Perfect Hatred Read Free

him, but the alcove had sheltered him from much of the blast and all of the shrapnel.
“I can’t believe it,” he concluded. “I thought God was supposed to hate adulterers.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Janus intoned.
Hector recognized the remark as sarcasm, but the sergeant took it at face value.
“He sure as hell does,” he said. “Here I am alive, and that poor baby—”
“Baby?” Hector said.
Correia looked at Janus. “You didn’t tell him about the baby either?”
“No,” Janus said. “Tell him.”
“It didn’t fit,” the sergeant said.
“What didn’t fit?” Hector said.
“There was this woman, and she was pushing a carriage with a baby inside.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
“And the mother, she was dark. Almost like a mulata . But the kid wasn’t. The kid had really pale skin. Thinking back, I shoulda noticed there was something strange about it. But I didn’t. It only hit me afterwards.”
A baby carriage made sense. A bomb large enough to do the damage this one had done might have been too big to conceal on a person. Putting it within a carriage could have been the bomber’s solution. And, if she was heartless enough, she might have used a child to complete her deception.
Hector was revolted by the thought, but he had to ask. “A doll, maybe,” he said.
“No. I’m telling you, it was a baby.”
“You’re sure?”
The sergeant threw up his arms in exasperation. “Of course, I’m sure. I leaned over and had a good look. My kids are in Rio, and I miss them. And I like kids anyway. This particular kid not only looked like a baby, it smelled like a baby. It was sound asleep, but it was no doll.”
Hector ran a hand through his hair. “So what did you do?” he said.
Correia frowned and blinked, as if he hadn’t understood the question. “Do?”
“Yes. What did you do next?”
The sergeant scratched his head, vigorously, as if he was trying to kick-start his memory. “I looked at the baby, and I smiled at the mother. I tried to start a conversation, but she wasn’t having it, so I walked away. That was all.”
“Tell me more about her.”
“What?” Correia pointed at one of his ears. “You gotta speak up. I can’t—”
Hector raised his voice. “I said, tell me more about her.”
“She was a Muslim.”
“What made you think so?”
“She was dressed like one, that’s what.”
“Describe her. What did she have on?”
“One of those headscarf things. And a . . . dress, I guess you’d call it. It went all the way down to the ground. There was no shape to it at all.”
“What do you mean by ‘no shape’?”
“It was loose. You couldn’t see what kind of a body she had. Why would a woman choose a dress like that? I mean, they usually want to show what they’ve got, right? Especially the young ones.”
“And this was a young one?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where was she standing?”
“Behind the carriage.”
“And where was the carriage?”
Correia pointed at the crater.
“Right there,” he said, “where that big hole is.”
    After speaking with the sergeant, Hector went in search of Danusa and found her talking to Lefkowitz, the Federal Police’s chief crime scene technician.
    “Listen to this,” she said and hooked a thumb toward her companion.
Lefkowitz turned to Hector. “I talked to one of the consulate’s security guys,” he said. “There were two video cameras on top of the building.”
Hector looked up at the façade. “Well, they’re not there now.”
“Blown off,” the diminutive crime scene tech said, “but it didn’t affect the recordings.”
His horn-rimmed glasses were slipping down his nose. He put a finger on the bridge and pushed them back into place.
“Two of them, huh?” Hector said. “Both pointed this way?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Thank you, God, for small favors. Have you asked for copies of the tapes?”
“They’re not tapes, they’re video disks. And copies are being made as we speak.”
“You find anything down in that