Rubem Fonseca - Crimes of August

“I’ll preside over the elections,” said the president in his speech, “assuring the free manifestation of the right to vote, offering broad guarantees to the people to choose their representatives. Contrary to what the agitators and rumormongers disseminate, I do not consider the regime threatened. Men pass on, Brazil goes on.”

TAKING ADVANTAGE of the Marechal Floriano incidents, UDN deputies took the floor in the Chamber to accuse the government.

Maurício Joppert: “The people are in the streets seeking punishment of the criminals, demanding justice. We have now, more than ever, to demand the resignation of the president of the Republic from the office he has failed to honor.”

Herbert Levy: “The conclusion is unmistakable and obligatory: no further sifting of facts is needed. The moral responsibility of the president of the Republic is definitive.”

Bilac Pinto: “The president of the Republic can and must resign as the coauthor of the homicide of Major Vaz.”

Tristão da Cunha: “The president of the Republic is rendered morally impossible of presiding at this inquiry, given the suspicions that fall on his excellency and persons of his family. In conditions far less grave than these, Pedro I abdicated and Deodoro resigned.”

Afonso Arinos: “Resignation is the solution that will fend off the possibility of subversion, anarchy, and a coup.”

IN COMMISSIONER RAMOS’S OFFICE, this conversation took place between Inspectors Mattos and Pádua:

“All we have to do is lean on the fucker, and he’ll spill his guts,” said Pádua.

“We’re not going to do that,” said Mattos.

“The guy shows up at your home to kill you, and you come up with these idiotic scruples? It’s not only your life that was threatened. It was the life of every one of us. We have to make an example of him. These fuckers have got to learn that anybody who lays a finger on us dies like a mad dog.”

“Stop talking nonsense, Pádua.”

“See how he talks to me!” The muscles in Pádua’s arms were pulsing.

Ramos furrowed his brow as if concerned about the harsh discussion between Mattos and Pádua. Actually, he was quite happy; he detested both inspectors and would have loved to see them, like in a cowboy movie, kill each other simultaneously. But, unfortunately, Mattos would doubtlessly not be carrying his gun. So then, let Pádua kill Mattos, mused Ramos.

“Pádua, I don’t want to fight with you. I really don’t.”

“You’re an idiot,” sighed Pádua. “I don’t know how you’re still alive.”

“We’re going to have to let the man go,” said Ramos.

The commissioner had waited a long time for such a situation, one in which he could make the correct decision that infuriated Pádua and harmed Mattos, at least in theory, for the outlaw that Mattos had caught was obviously dangerous.

“He’s been held since day before yesterday,” continued Ramos, “without being charged. In fact, the guy isn’t guilty of anything. There wasn’t, strictly speaking, a home invasion, according to the report Mr. Mattos himself made. The most we can charge him with is carrying a weapon and send him away.”

“If it goes to trial he’ll get off or be fined two hundred cruzeiros, which is more probable,” said Pádua.

“The law is meant to be obeyed,” said Mattos.

“All right. Whatever you two want,” agreed Pádua. “I don’t want to fight with you either, Mattos.” Pause. “On second thought, you’re right. Us cops have to follow the law.”

Pádua patted Mattos’s arm. “You forgive me?”

“I apologize too,” said Mattos.

“Associating with you is going to end up making me into a bleeding heart,” said Pádua.

“Phone call for you, Mr. Mattos,” said the guard, entering the room.

“Who is it?” asked the inspector.

“Somebody named Lomagno.”

The inspector took the call in the reception area.

“Mattos speaking.”

“My name is Pedro Lomagno.”

“Go on.”

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“Come by the precinct tomorrow. I go on duty at noon.”

“It’s urgent.”

“Then come now.”

Mattos sensed a slight hesitation at the other end. “I. . uh. . have problems here at the firm, I don’t know what time I’ll be free. Could you maybe come to my office? It’s a matter that concerns you. That concerns us.”

Mattos embraced Pádua as he said goodbye. “I have to go out.”

“Keep your eyes open, man,” said Pádua affectionately.

Thirty minutes later, the inspector arrived at the offices of Lomagno & Company, on Avenida Graça Aranha.

The city was calm, the only abnormality was the presence, on almost every downtown corner, of open vehicles of the special forces, full of men in khaki uniforms and red berets.

A secretary showed the inspector to Pedro Lomagno’s office.

The two men were seeing each other for the first time. Mattos, who as a cop had acquired the habit of looking people directly in the eye, examined the face, the clothes, the abundant slicked-down hair, the athletic built that his elegant suit didn’t conceal, the powerful hand with long pale fingers of the man who had married his old girlfriend. He only didn’t see the eyes, for Lomagno pretended to arrange some papers on his desk.

“Please sit down,” said Lomagno, still arranging the papers.

He’s taller than me. Has all his teeth. Good health, thought Mattos.

“I don’t know where to begin,” said Lomagno, sitting on the other side of the desk.

Lomagno had rehearsed with Luciana the conversation he would have with the inspector, but he had become dominated by a sudden nervousness that he couldn’t control and that the other man must surely be noting. He felt hatred and fear of the policeman sitting in front of him. His opening sentence struck him as good justification for his uncertainty.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Lomagno repeated.

Mattos remained silent, observing the other man. Elusive green eyes, no wedding band, he’s uncomfortable in my presence. He doesn’t know where to begin, because he’s going to lie? Or because he’s going to tell the truth?

“It’s about my wife.”

Silence from Mattos.

“About Alice.”

Silence.

“She told me to get in touch with you.”

Silence.

“What did she say to you?”

“I’m here to listen.”

“It’s very hard for me to say what I have to say.”

Silence. Alice when she was with him used to say similar things, thought Mattos.

“Alice isn’t well, she’s sick, undergoing psychiatric treatment.”

Silence.

“She told me she contacted you, told you that I. . uh. .”

Silence.

“. . that I was Luciana Gomes Aguiar’s lover.”

Silence.

“That’s nothing but a morbid hallucination on the part of my wife. Paulo was my best friend, and I hope that you, who are investigating his murder, find the guilty person soon.”

Silence.

“She was already interned in Dr. Eiras’s hospital.”

Silence.

“I didn’t want to commit her, but the doctor said it was necessary.”

“Can you give me the doctor’s name and address?”

“I have his card here.” Lomagno picked up a card from the desk and handed it to Mattos, who put it in his pocket unread.

“Do you know Lieutenant Gregório?”

“What?”

“Lieutenant Gregório, head of the president’s personal guard.”

“No.”

Well, well, thought Lomagno, relieved, the cop thinks the Negro referred to by Alice and the doorman is this Gregório. He had to check himself in order not to show his satisfaction.

Mattos’s misconception gave Lomagno the courage to observe, openly, the policeman who was interrogating him. What could a refined and elegant woman from a good family, like Alice, have seen in the guy? Actually, Alice had never been a person with a lot of good sense.