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.

elbow, nodding down to my empty coffee cup.

“Sim. Thank you.”

He stabs a finger at my page. “You not go this

I ‘can’t speak the language’…

bad men there. And

prick. “Woman? Que tipo de bad men and

His voice lowers and he leans in close. “One time, since many years, this city….” He sweeps his arms out in circles all around… “…all bad place. Much…” He falters then holds out two

I

nods vigorously. “Sim, muita violência. Muito

again he nods. Then

womans para prostitutas.” He takes the book from me, closes it, then slaps it

said bad woman

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

bad woman. What

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 prostitute.

sounding deeply

Juliana…

What

at

bad woman… A mulher má…

upheld, he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe.

What does

Again, that blank stare…

hand to my head… “Tall?”

at me, then at my city guide, repeating, “Bad place. Bad

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

nodding as he jabs fingers at places where ‘Nice turista man is safe.’ But my mind’s

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

delving into the newspaper archives,

Paulo organised crime… Then

139,000, 000 results,

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

in another search. Names of

but

gang is enticing recruits with a

of the

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