A Venetian Reckoning Part 2

He leaned forward, pulled the drawer all the way out, and reached down for the telephone directory. He flipped it open and found the Zs. There were two listings for 'Zorzi, Barbara, Medico', one for her home and one for her office. He dialled the office number and got a machine, telling him that visiting hours began at four. He dialled the home number and heard the same voice telling him that the Dottoressa was momentaniamente a.s.sente momentaniamente a.s.sente and asking him to leave name, reason for his call, and the number at which he could be reached. His call would be returned and asking him to leave name, reason for his call, and the number at which he could be reached. His call would be returned appena possibile. appena possibile.

'Good morning, dottoressa,' he began after the beep. This is Commissario Guido Brunetti. I'm calling in regard to the death of Avvocato Carlo Trevisan. I've learned that his wife and daughter were...'

'Buon giorno, commissario,' the doctor's husky voice broke in. 'How may I help you?' Though it had been more than a year since they last met, she used the 'tu' form of address with him, making it clear to both of them by its use that the familiarity established then would be continued. commissario,' the doctor's husky voice broke in. 'How may I help you?' Though it had been more than a year since they last met, she used the 'tu' form of address with him, making it clear to both of them by its use that the familiarity established then would be continued.

'Good morning, dottoressa,' he said. 'Do you always filter your calls?'

'Commissario, I have a woman who has called me every morning for the last three years, telling me I must make a house call. Each morning, she has different symptoms. Yes, I filter my calls.' Her voice was firm; but there was an undertone of humour.

'I didn't realize there were that many body parts,' Brunetti said.

'She plays interesting combinations,' Dottoressa Zorzi explained. 'How may I help you, commissario?'

'As I was explaining, I've learned that Signora Trevisan and her daughter were formerly patients of yours.' He paused there, waiting to see what the doctor would volunteer. Silence. 'You've heard about Avvocato Trevisan?'

'Yes.'

'I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to talk to me about them, his wife and daughter.'

'As people or as patients?' she asked, voice calm.

'Whichever you'd feel more comfortable in doing, dottoressa,' Brunetti answered.

'We could start with the first, and men if it seemed necessary, take up the second.'

'That's very kind of you, dottoressa. Could we do it today?'

'I have some house calls to make this morning, but I should be finished with them by eleven. Where would you like to meet?'

Since it was she who was doing the favour, Brunetti didn't feel comfortable asking her to come to the Questura.

'Where will you be at eleven, dottoressa?'

'One moment, please' she said and set the phone down. In an instant, she was back. 'My patient lives near the embarcadero embarcadero of San Marco,' she answered. of San Marco,' she answered.

"Would you like to meet at Florian's, then?' he asked.

Her answer was not immediate and, remembering what he did of her politics, Brunetti half expected her to remark on the way he was choosing to spend the taxpayer's money.

'Florian's is fine, commissario,' she finally said.

'I look forward to it. And thank you again, dottoressa.'

'Eleven, then,' she said, and was gone.

He tossed the phone book into the drawer and slammed it closed with his foot. When he looked up, Vianello was coming into his office.

'You wanted to see me, sir?' the sergeant asked.

'Yes. Sit down. The Vice-Questore's given me Trevisan.'

Vianello nodded, suggesting that this was already old news at the Questura.

'How much have you heard?' Brunetti asked.

'Just what was in the papers and on the radio this morning. Found on the train last night, shot. No trace of a weapon and no suspect'

Brunetti realized that, although he had read the official police file, he knew no more than that himself. He nodded Vianello towards a chair. 'You know anything about him?'

'Important,' Vianello began as he lowered himself into a chair, his size making it look immediately smaller. 'Used to be city councillor in charge of, if I remember correctly, sanitation. Married, a couple of children. Has a big office. Over by San Marco, I think.' 'Personal life?'

Vianello shook his head. 'I've never heard anything.' 'Wife?'

'I think I've read about her. Wants to save the rain forest. Or is that the Mayor's wife?' 'I think it is.'

'Then one of those things. Saving something. Africa, maybe.' Here Vianello snorted, whether at Signora Trevisan or at the likelihood of Africa's being saved, Brunetti wasn't sure.

'Can you think of anyone who might know something about him?' Brunetti asked.

'Family? Business partners? People who work in his office?' Vianello suggested. Seeing Brunetti's response, he added, 'Sorry I can't think of anything better. I don't remember anyone I know ever mentioning him.'

'I'll speak to his wife, but not before the afternoon. I'd like you to go to his office this morning and see what the general feeling is about his death.'

'You think they'll be there? The day after he's killed?'

'It will be interesting to find out if they are,' Brunetti said. 'Signorina Elettra said she heard something about his being involved in a business deal in Poland, or perhaps Czechoslovakia. See if anyone there knows anything about that. She thinks there was something in the paper, but she can't remember what it was. And ask about the usual things.' They had worked together for so long that Brunetti didn't have to specify what the usual things were: a disaffected employee, an angry business a.s.sociate, a jealous husband, his own jealous wife. Vianello had the knack of getting people to talk. Especially if they were Venetians, the people he interviewed invariably warmed to this large, sweet-tempered man who gave every appearance of speaking Italian reluctantly, who was only too glad to lapse into their common dialect, a linguistic change that often carried its speakers along to unconscious revelation. 'Anything eke, sir?'

'Yes. I'm going to be busy this morning, and I'll try to see the widow this afternoon, so I'd like you to send someone down to the station to talk to the conductor who found the body. Find out if the conductors on the train saw anything.' Before Vianello could protest, Brunetti said, 'I know, I know. If they bad, they would have said something by now. But I want them to be asked about it, anyway.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And I'd like to see a list of the names and addresses of all the people who were on the train when it stopped, and transcripts of whatever they said when they were questioned.'

'Why didn't they rob him, sir?'

'If that was the reason, then someone could have come along the corridor and scared him away before he had time to search the body. Or else whoever did it wanted us to realize it wasn't a robbery.'

That doesn't make much sense, does it?' Vianello asked. 'Wouldn't it be better for them to have us believe it was a robbery?'

That depends on why they did it.'

Vianello considered this for a moment and men answered, 'Yes, I suppose so,' but he said it in a tone that suggested he wasn't very convinced. Why would anyone want to give such an advantage to the police?

Not willing to spend the time pondering his own question, Vianello got to his feet, saying, 'I'll go over to his office now, sir, and see what I can learn. Will you be back here this afternoon?'

'Probably. It depends on what time I can see the widow. I'll leave word.'

'Good. Then I'll see you this afternoon,' Vianello said and left the office.

Brunetti turned back to the file, opened it, and read off the phone number listed for Trevisan s house. He dialled the number. It rang ten times before it was answered.

'p.r.o.nto? a male voice said. a male voice said.

'Is this the home of Avvocato Trevisan?' Brunetti asked.

'Who's calling, please?'

This is Commissario Guido Brunetti. I'd like to speak to Signora Trevisan, please.'

'My sister isn't able to come to the phone'

Brunetti flipped back to the page in the file that listed Signora Trevisan's maiden name and said, 'Signor Lotto, I'm sorry to bother you at a time like this, even sorrier to bother your sister, but it is imperative that I speak to her as soon as possible.'

'I'm afraid that's impossible, commissario. My sister is under heavy sedation and can see no one. She's been destroyed by this.'

'I realize the pain she must be suffering, Signer Lotto, and I extend my most sincere condolences. But we need to speak to someone in the family before we begin our investigation.'

'What sort of information do you need?'

'We need to get a clearer idea of Avvocato Trevisan's life, of his business dealings, his a.s.sociates. Until we have some idea of this, we'll have no idea of what might have motivated this crime.'

'I thought it was a robbery,' Lotto said.

'Nothing was taken from him.'

'But there's no other reason to kill my brother-in-law. The thief must have been scared away.'

"That's entirely possible, Signor Lotto, but we'd like to speak to your sister, if only to rule out other possibilities and thus allow ourselves to follow the idea of a robbery.'

'What other possibilities could there be?' Lotto asked angrily. 'I a.s.sure you, there was nothing in my brother-in-law's life that was in any way unusual.'

'I have no doubt of that's being true, Signor Lotto, but still I must speak to your sister.'

There was a long pause and then Lotto asked, 'When?'

This afternoon,' Brunetti said and kept himself from adding, 'if possible'.

There was another long pause. 'Writ, please,' Lotto said and set the phone down. He was gone so long that Brunetti took a piece of paper from his drawer and began to write 'Czechoslovakia' on it, trying to remember how the word was spelled. He was on his sixth version when the phone was picked up again and Lotto said, 'If you come at four this afternoon, either I or my sister will speak with you.'

'Four o'clock,' Brunetti repeated and then gave a terse, 'I'll see you then,' before saying goodbye and hanging up. From long experience, he knew how unwise it was to seem grateful to any witness, no matter how sympathetic they might be.

He glanced down at his watch and saw that it was well past ten. He called the Ospedale Civile but, after speaking to five different people at three different extensions, got no information about the autopsy. He often thought that the only safe procedure a person could undergo at the Ospedale Civile was an autopsy: it was the only time when a patient ran no risk.

With that opinion of medical prowess in mind, he left his office to go and talk to Dottoressa Zorzi.

7.

Brunetti turned right when he left the Questura, up towards the Bacino of San Marco and the Basilica. He was startled to find himself in full sunlight; earlier that morning, he had been so surprised by the news of Trevisan's murder that he had ignored the day given to the city, filled with the light of early winter and now, in mid-morning, so warm he regretted having worn his raincoat.

Few people were out, and those who were all seemed lifted almost to joy by the unexpected sun and warmth. Who would believe that, only yesterday, the city had been wrapped in fog and the vaporetti forced to use their radar for the short ride out to the Lido? Yet here he was, wis.h.i.+ng for sungla.s.ses and a lighter suit, and when he walked out to the waterside, he was momentarily blinded by the reflected light that came flas.h.i.+ng up from the water. Opposite him, Brunetti could see the dome and tower of San Giorgio - yesterday they hadn't been there - looking as though they had somehow crept into the city during the night. How straight and fine the tower looked, unenc.u.mbered by the scaffolding that had imprisoned the tower of San Marco for the last few years, turning it into a paG.o.da and making Brunetti suspect that the city administration had gone and sold the city outright to the j.a.panese, who had begun this way to make them-selves feel more at home.

He turned right and walked up towards the Piazza, and Brunetti found himself, to his own vast surprise, looking kindly upon the tourists who strolled past him, mouths agape and steps slowed by wonder. She could still knock them down, this old wh.o.r.e of a city, and Brunetti, her true son, protective of her in her age, felt a surge of mingled pride and delight and hoped that those people who walked by would see him and somehow know him for a Venetian and, in that, part heir to and part owner of all of this.

The pigeons, usually stupid and hateful, appeared almost charming to him as they bobbed up and down at the feet of their many admirers. Suddenly, for no reason, hundreds of them flocked up, swirled around, and settled back right where they had been, to continue with their bobbing and pecking. A stout woman stood with three of them on her shoulder, her face turned away in delight or horror, while her husband photographed her with a video recorder the size of a machine gun. A few metres away, someone opened a small bag of corn and threw it out in a wide circle, and again the pigeons swirled up and around, then settled to feed in the centre of the corn.

He went up the three low steps and through the etched-gla.s.s double doors of Florian's. Though he was ten minutes early, Brunetti looked through the small rooms on the right and then through those on the left, but he saw no sign of Dottoressa Zorzi.

When a white-jacketed waiter approached him, Brunetti asked for a table near one of the front windows. Part of him, this splendid day, wanted to sit with an attractive young woman by a window at Florians, and another part of him wanted to be seen sitting with an attractive young woman by a window at Florian's. He pulled out one of the delicate, curve-backed chairs and took a seat, then turned it to allow himself a better sight of the Piazza.

As it had been for as long as Brunetti could remember, the facade of the Basilica was partially covered by wooden scaffolding. Had he once, as a child, had a clear view of the whole thing? Probably not.

'Good morning, commissario,' he heard from behind him, and he stood to shake hands with Dottoressa Barbara Zorzi. He recognized her instantly. Slender and straight, she greeted him with a warm handshake that was surprisingly strong. Her hair, he thought, was shorter than it had been last time, cut in a cap of tight dark curls that fitted close to her head. Her eyes were as dark as eyes could be: there was almost no difference between pupil and iris. The resemblance to Elettra was there, the same straight nose, full mouth, and round chin, but the element of ripeness that filled her sister had been toned down to a more sombre, tranquil beauty.

'Dottoressa, I'm glad you could spare the time,' he said, reaching out to help her off with her coat. She smiled in response to this and placed a squat brown learner bag on a chair near the window. He folded her coat and placed it on the back of the same chair and, looking at the bag, said, 'The doctor who used to come to see us when we were boys carried a bag just like that'

'I suppose I should be more modern and carry a leather briefcase' she said, 'but my mother gave me that as a present when I took my degree, and I've carried it ever since.'

The waiter came to the table, and they both ordered coffee. When he was gone, the doctor asked, 'How is it I can help you?'

Brunetti decided there was nothing to be gained in disguising how he came by the information and so began by saying, 'Your sister told me that Signora Trevisan used to be a patient of yours.'

'And her daughter,' the doctor added, reaching towards the brown bag, from which she took a crumpled package of cigarettes. While she was still groping around in the bottom of the bag for her lighter, a waiter appeared on her left and leaned forward to light her cigarette. 'Grazie' 'Grazie' she said, turning her head towards the flame as if accustomed to this sort of service. Silently, the waiter moved away from their table. she said, turning her head towards the flame as if accustomed to this sort of service. Silently, the waiter moved away from their table.

She drew greedily at the cigarette, flipped the bag closed, and looked up at Brunetti. 'Am I to take it this is somehow related to his death?'

'At this point in our investigation,' Brunetti said, 'I'm not sure what is and what isn't related to his death.' She pursed her lips at this, and Brunetti realized how artificial and formal he had sounded. That's the truth, doctor. As of the moment, we have nothing, nothing aside from the physical evidence surrounding his death.' 'He was shot?'

'Yes. Twice. One bullet must have severed an artery, for he seems to have died very quickly.'

'Why do you want to know about his family?' she asked, not, he noticed, asking which member of the family he might be curious about.

'I want to know about his business, his friends.h.i.+ps, his family, anything I can that will allow me to begin to understand what sort of a man he was.'

'You think that will help you learn who killed him?'

'It's the only way to learn why someone would want to kill him. After that, it's relatively easy to figure out who did.'

'You sound very optimistic.'

'No, I'm not,' Brunetti said, shaking his head. 'Not at all, and I won't be until I can begin to understand him.'

'And you think that by learning about his wife and daughter, you will?' 'Yes: 'Yes: The waiter reappeared at their left and set two cups of espresso and a silver sugar bowl down on the table between them. Each of them spooned two sugars into their small cups and stirred them round, allowing this ceremony to serve as a natural pause in the conversation.