Rubem Fonseca - Crimes of August

“You could speak directly with Souza Dantas,” Claudio said. “As president of the Bank of Brazil he gives the orders in the Cexim.”

“The situation is very serious,” said the senator, taking another swallow of whiskey, choosing his words with care. “The country has entered a crisis that can have grave consequences.”

“The death of that aviator? It’ll soon be forgotten.”

“Lacerda won’t let anyone forget.”

“You’re avoiding the subject,” said Claudio, annoyed. “I asked if you’d speak with the president of the Bank of Brazil. Will you speak to him or not?”

“The attempt changed everything,” Freitas said. “The military is furious over Major Vaz’s death. Today there’s an assembly at the Aeronautics Club, with clear-cut coup objectives. Also today, in both chambers of Congress addresses will be given condemning the attempt. Deputy Aliomar Baleeiro, who’s coordinating this joint action and will be one of the deputies to speak, asked me to talk also.”

“He’s not going to speak to Souza Dantas. Let it go, Claudio,” said Lomagno. His irritation appeared under control.

“My friend,” Freitas said, “I’m from the Northeast. You know what that means? That I’m a survivor. I foresee anything bad that’s going to happen. Nero Moura, the secretary of the air force, and the secretary of war, Zenóbio da Costa, said there would be no assembly of military men at the Aeronautics Club. But Zenóbio put elite units like the Guard Battalion and the Military Police Battalion on stand-by alert. Truth is, the military secretaries no longer have control over the younger officer corps. When generals can only command other generals, things are bad. Very bad.”

“Are you or aren’t you going to speak to Souza Dantas?”

“He’s not going to. Let’s drop the subject,” said Lomagno brusquely.

“The opposition is going to take advantage of the situation. Souza Dantas was already a target before, just imagine now. . I’ll be frank with you: I don’t want to be involved in this business anymore. I can’t. I have to hunker down and see what’s going to happen,” Freitas said.

“You’re in this business up to your neck,” Claudio said.

“Don’t let yourself be coerced, dear man,” said Clemente.

Freitas stood up.

“Claudio,” said the senator in an obliging tone, “in my thirty years in politics I’ve never made a wrong move. It won’t be you, who besides everything else are my friend, and I hope you’ll continue to be despite this unpleasant episode, who’ll succeed in blackmailing me. You’re going to have to get out of this mess on your own.”

“You’re nothing but a corrupt son of a bitch,” said Lomagno.

“We’re all corrupt sons of bitches at this table. In this country. Let’s go, Clemente.”

Freitas and Clemente walked down São José toward Avenida Rio Branco.

“Lomagno and Claudio are a couple of bastards. You ought to break it off with them.”

“When the time comes. What’s this story about some inspector?”

“He showed up at the Senate wanting to talk to you. He didn’t say about what.”

“You should have told me.”

“I forgot. The guy’s a low-rent piece of shit. You can tell by looking at his clothes.”

“You should have told me.”

“Do I have to remember everything?! And just where were you that Thursday afternoon?”

“What’s the name of the policeman?”

“You think I remember the name of some cop who wears off-the-rack clothes?” Clemente laughed. “Two things I wouldn’t be caught dead in: cheap clothes and ready-made suits.” Changing tone: “I wrote his name down somewhere.”

“Go look for Teodoro, Senate security. He’s hoping to get a job for his wife. You can promise it to him. Tell Teodoro to find out who that cop is and what he wants with me. The whole rundown. We mustn’t leave anything hanging.”

The two entered the Senate together. Clemente went to look for Teodoro. Vitor Freitas, in his office, put the finishing touches on the speech he was to make condemning the Rua Tonelero attack.

THAT AFTERNOON, AT THE SAME TIME Vitor Freitas was speaking in the Senate—“The nation can never forget, nor ever pardon this ignominious act”—Inspector Mattos was receiving a phone call from Antonio Carlos, of Forensics.

“The hairs on the bar of soap aren’t the victim’s.”

“Are they a woman’s?”

“A man’s. A Negro.”

“A Negro? Is it possible to discover that? I have the latest edition of Soderman, from 1952, and he doesn’t mention that.”

“Soderman is out-of-date. The tests I did are based on a study published in the latest issue of The New England Journal of Medicine . I ran all the tests. A Negro used that bar of soap and probably took a bath in that tub.”

A Negro. The Aguiars’ pantryman was white.

“Thank you, Antonio Carlos,” said the inspector. He took from his pocket the gold ring he had found in the bathroom shower. A Negro with thick fingers.

As Mattos was about to leave, Rosalvo asked to speak with him. “Only if it’s urgent,” the inspector replied. He was in a hurry to get to the Deauville, where Gomes Aguiar had been murdered.

“I was here Sunday,” the inspector told the doorman.

“Yes, sir. I remember.”

“You were going to tell the night doorman to see me at the precinct.”

“I spoke to Raimundo, sir. He didn’t go?”

“You said he lives in a room in the rear. Go tell him to come here.”

Raimundo appeared, looking sleepy. He was a thin man from Pernambuco, with a small brow; his hair seemed to begin just above his nose.

“Let’s go to your room.”

They entered a windowless cubicle with a narrow bed and a small doorless closet, inside which were piled cheap faded clothes.

“I’d like to ask you some more questions about the murder of Mr. Gomes Aguiar.”

“I don’t know anything. I didn’t see anything, sir.”

“You spent all Saturday night in the lobby?”

Raimundo scratched his head nervously. “Saturday, Saturday. .”

“Saturday night.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you so nervous?”

“This police business, sir. I’m not used to it.”

“I’m certain you didn’t spend the entire night in the lobby. You either went off or slept. Which was it?”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“It’s no good lying, Raimundo. I’ll find out, and you’ll be charged.”

“What is it you wanna know?”

“Just talk.”

“I did leave the desk for a moment.”

“What for?”

“A friend of mine came here. . A maid here in the building. . Well. . We went to my room. .”

“At what time?”

“One in the morning.”

“How long did you stay here?”

“Two hours, sir. If the manager finds out, he’ll fire me. .”

“You said that on Saturday the residents on the eighth floor had no visitors.”

“They did have one. A black guy.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No, sir.”

“Describe him.”

“A large Negro, bossy. A mean face.”

“Bossy?”

“He came through and gave me a dirty look.”

“Describe him.”

“He was wearing a coat and tie.”

“His face.”

“A wide face, frowning.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about that black guy before?”

“Dona Luciana told me not to say anything to anybody.”

“Did anyone else visit the apartment that night?’

“Maybe someone came and left while I was, I was—”

“How was it that Dona Luciana asked you not to mention the black guy?”

“She said he was there to do a job in the apartment and that she didn’t want anyone to know about it.”