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…

the poorer end of

Nothing hangs together.

nodding down to my empty

“Sim. Thank you.”

he glances at my guide. “Senhor Hughes…” He stabs a finger at my page.

I ‘can’t speak the language’… “What’s

Many bad men

prick. “Woman? Que tipo

sweeps his arms out in circles all around… “…all bad place. Much…” He falters then holds out two fingers making

violence,” I say. “Much

“Sim, muita

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

“…And the womans para prostitutas.” He takes the book from me, closes it, then slaps it down on

bad woman too? A

nodding. “Prostitutes, sim. But há sim one

bad woman.

men gone. Not like other cities. Since

sounding

Juliana…

woman, her name? What does she

stares at

woman… A mulher má…

shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela é

What does she

Again, that blank stare…

stand, raising my hand to my head… “Tall?” … Then

city guide, repeating, “Bad place. Bad people. You not go there. I show you

through. “You like o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso there. And

him ramble on, nodding as he jabs fingers at places where ‘Nice turista man

least, their English editions. I can read Portuguese, but it doesn’t come

archives, I know what I’m looking

an experimental search term… Sao Paulo

000 results, starting with

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

another search. Names of

time, but some more useful

is enticing recruits with a

Evolution of the Most

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