Euclides, Gaspar's manservant, was aswelcom- ing as he'd been during Hector's previous visit.
"You again," he said, "Who's he?"
"I'm a chief inspector in the Federal Police," Silva answered for himself. "Who the hell are you?"
"We don't hold with profanity around here."
"And I don't hold with being kept waiting. Open the goddamned door."
For a moment, Euclides looked like he was going to slam it in Silva's face, but he didn't.
"I asked you who you are," Silva said, stepping over the threshold.
"Euclides Garcia. I work for Father Gaspar."
"Show me some ID."
"I haven't got any."
"You're required to have a national identity card."
"I mean I don't have it on me. I live here," Euclides said, defensively.
"Tell your boss we're waiting for him. Then go get it."
"Told you," Hector said, when Euclides had scurried off.
"Cheeky son of a bitch," Silva said. "What's that smell?"
"Lilac cologne," Hector said. "The good father drenches himself in the stuff."
Father Gaspar leaned over his desk to offer Hector a moist hand.
"Nice to see you again, Delegado."
He looked curiously at Silva.
Hector performed the introductions. The priest pronounced himself equally pleased to meet Silva and indicated the two cane chairs.
"Coffee?" he asked, resuming his seat.
"Thank you, no."
Hector had warned his uncle about Father Gaspar's coffee.
Before they had a chance to initiate the questioning, Euclides returned with his identity card. He held it out to Silva, who passed it to Hector. Hector examined it, made a note of the number, and handed it back.
"Is there anything wrong?" Gaspar asked, puzzled.
"No," Silva said, deliberately addressing the master and ignoring the man. "He reminded me of someone, that's all. Apparently, I was mistaken."
"And to what do I owe the pleasure this time?" the priest asked when his servant had gone.
"That reward Muniz is offering," Silva said. "The hundred thousand reais?"
"Yes?"
"I'm told you've agreed to act as intermediary.
"Yes, Chief Inspector, that's right."
"Not a good idea."
The priest frowned. "Why not?"
"It's far too much money, Father. It's going to encourage people to lie. We want answers, too, but they have to be the right answers."
Gaspar started shaking his head.
Silva ignored it. "Muniz doesn't want justice, Padre, he wants revenge. He doesn't want the people who killed his son arrested. He wants them dead."
"Are you implying that he'd take the law into his own hands?"
"I am."
"Nonsense," Father Gaspar said.
"What makes you so certain?"
"Because we spoke about it. I enjoined him to put aside his bitterness. He assured me that he would. Orlando Muniz isn't after vengeance, only after justice. `Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.' That's Romans, chapter twelve."
Silva was not in the mood for another scripture lesson. "Justice, hell. The man wants blood."
Father Gaspar held up his hand, signifying that he didn't buy into Silva's theory. "I pride myself on being a good judge of men," he said. "I'd be the first to admit that there've been rumors about him, but I'm convinced they're calumnies. Personally, I consider Orlando Muniz an exemplary Christian. He was a major contributor to the new church."
"That doesn't-"
Father Gaspar didn't let Silva finish. "And now, Senhor Muniz is offering the church ten thousand reais. All I have to do in return is perform a simple service. I'd be derelict in my duty if I didn't accede to his request."
"Listen to me, Father-"
"No, Chief Inspector, you listen to me. I have another reason to take issue with what you say. It obviously hasn't occurred to you that anyone bearing false witness would be violating the ninth commandment. That's a mortal sin. A perjurer puts his very soul in peril."
"Father-"
"I see we're unlikely to agree. Why don't we just drop the subject?"
"You're wrong."
"And you, of course, are entitled to your opinion."
Silence fell. Silva broke it first. "There's another matter: Have you heard of a young man, a street kid, named Edson Souza?"
"Edson Souza? No. Why?"
"I'm not at liberty to say. But I can tell you this: He placed a call to Dom Felipe. Immediately after they'd spoken, Dom Felipe placed a call to you."
"When was this?"
Silva looked at his nephew. Hector took out his notebook and read off the date and time.
Father Gaspar wrinkled his brow, checked his desk calendar and shook his head.
"If you could, perhaps, give me some inkling of the subject matter…"
"I can't."
"Well, then…" Father Gaspar lifted his palms in a gesture of helplessness. "Do you have any reason to believe that… what was that young man's name again?"
"Edson Souza."
"That Edson Souza's telephone call to the bishop and the bishop's call to me are related?"
"I don't. But it's a possibility, and I'm exploring all the possibilities."
"Hmm. Sorry I can't help you.
Father Gaspar folded his hands over his ample belly and leaned back in his chair.
"During our first conversation," Hector said, changing tack, "you suggested that a priest might have been responsible for the bishop's murder."
"Yes."
"Father Francisco, the bishop's secretary, has another theory."
"Which is?"
"It might have been a landowner."
"A landowner?" Gaspar unclasped his hands and leaned forward. "A landowner? Why in the world would he say a thing like that?"
"Do you remember the last sermon Dom Felipe delivered in your old church?"
Gaspar nodded.
"`The Blood of the Wicked,' he called it. It concerned the murder of Azevedo, the league activist. He asked people to come forward. Not unlike what Orlando Muniz is doing, don't you agree?"
"No, Father, I don't agree. The bishop, to my knowledge, didn't mention money."
"Well, that's true. He didn't."
"I gather you disagree with Father Francisco."
"I most certainly do. The landowners of Cascatas are pillars of the community. None of them would stoop to violence.
"There's just one thing wrong with that argument, Father."
"What's that, Chief Inspector?"
"Judging by what happened to Azevedo, one of them already did."
When Father Gaspar returned from escorting his guests to the door, Euclides was waiting for him.
"I don't like those guys," he said.
"But then, there aren't really many people that you do like, are there?" the priest said, sinking into his chair.
"I like you."
"Yes, my boy, I know you do. And I like you. You were, I suppose, up to your usual bad habits while those policemen were here?"
"If you mean was I listening at the door, then, yeah, I was."
"Good. So I don't have to explain. This Edson Souza? Who might he be?"
"He might be anybody. They've all got street names. I had one, too, remember?"
"Of course, I remember. But that's all behind you now. Let's see what the colonel can tell us."
He checked his watch.
"He should be in his office by now."
Ferraz was in his office, and probably alone because he immediately took Gaspar's call. They exchanged pleasantries, then Father Gaspar asked, "Why do you suppose, Colonel, that the Federal Police are looking for a menino de rua named Edson Souza?"
"Who says they are?"
"Mario Silva does. He and that young delegado, Costa I think his name is, just paid me a visit."
"Yeah, Costa. He's Silva's nephew. Why do you care if they're looking for Pipoca?"
"Who?"
"Edson Souza. That's his street name. Pipoca. Why do you care?"
"Well… I thought I might be able to help."
"Take my advice, Father. Stay out of it. Let the Federal Police solve their own problems.
"Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right. No business of mine, after all."
"That's the attitude. Anything else I can do for you?"
"No. Nothing else. Thank you, Colonel."
"My pleasure."
Father Gaspar put the telephone back on its cradle and looked at Euclides. "It seems," he said, "as if the colonel knows the young man in question."
"He does, huh?"
"Yes, my boy, and so do we. It turns out that Edson Souza is the young man we know as Pipoca."
"Pipoca! Well, that explains a lot."
"It does, doesn't it? Something more: the colonel didn't actually say so, but he gave me the distinct impression that he's looking for him as well."
Euclides smiled. "Good," he said.
"Indeed. Let's hope he finds him before Silva does."