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

Nothing hangs together.

down to my

“Sim. Thank you.”

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

I ‘can’t speak the language’… “What’s the

very bad. Many bad men there. And

Que tipo de

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…” Invisible knife gripped in his hand, he

I say. “Much

He nods vigorously. “Sim, muita violência. Muito

nods. Then I mime injecting myself…

closes it, then slaps it down on the table. “Bad place, Senhor. And bad men.” He

woman too?

nodding. “Prostitutes, sim. But há sim one bad

woman. What

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…”

is sounding deeply

Juliana…

What does she look

stares at

bad woman… A mulher

he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela é um

mystery? What does

Again, that blank stare…

my head… “Tall?”

Bad people. You not go there. I show you nice place for nice English turista man.

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

fingers at places where ‘Nice turista man is safe.’ But

up for subscriptions on a variety of Brazilian newspapers, or at least, their English editions. I

archives,

Sao Paulo organised

results, starting with

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

tap in another search. Names of

time, but

largest gang is

the Most Lethal Criminal

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