Graveyard Samba (Devil Barnett Detective Series Book 4) Page 9

  The three of them talked for a few minutes, then Ilva and Vargas went into the garage as Sangalo climbed into a red late model Porsche and drove off.

  I waited for half an hour before Ilva returned to her car.

  I rejoined her at the end of the block and she told me that she had set up a meeting with Vargas at a nearby bar at midnight.

  “Luis told me that he had met you with Ramón and he wants to talk to you again.”

  “Okay,” I said, as we headed towards my second clandestine meeting with Vargas in two nights.

  My watch read 10:26pm

  *******

  At 10:28 pm., a green Chrysler pulled into the narrow street in front of a house and turned off the lights. Captain Machado of the Military police emerged with his briefcase in hand. Captain Machado entered his house alone like he had done for the past six years since his wife had died.

  Before Captain Marchado could reach for the inside light switch on the wall, a single silenced pistol fired. Captain Machado stumbled and lurched forward from the shock of the bullet entering his stomach and collapsed to the floor.

  A pair of strong hands quickly rolled him over on his back.

  “Ahh, my God,” the Captain automatically called as his stomach began to burn and he began to gasp for breath.

  “Yes, my son,” a voice answered calmly.

  The Captain had never seen the man standing above him before. A man dressed in a priests’ robe. The Man of Heavenly Love had been waiting for the Captain for two hours and seven minutes exactly. Because Captain Machado was still conscious and gasping for breath and he had been shot in his stomach, The Man of Heavenly Love was very pleased that the Captain would be alive long enough to be able to witness his words of love. He kneeled down and took the Captain’s bloody hands in his own and started to speak in a soft low tone almost as if he were praying.

  “And I saw an angel come down from heaven having the key of the bottomless pit and a great chain in his hand. And he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent which is the devil and bound him a thousand years, and cast into the bottomless pit and shut him up and set upon him a seal that he should deceive the nations no more, ” The Man of Heavenly Love said. He stood up and aimed the pistol at the captain again. This time he shot twice. The first bullet entered Captain Machado’s left eye and the second one his forehead.

  The Man of Heavenly Love made the sign of the cross in the air above the dead man, then picked up a small packet filled with hundred dollar bills from the table and walked out calmly into the warm October night.

  ******

  It was 11:54 p. m. when Vinicius Sangalo reached the IML building. He dialled a number in his cell phone.

  “It’s me, Vinicius,” he said. Within a few minutes the latch on the door opened and Sangalo entered the building by the side entrance and went directly to the manager’s office. He was dressed in the green uniform he had taken from Carlinhos, as not to draw any undue attention to himself. He was just another one of the new guys sent over from head office. Once inside the manager’s office, Sangalo opened the record file with Carlinho’s illicit set of keys and worked fast. Within a few minutes, he had found what he had come for. The file read Duncan Lamont. American D. O. A. Sangalo looked up and smiled at the person standing on the other side of the room.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  At a few minutes before midnight, we reached the bar. Vargas was already there and seated at a small table just big enough for the three of us.

  From the way she approached the table and from the way his eyes washed over Ilva, I sensed that there was or had been or maybe it was still brewing—something personal between this cop and this fine lady journalist. I had seen enough cheating wives and husbands having secret rendezvous at The Be Bop Tavern to know when couples were having a little sneak-a-round and trying to pretend they weren’t. If you didn’t know what to look for you could miss those little give-a-way signs, but if you knew, it was as plain as if somebody had written it all over the wall.

  “So do you think Judge Tavares’ death is linked in some way to Duncan’s?” Ilva asked Vargas.

  “Honestly, I don’t know, but what I do know is that within the past two days, two people involved with these child pornography cases have been killed.”

  “Two?” Her mouth dropped opened in shock and her eyes flashed like a sixty watt light bulb had just been switched on inside her brain.

  “Yes, Vianna, one of the cops in my section. His body was found in his apartment last night, he was working on a related case about missing kids.”

  “Shit, so you think they’re connected, then?”

  “I’m not saying anything because nothing is conclusive as yet. Forensics is still going over everything.”

  “Forensics tell you anything about the body parts in the box yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet, but from the phone call you received as well as the colour of the eyes and the shape of the nose we have to assume that they belonged to Ramón,” Vargas said.

  “He was a good friend of yours, I presume,” I said.

  “Not really a friend, but a good person who wanted to help.”

  “Before we met, he mentioned you as a friend of the cause, what exactly did that mean?”

  “It simply means that I would like to see this terrible child pornography business ended in my country. And I will do all I can to help,” Vargas answered.

  “Even if it means helping the Robin Hood priest?” I asked.

  Ilva pivoted with flickering eyes in a way that told me that the light bulb inside her head had just increased from sixty to a hundred watts.

  “Who told you about him?” she asked.

  “Ramón. He said that he was a major figure in helping getting kids away from the pornography ring.”

  Vargas smiled a little. “The illusive and mysterious Robin Hood priest. Ramón told you ‘bout that too, huh?”

  “Is he a reality or a fantasy?” I asked.

  “Who knows?” Vargas shrugged.

  “Duncan certainly seemed to think he was a reality. Early last week he told me that he had a meeting planned with someone who could get him an introduction to the priest and that he was going to feed me some juicy bits, once he had broken the story and gotten his credit,” Ilva said.

  “Seems that you two were very close?” Vargas said trying to keep any underlying meaning from the question, but I heard it anyway.

  “Close enough,” Ilva said nonchalantly.

  “Let me be the Devil’s advocate for a moment. Let’s say this priest heard that Duncan was on his trail and he didn’t want to be found. Maybe that would have been enough for him to have Duncan killed?” I offered.

  “That’s similar to the theory the department is working on,” Vargas said.

  “Why are they taking that approach?” Ilva asked.

  “Because, a priest was seen leaving Vianna’s apartment building by the superintendent the same afternoon he was killed,” Vargas said.

  “Why is that odd? I would think in the biggest Catholic country in the world there are lots of priests walking around all the time. And couldn’t Vianna have been a religious man?” Ilva responded.

  “Maybe, but the lady who said she saw him, said he came from the floor where Vianna lived, but we checked and no one on that floor knew anything about a priest being there for any reason. We think that he could be involved,” said Vargas.

  “Now that’s quite a big leap, isn’t it? Listen to yourself, Luis, a mysterious priest who goes from being an outlaw hero because he circumvents the law and abducts exploited children from orphanages to being a murderer. That’s a big step isn’t it? Besides if he wanted to stay hidden, why would he show himself where anyone who knew him might recognize him? Sounds like someone in your department is reaching for straws or better still, sounds like the porno gang is killing people and setting this priest up to make him into an outlaw,” Ilva said.

  “That is another way of looking at it,” Vargas admitted.

  I could tell that Ilva was smart and fast on her feet which meant on one hand she could be a good ally, but on the other hand I saw that she was idealistic with an intellectual bent and ready to argue the finer points as long as she won the round—which made her a liability, especially if the time ever came that I had to shoot first and ask questions later.

  “So for both of us, looks like it comes down to the same thing, finding this mystery priest,” I said to Vargas.

  “I guess.”

  “Which way are you leaning, towards what I believe or the official department line?” Ilva wanted to know.

  Vargas closed his eyes like he was retreating to a corner of his mind and leaned back in the chair for a few seconds then turned to Ilva.

  “I admit what you say makes sense, but there’s still a lot of loose ends,” admitted Vargas.

  I decided that it was time for my two cent’s worth again.

  “Okay, even if the priest was involved with killing Duncan, what reason would he have to kill Ramón?” I asked.

  “Good point,” Ilva said.

  “You’re right, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but up to this point a lot of things don’t make sense.”

  I turned to Ilva and put into words what I knew she was thinking.

  “So you think the mystery priest might know about Rosa’s son’s sibling?”

  “Stands to reason, if he has access to lots of kids, then he might have seen something.”

  Then Vargas spoke up.

  “Saying it is one thing and doing it is another. For five years, there have been people looking for him and he’s been able to remain illusive, what makes you think he’s suddenly going to make himself available now just because—”

  He stopped in mid-sentence but I finished it for
him.

  “Just because a gringo is now involved.”

  “No I didn’t mean that.”

  “Liar.” Ilva laughed at Vargas’ obvious embarrassment.

  “Did it ever occur to you, that Mr. Barnett may have another approach? Maybe something the police haven’t thought of yet,” said Ilva rubbing salt into the wound.

  Go easy with him baby, I was thinking—you can play games like I’m twice as clever as you, I told you so, or kiss my ass, after we get what we need. But right now the last thing in the world I want to do is to alienate Vargas and cause him to stop sharing any information he might come across just because you need to shoot him in the ego with your smart ass comments. Don’t burn this bridge. Not now baby, please not now. Because at this stage of the game we need all the help we can get.

  But Vargas’ didn’t seem to take the bait.

  “Okay, let’s look at it another way then. What would you suggest, Mr. Barnett?” the cop said.

  “As you say, the man has been illusive for a long time, so he must have a support system in the form of an organization of people who help keep him hidden. Ramón mentioned that he was part of this kind of organization. Maybe we have to try and back track Duncan’s movements to see if there is anyone else around who might be affiliated with the organization or may have known something about the big story he was planning,” I said looking directly into Vargas’s eyes, deadpan.

  I knew that my response wasn’t inspired in any way, but at least now it looked as if I was taking what he had said seriously. Because one thing I found out over the years is that when it comes to the job, most policemen take themselves seriously and would prefer than others did, too. So, when in Rome, right?

  “Okay, I can see that, it’s a solid approach,” commented Vargas.

  “I know this is very irregular but would it be asking too much if I could see the police reports on the two murdered cops?” I asked.

  Vargas paused for moment before answering.

  “I think I might be able to do that.”

  “By the way, where is your partner?” I asked.

  “Probably out chasing women, it’s his night off.”

  “Shaking down drug dealers is probably more like it,” Illva said then jumped to another subject.

  “If this priest is as bloodthirsty as you say, then maybe another approach might be to set him up with a different kind of bait,” Ilva offered. It was obvious that Ilva not only knew exactly how to push Vargas’ hot button—but she enjoyed it.

  “You mean another cop who might get shot through the head like Vianna?” he snorted.

  “Another cop shot, why not? There are lots of cops and only one of him. Let’s set up Sangalo and let him take a bullet,” she grinned devilishly.

  “Don’t talk stupid,” he snapped.

  “It may be stupid, but at least it’s one way of cleaning up corruption in the police department, hah hah,” she said, laughing at her own joke.

  Vargas laughed too, but not quite in the same way—or I got the feeling, not even for the same reasons. It made me think of something my grandmother used to say. Every laugh ain’t tickled and every goodbye ain’t gone.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was almost 2:00am. and Father Leandro was on his knees praying for the safe passage of the last group of children he had sent away into the night just a few minutes before.

  Once again a group of children had been rescued by his followers from an abusive situation and once again, he had been successful in securing their safe passage to Venezuela. He had loyal followers who helped him at every turn, who believed in what he was doing and who often put their own lives in jeopardy to ensure the success of his noble cause. For five years he had been successful in his secret work of saving children’s lives—a mission that had earned him the name ‘the Robin Hood Priest.’

  Now his soul cried out as it had since he had accepted his failing as a priest, as a man of God. Oftentimes he would pray all night, asking God to give him direction and sustenance.

  The sound of a door opening drew his attention and he looked up to see his old friend and loyal devotee Father Arlinho entering the room. The old man who was all but deaf and blind smiled and held his head cocked as he ambled forward and squinted in the direction of Father Leandro knelt in prayer.

  “You have worked hard, now it is time for rest,” Feather Arlinho said.

  “Yes in a short while,” Leandro said but the old man was so deaf he knew that he had not heard. Leandro nodded his head and waved his hand which the old priest took as a sign of agreement and he turned back towards the direction of his room. He had found Arlinho just three years before, in ill health, with a debilitated brain and on the brink on death in a small monastery near Bahia. He had taken the old man and revived his physical health and rehabilitated him by giving him the responsibility for keeping the place clean, which he did to a fault. In fact, he was a godsend. Because as Arlinho was deaf and half-witted, Leandro was able to confess his sins without fear or shame. His deafness was a blessing, perhaps for both of them.

  Ten more minutes of solitude passed before Leandro stood and headed towards his room. When he reached his door, he hesitated and held his breath. He said five hail Marys then opened the door. His eyes fell on the bed, to the small form that lay there with its smooth, pale skin and small frame. The boy was about twelve and fast asleep. Leandro felt a sensation of excitement pass through his body as he climbed into bed with the boy and wrapped him in his arms. As he started to kiss the boy on his neck, tears from the priest’s eyes began to flow and mix with his passion. He was crying for his sins of the flesh, a sin from which he did not believe he could ever receive liberation or absolution.

  By 8:00 am. the following morning, when Leandro woke, the boy had already left as was the usual arrangement—as first thing in the morning he did not like to be reminded of those dark and torn patches that marred his soul. Leandro got up, bathed and dressed. He remembered that it was Wednesday and that Arlinho and the boy had gone to the village for the supplies. Leandro set about doing the work of the day. There was always the planning for the next shipment of children to save. As he raked dead leaves from the garden, he reviewed the budget in his mind. All of his operating funds came from secret donations—more often than not part of the salaries of his supporters, so money was always a concern. He was thinking about how he would get the money to buy a better second hand truck when the sound of an engine drew his attention. He smiled when the vehicle came close enough to be recognizable.

  “How are you, my son?” he greeted one of his most loyal followers as the man sat inside the truck.

  As the man exited the truck and began to walk towards the priest, there was a look of confusion and concern on the old priest’s face.

  “My son, why are you dressed in a priest’s robe when you are no longer a priest, that as you know could be considered an act of sacrilege.”

  “I know, Father but please forgive me this time, but I only wore these vestments because of my mission.”

  “What mission?” the old priest asked.

  “Father, we have known each other, how long now?” the man asked.

  “Since before your days at the seminary, so I’d imagine fifteen maybe sixteen years—no closer to twenty years,” Leandro said.

  “Remember you trained me in how to take confession,” the man said.

  “Yes, it seems such a long time ago.”

  “I haven’t confessed in years, but now I’d like to, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, my son,” Leandro said and leaned the rake against the brick wall of the small church.

  They both walked inside.

  Father Leandro decided not to stand on ceremony, as it was obvious from his friend’s manner that there was something hanging heavy on his mind.

  “Father, I have transgressed, I have broken one of the commandments.”

  “Which one is that my son?

  “Thou shall not kill.”