“I follow you,” Firmino assured him.
“But the fact is that Torres, who seems a tough egg,” continued the lawyer, “states that he stayed there in his car until two o’clock in the morning, and never saw Damasceno Monteiro come out. You follow me?”
“I follow you,” confirmed Firmino.
“Therefore,” affirmed the lawyer, “Monteiro was there in the station at least until two o’clock, at which time Torres thought he had better go back and off he went. And it’s at this point that things become more of a muddle, for example, the orderly responsible for registering arrival times, was at that time sleeping like a child with his head on the desk, and there’s also the story of some coffee which the Green Cricket went down to the kitchen to prepare with the help of one of his men. With things of this sort they managed to string together a slightly more convincing yarn, which is the final version, the one the Green Cricket is bound to use at the trial. But it is not up to me to tell you this version.”
“Who’s going to tell me then?” asked Firmino.
“You will learn it directly from Titânio Silva,” replied the lawyer. “I am dead sure that this is his final version, and also what he will say at the trial, but this is a statement which it would be better for you to hear from his own lips.”
From the receiver came a kind of wheeze followed by a few coughs.
“I have an attack of asthma,” explained the lawyer with the same wheeze in his voice, “my attacks of asthma are psychosomatic, crickets secrete a fine powder beneath their wings and this brings on an attack.”
“What must I do?” asked Firmino.
“I promised to have a talk with you about professional ethics,” replied the lawyer, “so you may consider this telephone call as the first practical lesson. Meanwhile, in your newspaper, stress the contradictions into which these men have fallen, it is a good thing for public opinion to get the idea, and as regards this latest version go and interview the Green Cricket, he will certainly think that by granting an interview he is taking precautions, but we are taking precautions, everyone plays his own game, as in Milligan. Do you follow me?”
Eighteen
WE ARE AT THE Antártico, A WELL-KNOWN ice-cream parlor at the mouth of the Douro, overlooking the splendid estuary of the river which traverses the city of Oporto. We have been granted an interview by a personage very much in the public eye, and on whom, according to certain witnesses, grave responsibilities appear to weigh in the matter of the death of Damasceno Monteiro. I refer to Sergeant Titânio Silva of the city Guardia Nacional, of whom we give the following profile in synopsis: fifty-four years of age, native of Felgueiras, of modest social background, enrolled in the National Guard at the age of nineteen, military training at Mafra, cadet in Angola from 1970 to 1973, decorated for valor during his military service in Africa, and for more than ten years, a sergeant at the Guardia Nacional headquarters in Oporto.
— Sergeant, do you confirm the brief profile we have drawn you? Are you a hero of the Portuguese campaigns in Angola?
I do not think of myself as a hero, I simply did my duty to my country and to the flag. To tell the truth, when I went to Angola I didn’t even know the geography of the place. Let’s say that it was in our overseas territories that I acquired my sense of patriotism.
— Would you care to define what you mean by sense of patriotism?
I mean that I realized I was fighting against people aiming to subvert our culture.
— What do you mean by the word culture?
Portuguese culture, of course, because that is what ours is.
— And by the word subvert?
I was referring to the blacks who shot at us because ordered to by individuals like Amílcar Cabral. I realized that I was defending territories which had been ours since time immemorial, when Angola had neither culture nor Christianity, both of which were brought there by us.
— And then, having earned your medal, you came back home and started a career in the Oporto police.
That is inexact. At first I was posted to the outskirts of Lisbon, and, since we had lost the war, we had to deal with all the jobless refugees returning from Africa, the retornados.
— We who? Who had lost the war?
We had, the Portuguese.
— And how did things go with these people returning from the ex-colonies?
There were a lot of problems, because they claimed the right to be put up in posh hotels. They even organized demonstrations and threw stones at the police. Instead of staying to defend Angola by force of arms they came to Lisbon and wanted to be kept in the lap of luxury.
— And what was the next step in your career?
I was transferred to Oporto. However, in the first place I was posted to Vila Nova de Gaia.
— And rumor has it that at Gaìa you established certain friendships.
What do you mean by that?
— We have heard tell of friendly relations with import-export firms.
I think these are insinuations on your part. If you wish to make precise accusations then make them outright and I’ll take you to court, because that’s what you journalists deserve, to be hauled into court.
— Come, sergeant, don’t get all hot under the collar. I’m only speaking of rumors that have come to our ears. All the same we know that you had contacts with Stones of Portugal. Or do you think these also are mere insinuations? I repeat the question: do you or do you not know Stones of Portugal?.
I know them just as I know all the businesses operating in and around Oporto, and I knew they needed protection.
— Why? Did it come to your knowledge that they had been threatened?
Yes and no, even though the owner never explicitly complained of it. All the same we knew they needed surveillance because they imported hi-tech materials, delicate materials worth millions.
— We are told that along with the hi-tech materials other merchandise arrived clandestinely in those containers. Did you know about this?
I don’t know what you’re getting at.
— Drugs. Pure heroin.
If that had been the case we’d have known. We have first-rate sources of information.
— In short you had no knowledge that drugs from Hong Kong arrived in the containers shipped to Stones of Portugal?
No. Ours is a healthy city and doesn’t need drugs. Our favorite thing is tripe.
— All the same, we read in the nationwide press that here in Oporto there’s a nightclub where they peddle dope, and it appears that you own it.
I firmly reject that insinuation. If you are referring to ‘Puccini’s Butterfly’ let me tell you that it is frequented by people of class and distinction, and does not belong to me but to my sister-in-law, as duly registered with the proper municipal authorities.