After interviewing João, Inspector Umbelino went to the police station at Baixa. He went down to the registry department and asked them to check two names: Alphonse Morro and Elisa Gomes. Both names were listed in police records as murder victims. Elisa Gomes had died as a result of an assassin’s bomb seven years before, and Alphonse Morro, her fiancé, had been murdered at the harbor by a seaman three years later.

Now, after another three and a half years, a man had been shot and killed at the grave of Elisa Gomes, and according to the caretaker of the cemetery that man was Alphonse Morro. It was obvious that something wasn’t right. Inspector Umbelino, unlike João, did not believe in ghosts. Apart from which, it must be impossible to shoot a ghost, mustn’t it?

So who was the dead man in the cemetery? And why was he murdered at the grave of Elisa Gomes? It might be a coincidence, of course, but Inspector Umbelino no more believed in coincidences than he believed in ghosts. So from the registry department he moved on to the department of criminal records, where he asked to be given all the papers relating to the murders of Alphonse Morro and Elisa Gomes. He put the papers in his briefcase and drove to his favorite café, A Brasileira, where he ordered a large pot of coffee and a basket of pastéis de nata, those delicious custard tarts.

It was eight o’clock in the evening by the time he finished the coffee and the custard tarts, and by then he had also read the reports on both the murders. He was perplexed. There was something peculiar about the investigation of the murder of Alphonse Morro three years ago. The victim’s body had never been found, and Umbelino knew it was difficult to convict someone of murder unless there was a body. This case was clearly an exception to that rule. A Finnish seaman had been sentenced to twenty-five years in jail for killing Morro. The only evidence seemed to be statements taken from witnesses on the quayside, who had sworn that Koskela, the Finnish seaman, had knocked Morro unconscious and then thrown him in the river. All of these witnesses had been interviewed by the same policeman, the officer in charge of the case. His name was Raul Garretta.

Umbelino knew who Chief Inspector Garretta was even though they had never worked in the same district. As far as Umbelino had heard, Garretta was considered to be an excellent detective.

“But this is not the way things should be done,” Umbelino muttered to himself as he placed the papers in his briefcase and went home to help his wife get dinner. “This is really not the way….”

The following morning Inspector Umbelino rang Signor Fidardo. João had given him the number.

“I need to have a word with you and Senhora Molina,” Umbelino said after introducing himself. “It’s about the murder in the cemetery. Could you come to the Estrela police station this afternoon?”

“No, unfortunately we can’t,” Signor Fidardo answered.

“Why is that?”

“It’s quite out of the question. Senhora Molina and I have no intention of going to any police station.”

“But why not?” Umbelino asked in a surprised voice.

“Because we are afraid of Chief Inspector Garretta,” Signor Fidardo answered. “We’re frightened to leave the house.”

After this conversation Inspector Umbelino sat in his office chair for some time, trying to think it through. This was the second time Garretta’s name had turned up in this investigation. That must signify something, surely? But what?

Umbelino took down one of the Lisbon police yearbooks he had on his bookshelf and leafed through it until he found what he was looking for. After putting the yearbook in his briefcase he left the office and took a tram to Alfama. On the way there he bought a large bag of sugary buns to demonstrate that he wasn’t dangerous.

Signor Fidardo was reluctant to allow Umbelino in at first. Only after the inspector had assured him he was unarmed did Signor Fidardo open the door. A short while later they were sitting round Ana’s kitchen table drinking coffee. Umbelino produced the police yearbook from his briefcase and went through it until he found a group photograph of the personnel in the criminal investigations department of the district in which Garretta was chief inspector.

“Do you recognize anyone in this photograph?” he asked.

Ana immediately caught sight of Garretta in the back row.

“That one,” she said. “That’s the one who was here the night before last. He threatened us with a revolver.”

Signor Fidardo nodded in agreement.

Inspector Umbelino scratched his head.

“It sounds very strange. Why in the name of all that is sacred would an officer in the Lisbon police be threatening you?”

“He was looking for Alphonse Morro,” Signor Fidardo answered.

Inspector Umbelino looked doubtful.

“Alphonse Morro,” he said. “I heard that name yesterday too. The caretaker mentioned it. He had quite a story to tell, and I still can’t decide whether to believe it or not. You wouldn’t happen to have a gorilla here, would you? A gorilla by the name of Sally Jones?”

Ana and Signor Fidardo exchanged glances. Then Ana stood up and drew aside the curtains in front of the bed alcove. Umbelino went over and looked in, and there I was, sound asleep under a blanket.

“Tell me about her,” Umbelino said after they had returned to their seats. “And start right at the beginning.”

The inspector left our house on Rua de São Tomé five hours later. He had been thrown off-balance by everything Ana and Signor Fidardo had to tell him. It all seemed so improbable. But Umbelino had been a detective long enough to know when he was being told the truth and when he was being lied to. And he knew that this was the truth.

When he left Alfama, Inspector Umbelino went straight to São José Hospital to talk to Dr. Rosa Domingues. She shuddered when he showed her the photograph of Chief Inspector Garretta.

“That’s him,” she said. “That’s the policeman who wanted to take away my patient.”

“What was the patient’s name?”

“Alphonse Morro,” Dr. Domingues answered. “That’s what he told me, anyway.”