Silva was studying the scrollwork around that one when his boss began to speak. “You know I don’t hold with people who apply political pressure for personal objectives, or to obtain favorable treatment,” he said.

Silva didn’t know any such thing. He regarded the statement as an outright lie.

“But this time,” Sampaio continued, “I’ll have to make an exception. Not for me, of course, but for the good of this department. Do you know Deputado Roberto Malan?”

“Not personally, no,” Silva said, “but I know of him. Isn’t he a deacon in your… uh, church?”

“A bishop, actually,” Sampaio said, “but that’s not the point.”

“So what is the point?”

“The point,” Sampaio said in a steely voice that implied he didn’t like Silva’s attitude, “is that he’s head of the Appropriations Committee in the Chamber of Deputies.”

“Ah,” Silva said.

The new budget was coming up for discussion. There were hundreds, probably thousands, of ways the pie could be sliced, and every head of every department in Brasilia was busily engaged in efforts to get a bigger piece of it. Sampaio was just like all the others.

“I see,” Silva said. “So there’s something we might be able to do for Deputado Malan, and in return he may look favorably on our budget proposal for the next fiscal year?”

“Exactly,” the director said. “You’re always talking about having more money to invest in resources. Look at this as a chance for us get some of those fancy forensic tools you go on and on about. One hand washes the other, you know.”

“What does Malan want?”

“His granddaughter’s missing. He wants us to find her.”

“Kidnapped?”

The director looked down at his desk, and then went back to fumbling with the pencil. When next he spoke, it was with a touch of embarrassment.

“Probably not,” he said. “Most likely, she’s just a runaway. She’s fifteen, and she’s done it before.”