Episode 8

“HERE, SIR.” The young man handed over the complete list of passengers who had boarded the flight to Barcelona, along with a CD containing copies of the footage. “I sent another copy by email, just in case it’s needed.”

“It will be, of course.” Pedro frowned, leafing through the list. “Thank you so much for your cooperation.”

“If there’s any other information you need, please don't hesitate to come back.”

Pedro Henrique's eyes briefly landed on Janine's full name on the list, but he quickly closed it, deciding to analyze it more calmly when he got home.

“Thanks again.”

They shook hands.

* * *

“SHE HASN’T CALLED ME yet.” Eliza placed her hand on her temple, worried. She had just put her cell phone down on the table. “It’s been three days since she probably arrived in Spain. She should have called…”

“Exactly.” Simone crossed her arms, sitting on the sofa, observing her friend’s distress. “She hasn’t sent any messages so far, you guys.”

“I don’t even want to think that something bad could have happened as soon as she got there.” Eliza sighed.

“God forbid, girl.” Simone leaned towards the coffee table. “Knock on wood three times.”

The two of them performed the gesture simultaneously.

“But how long is the flight?” Simone began.

“From here to Spain?”

“Yes.”

“Well…” Eliza tried to remember. “She told me she would have a layover in Lisbon. From there she would take another flight to Barcelona.”

“So she managed to get on the Lisbon flight.”

“She did. She called me as soon as she got there, at the airport.”

“After that, she boarded the flight to Spain.”

“Exactly,” Eliza confirmed. “She only sent me a message that she had arrived in Spain. She said she would call me as soon as she got to the other accommodation.”

“So the police are going to try to track her down in Spain.” Simone shrugged.

“Maybe. The detective there asked me about the destination, and I still had the photo of the ticket she sent me. I don’t know why I kept it.”

“But thank goodness you did, my friend.” Simone got up from the sofa and walked over to the other chair at the dining table. “Let’s hope they find this girl soon.”

She took Eliza’s hand in hers, as if to comfort her.

“Let’s hope so, my friend,” she said. “Let’s hope this is just a scare, because she doesn’t know anyone there.”

“Who was she going to meet there?”

“The person who offered her the job.”

Simone sighed.

“Janine doesn’t tell us everything either, you know…” her tone was one of frustration. “These things help us to get a clue for when, unfortunately, something like this happens.”

“The problem isn't not telling everything,” Eliza began. “It's that she barely explained who was going to be with her on this trip. She didn't explain very well if when she got to Spain she was going to stay in a hotel or go straight to her boss's or contractor's house… Anyway.”

“I thought that part was fishy, although I understood a little,” Simone opined.

“Me too.” Eliza stood up. “Come take a walk with me outside. I need some air.”

* * *

“HI, SON.” CARMEM WATCHED as Pedro Henrique entered with some files and the backpack he always carried. “Brought work home today?”

“Hi, Mom.” He walked over to the sofa where Carmem was sitting. The nine o’clock soap opera was on TV. Carmem was addicted to watching soap operas after taking care of the house all day. The young man kissed his foster mother on the top of her head. “Yes, I have a lot of work to do today.”

“Is it about that young woman…?”

“Yes.” Pedro headed for the stairs. “I’m going up.”

“Aren’t you going to have dinner?”

“No…” Pedro stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Not now.”

“I left your food in the microwave. Try not to go to sleep without dinner, dear.”

“Okay, Dona Carmem.” Pedro went up the stairs, laughing. “Where’s Seu Osvaldo?”

“Decided to go to bed early…” Carmem continued watching her soap opera.

Pedro Henrique entered his room and left his backpack on the armchair he used for reading or sitting around doing nothing. He went to the table to put down his files. He turned on his laptop and sat down in his plush work chair.

“Janine, Janine…” He said to himself as he put the hard drive into the device’s media drive. He wanted to take a closer look at the footage. “Where are you…? Kidnapping, ambush, false job offer…?”

He once again leafed through the printed list of passengers who had boarded the flight to Barcelona, with a connection in Lisbon. Certainly nothing had happened in Portugal. Eliza said the girl had contacted them to let them know that she had arrived safely there, and that she was waiting for another flight. Her disappearance became clear when she promised to let them know she had arrived safely at the accommodation.

She had made her last contact with family and friends — in this case, Eliza — in Barcelona. After that, she vanished.

“Janine de Freitas Almeida.” Pedro began writing in his notepad the leads he needed to follow. “Where did you end up in Spain…?”

And when he got there, what would be the next clue?

“I’m going to need cooperation from there too.” He was still talking to himself in a dry tone. He let out a breath, adding, “Looks like I’m crossing the Atlantic.”

* * *

HUGO WAS AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, writing in his notepad. He watched as his own apartment became increasingly empty. The day was coming to leave this place behind, for good. The return trip would be directly to Sao Paulo.

I don’t know why, but I have mixed feelings of anxiety, excitement, and worry. I don't know. I believe that when change comes from within — when you decide to no longer live in that place… whether it’s an apartment, a neighborhood, a city, or even a country — things are relatively easy. Even though the shock of the move comes later, you wanted it to happen — since it was already in the plans. Which is not my case. I wanted to change positions, but I ended up having to change cities. It was sudden. It was something that crossed my path. I wasn’t counting on leaving my apartment, getting rid of some things so I could buy them in another city. No, I don’t regret taking the series of tests that got me approved for the new position. What scares me a little is the fact that I don’t know Sao Paulo as well as I would like to. It’s all new to me. As much as I worry about my adaptation, I am excited — thrilled, in this case — to experience this new air. Now Rio de Janeiro will be a short or long visit. The city where I was born, too. I can't wait to take a quick trip to Fortaleza to see how things are there. I need to make the most of this trip, because when I get back… Work will be tough. Investigation. New case. Gossip here, gossip there. Things could be getting serious. I don't know, and I won’t say for sure. I just need to take one thing at a time now, so as not to increase my anxiety and ruin my mental health. First: get rid of the apartment once and for all. Second, because it’s closer: my vacation trip. The first thing is going to be a little painful, but the trip can ease the pain. That's it.

Hugo put his pen down next to the notepad. Still thoughtful, he leaned on his arms, which were resting on the table.

* * *

HANK WAS IN HIS OFFICE, analyzing the revenue report that had been delivered to him as requested. Textile production was accelerating, he observed. The shipment of girls who had entered recently had done a good job. He considered for a moment whether he should increase the price per piece produced. Laughing, he shook his head. He wouldn’t increase it.

He enjoyed seeing the inner despair of the girls in wanting to pay off the debt they had incurred in order to be involved in slave labor. Hank was sadistic.

Currently, he paid the girls only 1 euro each, but deducted from the total value of the production what each one owed — airfare, room and board. The net amount the girls received in the end was a pittance.

In other words, each of the girls produced 30 to 60 pieces a day. They were not simple pieces, because Hank's brand is one of the biggest in terms of fabric quality. They would keep half the amount or even less, depending on the size of the debt. And this happened every day.

Satisfied, he saved the week’s earnings to his file. The phone rang.

“Hello.” His tone was curt.

“Sir?”

Hank sighed. He knew who it was. The call was from Brazil.

“Did something happen?”

“I was doing security at the airport here and I saw the Federal Police looking for the guy who does the monitoring.”

“The police went there?” Hank frowned.

“No. It was a young man. An investigator, it seems.”

“It seems, my ass. He’s an investigator. Did you see a badge?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you try to find out what he wanted with this young man?”

“To make a list of the passengers on the flight to Spain. He got the list and a copy of the footage.”