A Venetian Reckoning Part 24

'To Brunetti, it seemed clear what he had meant. 'Was she a Slav?'

She lowered her voice and looked away from him before she answered, 'I think so.'

'Who is she? Where does she live?'

He watched her weigh this question before she answered, watched her try to predict how much trouble an honest answer would cost her. He wheeled away from her and took two steps, then as suddenly wheeled again and came to stand in front of her. 'Where is she?'

'I think she lives here.'

'In Venice?'

'Yes.'

'What else do you know?' 'She has a job.'

'Signora, most people have jobs. What is hers?'

'She arranges, that is, she arranged Ubaldo's and Carlo's flights'

'Signora Ceroni?' Brunetti asked, surprising Signora Trevisan by his question.

'I think so.'

'What else did she do for them?'

'I don't know,' she said, but before he could move any closer to her, she said, 'I really don't know. I heard them talk to her on the phone a few times.'

'About plane tickets?' he asked, making no attempt to disguise his sarcasm.

'No, about other things. Girls. Money.' 'Do you know her?' 'No, I've never met her.'

'Did you ever hear her name used when they talked about the tapes?'

'They never talked about the tapes. Not really. They just said things, and I understood what they meant'

He didn't bother to contradict her, certain as he was that this was going to become the truth around which her future would be constructed - to suspect is not to know, and if you don't know, men you aren't responsible, not in any real way, for what happens. His certainty grew so strong that Brunetti's soul sickened with it, and he knew he could no longer stay in the same room with this woman. With no explanation, he turned and left her, dosing the door behind him. He could not bear the thought of speaking to the girl, and so he left the apartment, left them bom there to begin constructing a convenient future.

The darkness and cold into which Brunetti emerged served to quiet him. He looked down at his watch and saw that it was after nine. He should be both hungry and thirsty, he knew, but his rage had driven both from him.

He couldn't remember the home address that they had got for Signora Ceroid beyond that it was in San Vio and that, when he had seen it he had wondered how close it would be to the Church of La Salute. He checked it in a phone book in a bar and took the No. 1 boat across the Grand Ca.n.a.l to the Salute stop. He round the house not only near the church, but looking out at it from the other side of the small ca.n.a.l that ran along the side of the church. Her name was on the bell. He rang it and, after a minute or so, heard a woman's voice asking who it was. He gave his name and, with no further questions, she buzzed him in.

He paid no attention to the hallway, to the stairs, or to what sort of greeting she gave him at the door. She led him into a large living room, one wall of which was covered with books. Soft lighting glowed down from lights that must have been concealed behind the beams that ran across the ceiling. None of this interested him. Nor her loveliness nor the soft elegance of her clothing.

'You didn't tell me you knew Carlo Trevisan,' he said when they were seated facing one another.

'I told you he was a client of mine.' As he forced himself to calm down, he began to take notice of her, of the beige dress, the carefully combed hair, the silver buckles on her shoes.

'Signora,' Brunetti said with a weary shake of his head, 'I'm not talking about his being a client of yours. I'm talking about your being in business with him or working for him.'

She tilted her chin up and, mouth slightly ajar, stared off to one side of the room, as if he'd asked her to make a difficult decision. After what seemed a long time, she spoke, 'I told you, the last time we spoke, that I do not want to become involved with the authorities.' with the authorities.'

'And I told you that you already are.'

'So it seems,' she said without humour. 'What did you do for Signor Trevisan?' if you know that I worked for him, then you probably have no need to ask me that.'

'Answer the question, Signora Ceroni.' 'I collected money for him.' 'What money?'

'The money that was given to him by various men.'

'Money from prost.i.tutes?'

'Yes.'

'You know this is illegal, living off the earnings of a prost.i.tute?'

'Of course I know it,' she said angrily.

'Yet you did it?'

'I just told you that I did.'

'What else did you do for him?'

'I see no reason I should make your job any easier for you, commissario.'

'Did you have anything to do with the tapes?' he asked.

If he had struck her, her response could have been no stronger. She got halfway up from her seat and then, remembering where she was and who he was, sat down again. Brunetti sat and looked at her, making a list of the things that had to be done: find her doctor and see if she had ever been prescribed Roipnol; show her photo to the people who had been on the train with Trevisan and see if they recognized her; check the phone records from her office and home; send her name, photo, and fingerprints to Interpol; check credit-card receipts to see if she had ever rented a car and thence knew how to drive. In short, do all the things he should have done the instant he found out whose gla.s.ses they were.

'Did you have anything to do with the tapes?' he asked again.

'You know about them?' she asked, and then, aware of how redundant the question was, asked, 'How did you find out?'

'My daughter saw one. Trevisan's daughter gave it to her and said it might explain why someone would want to have killed her father.'

'How old is your daughter?' she asked.

'Fourteen.'

'I'm sorry,' Signora Ceroni said and looked down at her hands. 'I'm really sorry.'

'You know what's on the tapes?' he asked. She nodded. 'Yes, I know.'

He made no attempt to keep his disgust from his voice, 'And you helped Trevisan sell them?'

'Commissario,' she said, getting to her feet, 'I don't want to discuss this any further. If you have formal questions to ask me, you can do it at the Questura, in the presence of my lawyer.'

'You killed them, didn't you?' he asked.before he thought about it 'I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about' she said. 'And now, if you have no further questions, I'll wish you good evening.'

'Was it you on the train, the woman with the fur hat?'

She had started towards the door, but when he asked her that, she faltered and came down heavily on her left foot. She quickly regained her balance and her composure and continued towards the door. She opened it and held it open for him.. 'Good evening, commissario.'

He paused in front of her at the door, but her gaze was level and cool. He left without saying anything.

When he left the building, he walked away from it without turning to look up towards what he thought must be her windows. Instead, he crossed the bridge in front and turned right into the first calle. calle. There he stopped, wis.h.i.+ng, not for the first time, that he had a portable phone. He summoned up memory and waited until the street map of the area that every Venetian carried around in his mind appeared in his. As he thought about it, he realized that he would have to go down to the second There he stopped, wis.h.i.+ng, not for the first time, that he had a portable phone. He summoned up memory and waited until the street map of the area that every Venetian carried around in his mind appeared in his. As he thought about it, he realized that he would have to go down to the second calle calle and then swing around to the left, to a narrow and then swing around to the left, to a narrow calle calle that ran in at the back of her house if he was to get to where he wanted to be: at the end of the that ran in at the back of her house if he was to get to where he wanted to be: at the end of the calle calle on which she lived, provided with a clear view of her front door. on which she lived, provided with a clear view of her front door.

When he got there, he stood, leaning against a wall, tor more than two hours before she left the building. She looked both ways when she stepped out, but Brunetti was hidden by the darkness in which he stood. She turned right and he followed her, glad he was wearing his brown shoes, the ones with the rubber heels and soles that m.u.f.fled his footsteps. Hers, striking out from the high heels of her shoes, left a trail as easy to follow as if she were in constant sight.

Within minutes, he realized she was moving in the direction of either the railway station or Piazzale Roma, keeping to the back calle calle and away from the vaporetd on the Grand Ca.n.a.l. In Campo Santa Margherita, she cut off to the left, in the direction of Piazzale Roma and the buses that went towards the mainland. and away from the vaporetd on the Grand Ca.n.a.l. In Campo Santa Margherita, she cut off to the left, in the direction of Piazzale Roma and the buses that went towards the mainland.

Brunetti stayed as far behind her as he could without losing sound of her. It was after ten now, so there were few people on the street and almost no sound to obscure the steady, determined click of her heels.

When she came out into the Piazzale, she surprised Brunetti by crossing it, walking away from all of the s.p.a.ces where the buses stopped. On the other side, she walked up the stairs and into the munic.i.p.al parking garage, disappearing through the large open doorway. Brunetti hurried across the Piazzale but stopped outside the door, trying to see into the dim interior.

A man sat inside the gla.s.s booth to the right of the door. He looked up when Brunetti approached him. 'Did a woman in a grey coat just come in here?'

'Who do you think you are, police?' the man asked and glanced down at the magazine that lay open in front of him.

Wordlessly, Brunetti took his wallet from his pocket and pulled out bis warrant card. He dropped it on the open page. 'Did a woman in a grey coat come in here?'

'Signora Ceroni,' the man said, looking up as he handed Brunetti's card back to him.

'Where's her car?'

'Fourth level. She'll be down in a minute.'

Hie sound of a motor from the circular ramp that led to the upper parking levels gave proof of this. Brunetti turned away from the window and walked over to the doorway that led outside and to the road to the mainland. He placed himself in the centre of the open door and stood, hands at his side.

The car, a white Mercedes, came down the ramp and turned towards,the door. The headlights caught Brunetti full in the face, blinding him for a moment, forcing him to narrow his eyes to slits.

'Hey, what are you doing?1 the man called to Brunetti, climbing down from his chair and coming out of his booth. He took a step towards Brunetti, but just then the car's horn shrieked out, deafening in the enclosed s.p.a.ce, and he jumped back, cras.h.i.+ng against the doorjamb. He watched the car cover the fifteen metres between itself and the man in the doorway. He shouted again, but the man didn't move. He told himself to run across and push the policeman out of the way, but he couldn't force himself to move. the man called to Brunetti, climbing down from his chair and coming out of his booth. He took a step towards Brunetti, but just then the car's horn shrieked out, deafening in the enclosed s.p.a.ce, and he jumped back, cras.h.i.+ng against the doorjamb. He watched the car cover the fifteen metres between itself and the man in the doorway. He shouted again, but the man didn't move. He told himself to run across and push the policeman out of the way, but he couldn't force himself to move.

The horn sounded again, and the man closed his eyes. The sharp squeal of the brakes forced him to open them, and as he watched, the car swerved wildly on the oil-slick floor as it turned away from the policeman, who still hadn't moved. The Mercedes sideswiped a Peugeot Sedan parked in slot 17 and then swerved back towards the door, coming to a stop less than a metre from the policeman. As the attendant watched, the policeman walked up to the pa.s.senger door and opened it. He said something, waited a moment, and climbed into the car. The car shot off and through the door, turned left and towards the causeway, and the attendant, unable to think of anything better to do, called the police.

27.

As they started across the causeway; towards the lights of Mestre and Marghera, Brunetti studied Signora Ceroni's profile, but she ignored him and looked straight ahead, so he looked off to the right, to the lighthouse of Murano and, even farther out, the lights of Burano. 'It's very clear tonight,' he said. ' 'I think I can see Torcello out there.'

She sped up and was soon travelling faster than any of the other cars on the causeway. 'If I turned the wheel to the right' we'd go over the edge and into the water,' she said.

'I imagine you're right,' Brunetti answered.

She took her foot off the accelerator, and they slowed down. A car swept past them on the left, 'When you came to the agency,' she said, 'I knew it was just a matter of waiting for you to come back. I should have left then.'

'Where would you have gone?'

'Switzerland, and from there to Brazil.'

'Because of business contacts in Brazil?'

'I couldn't have used them, could I?'

Brunetti thought about this for a moment before he answered, 'No, given the circ.u.mstances, I suppose you couldn't. Then why Brazil?'

'I have money there.'

'And in Switzerland?'

'Of course. Everyone has money in Switzerland,' she snapped.

Brunetti, who didn't, knew what she meant and so answered, 'Of course.' Then he asked, 'But you couldn't stay there?'

'No. Brazil's better.'

'I suppose so. But now you can't go.'

She said nothing.

'Do you want to tell me about it? We're not at the Questura, and you don't have your lawyer, I know, but I'd like to know why'

'Is this police or just you?'

He sighed. 'I'm afraid there's no difference, not any more.'

She looked at him men, not for the words but for the sigh. 'What will happen?' she asked. 'To you?' 'Yes.'

'It depends on...' he began to say, thinking that it would depend on what her reason had been. But men he remembered that there were three of them, and so that wasn't true. Motive would matter very little to the judges, not with three men dead, and all apparently in the coldest of blood. 'I don't know. It won't be good.'

'I don't think I care,' she said, and he was surprised to hear the lightness with which she spoke.

'Why's that?'

'Because they deserved it, all of them.'

Brunetti was about to say that no one deserved to the, but then he remembered the tape, and he said nothing.

"Tell me,' he said.

'You know I worked for them?'