Category: Mystery Stories

— But what was the noise of the roar you heard in the laboratory? — Durval asked. — Until that moment, none of us knew — Heitor said. — I think even some soldiers from the platoon had no idea that the army was keeping a beast locked up in the underground laboratory. You could…

Durval listened in astonishment to Heitor’s story, the retired army captain who had illicitly entered a government laboratory where Botelho was conducting genetic experiments involving men with horns. — The platoon of soldiers that invaded the laboratory, combined with the shrill sound of the alarm, would have made an untrained person panic. But if you…

The alarm had gone off. Durval was stunned listening to Heitor’s account, the former army captain who had illicitly entered the laboratories where Botelho had worked on some kind of secret experiment involving a man with horns. Durval wondered why Heitor would invent such a far-fetched story if it weren’t true. What would he gain…

Durval realized he hadn’t taken a single sip of the watermelon juice Melinda had served him. He rested the glass on his casted leg, and there it stayed while Heitor recounted his illicit foray into the army laboratories where Botelho had worked. — I’m not going to say I regretted entering that place. If it…

Replenished with a new glass of watermelon juice provided by Melinda, Heitor’s wife, Durval listened to the story sitting next to the white cat on the sofa of the former army captain’s living room. — We had no idea that the building where the laboratories were located could be so large. From the outside, it…

Durval sipped the watermelon juice that Melinda had served him. Heitor’s wife was at most 25 years old, had long black hair down to the middle of her back, a strong face with a prominent chin, and large green eyes. She had sat on the sofa right in front of him and was looking at…

The photograph should have been in color when taken, but it was so aged that it looked black and white. Durval brought the album closer to his face. Indeed, undeniably, the man standing in the foreground was Botelho. He looked younger, probably under 40, but it was him. He wore a white lab coat with…

Durval accompanied Heitor from the gate to the entrance of the house. The backyard was obsessively tidy. Each stone that formed the path to the house seemed to have been positioned millimetrically. The leaves of the low bushes, precisely trimmed, looked like soldier helmets around the trunks, and the various strawberry trees were arranged like…

Durval looked at the clock one last time before ringing the bell at house number 72 on Bela Vista Street in Santa Tereza. Exactly nine o’clock. He didn’t want to seem intrusive by calling his neighbor Heitor before he was at least somewhat presentable in the morning. He knew the guy wasn’t one to sleep…

Durval couldn’t sleep. He had been tossing in bed for almost two hours, pondering everything Dolores had said in the kitchen. Indeed, he had always been a bit suspicious of his biology professor friend. But he had never seriously considered that Botelho could be the murderer. After all, they had known each other for almost…