“More than ‘expected,’ I counted on it.”

“Explain yourself.”

Silva looked out of the window. A buzzard was flying lazy circles over the roof of the Ministry of Culture across the way.

“I’m waiting, Mario.”

Silva narrowed his eyes, redirecting his attention to his boss.

“The other prisoners in that cell aren’t there by chance,” he said. “They’re all animals, just like Ercilio Nardoni, but they’re a different breed. They don’t go after children; they prey on other men.”

“If we treat felons the way you’re treating him,” Sampaio said, “there’s no difference between them and us. Frankly, Mario, there are times when I find these methods of yours revolting. You’re my Chief Investigator, not judge, jury, and executioner. The old days are gone. This is a democracy now. People, even the worst kind of people, have rights. Take a lead from the Americans.”

“If we had the Americans’ forensic capabilities, we might be able to use their methods.”

“All right, we don’t. And I admit we have to do some things differently, but it still doesn’t justify the torture of prisoners.”

“Not even in a case like Nardoni’s?”

“Not even then. I want you to-”

“I know the bastard’s lying,” Silva said, before his boss could complete the thought. “I just need his confession. Technically, we’re not laying a finger on him. What’s happening to Nardoni is being perpetrated by the other lowlifes in his cell. You have total deniability.”

“I’m not talking about deniability. I’m talking about what’s right. It’s demonic to put pressure on someone that way.”

“He’s a demonic man, Director. My intention is to leave him there until you specifically order me to return him to solitary.”

“Then I specifically order you to-”

“And before giving me that order, I’d like you to reflect on what he did. Not what I think he did, but what I am absolutely, positively sure he did.”