Sao Paulo, Brasil
Four Days Later
Isabel Gemio stepped from the battered green and yellow Chrysler Hemmings taxi and into the cool night air that was finally descending over Brasil after the sun dipped below the horizon and the temperatures could take a break from the low thirties. The taxi driver, a dumpy middle aged man, hurried around to the rear of the taxi to pull out her bag and place them on the sidewalk. She handed him the equivalent of twenty pesetas, a five hour ride from the Zepplin Terminal in Rio De Janeiro wasn't cheap, and waved goodbye as the car coughed its way back into the flow of evening traffic.
The Sao Paolo Hotel and Spa was an impressive colonial era building with white washed sides, large verandas, and a huge variety of plants and flowers set in hundreds of hanging baskets or overflowing from large garden boxes. The steps, long and bordered by low yellow lights that cast a warm glow on the white paving tiles, rose several levels to the front of the hotel. It was an upscale hotel, arguable the finest Sao Paulo had to offer and she was thankful for the power of the Spanish peseta here.
A coloured porter appeared in front of her and slung her bag over one broad shoulder before escorting her up the steps and in to the hotel lobby. It was not a massive space, nowhere near the style of hotel found in most of Europe, but it was certainly functional and well appointed. There were a few other guests in the lobby, a young German couple, two British couples, and a single man who was sitting at a nearby table with tea, biscuits, and a paper in front of him. He gave her a cursory glance and a smile before returning to his reading.
"Good evening." She said as she stepped up to the reception desk. A small Brasilian woman, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Isabel's 5'6, smiled and nodded a greeting. "I was hoping to find a room for a few days, please."
The woman nodded again. The peg board behind her with keys on it indicated that at least a few rooms were still free and she requested a ground room that was promptly selected and the key passed across to the porter who was waiting patiently nearby.
"How long will you be with us?" Asked the receptionist.
"Not more than three or four days I should think..." Isabel's voice trailed off slightly as she caught sight of the single man watching her again from his seat behind her. He caught her gaze in the reflection and looked away quickly.
"Excellent. Breakfast is at 8am. Luncheon at noon, dinner at 6pm, and a later supper for 9pm. If you need anything, please fill out this card and leave it outside your room." The receptionist continued, clearly having missed the exchange of looks.
The porter had already made his way to her room with her bag and the key, opening the outer doors to allow a wash of evening air thick with the smell of the forest in to her room. He took her offered tip, touched the brim of his tall hat, dropped the key into her palm, and vanished down the hallway again.
Isabel took a final look down the hallway toward the lobby before closing the door with a click and pushing the deadbolt into place. She removed her travel clothes, a classic white dress and hat commonly worn by most women. It would not do to attract attention to herself in a strange land. She kicked her slightly lifted heels into a corner and then did a quick twirl in front of the full length mirror. She'd always wanted one but they were abysmally hard to come by in Spain for some reason.
She opened her suitcase and drew out a pair of loose fitting mens pants, a long sleeve shirt, and a hat that would allow her to hid her blonde hair beneath it. The one advantage to mens clothes were their lack of any sort of real tailoring, it was easy enough for a woman of her size to pass unnoticed in most places as a male labourer and she had had plenty of practice over the years during work contracts.
She regarded her appearance in the mirror for a moment, then doused her light and stepped out onto the patio, closing the door behind her but not locking it. She waited as her eyes adjusted to the growing darkness. She could hear giggles coming from somewhere nearby, and the more frantic moans of someone fucking on a patio above her. She smiled slightly in the dark and then swung a leg over her balcony, paused for a moment, and then dropped into the shrubbery. She broke several branches as she landed and froze at once but her exit did not appear to have interrupted the rhythm of the people above her.
Taking careful steps she moved through the brush and onto the edge of the manicured lawn, skirting the perimeter so as not to be a shadow against the light that was being cast across the green expanse by the hotel. She reached the edge of the roadway and looked around carefully. There were several cars parked along the street and it took her a moment to make out the shape of a man sitting in the front of one. He was slumped down slightly but there was no doubt that he was watching the front of the hotel.
She waited until the man lit a cigarette and then slipped down the hedge along the sidewalk until she could turn the corner and lose the unknown sentry from sight. Again she waited but when no car or footsteps hurried after her she straightened up and, adopting a working mans swagger, she began to make her way in to town.
The hotel vanished behind her as she entered a residential neighbourhood. The days newspapers were stacked for recycling in some places and she couldn't help but frown slightly at the smiling faces of King Juan Carlos and Princess, no, Queen Mariana, as they looked into the camera. The Queen looked beautiful in her long white wedding dress, and the King handsome in his dress uniform that everyone knew meant nothing. Isabel stopped here and picked up the paper, turning the pages as she looked for any other useful news. Nothing local jumped out at her but on the fourth page, titled "Overseas Edition" she saw a picture of a Spanish soldier using a flame thrower on a warehouse somewhere in Portugal. Delgado didn't screw around it seemed. The article went on to say that Spanish authorities had promised amnesty to any rebels who laid down their arms, and a horrible death to those who had not. A short blurb about the British demanding Spain withdraw from Portugal followed but the next page was missing she could not finish the story.
The paper was tossed back in the pile as she walked deeper into Sao Paolo proper. The address for her friends home was not actually to far from the hotel but Isabel did not take a direct route, she knew better than that. It was the middle unit of a row of town houses. She had never actually been, but the address had been on the envelope she received. In fact, she had only met this friend in person once and knew her only as Jomi. The two had met in the United States four years previously when attending a conference for Private Investigators. They had hit it off, spent the night together, and then continued to stay in touch by mail.
Isabel turned her final corner onto Jomi's street and almost stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't even have to check house numbers to know which one was Jomi's. One unit was dark as the falling night, its front door had been kicked in, and a Polícia Civil car sat out front with two officers who were smoking and joking between themselves. They hadn't noticed Isabel yet and she acted quickly, pulling off her cap and tossing it into the brush even as she shook her hair loose so that it dropped just past her shoulders. She unsnapped two buttons on her shirt, tucking the extra material into the back of her pants so that her breasts strained against the material and exposed her cleavage.
"Boa noite oficiais!" She said in a sing song voice as she drew closer. The two looked up and quickly stood, tugging on their uniforms and pushing their caps to even more rakish angles.
"Boa noite senhorita." Replied the taller of the two. He was a handsome man, maybe a few years younger than herself, his skin the dark brown that she found so appealing in men. "Can we help you?"
"I live just up the way," She gestured back the way she had come. "And I was wondering what happened to Jomi, we usually lawn bowl together and she did not join me today. Is she okay?" Isabel did not have to feign the concern she felt, nor the anxiety in asking.
The two officers exchanged looks and then the tall one swallowed slightly. "I am very sorry Senhorita, she is dead."
Isabel knew that her face mirrored her genuine horror and sadness and as she took a step back. "How?" She whispered.
"Home invasion. We arrived to find the door smashed in, her home ransacked, and she was found dead in the back garden, strangled." The officer said gently. He looked as if he wanted to hug her, to comfort her, but knew it might not be proper.
Isabel sat on the hood of the police car and wept into her hands. It was as she had feared. The two officers waited as she cried softly to herself for a minute, one of them handing her a handkerchief which she accepted with a hiccuped "Thank you."
"Did you catch who did it?" She asked at last, aware of how cold the evening seemed to have gotten.
"Yes!" Said the officer with a smile. "Well, sort of, he was a well known street urchin, he was shot and killed by Police two blocks away after being found with some of her possessions."
"Thank you." She said, standing at last and handing the officer his handkerchief back. "I must go and tell my family. They will want to know as well."
The officer nodded in sympathy and wished her well as she walked away. She turned the corner, ducked back to retrieve her hat, and made her way back to the hotel, all the while glancing around her as she went. It was just a little to pat. She remembered the sounds of shouting in the background of the hurried phone call from Jomi. Whatever had happened had involved more than one person.
She easily made her way back to her hotel room, slipped onto her balcony and tried the door. It was locked. Someone had been in her room.
Four Days Later
Isabel Gemio stepped from the battered green and yellow Chrysler Hemmings taxi and into the cool night air that was finally descending over Brasil after the sun dipped below the horizon and the temperatures could take a break from the low thirties. The taxi driver, a dumpy middle aged man, hurried around to the rear of the taxi to pull out her bag and place them on the sidewalk. She handed him the equivalent of twenty pesetas, a five hour ride from the Zepplin Terminal in Rio De Janeiro wasn't cheap, and waved goodbye as the car coughed its way back into the flow of evening traffic.
The Sao Paolo Hotel and Spa was an impressive colonial era building with white washed sides, large verandas, and a huge variety of plants and flowers set in hundreds of hanging baskets or overflowing from large garden boxes. The steps, long and bordered by low yellow lights that cast a warm glow on the white paving tiles, rose several levels to the front of the hotel. It was an upscale hotel, arguable the finest Sao Paulo had to offer and she was thankful for the power of the Spanish peseta here.
A coloured porter appeared in front of her and slung her bag over one broad shoulder before escorting her up the steps and in to the hotel lobby. It was not a massive space, nowhere near the style of hotel found in most of Europe, but it was certainly functional and well appointed. There were a few other guests in the lobby, a young German couple, two British couples, and a single man who was sitting at a nearby table with tea, biscuits, and a paper in front of him. He gave her a cursory glance and a smile before returning to his reading.
"Good evening." She said as she stepped up to the reception desk. A small Brasilian woman, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Isabel's 5'6, smiled and nodded a greeting. "I was hoping to find a room for a few days, please."
The woman nodded again. The peg board behind her with keys on it indicated that at least a few rooms were still free and she requested a ground room that was promptly selected and the key passed across to the porter who was waiting patiently nearby.
"How long will you be with us?" Asked the receptionist.
"Not more than three or four days I should think..." Isabel's voice trailed off slightly as she caught sight of the single man watching her again from his seat behind her. He caught her gaze in the reflection and looked away quickly.
"Excellent. Breakfast is at 8am. Luncheon at noon, dinner at 6pm, and a later supper for 9pm. If you need anything, please fill out this card and leave it outside your room." The receptionist continued, clearly having missed the exchange of looks.
The porter had already made his way to her room with her bag and the key, opening the outer doors to allow a wash of evening air thick with the smell of the forest in to her room. He took her offered tip, touched the brim of his tall hat, dropped the key into her palm, and vanished down the hallway again.
Isabel took a final look down the hallway toward the lobby before closing the door with a click and pushing the deadbolt into place. She removed her travel clothes, a classic white dress and hat commonly worn by most women. It would not do to attract attention to herself in a strange land. She kicked her slightly lifted heels into a corner and then did a quick twirl in front of the full length mirror. She'd always wanted one but they were abysmally hard to come by in Spain for some reason.
She opened her suitcase and drew out a pair of loose fitting mens pants, a long sleeve shirt, and a hat that would allow her to hid her blonde hair beneath it. The one advantage to mens clothes were their lack of any sort of real tailoring, it was easy enough for a woman of her size to pass unnoticed in most places as a male labourer and she had had plenty of practice over the years during work contracts.
She regarded her appearance in the mirror for a moment, then doused her light and stepped out onto the patio, closing the door behind her but not locking it. She waited as her eyes adjusted to the growing darkness. She could hear giggles coming from somewhere nearby, and the more frantic moans of someone fucking on a patio above her. She smiled slightly in the dark and then swung a leg over her balcony, paused for a moment, and then dropped into the shrubbery. She broke several branches as she landed and froze at once but her exit did not appear to have interrupted the rhythm of the people above her.
Taking careful steps she moved through the brush and onto the edge of the manicured lawn, skirting the perimeter so as not to be a shadow against the light that was being cast across the green expanse by the hotel. She reached the edge of the roadway and looked around carefully. There were several cars parked along the street and it took her a moment to make out the shape of a man sitting in the front of one. He was slumped down slightly but there was no doubt that he was watching the front of the hotel.
She waited until the man lit a cigarette and then slipped down the hedge along the sidewalk until she could turn the corner and lose the unknown sentry from sight. Again she waited but when no car or footsteps hurried after her she straightened up and, adopting a working mans swagger, she began to make her way in to town.
The hotel vanished behind her as she entered a residential neighbourhood. The days newspapers were stacked for recycling in some places and she couldn't help but frown slightly at the smiling faces of King Juan Carlos and Princess, no, Queen Mariana, as they looked into the camera. The Queen looked beautiful in her long white wedding dress, and the King handsome in his dress uniform that everyone knew meant nothing. Isabel stopped here and picked up the paper, turning the pages as she looked for any other useful news. Nothing local jumped out at her but on the fourth page, titled "Overseas Edition" she saw a picture of a Spanish soldier using a flame thrower on a warehouse somewhere in Portugal. Delgado didn't screw around it seemed. The article went on to say that Spanish authorities had promised amnesty to any rebels who laid down their arms, and a horrible death to those who had not. A short blurb about the British demanding Spain withdraw from Portugal followed but the next page was missing she could not finish the story.
The paper was tossed back in the pile as she walked deeper into Sao Paolo proper. The address for her friends home was not actually to far from the hotel but Isabel did not take a direct route, she knew better than that. It was the middle unit of a row of town houses. She had never actually been, but the address had been on the envelope she received. In fact, she had only met this friend in person once and knew her only as Jomi. The two had met in the United States four years previously when attending a conference for Private Investigators. They had hit it off, spent the night together, and then continued to stay in touch by mail.
Isabel turned her final corner onto Jomi's street and almost stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't even have to check house numbers to know which one was Jomi's. One unit was dark as the falling night, its front door had been kicked in, and a Polícia Civil car sat out front with two officers who were smoking and joking between themselves. They hadn't noticed Isabel yet and she acted quickly, pulling off her cap and tossing it into the brush even as she shook her hair loose so that it dropped just past her shoulders. She unsnapped two buttons on her shirt, tucking the extra material into the back of her pants so that her breasts strained against the material and exposed her cleavage.
"Boa noite oficiais!" She said in a sing song voice as she drew closer. The two looked up and quickly stood, tugging on their uniforms and pushing their caps to even more rakish angles.
"Boa noite senhorita." Replied the taller of the two. He was a handsome man, maybe a few years younger than herself, his skin the dark brown that she found so appealing in men. "Can we help you?"
"I live just up the way," She gestured back the way she had come. "And I was wondering what happened to Jomi, we usually lawn bowl together and she did not join me today. Is she okay?" Isabel did not have to feign the concern she felt, nor the anxiety in asking.
The two officers exchanged looks and then the tall one swallowed slightly. "I am very sorry Senhorita, she is dead."
Isabel knew that her face mirrored her genuine horror and sadness and as she took a step back. "How?" She whispered.
"Home invasion. We arrived to find the door smashed in, her home ransacked, and she was found dead in the back garden, strangled." The officer said gently. He looked as if he wanted to hug her, to comfort her, but knew it might not be proper.
Isabel sat on the hood of the police car and wept into her hands. It was as she had feared. The two officers waited as she cried softly to herself for a minute, one of them handing her a handkerchief which she accepted with a hiccuped "Thank you."
"Did you catch who did it?" She asked at last, aware of how cold the evening seemed to have gotten.
"Yes!" Said the officer with a smile. "Well, sort of, he was a well known street urchin, he was shot and killed by Police two blocks away after being found with some of her possessions."
"Thank you." She said, standing at last and handing the officer his handkerchief back. "I must go and tell my family. They will want to know as well."
The officer nodded in sympathy and wished her well as she walked away. She turned the corner, ducked back to retrieve her hat, and made her way back to the hotel, all the while glancing around her as she went. It was just a little to pat. She remembered the sounds of shouting in the background of the hurried phone call from Jomi. Whatever had happened had involved more than one person.
She easily made her way back to her hotel room, slipped onto her balcony and tried the door. It was locked. Someone had been in her room.
