A disembodied voice sounded my name: ‘Thomas?’ I looked around blankly and then remembered the phone in my hand.
‘Thomas?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where have you been? What’s happened?’
Relief swept over me. ‘Julia. You’re all right.’
‘Of course I am. What’s the matter?’
‘There’s a woman here, dead. I thought it was you. She’s been hacked around.’
‘Who is it?’
I moved unsteadily to the bed and looked into the twisted face of Miranda Gonçalves. The eyes were rolled up in petrified agony and the left cheek was ripped open.
‘Miranda Gonçalves,’ I mumbled into the phone. ‘It’s horrible, sadistic.’
Julia was silent for a moment. ‘Somebody must have learned about our meeting this morning,’ she said, trying to sound businesslike. ‘She’d planted the bugs, I caught a snatch of Beethoven’s Third as I approached the villa, and some conversation.’
‘But why this? Why not a quick bullet and dump the body in the ocean? And how did the body get here? Somebody’s on to us, who?’
‘Nebulo,’ Julia replied. ‘Obviously he doesn’t trust Martines so he kept the whole household under observation. He must have been watching Gonçalves and saw her talking to me.’
But nobody had been watching the hairdressing salon and nobody had followed us to the restaurant; I’d checked. Furthermore, if they’d seen Gonçalves collect the bugs they wouldn’t have let her plant them. My thoughts were interrupted by a hammering at the door.
‘I’ve got visitors. Keep listening.’
The banging continued. My mind suddenly cleared. Exits: none. Therefore one: prepare future escape route. Two: communicate the problem.
I put the Luger back into its holster and took the Beretta from my waistband. Then I placed the phone under the bed, the receiver still off. Julia should be able to hear most of what happened. There was nowhere to hide the Beretta in the bedroom or living room so I put it in the oven in the kitchen.
‘Open this door immediately,’ someone shouted.
‘Who is it?’
‘Open up.’
It was Gomes, appearing like a vulture as he had when Gary died. But vultures let others do their killing.
I had to let him in and try to bluff my way out.
Gomes stood outside, smiling broadly with a submachine gun pointing carelessly at me. Behind him were more armed police.
‘Captain Gomes, thank God you’ve arrived. There’s been a murder in here.’
I led him to the bedroom, gesturing towards Gonçalves’ mutilated body. ‘Do something.’
‘I will,’ he replied, letting the words hang in the air. ‘I think, Senhor, you have a lot of questions to answer.’
A policeman entered carrying a flash camera. He looked sickened; obviously he hadn’t been there when she was killed. Gomes led me back to the lounge where three of his men stood idly; pistols, handcuffs and truncheons at their waists. He sent one to stand guard outside.
‘Tell me about it,’ Gomes said.
‘About what?’
‘About the woman you’ve killed. What else?’
‘I didn’t kill her. I’ve just found her, like that. I don’t even know her name.’
Gomes arched his eyebrows. ‘You’ve returned to this apartment, obviously a love nest, and found a naked woman on the bed! Does such a fairy tale sound reasonable to you? Will any judge believe it?’
He was interrupted by the police photographer, who’d finished remarkably quickly. When he’d gone Gomes’ attitude changed radically.
‘Search him,’ he barked.
One of his men rapidly obeyed, tossing my Luger to Gomes. When he’d finished he punched me sharply in the stomach. Instinctively I lashed out with my right foot, catching him on the shin. He fell back against his companion but I couldn’t follow up: Gomes had his submachine gun cradled in one arm and my Luger in the other hand, both pointing directly at me.
‘That will do Guerno,’ he said to my assailant. ‘There will be plenty of time for that. Remember the Senhor is a respectable visitor to our country, even though he carries a gun.’
‘I need one with guardians of the law like you around.’ I’d given up any hope of bluffing my way out.
‘Come now, we’re not going to have a silly conversation like that, are we?’ Gomes scoffed. ‘Let me explain your position, then perhaps you will cooperate. In fact, I’m sure you’ll cooperate.’
He paused before adding ‘Eventually’ in a voice that was meant to be menacing. His theatrical tone made it more laughable than frightening.
He was a caricature of a tough man. The sort who uses a knife when others are using their fists. A sadist who’d watched too many gangster films. Dillinger became America’s ‘Public Enemy Number One’ by vaulting over bank counters and brandishing his guns, he actually stole very little. Gomes was in the same mould. He stood waving his submachine gun, a Brazilian-made Model 953, in one hand like a toy. I remembered that the Model 953, unlike the Danish Madsen on which it was based, had a weird safety arrangement: to fire you had to grip the magazine housing and hold down a safety lever in front of the housing. The way Gomes was holding the gun he couldn’t do that.
He saw me looking at the gun and evidently decided it didn’t fit whatever image he was trying to project. He passed it to a goon he called Romeo and merely waved my Luger to illustrate his points.
‘The position is very simple. I received a call from Senhorita Gonçalves saying she’d been lured to your apartment and you’d locked her in the bedroom. Obviously you forgot the phone is in there. Naturally I raced to her aid only to find her dead, viciously attacked, with you the only other occupant of the apartment. When I examine the murder weapon I feel sure I will find your fingerprints.’
He stopped as if expecting me to say something. When I said nothing he continued.
‘If you say nothing I cannot help you. You will be tried and, I promise, convicted. Your government will disown you. Think of that: no help from London. And at best, years in a stinking prison. Or perhaps you will try to escape. Many try in Brazil but none make it.’
‘You’ll never make that story stand up in court. There are holes I could drive a tank through.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as motive. Why should I kill her, a total stranger?’
Gomes smiled lasciviously. ‘You’re a man of the world. I need not spell out the motive. Why is a sex maniac a sex maniac? I don’t know. No judge in Brazil will think twice about motive. It is well known that the British are a decadent people, very permissive. If that’s your only objection, forget it.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not. You’ve forgotten the element of time. I’d been in the apartment only two or three minutes when you arrived. In that time I’m supposed to have locked this woman in the bedroom, let her phone you, stripped her and then hacked her around. That’s pretty fast work, nearly as fast as your arrival here.’
Gomes was unmoved. ‘Can you prove you weren’t here half an hour ago? Perhaps one of my officers saw you arrive forty minutes ago.’
‘That’s strange. The two people who dropped me near here will swear I’d been with them for the last three hours. Right up until five minutes ago.’
‘You’re lying. You walked here. I saw you arrive.’
‘I only walked a few blocks, to check I wasn’t being followed.’
‘And who are these two people? I can have a dozen people testify you’ve been here for the past hour.’
‘They’re diplomats,’ I lied. ‘Americans.’
‘Western diplomats,’ Gomes sneered. ‘Once their government sees my evidence it won’t dare let them testify. And as I said, you need not reach trial, you might try to escape.’
‘And so what do you propose? I tell you whatever you want to know and then you carry on with your frame-up or shoot me.’
‘Why would I shoot you? It would only be an embarrassment, to me and my government. No, I will release you if you cooperate. You have my word. Of course that will be after the auction is completed.’
It sounded plausible but I didn’t believe a word of it.
‘It is not so very much I want,’ he continued. ‘A little information. Who told you about us? When I met you, after Senhor Stover’s tragic demise, you knew who I was. You mentioned slanders about me. How did you know about that?’
‘You’re famous, Gomes. There’s a file on you in London. Naturally I read it; Brazil’s my responsibility.’
‘You flatter me, Senhor. But you’re lying. You have been watching the Villa Nhambiquaras. Who told you about Senhor Martines?’
‘You’re wasting your time.’
‘I think not. You will tell me what I want to know. The only question is when.’
Any minute he was going to say ‘Vee haf vays of making you talk.’ He nearly did. ‘You are bound to talk eventually, but I want the information now.’
‘Get lost.’
He nodded to the man I’d kicked. Guerno advanced towards me, swinging his truncheon.
‘This is your last chance. We are not amateurs. You’ve heard of Operação Bandeirantes?’
I nodded wearily. It was an infamous training programme in torture techniques that included live demonstrations on political prisoners.
‘Our specialists have lectured in military academies throughout Latin America. And Guerno knows it all. With the truncheon he will break every bone in your body.’
I told him exactly what Guerno could do with his truncheon.
Gomes kept the Luger pointing at my stomach while Guerno approached from the side. I could do nothing. Gomes only had to lower his aim, put a bullet in my knee and any chance of escape would be gone. I could only hope Guerno, or the other man, Romeo, would step into his line of fire.
I braced myself for a blow on the head. Instead Guerno swung at the back of my left hand. I whipped it into my mouth, convinced every bone was broken. As I did, the truncheon swung at my stomach. I turned, but not enough. The breath was shot out of my lungs. I doubled up, wanting to vomit but retching air. I put my right hand down for support but whipped it back as a boot stamped towards it.
Rolling on to my side Romeo kicked me in the ribs. I’d forgotten him and saw his lunging foot too late.
A hand grabbed my shoulder and as I was dragged up a pile-driving punch slammed my head back on to the thinly carpeted floor. For a fraction of a second I was dead to the world.
I forced myself to breathe deeply and steadily, waves of nausea crashing through me. I concentrated on Gomes’ legs a couple of yards away. Slowly they stopped dancing around. Gomes had motioned his men back.
‘You can see we mean business,’ he said. I’d never doubted that. ‘Start with Miranda Gonçalves. You knew her. You’ve spoken to her frequently. Perhaps she contacted you as soon as you arrived.’
‘It’s not true,’ I croaked.
‘How did you discover Martines? Through this woman? We know she spoke to the Americans; we saw her with Conniston this afternoon. When did she contact you?’
I said nothing and started levering myself up, using the wall as support. Romeo stepped forward and knocked my arm from the wall. I fell back. It wasn’t worth struggling.