The Death of Faith (12 page)

From beside him, Brunetti heard Vianello whisper, just at the level of audibility, ‘Amen,’ but he resisted the impulse to glance at his sergeant. Signorina Lerini, however, did turn to Vianello and saw a face that matched her own for solemnity and piety. Her face relaxed visibly at this, and some of the rigidity went out of her spine.

‘Signorina, I do not wish to intrude upon your grief, for I know it must be very great, but there are some questions I would like to ask about your father’s estate.’

‘As I told you,’ she said, ‘his estate is now with the Lord.’

This time, Brunetti heard a breathed
‘Si, si,’
from beside him and wondered if Vianello was perhaps overplaying his part. Apparently not, for this time Signorina Lerini looked at the sergeant and nodded in his direction, no doubt acknowledging the presence of the other Christian in the room.

‘Unfortunately, Signorina, those of us who remain behind must still concern ourselves with earthly things,’ Brunetti said.

Hearing this, Signorina Lerini glanced at her father’s photo, but he seemed unable to give her any help. ‘What is it you are concerned about?’ she asked.

‘Through information gained during another investigation,’ Brunetti began, repeating his lie, ‘we have learned that some people in the city have fallen victim to swindlers who approach them under the false guise of charity. That is, they present themselves as the representatives of various charities and in this way succeed in obtaining sums of money, often very large sums of money, from their victims.’ He waited for Signorina Lerini to display some sign of curiosity at what he was saying, but he waited in vain and so continued. ‘We have reason to believe that one of these persons managed to gain the confidence of some of the patients at the
casa di cura
where your father was a patient.’

At this, Signorina Lerini looked up at him, eyes wide with curiosity.

‘Signorina, could you tell me if these people ever approached your father?’

‘How would I know something like that?’

‘I thought perhaps your father might have discussed making changes in his will, perhaps some sort of bequest to a charity you had never heard him speak of before.’ She said nothing here. ‘Were there any charitable bequests in your father’s will, Signorina?’

‘What do you mean by charitable bequests?’ she asked.

Brunetti thought it a relatively simple question, but he still explained. ‘To a hospital, perhaps, or an orphanage?’

She shook her head.

‘I’m sure he must have left money to some worthy religious organization,’ Brunetti suggested.

She shook her head again but offered no explanation.

Suddenly Vianello broke in. ‘If I might be allowed to interrupt you, sir, I’d like to suggest that a man like Signor Lerini would certainly not wait until his death to begin to share the profits of his labours with Holy Mother Church.’ Having said that, Vianello bowed the top half of his seated body toward Signor Lerini’s daughter, who smiled graciously in response to this tribute to her father’s generosity.

‘It seems to me,’ continued Vianello, encouraged by her smile, ‘that our duty to the Church is one we carry with us all through our lives, not only at the hour of our death.’ Having said this, Vianello returned to his respectful silence, the Church defended and he content with having been the one to do it.

‘My father’s life,’ Signorina Lerini began, ‘was a shining example of Christian virtue. Not only was his entire life an exemplary model of industry, but his loving concern for the spiritual welfare of everyone he came in touch with, either personally or professionally, set a standard which will be hard to exceed.’ She went on in this vein for another few minutes, but Brunetti tuned out, letting his attention wander around the room.

The heavy furniture, relics from a previous era, was familiar to him, all of it built to endure through the ages and devil take the ideas of comfort or beauty. After a quick survey of the room, which showed him a number of paintings more concerned with piety than beauty, Brunetti confined his attention to a study of the bulbous, four-clawed feet that reached out from the legs of tables and chairs.

He turned his attention back just as Signorina Lerini was coming to the peroration of this speech she must have delivered countless times before. So pat was her delivery that Brunetti wondered if she was any longer conscious of what she was saying and tended to suspect that she might not be.

‘I hope that satisfies your curiosity,’ she said, finally coming to an end.

‘It certainly is a very impressive catalogue of virtues, Signorina,’ Brunetti said. Signorina Lerini contented herself with the words and smiled in response, her father having received his due.

Since he hadn’t heard her mention it, Brunetti asked, ‘Could you tell me if the
casa di cura
was a recipient of your father’s generosity?’

Her smile disappeared. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Did he remember it in his will?’

‘No.’

‘Could he perhaps have given them something while he was still there?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, speaking in a soft voice and, by that, meaning to suggest lack of interest in such worldly things but, by the sharp look she gave him at the mention of such a possibility, succeeding only in looking wary and displeased.

‘How much control did your father have over his finances while he was there?’ Brunetti asked.

‘I’m not sure I understand your question,’ she said.

‘Was he in contact with his bank, could he write cheques? If he was no longer capable of doing those things, did he ask you, or whoever was handling his affairs, to pay bills or make gifts?’ He doubted that he could make the question any clearer to her.

That she didn’t like this was evident, but Brunetti was out of patience with her protestations and her virtue.

‘I thought you said this was an investigation of swindlers, Commissario,’ she said in a voice so sharp that Brunetti immediately regretted his own tone.

‘It is, Signorina, it certainly is. And I wanted to know if they could possibly have taken advantage of your father and of his generosity while he was in the
casa di cura.’

‘How could that happen?’ Brunetti noticed that her right hand held the fingers of the left in a vicelike grip, bunching the skin together like the wattle of a chicken.

‘If these people had come to visit other patients, or found themselves there for any reason, they could have had contact with your father.’ When she said nothing, Brunetti asked, ‘Isn’t that possible?’

‘And he could have given them money?’ she asked.

‘It’s possible, but only theoretically. If there were no strange bequests in his will, and if he gave no unusual instructions about his finances, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’

‘You can rest assured, then, Commissario. I was in charge of my father’s finances during his last illness, and he never spoke of anything like that.’

‘And his will? Did he make any changes to it during the time he was there?’

‘None.’

‘And you were his heir?’

‘Yes. I am his only child.’

Brunetti had come to the end of both his patience and his questions. ‘Thank you for your time and for your cooperation, Signorina. What you’ve told us puts an end to any suspicions we might have had.’ After he said this, Brunetti got to his feet, followed instantly by Vianello. ‘I feel very much better, Signorina,’ Brunetti continued, smiling with every appearance of sincerity. ‘What you’ve told me reassures me because it means that your father was not taken advantage of by these despicable people.’ He smiled again and turned toward the door. He sensed Vianello’s presence close behind him.

Signorina Lerini got up from her chair and came with them to the door. ‘It’s not that any of this matters,’ she said, waving a hand to encompass the room and everything in it, perhaps hoping to dismiss it all with that gesture.

‘Not when our eternal salvation is at stake, Signorina,’ Vianello said. Brunetti was glad his back was to both of them because he was not sure he had been fast enough to hide both his shock and disgust at Vianello’s remark.

* * * *

Chapter Six

When they were outside, Brunetti turned to Vianello and asked, ‘And might I be so bold as to ask where that sudden burst of piety came from, Sergeant?’ He shot an impatient glance at Vianello, but the sergeant answered him with a grin. Brunetti insisted, ‘Well?’

‘I don’t have the patience I used to have, sir. And she’s so far gone I figured she wouldn’t realize what I was doing.’

‘I suspect you succeeded in that,’ Brunetti said. ‘It was a wonderful performance. “Our eternal salvation is at stake,’“ Brunetti repeated, making no attempt to hide his disgust. ‘I hope she believed you, because you sounded as false as a snake to me.’

‘Oh, she believed me, sir,’ Vianello said, heading out of the courtyard and back toward the Accademia Bridge.

‘Why are you so sure?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Hypocrites never think that other people can be just as false as they are.’

‘Are you sure that’s what she is?’

‘Did you see her face when you suggested that her father, her sainted father, might have given some of the loot away?’

Brunetti nodded.

‘Well?’ Vianello asked.

‘Well what?’

‘I think it’s enough to show what all that crap about religion is really all about.’

‘And what do you think that is, Sergeant?’

‘That it makes her special, makes her stand out from the crowd. She’s not beautiful, not even pretty, and there’s no indication that she’s smart. So the only thing that can make her stand out from other people, the way we all want to do, I suppose, is to be religious. That way everyone who meets her says, “Oh, what an interesting, intense person.” And she doesn’t have to do anything or learn anything or even work at anything. Or even be interesting. All she does is say things, pious things, and everyone jumps up and down saying how good she is.’

Brunetti wasn’t persuaded, but he kept his opinion to himself. There had certainly been something excessive and out of tune about Signorina Lerini’s piety, but Brunetti didn’t think it was hypocrisy. To Brunetti, who had seen his fair share of it in his work, her talk of religion and God’s will had the ring of simple fanaticism. He had found her lacking the intelligence and self-involvement that were usually present in the real hypocrite.

‘It sounds like you’re pretty familiar with that sort of religion, Vianello,’ Brunetti said, turning into a bar. After their prolonged exposure to sanctity, he needed a drink. So, apparently, did Vianello, who ordered them two glasses of white wine.

‘My sister,’ Vianello said in explanation. ‘Except that she grew out of it.’

‘What happened?’

‘It started about two years before she got married.’ Vianello sipped at the wine, set his glass down on the bar, and nibbled at a cracker he picked up from a bowl. ‘Luckily, it ended when she got married.’ Another sip. A smile. ‘No room for Jesus in bed, I guess.’ A larger sip. ‘It was awful. We had to listen to her for months, going on and on about prayer and good works and how much she loved the Madonna. It got to a point that even my mother — who really is a saint — couldn’t stand to listen to her.’

‘What happened?’

‘As I said, she got married, and then the children started coming, and then there was no time to be holy or pious. Then I guess she forgot about it.’

‘You think that could happen with Signorina Lerini?’ Brunetti asked, sipping at his wine.