Perfect Hatred by Leighton Gage Page B

Lord hadn’t done much for us recently. Then he said
something strange.”
“What did he say, Senhora?”
“He said, ‘Just wait.’”
Silva raised an eyebrow. “ Just wait ?”
“That was it. Just wait. It was all I could get out of him.
And then, at breakfast, on the day he died, he said something
even more enigmatic.”
“Which was?”
“He reached across the table, took my hand and said,
‘Jessica, this is going to be a tough day, but don’t let it shake
your faith.’”
“What did he mean by a tough day ?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t you ask him?”
“Of course I did. He wouldn’t say.”
“How long was this after his visit to Plínio’s campaign
headquarters?”
“About a week. I remember because the mortgage was due
the next day.”
“So he made this reference to a tough day. And what happened next?”
“He went out, shot Plínio Saldana and got himself killed.”
Chapter Thirteen
Diogo Mariano looked to be in his mid-to-late forties. Arnaldo had been expecting someone older—and said so.
    “I was the youngest professor they had,” Mariano explained, “twelve years older than the men, only nine years older than Stella.”

Arnaldo was surprised. “Stella was the oldest?” Mariano smiled. “She doesn’t look it, does she?” Arnaldo shrugged. “I couldn’t say. I never met the lady
    myself, only seen her in photographs.”
“Well, take my word for it, she doesn’t.” Mariano leaned
back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Plínio, now, he was the
opposite. He always looked older. I think it had something to do
with his demeanor. A serious guy, he was, even back then. Not
Stella. It was rare to see her without a smile. She used to light up
my classroom every time she came in.” He smiled a rueful smile.
“I wasn’t married then, and I had a crush on her. But we’ve got
strict policies here. We’re not allowed to date our students.” Arnaldo smiled back. “Odds are, you would have had a
better chance than he did.”
Mariano shook his head. “Not likely.”
“No? Being their professor and all? Besides, three years can
seem like another generation when a woman is that young.” “True. But it never seemed to make a difference to Stella.
She was crazy about him.”
“Different graduating classes?”
Again, Mariano shook his head. “Stella came late to law
school. First, she tried nursing.”
A wind jostled the leaves outside the window. Shadows
danced across the professor’s desk. He frowned, as if he found
it distracting, and stood to adjust the blinds.
“The key to understanding them,” he said, resuming his
seat, “is to get a grip on what made them tick. They cared
about people. They wanted to make a difference . They used
that phrase all the time. Make a difference. ”
“As lawyers ? They wanted to make a differe nce as lawyers?
No offense, but. . .”
Mariano raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Arnaldo backpedalled. “Wouldn’t Stella have had a better
shot at helping people if she’d remained a nurse?” “If she’d been suited for it, I daresay she would have. But
human suffering was something she couldn’t deal with on a
one-on-one basis. She hated seeing people in pain. She hated
seeing people die.”
“From nursing to law is still one hell of a jump. It’s not . . .
uh . . . a profession I associate with altruism. Would it be fair
to say most of your students are in it for the money?” “Yes. But those three were different. They concluded,
early on, that the host of problems this country faces could
be distilled into three major areas of concern.” The professor
counted them off on his fingers: “Public health, public education, and public safety.”
“And they thought the best way to tackle those problems
was through the law?”
“They did. And if money came into their calculations at
all, which I really don’t think it did, there would have been
only one reason for it: a conviction they could use money to
do good.”
“So it’s not a fairy