Requiem for a Killer by Paulo Levy Page B

pen
and pencil set in his shirt pocket, a present from his father, an
engineer on his way up in the city.
    “No problem. I’ve already told my office I’d
be out all morning.”
    “Thank you. We’ll have more time to talk
shortly.”
    Dornelas left the lunchroom, crossed through
the station, went into his office and sat in his chair behind the
desk. Solano, following right behind him, closed the door and sat
down in one of the visitors chairs.
    “And?” asked the inspector.
    “The man’s clean, sir.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “He’s married, like Maria das Graças said,
but his wife’s been away since last week. She gets back tomorrow.
They have no children, it’s just him and the wife in the house.
There’s a maid, a daily, who goes home every day at four p.m. after
leaving dinner ready in the oven. I mean, nobody can confirm his
alibi except for himself and Maria das Graças.”
    “Has he been her client long?”
    “For quite a while, from what he says. His
wife owns a women’s wear store and travels a lot on business. She
buys clothes in Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo to resell here at a
good profit. He takes advantage of her trips to have his little
escapades that, according to him, are what save his marriage.”
    ‘ What a son of a bitch, this
Tavares,’ thought Dornelas. ‘The guy not only cheats on his
wife but manages to keep his marriage intact at the same time.’ During his fifteen-year marriage to Flavia he had never once
cheated on her. Not that there hadn’t been any opportunities. The
inspector was a good-looking guy and often felt attracted to many
types of women, from the modest saintly ones to the most wanton.
And they to him.
    On some occasions they had practically
rubbed their pussies in his face so he would take them to bed. But
he would always weigh a one night stand against his family,
politely decline the offer and get on with his life. The next few
days were pure hell though, because he spent the whole time
fantasizing about the adventure he’d turned down, dealing with the
frustration as best he could.
    In a way Dornelas admired, even while
hating, men who were able to handle these situations so cleverly
and at the same time so brazenly and shamelessly. Now, abandoned by
his wife and with his children far away he felt like a real idiot
for not having taken advantage of the opportunities that had
knocked on his door. ‘Maybe Tavares’ wife has a thing going on
in the city too,’ he thought spitefully.
    “Does she know what her husband’s up to when
she’s out of town?”
    “He says no. But he thinks his wife suspects
something.”
    “Bring him in.”
    Solano went out and came back minutes later
with Raimundo Tavares. The man entered and Solano left, closing the
door behind him.
    “Please, sit down,” said Dornelas.
    “Thank you.”
    Raimundo Tavares sat down elegantly.
    “From what Solano tells me you’ve been Maria
das Graças’ client for a long time.”
    “A good couple of years,” he said, crossing
one leg over the other while he put his cell phone away in his
shirt pocket, behind the pen and pencil.
    “What does your wife think of that?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve never asked her.”
    Dornelas leaned forward in his chair, moving
closer to him.
    “I’ll be more to the point. What will her
reaction be when she finds out?”
    Raimundo Tavares’ pleasantness disappeared
and a dark, cynical look took its place.
    “I think that like any woman, she’s not
going to like it. But knowing her the way I do, I figure that as
long as we maintain appearances and money in the bank, I’ll get a
slap on the hand, suffer a few weeks of no sex, and that will be
the end of it.”
    This marriage was more modern than Dornelas
could have imagined. As much as Tavares pissed him off, albeit with
a pinch of envy, blackmailing him in this veiled manner was
ethically unacceptable. Time to back off.
    “Can you prove that you really were with
Maria das Graças the night of the