“There was a priest; at least I think he was a priest. He was wearing a… what do you call it?” She pointed to her neck.
“Clerical collar?”
“Yes.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“No.”
“Who else can you remember?”
“I was reading most of the time. But I do recall a young man, a teenager. He was traveling all by himself in business class, and I thought that was strange. I never traveled business class until I was over forty. Even now, my husband complains about the difference in price; but frankly, he can afford it. And the tourist cabin is just too uncomfortable.”
“A teenager. Who else?”
She put a finger to her lips, remembering. “A gentleman traveling with his son. Both of them appeared to be very nervous.”
“Nervous?”
“Craning their necks to see who was getting on board, muttering to each other in voices just above a whisper. But that was before we took off. Once we were in the air, they settled down and went to sleep.”
“Like Professor Cruz.”
“Like Professor Cruz, except the two of them woke up for breakfast.”
“Who else?”
“A young man with a ponytail. Another young man with a little moustache and a gold earring here.” She touched an ear. “I think that was about it. There weren’t many people in the cabin. Oh, yes, I almost forgot, there was a fellow in his thirties with a suit and an attache case. He was one of those people who don’t make much of an impression. I forgot about him last time, as well. I wouldn’t have remembered him at all, if the woman hadn’t prompted me.”
Silva glanced at Arnaldo, who raised an eyebrow.
“What last time?” he said. “What woman?”
“Some research person. Doing work for the airlines.”
“When was this?”
“Quite some time ago. Not long after I got back. She called and made an appointment. Maybe I couldn’t have told you as much as I have if she hadn’t taken me through it once already.”
“She posed the same questions we’ve been asking?”
“Her focus was on passenger service, and the experience of flying business class over long distances. But many of the questions were similar.”
“Did she leave a business card?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“How about identification? What did she show you?”
“She didn’t offer any.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t ask you for any either, did I?” she said. “I like to be cooperative. This woman already knew, when she called, that I’d been a business-class passenger on the flight. She must have had access to records. I had no reason to be suspicious.”
“No, Senhora, of course you didn’t. What did this woman look like?”
Lidia Porto put her hands over her head and waved her fingers. “She had frizzy red hair, quite a lot of it. She wasn’t young, but she wasn’t old either, mid-thirties, I’d say. About my height, maybe a little taller. Not fat, not thin, just… normal. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful than that.”
“Eye color?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No. I don’t know. She was wearing dark glasses.”
“Dark glasses? Here, inside your apartment?”
Lidia Porto nodded. “She told me she was suffering from conjunctivitis.”
“Anything else you can remember about her?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Senhora Porto, if she-or anyone else claiming to be from the airline-gets in touch with you again, don’t let her in. Lock the door and call us immediately. Call me personally. Here’s my card.”
Silva took one out of his case and handed it to her. She looked at it and then looked back at him. For the first time, he saw alarm in her eyes.
“Don’t you think,” she said, “it’s time you told me what this is all about?”
“Yes, Senhora,” Silva said. “I do.”
And he did.
Chapter Fifteen
The following morning, at half past seven, Hector called Goncalves. Goncalves picked up on the fifth ring.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Hector. What are you up to?”
“What the hell do you think I’m up to at this time of the morning?” Goncalves said testily.
“Kindly drag your tail out of bed,” Hector said. “I’ve got an assignment for you.”
Hector told him about Bruna Nascimento “A stewardess, huh?” Goncalves said, sounding more awake.
“These days, they’re called flight attendants.”
“And is this flight attendant of the attractive sort?”
“Spoken like a true professional. She’s a real looker.”
“You wouldn’t be misleading me, would you?” Goncalves asked.
“Not at all. I saw her photograph. The woman is gorgeous.”
“That being the case, why haven’t you taken this plum assignment for yourself?”
“You have a suspicious nature.”
“I do. It comes from being a cop. Answer the question.”
“I am happily affianced.”
“A fact of which I am aware. But I am also aware that you are not immune to the attractions of the fair sex. Could it be you fear Gilda’s sharp scalpels?”
Gilda Caropreso, Hector’s fiancee, was an assistant medical examiner.
“I do not fear Gilda,” Hector said. “I love her. It’s constancy that motivates me, not fear.”
“Constancy? What’s that?” the Federal Police’s Lothario said.
An hour later, he was at Bruna’s hotel. As he entered the air-conditioned comfort of the lobby, a team of paramedics was pushing a gurney toward the elevators. At the reception desk, a man with a badge was taking a statement. The cop tried to wave him off, but Goncalves flashed his Federal Police ID.
“What’s up?” he said.
“Simple homicide,” the cop said, “nothing that would interest the Federal Police.”
“Maybe not. Man or woman?”
“Woman.”
“Flight attendant?”
The cop raised his eyebrows. “Yeah.”
“Bruna Nascimento?”
“How the hell did you know that?”
“Just a bad feeling I had. And now it does interest the Federal Police.”
According to the time stamp on her registration, Bruna Nascimento had checked in at six twenty-seven in the morning of the previous day. The reception clerk remembered her well; remembered, too, that she’d sent her luggage upstairs. Then she and her companion, another flight attendant, had headed off in the direction of the coffee shop.
The homicide cop let the clerk finish his story and then filled Goncalves in on the other things he knew. The two women had taken a table near the door and ordered hot chocolate and croissants. They’d been joined by a man in uniform. The waiter, no expert on airline uniforms, was unable to say whether he was a flight attendant or a pilot. The airline guy left before the women did.
There’d been a DO NOT DISTURB sign on her door all day long. That wasn’t unusual. Sometimes the people on flight crews liked to laze their time away in their rooms.
The next day, when the sign was still there, a chambermaid had knocked. There’d been no answer, so she’d let herself in. And left screaming.
That had been just over an hour ago. The captain and the copilot had already been located. The captain hadn’t slept in the hotel at all. He had family in town. The copilot said he’d been in the coffee shop on the previous morning, but, since then, he’d had no further contact with the women.
The homicide cop went off in search of other people to interview. Goncalves went upstairs.
The assistant medical examiner was already there.
“How’s it going, Babyface?” the AME said. It was Plinio Setubal, a friend of Gilda Caropreso’s. Goncalves had met him once, at a party.
“Haraldo,” Goncalves said. “Haraldo, not Babyface.”
Setubal looked puzzled. “I thought everybody called you Babyface.”
“Only a few ballbusters,” Goncalves said, “and I don’t like it.”
Setubal shrugged and changed the subject. “You ever see anything like that?” He pointed at Bruna’s body. The once-beautiful girl was a frightful mess.