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…

Nothing hangs together.

to my empty coffee cup.

“Sim. Thank you.”

Hughes…” He stabs a finger at my page. “You not go this place. Is bad place for nice English

remembering that I ‘can’t speak the

bad. Many bad men there. And badder

Que tipo de bad men and

many years, this city….” He sweeps his arms out in circles

violence,” I

He nods vigorously. “Sim, muita

and again he nods. Then I mime injecting myself…

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

woman too?

down, then up again, nodding. “Prostitutes, sim. But

bad woman. What

bad place. Then, since ten 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. She is…” He splutters for a moment… “She same as

sounding

Juliana…

What does she

stares at me

bad woman…

shrugs. “Ninguém

does she

Again, that blank stare…

head… “Tall?” … Then lower… “Short? Alta? Baixo?

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

guide, riffling through. “You like o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes?

places

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 I do

the newspaper archives, I know what I’m

Sao Paulo organised crime… Then as

000 results, starting with a

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

search. Names of criminal

but some more useful

is enticing

the

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