd like to help, but I couldn't, and he said I had to, that it was my… Christian duty, yeah, that's it, Christian duty, and that it had to be stopped, because it had happened before and it would happen again if I didn't-"
"Happened before? It had happened before?"
"That's what he said."
"Why would he share anything like that with you?"
"How the hell would I know? But he did."
"All right, Edson. Stand right where you are for a moment. Gentlemen, a word."
Silva drew Arnaldo and his nephew into his bedroom and closed the door. "Well?" he said, lowering his voice. "Do we believe him?"
"I sure as hell do," Arnaldo said.
"The smell clinched it for me," Hector said. "Gaspar drenches himself in that lilac cologne. And when we check the army records of that surly bastard, Euclides, I'll bet we're going to find out he's an expert marksman."
"So here's how it probably went down." It was Arnaldo again. "The bishop talks to the kid, and he tries to get him to come in. The kid refuses. The bishop pressures Gaspar anyway. Gaspar gets nervous, and he gets Euclides to kill the bishop."
"Maybe," Hector said, "or maybe not. Maybe the priest didn't have anything to do with it. Maybe Euclides took the initiative himself."
"Not likely," Silva said. "The bishop talked to Gaspar. Why would Gaspar go whining to Euclides unless he expected him to do something about it?"
"Good point. Case solved?"
"Solved, maybe. But not proven and, therefore, not worth a damn. We've only got the kid's word for the motive, nothing else. Gaspar was on the steps of the church when the bishop was shot, and everybody saw him. The gun's untraceable, and there are no prints. Euclides doesn't have a motive unless we can prove that Gaspar had a motive, and we can't. All we've got is the word of-"
"A street kid who's just admitted to being a prostitute and a thief," Hector said.
"Precisely. And that, as Father Angelo was kind enough to point out to me earlier today, is the same as nothing at all."
"So where do we go from here?" Arnaldo said.
"You go rent a car."
"What for?"
"Never mind, just do it. Meanwhile, Hector and I will take the kid over to Gaspar's place and confront him. If we take him by surprise, maybe Gaspar will crack and say something stupid."
"What about Ferraz?"
"He won't crack. Not him. And I don't want him to know we've got the kid. We'll leave Ferraz for later. Let's go back and tell the kid."
"So AS soon as we leave Gaspar's place," Edson Souza said when Silva explained the plan, "you send me to my mother, right?"
"That's right," Silva said.
"Okay. But I want Father Angelo to go along, to Gaspar's I mean."
The old priest shook his head. "It wouldn't be appropriate, my boy. Just keep on being as brave as you are."
Edson's face assumed a sullen expression, but he nodded. He didn't like it, but he'd do it.
"As for you, Father," Silva said, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if you're the next one on Ferraz's hit list. How about accompanying Edson to Riberao?"
"Thank you, Chief Inspector. I appreciate the suggestion, but, no."
"You're sure?"
"Quite sure. I have unfinished business here. You will inform me, won't you, about what Gaspar has to say? I think I've earned the right to know."
"I don't think-"
"Please, Chief Inspector. It's… very important to me."
"Well, then…"
"Thank you." Father Angelo fished a small notebook out of one of the pockets of his cassock and made a note. "I'll be at this number," he said, tearing off the page and giving it to Silva, "waiting for your call."
Chapter Forty-three
When Euclides saw Edson standing between the two cops, his eyes started to narrow. When he noticed where Hector had placed his shoe, they became mere slits.
"There you go again," he said. "Take your fucking foot out of the door," he said.
"I thought you didn't hold with foul language," Hector said. "Where's your boss?"
"Not here."
"Really? Then we'll wait for him. Get out of the way."
"You can't come in here. You need a warrant."
Silva's patience, held in check since he arrived in Cascatas, took that moment to run out.
"We do like hell," he said. "All we need is this."
Euclides took one look at the gun and stepped back out of the way. They pushed past him and headed straight for Gaspar's study.
The priest was seated at his desk, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose and a pen in his hand. When they burst in, he dropped the pen and whipped off the glasses.
"I tried to stop them, Father," Euclides said, "but the old guy pulled that."
Gaspar ignored where his manservant was pointing. He only had eyes for the boy.
"Recognize him, do you?" Silva asked.
He slipped the Glock back into its holster without taking his eyes off the priest.
"I've never seen him before in my life."
"It's him," Edson said, pointing a finger. "I recognize his voice. And he's using that same stinky stuff."
Gaspar tore his eyes off the kid and addressed Silva.
"What do you mean by bursting in here with this… this…"
"This what, Father? What do you think he is?"
"I have no idea. I told you. I've never seen him before."
"He says you have."
"Then he's a liar."
"You used me like a girl," Edson was shouting now. "I told you what I didn't like, told you what I wouldn't do, but you did it anyway, you and him." He pointed at Euclides. "He had a hat pulled down over his eyes, but I recognize his voice, too."