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…

end of

Nothing hangs together.

to my empty

“Sim. Thank you.”

my guide. “Senhor Hughes…” He stabs a finger at my page. “You not go

‘can’t

Many bad

tipo de bad men and

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

violence,” I say.

vigorously. “Sim, muita violência. Muito

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

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

bad woman too? A

“Prostitutes, sim. But há sim

bad woman. What she

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,

is sounding deeply

Juliana…

woman, her name? What does she look

at me

bad woman… A mulher má… Her

shrugs. “Ninguém sabe.

does she look

Again, that blank stare…

“Tall?” …

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

through. “You like o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso there. And we have parques…” He nods vigorously…

nodding as he jabs fingers at places where

ten minutes later I’ve signed up for subscriptions on a 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 more of my time interpreting the

now, delving into the newspaper archives, I

experimental search term… Sao Paulo organised

screen blinks: 139,000, 000 results, starting with

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

tap in another search. Names

this time, but some more useful

gang is enticing recruits with

the Most Lethal

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