"Preposterous."
"He picked me up on Republic Square, and brought me up to your bedroom, and the two of you-"
"Outrageous."
"-fucked me in the ass."
"Disgusting."
"This boy's name," Silva said, grasping the kid firmly by the shoulder to quell his outburst, "is Edson Souza. You probably know him as Pipoca, and you also know that he's a male prostitute-"
"Aha!"
"Let me finish. He says-"
"I don't care what he says. He's a liar."
"He says," Silva repeated, "that he took your wallet."
"If he did, which he didn't, then he'd be a thief as well as a prostitute."
"He said the wallet was on the table next to your bed."
"I lost my wallet. On the street. Maybe to a pickpocket. Isn't that true, Euclides?"
"Yeah."
"You see? How dare you-"
"Did your man here kill Bishop Antunes?"
"What did you say?"
"I asked you if your man killed Bishop Antunes."
"I don't have to listen to any more of this."
"It's a simple question, Padre. Answer it."
"Of course he didn't. Why would he?"
"Maybe to help you conceal the fact that you're a pedophile?"
"A pedophile? Me, a pedophile?"
"Well? Aren't you?"
"Certainly not."
"No? He says you are."
"Him? That vagabond? You'd take the word of a whore and thief over that of a consecrated priest?" Gaspar's chin went up, and his back straightened. A little smile creased the corner of his mouth. "You haven't any proof, have you? Of course not! How could you? There isn't any to get. Euclides, show these people out."
Silva made a final attempt. "Look, Padre, you know what you did. So do we. Why don't you just make it easy on all of us and confess?"
Father Gaspar picked up his pen, put the glasses back on his nose, and went back to his papers.
Silva turned on his heel and walked out of the priest's study, followed by Edson and Hector. When they passed through the front door, Euclides slammed it behind them.
Silva took out his cell phone, searched his pockets for the number Father Angelo had given him, and made good on his promise to update the old priest on the results of his interview with Gaspar.
Chapter Forty-four
Arnaldo was not pleased when Silva told him why he'd wanted the rental car.
"Why can't we just send him by bus, like we did his mother?"
"Too risky," Silva said. "By now, Ferraz knows she's gone. He'll be checking the buses, looking for the kid. And we can't use one of our own cars because the colonel already knows what they look like."
Silva's cell phone chose that moment to ring.
"Wipe that smile off your face, you little punk," Arnaldo said to Edson. The kid had been looking back and forth between Silva and Arnaldo like he'd been watching a tennis match.
"Fuck you," the kid said.
Silva pulled the phone out of his pocket, wishing the damned thing had a caller ID. He pushed the call button.
"Mario?"
It was the director. Again.
"I've got to take this call," he said, putting a hand over the mouthpiece.
Arnaldo snorted, grasped Edson's shoulder, and propelled him out of the room.
"Hey," the kid said, "keep your paws to yourself, you big gorilla."
"Cut the crap," Silva called after them.
"What the hell do you mean, `cut the crap'?"
"Sorry, Director, that wasn't meant for you."
"I should hope not. What's this business about somebody offing a priest? What did this Brouwer guy have to do with what happened to the bishop?"
"As far as I know, nothing at all. I don't think the killings are connected. How, may I ask, did you find out about Brouwer?"
"Not from you, that's for damn sure. On the news. Ana heard it."
Ana. Silva liked the director's secretary, but sometimes…
"Has it occurred to you, Mario, that ever since you arrived things have been getting worse?"
"I take exception to that remark, Director."
"I don't give a damn what you take exception to. Are you one iota closer to solving the bishop's murder?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. He's a pedophile and-"
"Whoa. Slow down. The bishop was a pedophile?"
"No. The man who killed him is. Well, actually it wasn't the man himself, but this manservant of his who-"
The director, interrupting, cut right to the chase. He wasn't a man who cared about details, no matter how juicy they might be.
"Can you prove it?" he said.
"No. Not yet."
"What do you mean by not yet?"
"Well, we've got a witness-"
"To the killing?"
"Not to the killing, to the pedophilia. He's a street kid-"
"A street kid? And he's going to testify against a pedophile?"
"Yes, except that the pedophile is a priest and-"
"A priest? Did he confess?"
"No. He denies everything. But I'm sure he did it, as sure as I've ever been of anything in my life."
In a moment of silence, rare for him, the director reflected. Then he softened a bit. Not much, but a bit. "Well, I suppose we're better off today than we were yesterday. Wrap it up, Mario, wrap it up."
And, although he didn't wait for Silva's reply, he actually went to the trouble of saying goodbye.
Just before the handset hit the cradle, Silva heard him bellowing for the long-suffering Ana.
Chapter Forty-five
Orlando Muniz was pouring what he'd planned to be his last whiskey of the evening when the telephone rang. He kept on pouring and let one of his bodyguards pick it up.
"It's Colonel Ferraz, senhor."
Muniz picked up his glass with one hand and the wireless telephone with the other.
"What can I do for you, Colonel?"
"It's about that priest, Brouwer." Ferraz sounded worried. Strange. The colonel hadn't struck him as someone who worried easily.
"What about him, Colonel? You, yourself, said he was harmless."
"More than ever. Somebody killed him."
Muniz took a sip of his drink and swished the whiskey around in his mouth.
"You hear what I just said?"
Muniz swallowed. "Yes, Colonel, I heard what you said. Brouwer is dead. I'm delighted to hear it. Good riddance." Muniz took another sip. The whiskey in his glass was almost gone. Maybe he'd have just one more before he went to bed.
"Good riddance, yeah. But there's a problem. Angelo thinks we had something to do with it."
"Angelo?"
"Father Angelo. The old guy who lived with Brouwer."
"Thinks we had something to do with it? We? As in you and me?"
"Yeah," the colonel said again.
"And you think we should be concerned about that? Really, Colonel, I'm surprised at you. That priest, if he's the one I'm thinking of, is a weak old man. He must be pushing ninety."
"It doesn't take any strength to pull a trigger. He's got a gun."
"He said that? He said he had a gun?"
"He did. And he said he was going to use it on both of us."
"I'd like to see him try. I really would. The old bastard is just blowing off steam, that's all."
"You think so, huh? Well, I hope to hell you're right."
There was a newfound insolence in the colonel's voice. Muniz didn't like it.
He decided he'd definitely drink one more whiskey.
Chapter Forty-six
Emerson Ferraz turned a cold stare on his deputy.
A sheepish expression came over Palmas's face, and he looked down at the handcuffs shackling his wrists.
The fact that he let the old bastard get the drop on me, Ferraz thought, is something I'm never going to let him forget. Never.