Requiem for a Killer by Paulo Levy

shooting themselves in the foot and they’re going to finish
off everything there is in the sea. Soon we’re going to have to
find another way to earn a living because there’s not going to be
anything left to fish anymore. And whoever respects the law,
Inspector, they either live in poverty, like me, or start doing
business with people like Demon.”
    On the mountaintops behind the city the
sun’s frail light could be seen, slowly creeping out of its
nighttime hiding place.
    “Did the fishermen deal his drugs?”
    “No way. He was the one who did the buying
from the fishermen to distribute in the city.”
    This method of trafficking was news to
Dornelas. Unfortunately, as was the case most of the time, the
dealers were miles ahead of the police in terms of coming up with
new ways of spreading their drugs throughout the city.
    For many years the efforts to combat drug
trafficking concentrated on apprehending the drugs that entered the
city on the highways, in the suitcases and bags of tourists who
came by bus, car, motorcycle and even in taxis, with their
passengers and drivers.
    Apprehensions at sea were less frequent, one
or another fisherman, isolated cases, or some outsider who got
caught up in the net of justice. Usually, when the police had
previous knowledge of a big drop that was going to go down around
the city, on the pier or on nearby beaches, the busts were always
made on land, never at sea. The strategy was to catch both buyers
and sellers in the act, at the same time.
    The fishing boats, on the other hand, were
inspected by the authorities as soon as they docked at the pier.
The cargo then goes on to the fisheries to be processed and to the
city’s fish markets to be sold.
    “Did he have any connection to the
Doorman?”
    “That I don’t know,” answered his friend as
the skiff scraped the bottom of the canal for the first time. It
only took another ten meters for the boat to become totally stuck
in the mud, not far from where the body was found the day
before.
    Satisfied, Dornelas picked up the spare
paddle and helped Claudio get them out of there before the water
dried up entirely. By this time the sky was already colored in
shades of pastel tones that would disappear as soon as the sun
reigned absolute over the city. On the streets people could already
be seen walking and bicycling around, as well as dogs stretching
and peeing on the trees in the square in front of the Old
Jailhouse.
    “Can you go with me to the morgue to
identify the body?” asked Dornelas before jumping from the beach up
onto the pier.
    “I really don’t like seeing dead people,
Inspector. But if it’ll help you, you can count on me.”
    “Thanks. I’ll call you to set up a time.
Have a good day.”
    “You too.”
    And he walked off towards home.
     
    *
     
    He reached the bank of the canal totally out
of breath and saw no one. He could see the body that some anonymous
informant had told the precinct about a few moments ago lying on
top of the dry mangrove.
    He looked around and thought it strange to
find himself completely alone in this part of town, a spot where
you can always see someone at any time of the day or night. There
was no crowd, no police car, no fire truck, not one of his
detectives, absolutely no one.
    Instinctively he jumped into the mangrove,
knowing the tide would come in soon and the body would then be
lost.
    He struggled to walk in the black mud and
cover the distance between the wall and the body. Tired, he
recognized the filthy beige shorts, the open mud-soaked orange
shirt, the arms spread open like Christ the Redeemer.
    He noticed the round band-aid on the inside
fold of the left arm, he remembered the blood test and the disease.
Everything was the same except for the black cloth that covered the
face. Without hesitating, Dornelas pulled off the fabric and saw
his head, his face, attached to the dead body. The eyes opened wide
for an instant, staring up at him with a evil grin stamped on