Crimes Of August Part 3

THE INSPECTOR ARRIVED at the precinct at 8:30 a.m. He wanted to get there early to be able to go by the lockup before the deposition by Luciana Gomes Aguiar, but he had been delayed by helping a guy push a black Citron stalled in the street. He told the guy to get behind the wheel and by himself pushed the Citron down a long stretch of road, in the middle of traffic, but the engine wouldn't catch. The car was pushed to the curb and Mattos, along with the driver, tinkered with the motor, but all he succeeded in doing was to get grease on his hands and his shirt collar.

Inspector Maia, who was scheduled to relieve Mattos, had no problem with Mattos going to the lockup on days when he was on duty. Maia detested going to the cells. "I don't like the smell," he would say.

The prisoners' breakfast had also been delayed, and the jailer was beginning to distribute the first aluminum mugs of coffee, along with bread. The prisoners were chatting loudly; some were laughing. People get used to everything, Mattos thought.

"Sir, sir, what about my injection?" said a swindler known as Fuinha, trying to stick his face between the bars.

"Didn't I give you one yesterday?"

"Yes, sir, but I didn't get well. Wanna see? If I squeeze it, a little drop comes out." Fuinha started to unb.u.t.ton the fly of his pants.

"I don't need to see anything," Mattos said. The inspector told the guard to bring the metal box with the syringe and needles, the bottle of alcohol, the two small containers of penicillin, one in powdered form, one in liquid, that he normally brought to his shift. Whenever he called a doctor to give an injection to a prisoner with gonorrhea, no one would show up. The guard brought the materials, placing them on a small table in the corridor. Mattos took the metal holder from the box, filled it with water until it covered the syringe and the needles, rested the box against the holder placed on the lid, poured alcohol into the lid, lit the alcohol, and waited for the water to boil. He stuck the needle into the rubber stopper of the liquid-filled vial, drew up the liquid, removed the needle, stuck it into the other vial, forced the liquid out of the syringe, picked up the syringe, leaving the needle stuck in the stopper, shook the small vial to mix the powder and liquid, inserted the needle into the gla.s.s end of the syringe, and aspirated the liquid. From the lockup, Fuinha watched these deliberate preparations. He stuck a naked arm outside, closing his eyes when the needle punctured his skin.

"Anyone else sick in there?" Mattos asked.

"Me, sir." A prisoner approached the bars.

"That guy don't have nothing, sir. He's a con artist," said Odorico, the boss of the lockup, a husky man with a crimson heart tattoo on his forearm that read "Mother," sentenced to over three hundred years for robbery and murder.

"Let me decide that," said the inspector.

Odorico shut up. Obeying an order from Mattos was not a humiliation.

The confidence man was a fat guy, a repeat offender, sentenced to five years for fraud.

"What are you feeling?"

"A pain in the chest. It's very stuffy in here." He coughed twice.

"It really is unbearable," said Mattos. "You shouldn't be here, none of you should be here. But there's nothing I can do." The world didn't want to know about those outlaws, they could go f.u.c.k themselves one on top of the other like filthy worms. The police existed to hide that rottenness from the delicate eyes and noses of decent people.

"Wouldn't it be good for a doctor to examine me?" Shrewd, the swindler. Maybe the doctor could be fooled. The police infirmary was much more comfortable than the lockup.

"Don't try and bulls.h.i.t the inspector," threatened Odorico.

The prisoner looked at the boss. "To tell the truth, I'm feeling better already," he said.

"Go have your breakfast," said Mattos.

Rosalvo appeared, with a magazine, O Cruzeiro, and the Tribuna da Imprensa. "Just look, sir, want to see the latest infamy of Lutero Vargas, the parasite of the oligarchy?"

"No."

"What about the whole story of the eleven thousand dollars stolen from Lutero Vargas in Venice?"

"No."

"Here's what it says: Armando Falco denounces smuggling by Jereissati in Ceara. The president of the Workers Party in Ceara is part of the gang of thieves that has taken over the government. Do you know what's the biggest contraband item? Irish linen. Those Northeasterners love to wear Irish linen."

"I'm not interested."

"There's more: At the suggestion of Brando Filho, head of Political and Social Order, appointed by Jango Goulart, General Ancora, chief of the DPS, has decided to put snitches on the payroll. Just look at the mess. Time was, the authorities used to feel repugnance about dealing with informants. Nowadays not even repugnance is left." Pause. "Lacerda's not easy."

The inspector remained silent.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," answered the inspector.

"Are you a Lacerdist or a Getulist?"

"Do I have to be one kind of s.h.i.t or another?"

"No, sir," said Rosalvo, seeing the inspector's expression. "To each his own."

Luciana Gomes Aguiar, accompanied by her attorney Galvo, arrived at the precinct at ten o'clock. Mattos felt an instinctive hostility toward the woman, because of the composure of her face, because of the elegance of her black pantsuit. She's nothing but a plutocrat with good manners, he thought. Like Alice.

"It goes without saying," said the lawyer, "that Dona Luciana is willing to cooperate with the police in discovering the killer or killers of her husband. She would, however, like to be heard as quickly as possible."

"Before formally taking Dona Luciana's deposition, I'd like to ask her some questions."

Luciana acceded with a gesture.

"Did your husband have any enemies?"

"No."

"Did your husband normally sleep in the nude?"

Luciana didn't reply. She looked at Galvo as if to ask, Do I have to put up with this?

"Mr. Gomes Aguiar wasn't killed by an enemy. He was the victim of aggravated robbery, what laymen call armed robbery," said Galvo persuasively.

"Did he normally sleep in the nude? The body was found naked in the bed."

"Paulo wasn't a man of rigid habits," said Luciana.

"There are days when I sleep in pajamas, others when I don't sleep in pajamas. I think most people are like that," said Galvo.

"Has anything turned up missing?"

"I don't know yet."

"You don't know?"

"No, I don't know."

"I didn't see any feminine clothing in the room where-"

"We slept in separate bedrooms. My suite is on the floor above."

"It's a two-level apartment, as you have no doubt verified," said Galvo.

Luciana's slender fingers displayed only a diamond wedding ring. The gold ring found in the dead man's shower was too wide to belong to those fingers. Mattos stuck his hand in his pocket, his fingers touched the gold tooth. The ring was in the other pocket.

"Have you ever seen this ring before?"

"No."

"It was in the shower."

"It's not my husband's. He never wore a ring."

"May I take a look at it?" Galvo asked. He put the ring on his finger. "A man with thick fingers."

"Was your husband having problems with a partner? Or with some employee of-What's the name of the firm?"

"Cemtex," said Galvo. "No, he had no problems with either partners or employees."

"Was Senator Vitor Freitas a friend of your husband's?"

"My husband had many friends. Senator Vitor Freitas is one of them."

"What about Luiz Magalhes?"

"I don't know who that person is."

"Did you have a good relationship with your husband?"

"They experienced a perfect matrimonial relationship of love and respect," said Galvo in the tone of voice he used in court.

The inspector recalled a phrase that Mr. Emilio, the maestro of the claque, was in the habit of saying: the best thing in marriage is widowhood. Luciana's pale countenance displayed no pain, just circ.u.mspection and dignity. What kind of person was she?

Mattos called the clerk, Oliveira, and began taking Luciana's statement.

Luciana Gomes Aguiar and Galvo left. Mattos's stomach was beginning to ache. The doctor had told him he had a duodenal ulcer, and there was the possibility of the ulcer bleeding at any time. He should eat every three hours, following the prescribed regimen: milk, gummy rice, boiled potato, boiled chicken. Avoid coffee, alcohol, carbonated soft drinks, cigarettes, and spicy foods. Not to worry. Check his stools. If they were dark like coffee grounds, it was a sign of bleeding, and he might have to be hospitalized for emergency surgery.

NOW, MATTOS WAS PRESIDING at the booking of a flagrante delicto crime of battery in which perpetrator and victim were, respectively, husband and wife. Jurisdiction to preside, order a written report, and sign the writ as well as sign the guilty finding, belonged to the commissioner, and the inspector had authority for such only in the former's absence.

As Mattos was drafting the written report, the commissioner showed up.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back," Mattos told the defendant's lawyer, who was present. He took Ramos by the arm and led him to the hallway.

"Pretend you haven't gotten here yet. Let me finish this booking."

"The lawyer saw me."

"He's a jailhouse shyster. Don't worry."

"What's the statute?"

"Article 129. Husband and wife."

"Husband and wife? You're going to clap the guy in jail just because he cuffed his wife around?"

"Precisely because of that. To me, it being his wife is an aggravating factor."

"But not to the law," said Ramos, stifling his irritation. "I took a look at the woman and couldn't see any signs of injury."

"They're under her dress. I'm going to order a corpus delicti exam done on her."

"You're being more Catholic than the pope. I can guarantee you the woman's going to side against us. They're always against us."

"Everybody's against us, always."

"When it goes to trial, even that ambulance chaser will get the husband off. You know what's going to happen at trial?"

"Yes. The woman is going to tell the judge that the bruises found in the corpus delicti exam were caused by me."

"More or less that. Let it go. 'When husband and wife fight, stay out of sight.'"

On a certain occasion, Rosalvo, who had just finished law school and was studying forensic psychology at the Police Academy, had described Ramos, using haphazardly theories of Bertillon, Kraeplin, and Kretschmer: trapezoidal cheeks, orthognathous profile, deviated parietals, square skull, squat composition, tenacious temperament. Tenacious, squat, orthognathous.

Mattos laughed scornfully.

"You're laughing? Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I know what I'm doing," said the inspector, frowning again. "I'm going to finish the booking."

Perpetrator, victim, lawyer, and clerk were waiting for the inspector.

"So then, sir, is everything resolved?" said the lawyer.

"Everything. We're going ahead with the booking."

"Sir, my client acted motivated by defense of his honor, immediately after being unjustly provoked by the victim."

"Tell it to the judge."

"Sir, even you, an educated individual, unlike my client who's a stevedore at the docks, a coa.r.s.e illiterate man, even you would lose patience if your wife told you what the wife of my client told him."

"I already apologized," murmured the woman humbly, from the back of the room.

"She's sorry, she knows she made a mistake, she's apologized. Didn't you hear her?" said the lawyer.

"This is a crime calling for public action. I'm not interested in the victim's opinion. We're continuing with the booking."

"Sir, she called my client a limp-d.i.c.k. Is there a husband alive who can hear his own wife call him a limp-d.i.c.k without losing his head? Well? Give me a break!"