A Vine in the Blood (Chief Inspector Mario Silva Series #5)by Leighton Gage
It is the eve of the FIFA World Cup, the globe’s premier sporting event. The host country is Brazil. A victory for the home team is inextricably linked to the skills of the country’s principal striker, Tico “The Artist” Santos, the greatest player in the history of the sport. All the politicians in Brasilia, from the President of the Republic… See more details below
It is the eve of the FIFA World Cup, the globe’s premier sporting event. The host country is Brazil. A victory for the home team is inextricably linked to the skills of the country’s principal striker, Tico “The Artist” Santos, the greatest player in the history of the sport. All the politicians in Brasilia, from the President of the Republic on down, have their seats squared-away for the finale, when they hope to see Argentina, Brazil’s bitterest rival, humbled by the Brazilian eleven. But then, just three weeks before the first game, Juraci Santos, Tico’s mother, is kidnapped. The star is distraught. The public is appalled. The politicians are outraged. And the pressure is on Chief Inspector Mario Silva to get her back.
Suspects aren’t lacking. Among them, are a cabal of Argentineans, suspected of having spirited the lady away to put Tico off his game, the star’s gold-digging, top-model girlfriend, whom his mother dislikes and has been trying to get out of his life, his principal rival, who wants to play in the World Cup in Tico’s place, and the man whose leg Tico broke during a match, thereby destroying his career. In the end, Silva and his crew discover that the solution to the mystery is less complex - but entirely unexpected.
“Hard-hitting, atmospheric… Despite their social conscience and ambitious reach, there's nothing stiff or programmatic about Mr. Gage's lively, action-filled chronicles. They have finely sketched characters, vivid geographical detail and their own brutal sort of humor. The vast size of Brazil, with its great economic and topographic differences, affords a diversity of locales. Each book is a bit of adventure-travel, with Silva and crew often feeling like tourists within their own country. Yet the Silva investigations have all the step-by-step excitement of a world-class procedural series… The books' greatest appeal, though, is Silva. Even after five books and many glimpses into his past and present, he remains an enigma. The reader never knows what the detective might or might not do in order to balance the scales of justice.”
—Wall Street Journal
“Silva, a tough, compassionate cop with an alcoholic wife and an unerring instinct for working the system, tackles this highly spiced case with his usual aplomb. Rising above Brazilian brutality, corruption, and bribery with uncommon wit and the help of his colorful, appealing colleagues, he scores a winning goal in an enormously complex kidnap payoff scheme.”
—Publishers Weekly, Starred Review
“Gage knows Brazil well and has a cast of characters so amusing and so skillfully constructed that this novel is irresistible.”
—Toronto Globe and Mail
“A brisk, colorful police thriller with much interesting information about contemporary Brazil. As usual, the strong and disparate personalities of Silva's detectives add spice to their fifth case.”
“This book, like all of the titles in Gage’s Chief Inspector Mario Silva Investigations series, throws a spotlight on the society and politics of contemporary Brazil. A Vine in the Blood attests to that country’s intense involvement with the game of soccer…. Gage effectively increases the suspense of his latest work by creating a variety of characters, each with a valid motive for the crime.”
"With humorous banter and situations throughout, the plot becomes convoluted as Silva and his team believe the crime is relatively straightforward, but the press promotes theories that are more complicated and elaborate—more fitting to a national superstar. The pace of the story is steady and rhythmic."
“Whether it's characterization, plot or setting, A Vine in the Blood is possibly the best book in this series. If you have yet to sample it, fear not. This book stands on its own very well. My personal recommendation would be to read the entire series. Each book is a window into a fascinating country.”
“Mr. Gage is a master of the procedural who paints with a fine brush, using the tools he needs to craft a fine novel—and no more.”
—New York Journal of Books
“Leighton Gage’s skill is that he imparts a lot of information as an integral part of the exciting narrative, or the smart and frequently amusing dialogue between his characters. Everything flows along so smoothly that suddenly you have read 300 pages and are eagerly awaiting the next investigation. You can start with number five in the series as each of the stories is self contained, but if you do you will certainly want to go back and read the rest of this top quality crime fiction series.”
—Crime Scraps Review
“Silva himself is something of a homebody, sticking to his familiar Sao Paolo turf, but that doesn’t stop Gage from conveying a strong sense of place and Brazilian culture…. an engaging and fast-paced mystery.”
“This is a fine series and one that readers would do well to seek out.”
—Deadly Pleasures Mystery Magazine
A Chicago Tribune Mystery Book Club “favorite.”
“Enthralling…. The plotting is amazing; the finale will leave the reader a little stunned but the motivation is so true that it all makes sense.”
“The series offers a tour of the hemisphere’s largest and most populated country and a hint of its future…. a great stocking stuffer for the reader on your holiday list.”
—The Big Thrill
“When the final break comes, it's a perfectly believable insight rather than the strained coincidence that we sometimes see in crime fiction. All in all, the Silva series just gets better and better.”
—International Noir Fiction
Read an Excerpt
Less than an hour after Juraci Santos was unceremoniously
dumped into the back seat of her kidnappers’ getaway
car, Luca Vaz crept through her front gate and poisoned her
The way he figured it, he didn’t have a choice. And it
wasn’t his fault. It was the fault of that lying lowlife, Mateo
“You’re sure about the color of these bougainvilleas?”
Juraci had asked when he was planting them.
“I’m sure, Senhora,” he’d assured her. “Blood red, like you
“All right, Luca. But you’d better be right. Because, if they
flower in any other color. . . .”
She left the threat unspecified. But a threat it was—and
he knew it.
Three weeks later, the roof fell in: Luca learned that those
new plants of hers were about to flower in a color his wife,
Amanda, had described as the palest purple I’ve ever seen on a
bougainvillea. If Juraci Santos, a woman known to be as vindictive
as she was distrustful, discovered the truth, he’d be in
Luca’s advance notice of the situation stemmed from the
fact that he’d swiped one of the cuttings and planted it to
the right of his front door. Unlike the bougainvilleas along
Juraci’s wall, it had been standing in strong sunshine for the
last three weeks and Amanda, with her sharp eyes, had spotted
the first little bud. She’d taken him by the arm, led him
over to the plant and pointed.
“Isn’t this bougainvillea supposed to be red?”
“It’s not red?” he asked with a sense of foreboding.
He wouldn’t have known if she hadn’t told him. Luca
wasn’t just color blind; he suffered from the most severe and
rarest form of the malady: achromatopsia. He saw the world
in black, white and shades of gray.
Six people in the world, and only six, knew about his condition.
Unfortunately, one of them was Amanda’s no-good
brother, Mateo, who owned a flower and shrub business, and
whom Luca blamed for his current troubles.
The truth of the matter was that Mateo Lima was a nasty
son of a bitch, and there weren’t many people in Carapicuiba,
or the surrounding communities either, who were willing to
buy flowers and shrubs from the likes of him.
Nor were there many people willing to hire a guy who was
color blind to care for their flowers.
So there they were, Luca and Mateo, stuck with each other.
The survival of Mateo’s flower and shrub nursery depended
upon Luca’s work as a gardener. And Luca’s continued
employment depended on Mateo keeping his mouth shut
about Luca’s condition, which Mateo, the blackmailing
bastard, had made clear he’d do only if he became Luca’s
It was remotely possible, of course, that Mateo had made
an honest mistake about those supposedly blood-red bougainvilleas.
But Luca didn’t think so. The most likely possibility
was that Mateo was trying to pull a fast one because
he had no blood-red bougainvilleas in stock.
The other possibility was that Mateo had been having a
joke at Luca’s expense. He found color blindness funny.
Either way, Mateo had underestimated the consequences
for both of them. If Juraci saw those bougainvilleas flowering
in pale purple, she’d have a fit. And then she’d shoot her
mouth off to all of her neighbors. Luca would wind up losing
his customers; Mateo would be stuck with his flowers and
shrubs, and both of them would soon be scratching to make
a living. That was why the bougainvilleas had to go before
they brought flowers into the world.
Killing bougainvilleas, as any gardener will tell you, is a
tough proposition. The normal technique is to dig them out
by the roots. Luca would have to be subtler than that. He’d
have to make it appear they’d fallen victims to some mysterious
After giving the problem some thought, he decided on
his instrument of death: herbicide coupled with industrialstrength
bleach. He mixed up the concoction in a four-liter
jug, set his alarm clock for quarter to five in the morning, and
by five-thirty on the day of the kidnapping he was creeping
through Juraci’s gate. He missed encountering her abductors by
about fifty-five minutes, a fact that undoubtedly saved his life.
He, like the kidnappers, had chosen his time with care.
One of her maids had mentioned that Juraci was a night owl,
and that she seldom retired before two or three in the morning.
But Luca always smelled freshly-brewed coffee when he
arrived, which was usually around 7:00, sometimes as early
as 6:45. That led him to believe that the maids were up and
about by 6:30 at the latest.
His plan was a simple one, and he was convinced he’d be
able to pull it off without a hitch. The only imponderable was
that yappy little poodle of Juraci’s, the one she called Twiggy.
He prayed the dog would keep her mouth shut, because if
the little bitch didn’t, she might wake up the big bitch, her
mistress, and then Luca’s fat would be in the fire.
He’d brought a flashlight, but, as it turned out, he didn’t
need it. The moonlight was bright enough to work by. With
gloved and practiced fingers, Luca dug down to expose the
roots of each plant, severed them with his grafting knife,
poured in a healthy dose of the poisonous liquid and packed
the earth back into place. With any kind of luck at all, the
heat of the sun would cause the sap to rise, thereby drawing
the poison upward into the twigs and leaves.
At quarter past six, after a celebratory cigarette, Luca
began his normal workday. He went, first, to the shed at the
foot of the garden. From there, he took a plastic trash bag
and started working his way up the slope toward the house.
Juraci’s slovenly guests were in the habit of leaving paper
cups, paper plates, and gnawed-upon bones scattered about
the lawn after every barbecue—and she gave a lot of barbecues.
It was one of his tasks to gather them up.
6:30 passed, then 6:40 without a single sign of life from
the house; no yappy little Twiggy running around the garden
pissing on the plants; no smell of coffee.
At 6:45, curiosity and a craving for a café com leite getting
the better of him, Luca decided to investigate. Up to that
point, he hadn’t been alarmed. But when he rounded the
corner and caught sight of the kitchen, he stopped dead in
The door had been smashed—not just forced open, but
completely destroyed. Pieces of solid, varnished wood were
everywhere, a few of them still hanging from the hinges.
Burglars, he thought. And then: Already gone . . . or maybe
not. He started moving again, more cautiously this time. A
rat in the kitchen reacted to the sound of his footsteps by
scuttling out of the door to take refuge under a nearby hedge.
Luca had no fear of rats. He’d killed dozens in his time.
He quickened his pace. From somewhere beyond the dim
opening, he could hear the buzzing of flies. When he reached
the doorway, he stopped again, letting his eyes adjust to the
light, getting his first glimpse of the situation inside.
The flies, hundreds of them, had been attracted by a pool
of liquid on the white tile floor. They were over it, around it,
some were even in it, trapped, as if they’d landed on flypaper.
A few survivors waved their wings, making futile efforts to
Luca, at first, saw the liquid as dark grey. But then, he caught
a whiff of the steely smell, saw the two corpses from which it
oozed to form a single pool, and realized it must be red.
The downpour menacing Brasilia for the past hour
was finally making good on its threat. Raindrops splashed on
the Director’s window panes. Mario Silva suppressed a sigh.
He’d left his umbrella at home. He’d get soaked on the way
to the airport.
“Let me have a closer look at that,” Nelson Sampaio said.
He leaned over his desk to snatch the photo from his chief
inspector’s hand. Then he put on his gold-rimmed reading
glasses and squinted at the headline.
Artist’s Mother Abducted.
He could have read it without the glasses. The typeface
was that big.
In the photograph, Juraci Santos looked terrified. Her
face was dirty, her hair unkempt; her upper body, as much
of it as could be seen in the shot, was clad in a dark green
sweatshirt several sizes too small. She had been photographed
holding up a late edition of that morning’s Cidado
de São Paulo.
Sampaio tossed the photo onto a pile of newspapers, all
with headlines echoing the one he’d been squinting at.
“Proof of life, my ass,” he said. “These days they can fake
anything. Why diamonds?”
“Cash is too bulky,” Silva said. “A bank transfer could be
traced. Diamonds have universal value. It’s a good choice.”
Sampaio took off his glasses and rubbed the indentations
on the bridge of his nose. “How did those damned radio
people get the news before we did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s Arnaldo Nunes?”
“In São Paulo, visiting family.”
“Good! Saves us a plane ticket.” Sampaio, when he wasn’t
flattering a superior, or planning the overthrow of an enemy,
kept a sharp eye on expenses. “Pry him loose from his bloody
family. I need every available man, I need results fast. Timing
For once, Sampaio was right. Timing was critical.
The felons who’d snatched the Artist’s mother could
hardly have picked a worse time to do it.
The beginning of the FIFA World Cup was thirteen days
away. The nation, as it did every four years, had gone football
crazy. And, in the upcoming conflict, no player was more
crucial to Brazil’s success than the Artist.
What Beethoven was to music, Rembrandt to painting,
Tico “The Artist” Santos was to the art of futebol. He was the
new Pelé. Some alleged he was better than Pelé. With Tico
in form, his team was expected to go on to glory. With Tico
depressed and worried about the fate of his mother, Brazil ran
a grave risk of suffering a humiliating defeat at the hands of
the country’s most bitter rival—Argentina.
Even that wasn’t the worst of it. Brazil, the only country to
have won the Cup five times, was hosting the series for the
first time in more than sixty years.
Every important government official, from the President
of the Republic on down, had acquired tickets to the games.
And every one of them had been looking forward to the
grand finale, where they’d rub elbows, mid-field, in the great
stadium of Maracanã, and watch Brazil crush the opposition.
Opposition that would, according to the bookmakers in
London, most likely be wearing the blue and white of the
Argentinean national team.
But now, the great elbow-rubbing fest had been thrown
into jeopardy. A serious risk had arisen that Argentina might
rub dirt into Brazilian faces. And, indignity of indignities,
that dirt might be Brazilian dirt.
The task of finding the Artist’s mother had fallen to the
Brazilian Federal Police. If Juraci Santos wasn’t quickly—and
safely—returned, there was no one more likely to be targeted
by the witch hunt that would surely follow than the Director
in charge of that organization.
“The Argentineans have a club in São Paulo,” he said, biting
one of his nails. “That’s as good a place as any to start.”
Silva eyed him warily. “Start what?”
“Interviewing Argentineans, of course. It’s a question
of cui bono. If Tico can’t do his stuff, who benefits? The
Argentineans! That could be it right there! That could be
Wariness crystallized into disbelief, but Silva was careful to
keep his voice neutral.
“You think a cabal of Argentineans snatched the Artist’s
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Honestly, Director, I don’t think—”
“Call Nunes. I don’t want him sitting around on his
ass waiting for you to get there. I want him over at that
Argentinean club questioning suspects. Tell him that.”
Silva suppressed a sigh. “I’ll tell him, Director.”
Sampaio stabbed the photo with a forefinger. “Did this
come by email?”
“We can trace emails, can’t we?”
“Not in this case.”
“Why the hell not?”
“They used a free, web-based account and logged in through
an unsecured wireless link.”
“Whatever the fuck that means.” Sampaio’s language
tended to get saltier when he was under pressure. “Have you
booked your flight?”
Silva nodded and looked at his watch. “It leaves in fifty-five
“Get a move on then.” Sampaio took another bite of nail.
“We’ll continue this conversation when I get there.”
Silva raised an eyebrow. “You’re coming to São Paulo?”
“Are you hard of hearing, Chief Inspector?”
The Director loved to throw his weight around.
Unfortunately for his subordinates, he generally threw it in
the wrong direction. Allowing him to go to São Paulo would
hinder, not help, the investigation. Silva acted immediately
to defuse the threat.
“I’m sure Minister Pontes will be pleased with your personal
involvement,” he said.
Antonio Pontes, the Minister of Justice, was the government’s
For a while, Sampaio didn’t reply.
Silva knew what he was up to. He was turning it over
in his head: Go to São Paulo and assume all responsibility, or
stay in Brasilia and blame Mario Silva and his team in case of
For Sampaio, a political appointee and a political animal,
it really wasn’t much of a choice. He did exactly what Silva
expected him to do.
“Damn,” he said, “I forgot about the corruption hearings.
I’ll have to stay here. I could be called upon to testify.”
There was not the least chance of Sampaio being called
upon to testify. The congressional corruption hearings were
dead in the water. The politicians charged with conducting
them were stonewalling, some to protect their buddies, some
to protect themselves.
But Silva nodded, as if what the Director said made perfect
“Mind you,” Sampaio added, “You’ll be calling me with
updates at least twice a day.”
“Of course,” Silva said.
He had no intention of doing any such thing.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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This Brazilian mystery takes place just prior to the 1914 World Cup that is set to take place in Brazil. The Brazilian super star Tico, "The Artist", is expected to help Brazil run away with the win over their top rival, Argentina. But someone has kidnapped Tico's beloved mother and everyone is concerned that Tico won't be at his best with her missing. Chief Inspector Mario Silva is assigned this case, with instructions to get her back before the highly anticipated games. There are plenty of suspects depending on whether the kidnapping was to hinder Brazil's chances of winning, or if it was a revenge kidnapping by another star player, or if it was purely for money. Though this was a newer book from the CI Silva mysteries, I was immediately caught up with the characters. Silvia's boss was more of a hinderance that a help, and seemed only to be politically motivated in his actions. The excitement of the World Cup was very evident. Though I got engrossed in the characters and the mystery, the Brazilian location was only felt because of the country wide "football"/ soccer craze. I would read more in this series as I do like police procedurals, and this one was well done.
Read all five in the serie4s & couldn't wait for the next one! Entertainiung & suspenseful reading.
This was the first of the Mario Silva series that I read. I enjoyed learning about South American countries, and their legal system. The plot was good, and the writing was better than in most mysteries: witty, amusing, smart. It's a good mystery and will keep the reader's interest throughout. The character of Mario Silva is well developed and easy to like.
I’ve just finished Leighton Gage’s A VINE IN THE BLOOD which is a marvelous crime story which takes place in Brazil. Sometimes in stories told in locations with cultures with which I’m not familiar, I end up feeling disoriented—I have no sense of what should be familiar—and so I lose the immediate connection with the story, but there was no such feeling with A VINE IN THE BLOOD. Not being interested in spectator sports, I noticed the populace in Brazil loves futebol (known to Americans and Canadians as soccer) with about the same interest I have for American sports events. It’s awkward describing a story by what it is not, but both of these characteristics would presuppose my negative response to the story, but I loved it! Another oddity: usually, I prefer to know nothing at all about a story I’m going to read, but I had heard rumours that Leighton Gage’s stories reflect societal problems in Brazil. Perhaps I’d been warned, but I sensed no overwhelming trumpeting of social injustice (we see that world is unjust, but it doesn’t take over the story). Now for what the book is: Chief Inspector Mario Silva is an officer with the Brazilian Federal police and we watch him puzzle out the clues to the story. One of the great delights of this story is the way the characters interact; they talk and make jokes at each other’s expense, just as predictably as real people. By the middle of the book I was rooting for the detectives and laughing at their wisecracks. Another enjoyment was the irony with which these police rebutted various levels of corruption and the deft way they worked around the nonsense corruption causes. The crime gets solved in an elegant, well-policed way, but there’s still a lot of evil under the surface; I am left yearning for these police officers to expand their target, to take on more of the crime which surrounds them. Leighton, I can’t wait; when will #6 be released?
It is two weeks away from the biggest game in Brazil, the FIFA World Cup against their bitter rival Argentina. The country is gearing up, bets are being placed, and the fans are putting all their hopes on Tico “The Artist” Santos. When the Artist’s mother Juraci is kidnapped, the country is riveted to the case hoping beyond all hope she is returned before the big game so the Artist is at his best. Chief Inspector Mario Silva is assigned the case along with his partner Arnaldo Nunes, together they quickly develop a long list of potential suspects. Juraci is not well liked and many would like to see the Artist off his game when the World Cup is played so the investigators need to work fast through the list of suspects and get the case solved in the two weeks before the game. The Artist’s fiancée Cintia—a fashion model—is at the top of the list. She is considered a gold digger by everyone around her, especially by her soon to be mother-in-law who incidentally hired a private investigator to dig up dirt on the model. Each of the suspects begins pointing to another suspect and has the Inspector and his partner going in circles following up each lead. When suspect’s bodies begin piling up, the case goes into overdrive in the fear Juraci won’t be alive when they find her. “A Vine in the Blood” is the fifth in the Chief Inspector Mario Silva series. With the book, Leighton Gage continues his deft writing to create a mystery that will have his reader riveted following each twist and turn and trying to figure out who the kidnapper is before they are revealed. Reviewed by Jodi Ann Hanson for Suspense Magazine
This book I won via a LibraryThing Contest it’s a series about Chief Inspector Mario Silva in this book the FIFA World Cup is about take place when Tico Santos’s mother is kidnapped three weeks prior to the cup. It’s up to Mario Silva to find her. There are many people that could be potential suspects. Some motives are to throw Tico off his game and insure he isn’t up to his game. A gold digging future wife who his mother was investigating, a man whose career was destroyed by Tico. This book is definitely full of action and adventure leaving you wondering who had the most to gain by Ms. Santos being out of the picture. Definitely had you wondering up the end what happened and who had Tico’s mother. A great book.
I discovered Leighton's Silva series in December and have read and enjoyed them very very much. They are superbly written, dark, mysterious, and most of all funny. I like that they have a social conscience without hitting the reader over the head with it each time. I look forward to the next in theseries!
Gives you a good peek into Sao Paulo and Brazil
This series has been good from the first, and each new book has been a step up from the previous. With Vine, the 5th in the series, Mr. Gage has hit full stride. He puts you in Brazil, you feel the heat, the humidity, you are in the middle of this wonderful investigation. I felt I was riding shotgun with Chief Inspector Silve and his squad. If you have not read any of the previous books in the series, it really doesn't matter. This is the perfect jumping on point. The characters are fully grounded, the plot is marvelous, and the suspense justs builds to a perfect ending that you don't see coming. It all works. This is a MUST READ for anyone who loves police procedurals.