A Venetian Reckoning Part 3

After she sipped at the coffee and replaced the cup in her saucer, the doctor said, 'Signora Trevisan brought her daughter, who was men about fourteen, to see me a little more than a year ago. It was obvious that the girl didn't want her mother to know what was wrong with her. Signora Trevisan insisted she come into the examining room with her daughter, but I kept her out.' She nicked ash from her cigarette, smiled, and added, 'Not without difficulty' She sipped again at her coffee; Brunetti said nothing to hasten her.

'The girl was suffering from a flare-up of genital herpes. I asked her the usual questions: whether her partner was using a prophylactic, whether she had other s.e.xual partners, how long she had had the symptoms. With herpes, it's usually the first outbreak of the symptoms that's the worst, so I wanted to know if this was the first Knowing that would help me a.s.sess the seriousness of the infection.' She stopped talking and crushed her cigarette into the ashtray on the table. When that was done, she took the ashtray and, without explanation, leaned aside to move it to the next table.

'And was it the first outbreak?'

'She said at first that it was, but it seemed to me that she was lying. I spent a long time explaining to her why I had to know, that I couldn't prescribe the right medicines unless I knew how serious the infection was. It took a while, but she finally told me that this was the second outbreak and that the first one had been much worse.'

'Why hadn't she gone to see you?'

'They were on vacation when it happened, and she was afraid, if she went to a different doctor, he'd tell her parents what was wrong with her.'

'How serious was that outbreak?'

'Fever, chills, genital pain.' 'What did she do?'

'She told her mother she had cramps and went to bed for two days.' 'And the mother?' 'What about her?' 'Did she believe it?' 'Apparently so.' 'And this time?'

'She told her mother that she had very bad cramps again and wanted to see me. I've been her doctor for about seven years, since she was a little girl.'

'Why did the mother come with her?'

She looked down into her empty coffee cup as she answered, 'Signora Trevisan has always been overly protective of her. When Francesca was smaller, her mother would call me if she had the least sign of fever. Some winters, she'd call me at least twice a month and ask me to go to the house to see her.'

'Did you?'

'In the beginning - I was new in my practice - I did, but then I gradually learned who would call only when they were really very sick and who would call... well, who would call for less than that.'

'Did Signora Trevisan call you for her own illnesses?'

'No, never. She'd come to the office.'

'For what?'

"That doesn't seem relevant to me, commissario,' she said, surprising him by the use of his tide. He left it. 'What were the girl's answers to the other questions?' 'She said that her partner did not use prophylactics. He said it would interfere with their pleasure.' She gave a crooked grimace, as if displeased to hear herself repeating such a self-serving cliche.

"Partner", singular?'

'Yes, she said there was only one.'

'Did she tell you who he was?'

'I didn't ask. It's none of my business.'

'Did you believe her? That there was only one?'

'I saw no reason not to. As I told you, I've known her since she was a child. It seemed, from what I know of her, that she was telling me the truth.'

'And the magazine her mother threw at you?' Brunetti asked.

She glanced across at him, clearly surprised. 'Ah, my sister, when she tells a story, she tells it all, doesn't she?' But there seemed to be no real anger in her voice, only the grudging admiration that a lifetime with Elettra, Brunetti was sure, would command.

'That came later,' she began. 'When we came out of the examining room, Signora Trevisan demanded to know what was wrong with Franceses. I said it was a minor infection and would clear up soon. She seemed content with that, and they left the office.'

'How'd she find out?' Brunetti asked.

'The medicine. Zovirax, it's specific for herpes. There's no other reason she'd be taking it. Signora Trevisan has a friend who's a pharmacist, and she asked him - I'm sure she did it very, very casually - what the medicine was for. He told her. It isn't used for anything else, or very rarely. The next day, she was back in my office, without Francesca, and she made some offensive remarks.' She stopped. 'What sort of remarks?'

'She accused me of having arranged an abortion for Francesca. I told her to get out of the ambulatorio, ambulatorio, and that was when she picked up the magazine and threw it at me. Two of my patients, elderly men, took her by the arms and put her out of the office. I haven't seen her since then.' and that was when she picked up the magazine and threw it at me. Two of my patients, elderly men, took her by the arms and put her out of the office. I haven't seen her since then.'

'And the girl?'

'As I told you' I've seen her once or twice on the street, but she's no longer my patient. I had a request from another doctor to verify my diagnosis, which I did. I'd already sent both of their records back to Signora Trevisan.'

'Have you any idea where or how she might have got the idea you arranged an abortion?'

'No, none. I couldn't do it without her parents' consent, anyway.'

Brunetti s own daughter, Chiara, was the same age as Francesca had been: fourteen. He wondered how he or his wife would respond to news that she had a venereal infection. He s.h.i.+ed away from the thought with something he realized was horror.

'Why are you reluctant to discuss Signora Trevisan s medical history?'

'I told you, because I don't think it's relevant'

'And I've told you that anything might be relevant,' he said, trying to soften his tone, perhaps succeeding.

'If I told you she had a bad back?'

'If that were the case, men you wouldn't have hesitated to tell me in the first place '

She said nothing for a moment and then shook her head. 'No. She was my patient, so I can't discuss anything I know.'

'Can't or won't?' Brunetti asked, all attempt at humour gone from his voice.

Her look was direct and even. 'Can't,' she repeated and then broke away her glance to look down at her watch. This time, it was Snoopy, he noticed. 'I've got one more house call to make before lunch.'

Brunetti knew this was a decision that could not be opposed. Thank you for your time and for what you've told me,' he said, meaning it. On a more personal note, he added, 'I'm surprised I didn't realize you and Elettra were sisters before this.'

'Well, she's five years younger than I am.'

'I wasn't thinking about appearance,' he said. In response to the inquisitive tilt of her chin, he added, 'Your character. It's very similar.'

Her smile was swift and broad. 'Many people have told us that'

'Yes, I imagine they would,' Brunetti said.

For a moment, she said nothing, but then she laughed with real delight Still laughing, she pushed back her chair and reached for her coat He helped her with it glanced at the sum on the bill, and dropped some money on to the table. She picked up her brown bag, and together they went out into the Piazza, there to discover it had grown even warmer.

'Most of my patients are sure this means it will be a terrible winter,' she said, waving her arm to encompa.s.s both the Piazza and the light that filled it They walked down the three low steps and started across the Piazza.

'If it were unnaturally cold, what would they say then?' Brunetti asked.

'Oh, they'd say the same thing, that it's a sure sign of a bad winter,' she answered casually, not at all troubled by the contradiction. Venetians both, they understood.

'We are a pessimistic people, aren't we?' Brunetti asked.

'We once had an empire. Now all we have,' she said, repeating the same gesture, again encompa.s.sing the Basilica, the campanile campanile and, below it, Sansovino's Loggetta, 'all we have is this Disneyland. I think that's sufficient cause for pessimism.' and, below it, Sansovino's Loggetta, 'all we have is this Disneyland. I think that's sufficient cause for pessimism.'

Brunetti nodded but said nothing. She hadn't persuaded him. The moments came rarely, but for him the city's glory still lived.

They parted at the foot of the campanile, campanile, she to see a patient who lived in Campo della Guerra and he to walk towards Rialto and, from there, home for lunch. she to see a patient who lived in Campo della Guerra and he to walk towards Rialto and, from there, home for lunch.

8.

The shops were still open when he reached his neighbourhood, so he went into the corner grocery store and bought four gla.s.s bottles of mineral water. In a weak moment of ecological appeas.e.m.e.nt, Brunetti had agreed to take part in his family's boycott of plastic bottles, and so he had, like the rest of them - he had to give them that - developed the habit of stopping at the store each time he pa.s.sed to pick up a few bottles. He sometimes wondered if the rest of them bathed in the stuff while he wasn't there, with such rapidity did it disappear.

At the top of the fifth flight, he set the bag of bottles down on the final step and fished out his keys. From inside, he heard the radio news, no doubt bringing an eager public up to date on the Trevisan murder. He pushed open the door, set the bottles down inside, and closed the door behind him. From the kitchen, he heard a voice intone, ' .. denies all knowledge of the charges made against him and points to twenty years of faithful service to the ex-Christian Democratic Party as proof of his commitment to justice. From his cell in the Regina Coeli Prison, however, Renato Mustacci, confessed Mafia killer, still maintains that he was following the Senator's orders when he and two other men shot and killed Judge Filippo Preside and his wife, Elvira, in Palermo in May of last year.'

The solemn voice of the announcer was replaced by a song about soap powder, over which he could hear Paola talking aloud to herself, often her preferred audience. 'Filthy, lying pig. Filthy lying DC pig and all like him. "Commitment to justice. Commitment to justice."' There followed one of the more scurrilous epithets to which his wife was given, strangely enough, only when she spoke to herself.

She heard him coming down the hall and turned to him. 'Did you hear that, Guido? Did you hear that? All three of the killers have said he sent them to kill the judge, and he talks about his commitment to justice. They ought to take him but and hang him. But he's a Member of Parliament, so they can't touch him. Lock the whole lot of them up, just put Parliament, every one of them, in prison and save us all a lot of time and trouble.'

Brunetti walked across the kitchen and stooped down to put the bottles in the low cabinet beside the refrigerator. There was only one other bottle there, though he had carried five up the day before. 'What's for lunch?' he asked.

She took a small step backwards and shot an accusing finger at his heart. 'The Republic's collapsing, and all he can think about is food,' she said, this time addressing the invisible listener who had, for more than twenty years, been a silent partic.i.p.ant in their marriage.

'Guido, these villains will destroy us all. Perhaps they already have. And you want to know what's for lunch.'

Brunetti stopped himself from remarking that someone wearing cashmere from Burlington Arcade made not the best revolutionary and, instead, said, 'Feed me, Paola, and then I'll go back to my own commitment to justice.'

That was enough to remind her of Trevisan and, as Brunetti knew she would, Paola eagerly abandoned her philosophical fulminations for a bit of gossip. She turned off the radio and asked, 'Has he given it to you?'

Brunetti nodded as he pushed himself up from his knees. 'He observed that I had nothing much to do at the moment. The Mayor has already called, so I leave it to you to imagine the state he's in.' There was no need to provide explication of 'it' or 'he'.

As Brunetti knew she would be, Paola was diverted from considerations of political justice and rect.i.tude. 'The story I read said nothing more than that he had been shot. On the train from Torino.'

'He had a ticket from Padua. We're trying to find out what he was doing there.'

'A woman?'

'Could be. Too early yet to say anything. What's for lunch?'

'Pasta f.a.gioli and then cotoletta.' 'Salad?'

'Guido,' she asked with pursed lips and upraised eyes, 'when haven't we had salad with cutlets?'

Instead of answering her question, he asked, 'Is there any more of that good Dolcetto?'

'I don't know. We had a bottle of it last week, didn't we?'

He muttered something and knelt back down in front of the cabinet Behind the bottles of mineral water were three bottles of wine, all white. Getting to his feet again, he asked, 'Where's Chiara?'

'In her room. Why?'

'I want her to do me a favour.'

Paola glanced at her watch. 'It's a quarter to one, Guido. The stores will be closed.'

'Not if she goes up to Do Mori. They're open until one.'

'And you're going to ask her to go up there, just to get you a bottle of Dolcetto?'

Three,' he said, leaving the kitchen and going down the hall towards Chiara's room. He knocked at the door and, from behind him, heard the radio turned on.

'Avanti, papa,' she called out He opened the door and walked in. The bed, across which Chiara sprawled, had a white ruffled canopy running above it. Her shoes lay on the floor, next to her school bag and jacket. The shutters were open, and light swept into the room, illuminating the bears and other stuffed animals which shared the bed with her. She brushed a handful of dark blonde hair back from her face, looked up at him, and gave him a smile that competed with the light.

'Ciao, dolcezza? he said as he came in. he said as he came in.

'You're home early, Papa.'

'No, right on time. You been reading?' She nodded, glancing back at her book. 'Chiara, would you do me a favour?' She lowered the book and peered at him over the top of the pages.

'Would you, Chiara?' 'Where?' she asked. 'Just down to Do Mori.' 'What are we out of?' she asked. 'Dolcetto.'

'Oh, Papa, why can't you drink something else with lunch?'

'Because I want Dolcetto, sweetie.' 'I'll go if you'll come with me.' 'But then I might as well go by myself.' 'If you want to do that, then just go, Papa.' 'I don't want to go, Chiara. That's why I'm asking you to go for me.'

'But why should I go?'

'Because I work hard to support you all.'

'Mamma works, too.'

'Yes, but my money pays for the house and everything we buy for it.'

She set her book face down on the bed. 'Mamma says that's capitalistic blackmail and I don't have to listen to you when you do it'

'Chiara,' he said, speaking very softly, 'your mother is a troublemaker, a malcontent, and an agitator.'

'Then how come you always tell me I have to do what she says?'