Crimes of August: A Novel: 5 (Brazilian Literature in Translation Series) by Rubem Fonseca Read Free Book Online

would put what he had said to Magalhães about Cemtex and Brasfesa. He needed to arrange a safe place for that folder; his relationship with Juracy was getting worse by the day, because of the woman’s idiotic jealousy. “One of these days I’m going to do something crazy,” she had said, in the middle of an argument. A jealous woman was capable of anything.

three
    IT WAS SIX IN THE MORNING when Mattos’s telephone rang.
    “It’s me.”
    Silence.
    “Remember me?” Alice.
    Only three years had gone by.
    “I know you like to get up early, that’s why I called at this hour . . .”
    It was as if he were at the edge of an abyss, ready to fall. Three years earlier he had called Alice’s home, her mother had come to the phone and said that Alice didn’t want to talk to him and for him not to call again.
    Alice had traveled abroad, spent six months in Europe. Upon her return she had married some society type whose name he didn’t remember. Three years.
    On the edge of the abyss.
    “I’d like to see you. Have tea. How about at the Cavé? They haven’t closed the Cavé, have they?”
    “No. I passed by there the other day.”
    “Can you? Today? At five?”
    “All right.”
    After he hung up, the inspector remembered he had an appointment with Mr. Emilio, the maestro, at 5:30 p.m. Since he had the time, as it was still early, he decided to honor Mr. Emilio by listening to La Traviata . The recording he owned, made at La Scala in Milan in 1935, wasn’t complete, running only 111 minutes, lacking the aria “No, non udrai rimproveri,” the Germont cabaletta at the end of Act 2, Scene 1. There were thirteen 78-rpm disks, which couldn’t be stacked on the record player. Every eight minutes the inspector had to change the record. Sometimes that irritated him. So, even before hearing all the disks, still in the second act, Mattos turned off the phonograph, put the disks back in the album, and left.
    Mattos had asked Rosalvo to investigate the backgrounds of Paulo Gomes Aguiar, Claudio Aguiar, and Vitor Freitas. He hadn’t mentioned Luiz Magalhães.
    “Paulo Machado Gomes Aguiar,” said Rosalvo, consulting a notepad in his hand, “Brazilian, white, born here in the Federal District on January 12, 1924. Father a doctor, mother a housewife, both deceased. Studied at the São Joaquim secondary school and the National Law School, where he graduated in 1947. Never practiced law. In 1950 he married Luciana Borges, a banker’s daughter. Seems he married for money. In 1951 he founded the Cemtex import-export firm, which quickly became one of the largest in the country. He has contacts with high-placed government officials. Appears to be the figurehead for foreign groups. I read in the Tribuna —”
    “Leave the political intrigues till the end. First the facts.”
    “Cemtex’s shady deals are a fact. For example, the firm obtained an import license from Cexim worth fifty million dollars. The Bank of Brazil never gave that much money to anyone; it’s plain as day that it’s one more underhanded trick by some bigwig at the top. Gomes Aguiar was a friend of senator Vitor Freitas, who’s probably one of those clearing the path for him.”
    “Continue.”
    “Gomes Aguiar had a very active social life. I went through a collection of old newspapers and saw photos of him with Vitor Freitas in the society columns. And also with his cousin and other upper-crust types, especially Pedro Lomagno, son of the late Lomagno, the coffee king.”
    “Continue.”
    “Claudio, the cousin, also studied at the São Joaquim. Then he left the country and stayed away for a long time; his father was a diplomat or some such thing. He studied economics in London. As for Senator Freitas, it’s possible that he frequents the ‘Senate Annex.’ Those playboy senators, when they get tired of making speeches, are in the habit of crossing the street for a relaxing lay. They say the girls at the annex are marvelous.”
    “Where is that