Requiem for a Killer by Paulo Levy Page B

inverted copy of her own, only with men’s clothes
scattered around, and much less of them.
    “If I remember right, you were in your room
with your client, with the door closed when the house was broken
into. In your statement you said your brother was asleep,
correct?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Did they grab him here in the bedroom or in
the living room?”
    “In the living room. When they knocked on
the door he went to answer it. I was busy, you know...”
    “I do. But where was your mother during all
this? I didn’t know she existed until coming here today.”
    Maria das Graças opened her eyes wide in
astonishment.
    “Oh my God. I forgot all about my mother in
my statement,” she said, putting her hands on her head.
    “You did, and that’s serious.”
    “Sure it is. You want to question her
again?”
    “I do. But first I really do have to go to
the bathroom.”
    “Be my guest.”
    Dornelas went in the bathroom with the dog
still sniffing his legs. He considered getting rid of it with a
swift kick, as he didn’t know the animal might react he closed the
door with the dog inside. When he unzipped his pants and took aim
at the toilet, the animal stopped sniffing him and instead glued
its eyes on his dick. Inhibited, Dornelas gave up, put his pecker
back in his pants, zipped them up, and flushed to mislead the lady
of the house before going out. Maria das Graças was in front of the
stove making coffee. As soon as she saw him she yelled towards the
living room:
    “Mom, the inspector wants to speak to you
again.”
    There was a light creaking from the chair as
the old woman began her shuffling walk from the living room to the
kitchen. She entered, put a hand on her back and leaned on the
table with the other.
    “What is it now?” shouted the old lady.
    “Forgive me for bothering you again, but I
need to know where you were when they grabbed your son.”
    “What?”
    “I want to know where you were when they
grabbed your son,” he repeated, louder this time.
    “Asleep, of course, in my room, out in the
back. It’s what I do every night after the soap.”
    Dornelas wanted to ask her what had happened
in last night’s episode, the one he missed while having dinner with
Dulce Neves, but he refrained.
    “Could you show me where it is?”
    “Are you going to take me to bed,
Inspector?’
    ‘ Sweet old girl, Maria das Graças’
mother,’ thought Dornelas.
    “If you show me the way it would be my
pleasure.”
    Totally indifferent, not a muscle moved in
her face. Then she raised her arm and pointed her bony index finger
at the inspector.
    “Come here,” said the old woman going around
the table and heading towards the door next to the stove. She
opened it and went out; Dornelas followed.
    The room they entered took up half of the
little guest house, the left side, under a roof that covered the
back part of the property from one wall to the other. The window
opened to a small patio between the bedroom and the kitchen.
    The old woman went through the side door
next to another that appeared to be the entrance to a bathroom, if
an electric shower hung over the toilet and with a pot for a sink
could really be considered a bathroom. A deep washtub, an empty
bucket and an ironing board propped up against the wall completed
the scene.
    “This is my room.”
    Dornelas stopped in the doorway and saw a
29-inch TV on a narrow little table in front of the bed blasting
out a live audience show. The old woman went around the bed and got
a ball of yarn and two long needles from the top of the night
table. She sat down on the edge of the bed and began knitting.
    “What else do you want to know?”
    “If you heard anything strange the night
your son disappeared.”
    “Inspector, I can’t even hear my own farts.
How can I hear what’s happening on the other side of the
house?”
    Dornelas sighed in resignation and suddenly
felt an immense desire to get out of there.
    “Thank you for your kindness,” he said
loudly