A Venetian Reckoning (29 page)

'Across the city?' Brunetti repeated.

His question surprised her, but for
only a moment. She dismissed it, and her own surprise at it, with a wave of her
hand, 'Just an expression. The agency is sort of out of the way over here.’

‘Yes, of course,' he said.

‘I don't know how to thank you.'

'You could tell me where you lost
them.'

She smiled again. 'Why, if I knew
where I lost them, then they wouldn't have been lost, would they?'

Brunetti said nothing.

She gazed across the desk at him, but
he said nothing. She looked down at the glasses case and pulled it towards her.
She took the glasses out and, just as had Brunetti in the restaurant, wiggled
one earpiece, then pulled them both sharply to the sides; again, the glasses
bent but did not break.

'Remarkable, isn't it?' she asked
without looking at him.

Brunetti remained silent

In the same entirely casual voice,
she said, 'I didn't want to get involved.'

'With us?' Bruhetti asked, assuming
that if she knew that he had to cross the city to get to her, then she knew
where he had come from.

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'He was a married man.'

‘In a few years, well be in me
twenty-first century, signora.’

"What do you mean?’ she asked,
looking up at him in real confusion.

That married or not married hardly
means much anymore.’

'It did to his wife,' she said
fiercely. She folded the
glasses and
slipped
 them back into the leather case.

'Not even when he was found dead?'

'Especially not then. I didn't want
there to be any suspicion that I had anything to do with it’

'Did you?'

'Commissario Brunetti,’ she said, managing
to surprise him by the use of his title, 'it took me five years to become a
citizen of this country and, even now, I have no doubt that my citizenship
could very easily be taken away from me at the first moment I came to the
attention of the authorities. Became of that, I want to do nothing that will
bring me to their attention.’

"You're receiving our attention
now.’

She pursed her lips in involuntary
vexation. 'I had hoped to avoid it’

'Yet you knew you had left the
glasses there?’

'I knew I lost them that day; but I
hoped it was somewhere else.’

‘Were you having an affair with him?'

He watched her weigh this, and then
she nodded.

'How long had it gone on?'

Three years.’

‘Did you have any intention of
changing things?' ‘I’m afraid I don't understand your question.’

'Did you have hopes of marrying him?'
'No. The situation suited me as it was.' 'And what was that situation?' 'We saw
one another every few weeks.’ 'And did what?’

She looked up at him sharply. 'Again,
I don't understand your question.'

'What did you do when you saw him?'
'What is it lovers usually do, Dottor Brunetti?' 'They make love.'

'Very good, dottore. Yes, they make
love, which is what we did.' Brunetti sensed that she was angry, but it didn't
seem to him that her anger was directed at, or caused by, his questions.
'Where?' he asked.

‘I beg your pardon.'

'Where did you make love?'

Her lips tightened and her answer
squeezed from between them. 'In bed.'

'Where?'

Silence.

'Where was the bed? Here in Venice or
in Padua?'

‘In both places.'

‘In an apartment or a hotel?'

Before she could answer, the phone on
her desk gave a discreet buzz, and she answered it. She listened for a moment
said, 'I'll give you a call this afternoon,' and hung up. The break in the
rhythm of the questions had been minimal, but it had been enough to allow her
to regain her composure.

‘I'm sorry, Commissario, would you
repeat your last question?’ she asked.

He repeated it, knowing that the
interruption provided by the phone call had given her enough time to think
about the answer she'd given. But he wanted to hear her change it, ‘I asked you
where you made love.'

'Here in my apartment:

'And in Padua?'

She feigned confusion. 'What?'

'In Puma, where did you meet?’

She gave him a small smile. 'I'm
afraid I misunderstood your question. We usually met here.’

'And how frequently were you able to
see one another?'

Her manner warmed, as it always did
just before people began to fie. 'Actually, there really wasn't very much of an
affair left, but we Eked one another and were still good friends. So we saw one
another for dinner every so often, either here or in Padua.'

'Do you remember the last time you
were together here in Venice?'

She turned aside and considered how
to answer his question. 'Why, no, I don't. I think it must have been some time
during the summer.'

'Are you married, signora?' he asked

'I'm divorced,’ she answered.

'Do you five alone?'

She nodded

'How did you learn of Signor Favero's
death?'

'I read it in the paper, the morning
after it happened.'

'And didn't call us?'

'No.'

'Even though you'd seen him the night
before?'

'Especially because of that. As I
explained a moment ago, I have no reason to put my trust in the authorities.’

In his worst moments, Brunetti
suspected that no one did, but that was perhaps an opinion best not revealed to
Signora Ceroni.

"Where do you come from
originally, signora?'

'Yugoslavia. From Mostar.'

'And how long ago did you come to
Italy?’

'Nine years.’

'Why did you come?’

‘I came originally as a tourist, but
then I found work and decided to stay.' 'In Venice?’ 'Yes.’

'What sort of work did you do?’ he
asked, though he knew that this information would be available somewhere in
the records of the Ufficio Stranieri.

'At first, I worked in a bar, but
then I got a job in a travel agency. I knew several languages, and so it was
easy for me to find work.’

'And now this?' he asked, waving his
hand to encompass the small office in which they sat is it yours?’

‘Yes.’

'How long have you owned it?’

'Three years. It took me more than
four yean to save enough money to give a deposit to the old owners. But now
it's mine. That's another reason I didn't want any trouble.'

'Even if you have nothing to hide?'

'If I might be frank, Commissario, it
has never been my experience that agencies of the state pay much attention to
whether people have things to hide or not, Quite the contrary, in fact. And
because I know nothing about the details of Signor Favero's death, I made the
judgement that there was no information I could provide to the police, and so I
did not call you.’

'What did you talk about at dinner
that night?'

She paused and looked aside, thinking
back to the evening. 'What friends talk about. His business. Mine. His
children.'

'His wife?'

Again, she brought her lips together
in evident disapproval. 'No, we did not discuss his wife. Neither of us
thought that in good taste.'

'What else did you talk about?'

'Nothing that I can remember. He
talked about buying a new car and didn't know what kind to get, but I couldn't
help him there.'

'Because you don't drive?'

'No, there's no need for it here, is
there?’ she asked with a smile. 'And I know nothing about cars. Like most
women.'

Brunetti wondered why she made this
obvious appeal to his male sense of superiority; it seemed out of character in
a woman who so easily established her own equality with a man.

'The waiter in the restaurant where
you had dinner said that he showed you some papers during dinner.'

'Ah, yes. That's when I took out the
glasses. I need them for reading.'

'What were the papers?'

She paused, either in memory or
invention, it was the prospectus for a company he wanted me to invest in.
Because the agency is making a profit, he wanted me to start to use the money I
made - "put it to work" - those were his words. But I wasn't
interested.’

'Do you remember what sort of company
it was?’

'No, I'm afraid I don't. I don't pay
much attention to that sort of thing.' Brunetti doubted this, is it important?'
she asked.

'We found quite a number of files in
the trunk of his car,' Brunetti lied, 'and we'd like to get some idea of
whether any of them have special importance.'

He watched as she started to ask
about the papers and then changed her mind.

'Can you remember anything particular
about that evening? Did he seem troubled or upset about anything?' It occurred
to Brunetti that almost anyone would find it strange that it had taken him so
long to get around to this question.

'He was more quiet than usual, but
that could have been because he was working so much. He said a number of times
that he was very busy.'

'Did he mention anything in
particular?'

'No.'

'And after dinner, where did you go?'
'He drove me to the railway station, and I came back to Venice.' 'Which train?'

She thought for a moment before
answering, it got in about eleven, I think.’

'The one Trevisan took,’ Brunetti
said and saw the name register.

"The man who was killed last
week?’ she asked after a short pause.

'Yes. Did you know him?’ Brunetti
asked.

'He was a client here. We handled his
travel arrangements, for himself and for the people who worked for him.'

'Strange, isn't it?' Brunetti asked.
'Isn't what strange?'

"That two men you know should the
in the same week.'

Her voice was cool, uninterested.
'No, I don't find it particularly strange, commissario. Certainly, you don't
mean to suggest there's some sort of connection between the two.'

Instead of answering her question, he
got to his feet. Thank you for your time, Signora Ceroni,' he said, reaching
across the desk to shake her hand.

She stood and came around the desk,
moving gracefully. 'It is I who should thank you for having taken the trouble
to return my glasses to me.'

'It was our duty,' he said,

'None the less, I thank you for
taking the trouble.' She went with him to the door, opened it, and allowed him
to pass in front of her to the outer office. The young woman still sat at the
desk, and a long sheet of tickets hung suspended from the printer. Signora Ceroni
walked with him to the front door of the agency. He opened it, turned and shook
hands again, and men headed back up towards home. Signora Ceroni stood in front
of the beach until he turned the corner and disappeared.

24

When he arrived at the Questura,
Brunetti stopped first in Signorina Elettra's office and dictated the letter to
Giorgio — he couldn't help thinking of him that way now - in which he
apologized for what he called clerical inaccuracies on the part of the
Questura. The letter would suffice, he hoped, for Giorgio s fiancee and her
family while at the same time remaining sufficiently vague so as not to commit
him to having actually done anything.