The Ways of Evil Men (3 page)

“What else?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it? After all that talking?”

“Of course not, but that’s the gist of it. He related everything in minute detail, but you don’t need to hear any of that.”

“I’m sorry, Father, but I think I do. Please, try to remember.”

The priest drained his glass, poured another. “Why?”

“It’s my job.”

“Very well. I’ll try, but I’m warning you, some of it is pretty disgusting. They’re like that, the Indians. Disgusting. It comes from being too close to the ugly side of nature.”

“Nevertheless—”

“He talked about the flies on his wife’s face. They were crawling in and out of her …”

Castori pointed to his nose.

“Nostrils.”

“Yes, nostrils. There was one man who’d fallen across a fire and roasted his belly. And there were vultures tearing
at the bodies, opening them up with their beaks, going first for their eyes. You see? You really didn’t want to hear any of that, did you?”

“No,” Jade said. “But I must. Go on.”

“He said the dead people hadn’t discharged any vomit or excrement. He said it wasn’t that kind of poison. Ridiculous! How could he possibly know what kind of poison it was?”

“They use various kinds of poisons for hunting, some in the rivers to stun fish.”

He blinked at her, getting irritated again. “Thank you, Senhorita Calmon. That’s a stunning revelation.”

“I’m sorry, Father. You knew that.”

The priest put down his glass with a
thump
. If the tumbler had been of more delicate stuff, he might well have broken it. “Of course I did! I know everything there is to know about the Awana. I’ve probably forgotten more than you’ll ever learn.”

Jade refused to react to his show of temper. “I’m sure that’s true,” she said. But then couldn’t refrain from adding, “particularly considering the fact that there are now only two left. Can you remember anything else?”

“He talked about how the young girls will never again dance at the ceremony for the dead because there are no young girls anymore. And he says he must get back to his village and help his son to put up the
kuarups
. You know what a
kuarup
is?”

“Yes,” Jade said. “I know. They’d only erected one when I found them, and they hadn’t painted it yet.”

“He said it took them a long time to bury everyone and cut the wood.”

“Please ask him why he thinks white men did it.”

“I already did. He gave me two reasons.”

“And they are?”

“The only one I’m inclined to believe was his description of the meat. It wasn’t a tapir, he’s sure of that, but he couldn’t identify it. It might have been a pig. They’re not familiar with pigs.”

“And the other reason?”

“It’s preposterous.”

“I’d like to hear it anyway.”

“He said that only white men would be evil enough to poison an entire people.”

B
Y THE TIME THEY
left the priest’s home, the hottest part of the day had passed and people were appearing on the streets. Without exception, they stared at the Indian and, without exception, the stares were hostile.

Jade decided to get Amati out of sight until she needed him. But where could she bring him?

Her home? No. There’d be shrieks of protest from her housekeeper if she showed up accompanied by a “dirty savage”. Jade had explained more than once that Indians commonly bathed twice a day, and that most were cleaner than many white men, but Alexandra Santos didn’t believe it. To her, all Indians were dirty, and that was that. She remembered, then, a comment once made by a sales clerk at Cunha’s Pharmacy. The woman had remarked that Osvaldo Neto’s mother was an Indian. She’d said it disparagingly, as if it was something to be ashamed of, as if Osvaldo were a lesser creature because of it. Jade had disliked the remark at the time, but she was grateful for it now. If it was true, Osvaldo might not share the bigotry that pervaded the town. He might agree to give Amati a room at the Grand.

She parked behind the building and circled around to the front door. Osvaldo was alone in the bar, loading cans of beer into the refrigerator.

“Happy to help,” he said when she’d finished explaining the situation. “But we’ll have to sneak him in. You know how folks in this town are. Most of them wouldn’t like the idea of him staying here. Where is he now?”

“Out back, sitting in my jeep.”

“Perfect. You notice the door back there?”

“What door?”

“There’s only one. Go there and wait.”

Two minutes later, she heard the key turn in the lock. Osvaldo stuck out his head, looked left and right to make sure no one was watching, and ushered them inside.

“This way,” he said. “There’s a stairway that goes to the second floor.”

On the way up, they met one of the chambermaids coming down. When she caught sight of the Indian, she stopped dead. “Is
that
an Indian, Senhor Osvaldo?”

“Yes, Rita, that’s an Indian. He’ll be staying in two-one-one.”

Her mouth set in a firm line. “And you expect me to clean it?”

“I’ll do it myself,” he said. “Or Amanda will. Get back to work.”

She sniffed and continued on her way.

“Bitch,” Jade muttered.

“She is,” Osvaldo agreed. “But she’s reliable, and in this town reliable is hard to get.”

Room 211 was at the end of the corridor.

“Not the cheapest one I’ve got,” Osvaldo said, opening the door. “But that’s because of this.” He opened another door to reveal a small bathroom. “Most of the other rooms have to share the facilities. If someone went into one of the toilets or showers and found him there, they’d be sure to kick up a fuss.”

“And this way, he won’t have to leave the room. Good idea. I’ll try to explain that to him.”

Before Osvaldo could reply, the Indian pointed to the toilet bowl and said a few words, probably asking what it was for.

Osvaldo answered him in the same language.

“Wait,” Jade said. “You speak Awana?”

“Sure do.”

“If I’d known that I would have come here first.”

“Come here for what?”

“To get a translation. I’ve been trying to learn their language, but I still have a long way to go.”

“So you went to Castori?”

“I did. Does he know you speak Awana?”

Osvaldo grinned. “He does, but he doesn’t spread it around. He likes the idea of being the sole expert.”

“Why does he dislike the Awana so? And, given that he does, why did he bother to learn their language?”

“He learned so he could make converts, but he was never able to convert a single one. He blames them for that, but the truth of the matter is he’s a drunk.”

“What’s being a drunk got to do with it?”

“Indians don’t respect drunks, and they don’t take on new ideas from people they don’t respect. I could have told him that, saved him a lot of trouble, but he never asked.”

“And you never offered?”

Osvaldo shook his head. “No way. Castori’s an asshole. So, tell me, what’s going on?”

Jade told him.

“Jesus,” Osvaldo said when she was done. “I can see why you’d want to get him off the street.”

“You think he’s in danger?”

The hotelkeeper gave an emphatic nod. “You bet I do. Think about it. After thirty-nine murders, what’s one more?”

“So you think it might be a land grab?”

“I do. People around here have been bitching about that reservation for years, and the only way to do away with it was to do away with the people who lived there. Everybody knew that, but nobody ever had the guts to go that far. Now,
somebody has and there’s just him.” Osvaldo hooked a thumb at Amati.

“And his son,” Jade added.

“Right.”

“So what you’re saying is—”

“That if the killers get a crack at them, their lives won’t be worth a
centavo
.”

“Who are they, Osvaldo? Who do you think might have done this thing?”

Osvaldo scratched an ear. “One of the big ranchers, probably, or maybe someone who’s already stealing from the Indians and doesn’t want your agency or the IBAMA to find out about it.”

The IBAMA, the
Instituto Brasileiro do Meio Ambiente
, was the country’s environmental protection agency.

“You’re thinking illegal logging?”

“I am.”

“I don’t think so. We put a stop to that.”

“You only think you did.”

“Could you be a bit more specific?”

“As long as it doesn’t go any farther than this room.”

“Agreed.”

Despite the fact that they were within closed doors, Osvaldo leaned close and lowered his voice. “You know Paulo Cunha?”

“Sure. He owns all those shops.”

“
And
a lumber business. You know Raul Nonato?”

“The IBAMA guy?”

“The IBAMA guy.
He
owns two cars and the biggest goddamned TV set anybody in this town has ever seen. Had it shipped special all the way from Belem.
Filho da puta
has begun touting it as the town’s biggest tourist attraction.”

“You think Cunha is taking wood from the reservation
and Nonato is issuing him phony certificates of provenance to enable him to do it?”

“You have another explanation for owning two cars and a monster television set on the salary he’s supposed to be earning?”

“So you suspect the guilty party is Cunha?”

Outside, a truck with a faulty muffler was approaching the hotel. Osvaldo raised his voice so she could hear him over the racket.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe Cunha. But it could just as well be another one of the Big Six—or maybe more than one, acting together.”

“Big Six?”

The noise from the truck was fading. He went back to speaking softly again. “You never heard that term?”

“No.”

Osvaldo motioned for her to take a seat on the bed and sank down into the room’s only chair. The Indian walked to the window, pulled the curtain aside and looked out. There wasn’t much to see, just the wall of the adjoining building, but he kept staring at it as their words flowed over him.

“The Big Six is what people call Cunha and the five major
fazendeiros
in the region,” Osvaldo said. “If you take the next twenty landowners and add what they’ve got all together, it doesn’t come close to the amount of land just one of those guys has.”

“If they’ve got so damned much already, why don’t they leave the Indian land alone? Why do they need more?”

“They don’t
need
it, they
want
it. And they want it because they’re all greedy bastards. But I didn’t tell you that. I’ve got to live in this town.”

“Fortunately, I don’t. Not forever, anyway.”

“So you’re willing to take them on?”

“I sure as hell am.”

The room was small, and his chair wasn’t more than a meter from the bed. He was able to reach out and touch her arm. “Good for you,” he said. “What do you plan to do?”

“I’m going to speak to Borges.”

Osvaldo looked disappointed. “Good luck,” he said and leaned back in his chair.

“Who else is there?”

“That,” Osvaldo said, “I couldn’t tell you. But there’s one thing I
can
tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re going to get zero help from Borges.”

D
ELEGADO
F
ERNANDO
B
ORGES
, the
man who headed Azevedo’s five-man Civil Police Force, looked more like everyone’s favorite uncle than he did a cop. He was friendly, had a ready laugh, and was considered to be good company, even by the drunks who regularly populated his jail. He was also considered—not only by the drunks, but by everyone else in Azevedo—to be as lazy as sin.

He listened to Jade’s story in silence, then said, “Thirty-nine, eh?”

“Yes,
Delegado
. Thirty-nine.”

Borges made a scratching noise, running the nails of one hand through the stubble on his chin. “That’s terrible,” he said, “just terrible. But you don’t really have any proof, do you?”

“I saw the graves.”

“Ah.” He held up a finger. “But did you see the bodies?”

“No,” she admitted. “But they’re there. I’m sure of it.”

“Even if they are,” he said, “it could have been disease that killed them, maybe even a simple cold. Those Indians die like flies whenever they’re exposed to white men’s diseases.”

He made it sound like catching a disease was some kind of conspiracy on the Indians’ part. “I need you to help me prove that the bodies are there, and that it wasn’t disease that killed them,” she said, striving to keep her voice level.

“And how could I possibly help you to do that?”

She took a calming breath. “By sending Doctor Pinto to examine the bodies.”

Doctor Antonio Pinto was the town’s part-time medical examiner. Azevedo wasn’t big enough to need the services of one full-time.

“Hmm,” Borges said. “Who’s going to pay for it? The FUNAI?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t got the budget, and it’s not my responsibility. It’s yours.”

Borges waved a negating finger. “No it isn’t, Senhorita Calmon. It’s not my responsibility at all. That’s an Indian reservation. Reservations are federal land. They’re outside of my jurisdiction.”

“Come on, Delegado. What does jurisdiction matter? You’re the closest legal authority. We’re talking about thirty-nine people here. Human beings, just like you and I.”

“Jurisdiction
always
matters, Senhorita Calmon. My brief is narrowly circumscribed. And, as to them being like you and I, I’m going to have to disagree with you. Indians aren’t
at all
like you and I. We’ve civilized. They’re savages.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I surely do.”

“So you’re not going to help?”

Borges looked pained. “I really wish you wouldn’t put it that way. You can come to me with a murder that has taken place in this town, and I’ll do everything I can to help. But it’s unfair of you to expect me to get involved in anything that happens outside the city limits.”

“And that’s your final word on the matter?”

“I’m sorry. But it is.” It wasn’t as if Osvaldo hadn’t warned her. Borges was giving her exactly what he’d predicted: zero help. Jade gritted her teeth, held her temper in check and left to try the mayor.