Leighton Gage - Blood of the Wicked

"A street kid who's just admitted to being a prostitute and a thief," Hector said.

"Precisely. And that, as Father Angelo was kind enough to point out to me earlier today, is the same as nothing at all."

"So where do we go from here?" Arnaldo said.

"You go rent a car."

"What for?"

"Never mind, just do it. Meanwhile, Hector and I will take the kid over to Gaspar's place and confront him. If we take him by surprise, maybe Gaspar will crack and say something stupid."

"What about Ferraz?"

"He won't crack. Not him. And I don't want him to know we've got the kid. We'll leave Ferraz for later. Let's go back and tell the kid."

"So AS soon as we leave Gaspar's place," Edson Souza said when Silva explained the plan, "you send me to my mother, right?"

"That's right," Silva said.

"Okay. But I want Father Angelo to go along, to Gaspar's I mean."

The old priest shook his head. "It wouldn't be appropriate, my boy. Just keep on being as brave as you are."

Edson's face assumed a sullen expression, but he nodded. He didn't like it, but he'd do it.

"As for you, Father," Silva said, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if you're the next one on Ferraz's hit list. How about accompanying Edson to Riberao?"

"Thank you, Chief Inspector. I appreciate the suggestion, but, no."

"You're sure?"

"Quite sure. I have unfinished business here. You will inform me, won't you, about what Gaspar has to say? I think I've earned the right to know."

"I don't think-"

"Please, Chief Inspector. It's… very important to me."

"Well, then…"

"Thank you." Father Angelo fished a small notebook out of one of the pockets of his cassock and made a note. "I'll be at this number," he said, tearing off the page and giving it to Silva, "waiting for your call."

When Euclides saw Edson standing between the two cops, his eyes started to narrow. When he noticed where Hector had placed his shoe, they became mere slits.

"There you go again," he said. "Take your fucking foot out of the door," he said.

"I thought you didn't hold with foul language," Hector said. "Where's your boss?"

"Not here."

"Really? Then we'll wait for him. Get out of the way."

"You can't come in here. You need a warrant."

Silva's patience, held in check since he arrived in Cascatas, took that moment to run out.

"We do like hell," he said. "All we need is this."

Euclides took one look at the gun and stepped back out of the way. They pushed past him and headed straight for Gaspar's study.

The priest was seated at his desk, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose and a pen in his hand. When they burst in, he dropped the pen and whipped off the glasses.

"I tried to stop them, Father," Euclides said, "but the old guy pulled that."

Gaspar ignored where his manservant was pointing. He only had eyes for the boy.

"Recognize him, do you?" Silva asked.

He slipped the Glock back into its holster without taking his eyes off the priest.

"I've never seen him before in my life."

"It's him," Edson said, pointing a finger. "I recognize his voice. And he's using that same stinky stuff."

Gaspar tore his eyes off the kid and addressed Silva.

"What do you mean by bursting in here with this… this…"

"This what, Father? What do you think he is?"

"I have no idea. I told you. I've never seen him before."

"He says you have."

"Then he's a liar."

"You used me like a girl," Edson was shouting now. "I told you what I didn't like, told you what I wouldn't do, but you did it anyway, you and him." He pointed at Euclides. "He had a hat pulled down over his eyes, but I recognize his voice, too."

"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.

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-"