The meal goes smoothly enough, albeit with a lot of negotiating the rapids and under-currents of good manners and courtesy.

Beth’s pregnancy proves a safe topic of discussion, with none of the pitfalls and booby traps lying in wait if we talk about anything closer to home. Mitch is a star, repeatedly shifting the conversation back onto the imminent birth of Beth’s and Richard’s new son.

Later, in a quiet moment with Michael, “My apologies,” I say. “Tact isn’t one of Georgie’s virtues. It never was.”

His answering smile is wry. “Like father, like daughter.”

*****

Klempner

Two weeks and… nothing…

Not a whisper. Nothing I can find.

Sitting in the corner of Antonio’s, I’ve spent a pleasant afternoon, but frustration gnaws at me. Hickman reports that all is well, but…

Has Juliana given up?

?

Not fucking likely…

Antonio’s cafe has become somewhat of a routine. Misgivings nudge me, reminding me that I shouldn’t develop such habits…

… Making myself vulnerable…

But, with nothing to go on, what the hell else can I do?

On the other hand, there has to be some reason for the address to have been used in Finchby’s invoices.

Perhaps I just need to wait.

But what am I waiting for?

How long can I keep doing this?

Still, in the meantime, while I wait for my mystery to unravel, the old man is genuinely good company. And also, a mine of local information.

Finishing a cup of the excellent coffee, I consult a local guide, comparing my list of addresses to a local map, looking for some pattern, seeking inspiration…

Access to road…

Access to the ports…

Whereabouts of police stations…

poorer end of town… the red-light

Nothing hangs together.

at my elbow, nodding down to my empty coffee cup. “Mais

“Sim. Thank you.”

a finger at my page. “You not go this place. Is bad place for

Then, remembering that I ‘can’t speak the language’… “What’s

bad. Many bad men

ears prick. “Woman? Que tipo de bad men

years, this city….” He sweeps his arms out in circles all around… “…all bad place. Much…” He falters then holds out two fingers making a Bang Bang gesture… “And much…”

I say. “Much

He nods vigorously. “Sim, muita

smoke an imaginary cigarette and again he nods. Then I mime injecting

closes it, then slaps it down on the table. “Bad place, Senhor. And bad men.” He wags a finger at me. “You no go

bad woman

nodding. “Prostitutes, sim. But há sim

woman. What she

men gone. Not like other cities. Since two years, bad men here again. And

sounding deeply

Juliana…

woman, her name? What does she

stares at

woman… A mulher

upheld, he shrugs. “Ninguém

does she look

Again, that blank stare…

raising my hand to my head… “Tall?” … Then lower… “Short?

place. Bad people.

museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso

ramble on, nodding as he jabs fingers at places where ‘Nice turista man is safe.’

on a variety of Brazilian newspapers, or at least, their English editions. I can read Portuguese, but it doesn’t come so naturally as reading in English. I spend more of my time interpreting the language than

archives,

Paulo organised crime… Then as an afterthought, add,

results, starting with

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

tap in another search. Names of criminal

this time, but some

gang is enticing recruits with

Evolution of the

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