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…

to the poorer end of town… the red-light

Nothing hangs together.

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

“Sim. Thank you.”

across the table, and he glances at my guide. “Senhor Hughes…” He stabs a finger at my

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

bad men there.

Que tipo de bad

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

I say.

nods vigorously. “Sim, muita violência. Muito

he nods. Then I mime injecting myself… “Cocaína…?

from me, closes it, then slaps it down on the table. “Bad place, Senhor.

bad woman too? A

again, nodding. “Prostitutes, sim. But há sim

woman. What

year, Sao Paulo good city. People not die…” Fingers spread, he rocks his hand… “… Not so many. Bad men gone. Not like other cities. Since two years, bad men here again. And this woman is baddest.

is sounding

Juliana…

What

stares at

“The bad woman… A mulher má…

shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela

does

Again, that blank stare…

head… “Tall?” …

he waves a forefinger at me, then at my city guide, repeating, “Bad place. Bad people. You not go there. I show you nice place for nice English turista man. You go this

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

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

least, their English editions. I can read Portuguese, but

delving into the newspaper archives, I know what I’m looking

Sao Paulo organised crime… Then as an afterthought,

results, starting with a

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

Names of criminal

results, this time, but some

is enticing recruits with a

Evolution of the Most Lethal Criminal

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