Read Online Buried Strangers by Leighton Gage - Free Book Online

along. Lead the way Senhora Portella.”
    Clarice navigated her way through the warren of furniture and stopped in front of a cupboard. Stained a walnut brown, with two latticework panels for ventilation, the triangular cupboard had been designed to fit into the corner of a room.
    “This one,” she said. “And that’s the dining set over there.” She frowned and looked around. “I don’t see the bedside tables. They were right there, between the sofa and the wall.”
    “Formica tops?” Goldman asked.
    “Formica tops,” she confirmed.
    “I sold them. What’s this about?”
    Tanaka turned a cold eye on the merchant.
    “Stolen goods,” he said.
    Senhor Goldman held up his hands, palms outward, as if he were pushing something away from him.
    “I had no idea,” he said. “I swear. No idea.”
    “No?”
    “No. I run a legitimate business. I pay my taxes.”
    “Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Tanaka said. “No cash deals, right?”
    Goldman reddened. “Well, yeah, sure,” he said. “A lot of my customers haven’t got bank accounts, much less credit cards. I wanna do business, I have to sell for cash. But I de-clare all of it.”
    “Uh-huh,” Tanaka said skeptically.
    “And I never buy for cash. I pay by check.”
    “Do you now?” Tanaka said. “So you’ve got a record of who sold you this stuff? The cupboard? The bedside tables with the Formica tops?”
    “Sure I do. All part of the same purchase. I’ve got the can-celed checks in the back. Probably even have an itemized receipt with the guy’s name on it. I’ll go have a look.”
    “Not alone, you won’t,” Tanaka said. “Does this place have a back door?”
    Tanaka’s caution was unfounded. Goldman had no inten-tion of making a run for it. And he’d been telling the truth. He had both a canceled check and an itemized receipt, signed by someone named Roberto Ribeiro.
    “That’s it!” Clarice said when she heard the name. “That’s the name I was trying to think of, Roberto Ribeiro. He’s the one who offered Edmar the job. The carioca. The one who took them away.”
    Tanaka’s heart lifted when he saw the logotype on the check, lifted even more when he saw the endorsement on the back. He, Ribeiro and Goldman all shared the same bank: Bradesco, Brazil’s second-largest and least exclusive banking institution. It meant he wouldn’t have to go through official channels. He could track the man down without leaving a trail.
    “I may be here awhile,” he said to Clarice. “You can go now. If I find any trace of your friends, I’ll be in touch.”
    “Who’s gonna pay for the bus?” Ernesto said.
    “You are,” Tanaka said.
    Before Ernesto could open his mouth to reply, Clarice took his arm and led him toward the exit. Tanaka thought he heard him say the word “fascist” as they went out the door. He turned back to Goldman. “You remember what this guy Ribeiro looked like?”
    “Mulatto,” Goldman said promptly, no longer nervous. “Big mustache, hair slicked back with oil, wearing a chain with a Flamengo medallion. Can you beat that, somebody running around São Paulo with a Flamengo medallion? He’s lucky he’s so goddamned big. If he wasn’t, somebody would beat the crap out of him.”
    “That somebody would have to get in line behind me,” Tanaka said.
    Goldman protested when Tanaka told him he was taking both the check and the receipt. “I need that stuff for taxes,” he said. “Couldn’t you just make a note of—”
    “No,” Tanaka said.
    “But—”
    “If you want to stand here talking,” Tanaka said, “maybe we can discuss the merchandise you’ve got out there block-ing a public sidewalk.”
    Goldman, to his credit, blushed. “The guys on the beat know all about it.” he said.
    “The guys on the beat,” Tanaka said, “report to me.”
    “How about a cup of coffee, Delegado?” Goldman asked immediately.
    “Coffee would be fine,” Tanaka said.
    TANAKA WAITED until he was behind the wheel of the car