“No. I’ve never heard her name.”
“Paulo Cruz?”
“ Professor Cruz? The one who wrote those pseudo-studies on sexuality?”
“Yes.”
“I read about his murder, which is more than I can say for the trash he wrote. But, no, I didn’t know him, and I know nothing else about him.”
“Victor Neves?”
“No.”
“Jonas Palhares?”
“No.”
“Juan Rivas?”
“I’ve heard of a Jorge Rivas.”
“Juan’s father. He’s the former ambassador to Brazil from Venezuela, currently his country’s foreign minister.”
“He must have his hands full, what with that idiot running his country. No, I never heard of his son.”
“Dennis Clancy?”
“No.”
“Darcy Motta?”
“Yes.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said yes. Luis mentioned a man by the name of Darcy Motta.”
“When and in what context?”
“He got home from the airport two or three flights ago, maybe on the twenty-third of November, but I’m not sure. He came into the house very pleased with himself, saying he’d closed a deal with a patsy on the plane. That’s the term he used, a patsy.”
“But you’re sure this patsy was a man.”
“Yes, because later in the conversation, he used that name.”
“Darcy Motta?”
“Yes. He said the deal didn’t amount to much, but it more than paid for his ticket.”
“And?”
“And that was it. I knew he wanted me to ask him more, to give him a chance to show how smart he was, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I told him I was on my way to play tennis, which I wasn’t, and I left.”
“Did he describe this Motta fellow?”
“No.”
“Ever return to the subject?”
“No. May I ask another question?”
“Ask away.”
“You said Luis was beaten.”
“Very badly.”
“I’ll have to arrange the funeral. Open casket?”
“Under no circumstances,” Silva said.
Chapter Thirty
Kloppers was a slight man with a hollow chest and stooped shoulders, the antithesis of a healthy farmer. When he caught sight of the pistol in Samantha’s hand, his eyes bulged.
“There’s no need for that,” he said.
“Shut up,” she said. “Step back.”
Kloppers swallowed and moved out of the doorway. His mother was standing a meter behind him.
“Hello, Senhora Kloppers,” Arnaldo said. “Nice try.”
Greetje Kloppers sniffed. She didn’t look frightened; she looked angry.
“Where’s the kid?” Samantha said.
That got a rise out of Greetje. “You leave him alone! He didn’t do anything.”
“Please, Moeder,” Kloppers said. “Don’t make them angry. You can’t help me now, you can only hurt yourself.”
“Where’s the kid?” Samantha repeated.
“Jan’s in the bedroom at the end of that hallway,” Kloppers said. “He’s hiding in a closet. Please let my mother fetch him. I don’t want you to frighten him any more than he already is.”
“Who else is in the house?”
“No one.”
Samantha nodded, put her Glock back in her shoulder bag, and took out a pair of handcuffs.
“Are you going to use those on me?” Kloppers said.
“Who else would they be for? Turn around.”
But he didn’t. Maybe, Arnaldo thought, he wasn’t quite the wimp he appeared to be.
“I don’t want my son to see me in handcuffs,” he said. “I’m perfectly willing to let you use them after you’ve taken me away. Not now.”
“I really don’t care if you’re willing or not,” Samantha said. “You’re going to wear them. Turn around.”
“Hang on just a minute,” Arnaldo said. “I don’t know about you, Samantha, but I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve got the right guy.”
“Oh, you’ve got the right guy,” Kloppers said. “I admit it. I’m guilty, and I know you’re going to take me away. But I’m not a violent man, and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t use those handcuffs.”
“Now I’m confused,” Arnaldo said. “You say you’re guilty, and in the next breath you tell us you’re not a violent man. What, exactly, are you guilty of?”
“Shut up, Nunes, and get out of my way.”
“No, Samantha, this time you shut up. Tell me, Kloppers. What did you do?”
Their prisoner looked from one to the other in confusion.
And then he told them.
On the way back to Hector’s office, with Samantha still fuming on her side of the front seat, Arnaldo called Silva.
“We found Kloppers and his kid. It’s a dead end.”
“You kill Samantha yet?”
“Not yet. Any time now. I’m still devising the most painful method.”
“If Kloppers was a dead end, who’s he hiding from?”
“His ex-wife.”
“Tell.”
“She’s American, a wholesale flower buyer in Florida. Marnix is an office drone who used to work in Holambra’s export division. They met at some flower show. A year later, they’re married. A year after that, Jan comes along. A year after that, she’s throwing dishes at Marnix’s head. According to him, he never laid a hand on her, but she used to beat him up a couple of times a week. He moved out.”
“Two sides to every story, especially in divorce cases.”
“True. But I believe his side.”
“Why?”
“I’m getting there; bear with me. He filed for divorce. She got custody of Jan. Marnix claims she only took the kid to spite him. He pays alimony, he pays child support, says he never missed a payment. Five years later, she decides to get married again. Two years after that, she’s throwing dishes at the new husband. But he doesn’t move out, he hits her back. Then they have a few drinks and make up. Pretty soon, they’re drinking and fighting every day.”
“If it’s true, it’s no environment for a kid.”
“Wait. There’s more. The new husband has two kids, and they’re both bigger and stronger than Jan is. So while their father is beating up on his mother, the kids are beating up on Marnix’s son. Marnix, who goes up there four times a year to spend time with his kid, gets the whole story. Jan wants to move out and come down to Brazil with his father. The ex-wife, who’s got more important things in her life than her kid, agrees to let him go. So Marnix goes over to the consulate and gets all the paperwork: a Brazilian passport for Jan and the authorization for him to travel without his mother. Then, just when he thinks the whole thing is settled, a done deal, the ex-wife tells him she wants money.”
“She what?”
“She tries to hold Marnix up for money. Tells him he can have the kid, but he’ll have to give her fifty thousand dollars.”
“She wanted to sell him his own kid?”
“Uh-huh. And Kloppers said he would have paid it. But he didn’t, because he couldn’t.”
“And?”
“And she told him to get it from his parents, who she thought were well off.”
“And?”
“And Marnix knew they weren’t as well off as all that.”
“So he kidnapped the kid?”
“He did. Took him straight to Miami International and got on the first flight to Brazil. The only thing available was business class, so he maxed out his credit card and bought that.”
“You talk to the kid? Alone?”
“Samantha did. He backs up his old man’s story. Says he doesn’t want to go back to the States, no way. He loves his grandparents, they love him, and he’s having a ball. Here’s the clincher, though, the thing that makes me think Marnix is really telling the truth.”
“What?”
“I called Mara Carta and got her to run a check. There’s no complaint against Kloppers. He thought there was, but there isn’t. So I started thinking why not.”
“Because the mother doesn’t really care about getting her son back; she’s still hoping to hold Kloppers up for all or part of that fifty grand.”
“That’s my guess.”
“If there’s no complaint, we’re not under any obligation to do anything.”
“I told him that. And I told him to keep away from anybody who isn’t from Holambra until we get this thing sorted out.”
“He know anything that throws light on the case?”