Leighton Gage - A vine in the blood
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- Название:A vine in the blood
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A vine in the blood: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
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“I’m not talking about acquiring the birds. The kidnappers would have expected you to try to track the birds back to their source. They would have done everything they could to prevent you from doing so.”
“What are you talking about then?”
“Alternative profiles for the people who came up with the idea of using carrier pigeons.”
“Such as?”
“An ex-convict, for example. Such birds are used in places like this, you know.”
“We know,” Arnaldo said.
“Or someone who might have read about carrier pigeons in a newspaper, or seen a documentary on television.”
“Which would lead us nowhere.”
“Not necessarily.”
“How so?”
“Turn it around. Mara and her people can, quite quickly, do a media search. If they discover that there hasn’t been a television program or an article in a consumer publication in the course of the last six months, what would that suggest?”
“That the kidnappers didn’t get their information from one of those sources.”
“Exactly. If the people who used those carrier pigeons didn’t get the idea from a prison experience, or by talking to ex-convicts, or from the media, where did they get the idea from? That could narrow the search considerably. Maybe, just maybe, this brilliant idea of theirs, the idea to use carrier pigeons, wasn’t so brilliant after all.”
Silva stroked his chin. “My gut feeling,” he said, “is that they wouldn’t make a mistake that elementary. It’s likely the brilliance remains.”
“Perhaps. But my core argument stands. If I were you, I’d be looking for people who keep, or know someone who keeps, carrier pigeons, who had access to a key that would get them into Juraci Santos’s house, and who have a hideout in or near Granja Viana.”
“You make it sound simple, Professor.”
“I’m not saying it’s simple. But when you get to the end of it, you’ll find someone there who fulfills all three of those characteristics. I guarantee it.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
One of the prime requisites in Nelson Sampaio’s former profession, corporate law, was obfuscation. Sampaio was an expert at it, and he quickly recognized it in others.
He was recognizing it right now, seventeen minutes into the briefing he’d requested on the Santos case.
“Let’s cut right through the crap,” he said, looking around the table. “You people don’t know where the birds came from, you don’t know where they went, the diamonds are gone, and you’ve got no line on where Juraci Santos might be. You’ve got zip.”
“I think that’s a fair summary, Director,” Silva said.
The director snorted. “What about that postman? You interrogate him?”
“We did. It led nowhere.”
Sampaio referred to his notes, raised his head to lock eyes with Silva.
“You think Jordan Talafero had anything to do with it?”
“We did once. Not anymore.”
“That bicheiro? Captain Miranda?”
“No.”
“Cintia Tadesco?”
“It’s possible.”
Sampaio made some check marks on the yellow legal pad in front of him. The tip of his pencil slid further down the page.
“And that ex-agent of hers, whatshisname?”
“Tarso Mello.”
“Yeah, him.”
“Also a possible suspect.”
“You interview Juraci’s former servants? The ones she had before the two who got shot?”
“We did,” Mara said. “We went back two years. We’re satisfied they’re all clean.”
“How about professional enemies? People like Joaozinho Preto? The Artist broke his leg. That must have pissed him off.”
“Joaozinho’s mother is Italian. She got him a passport, and he bought himself a villa in Tuscany. He’s been living there for six months.”
More check marks.
“And that other striker? Whatshisname? The guy who’s convinced himself he’s as good as the Artist is?”
“Romario de Barros?”
“Yeah, him. If the Artist is out of the picture, he’s the logical replacement, right?”
“Right.”
Sampaio drew a circle around something. Then he put a big asterisk right next to it.
“Well there you go. That gives him a motive. Without the Artist, bingo, Romario is the star of the Cup.”
“The Argentineans have got Dieguito Falabella,” Arnaldo said. “Dieguito can run circles around Romario de Barros.”
Sampaio refused to be sidetracked.
“You didn’t talk to him, did you?”
“We didn’t think it was necessary,” Mara said.
Sampaio turned on her. “Why the hell not?”
Mara stood her ground. “Every year at this time, Romario earns a bundle doing a football clinic for rich kids. He was in Campos do Jordao, doing just that, on the night of the kidnapping. He’s got more than a hundred witnesses to prove it.”
“He could have hired someone else to do it. Talk to him anyway.”
Mara nodded and made a note.
Sampaio turned back to Silva.
“Did you consult with Godofredo?”
“No.”
“Why not? As I recall, I instructed you to do so.”
“You did, Director, but I haven’t had the time.”
Sampaio stabbed his pencil in Silva’s direction.
“But you had plenty of time to talk to that felon, Rosa, right?”
“We talked to him, yes.”
Sampaio dropped his pencil and held out his hands, palms upward.
“And?”
Silva told him about Rosa’s conclusions.
Sampaio shook his head. “Rosa’s all wet. You’re wasting your time with that guy.”
“I don’t think so, Director.”
“But I do. And the last time I heard, I’m running this shop.” He picked up his pencil. “Let’s go over this again step by step.” He reversed the pencil and tapped the eraser three times on the table. “Answer me yes or no. Lefkowitz thinks the kidnappers had a key to Juraci’s house, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re inclined to agree with him?”
“Yes.”
“Three sets of keys were found in the house?”
“Yes.”
“Both the locksmith and the Artist confirm that Juraci ordered four?”
“Yes.”
“The fourth set was with the Artist and his girlfriend.”
“Yes.”
“But it seems to have gone missing for a while and then mysteriously turned up?”
“Not so mysteriously. The Artist-”
The director waved his pencil. “All right. All right. Strike the word mysteriously. The fourth set went missing and later turned up. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
Sampaio leaned forward, a sign he was coming to the end of his peroration.
“And it’s obvious the Artist wouldn’t kidnap his own mother.”
“Yes.”
“And, therefore,” Sampaio said, with a smile of triumph, “his girlfriend, Cintia Tadesco must be involved.”
“No.”
“No?” Sampaio’s smiled faded. “What do you mean no? I just took you through it step by step. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. She’s in it up to her neck.”
“Not necessarily. Not if there was a fifth set of keys.”
Sampaio tossed down his pencil in a sign of frustration.
“A fifth set? Who said anything about a fifth set?”
“I’m introducing a supposition.”
“Introducing a supposition, my ass! You’re groping. Groping in the dark. How big is Granja Viana?”
“Big. It stretches over two municipalities.”
“So there’s no way you could search every house, right? I mean, it would take you weeks.”
“It would.”
“And by that time, Juraci Santos is going to be either free or dead. Same thing applies to investigating carrier pigeons. By the time you finish investigating every enthusiast, every club member, every dealer in birds, she’ll be free or dead.”
“I’m sorry, Director, but that really is all we have to go on at the moment.”
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