stopped to look at some of the photos, then closed it and set it down. ‘My father always hated them. But I wouldn’t listen to him. What could he know?’
‘You think we’ll have to put up with the same thing?’ he asked to change the subject. ‘From our kids?’
She opened a drawer and pulled out a sweater, the very sight of which caused Brunetti to break out in a sweat. ‘Raffi came to his senses quickly enough,’ she said. ‘I suppose we should be grateful for that. But they’re sure to drag home some other ideas sooner or later.’
Brunetti moved over to the window that gave on to the north and felt the faint stirring of a breeze. ‘You think the weather could be changing?’ he asked.
‘Getting hotter, probably,’ she said and pulled out another sweater.
The next day Signorina Elettra was meant to have coffee with her admirer at the Tribunale. Brunetti assumed she would want to get the flowers early in the morning, before the heat had a chance to grab the city by the throat. Allowing time for a leisurely coffee, interspersed with interesting conversation about common acquaintances and people at the Tribunale, she would probably get to the Questura by eleven, he estimated. He was prevented from going down to see if she had arrived, however, by a long phone call from a friend who worked in the Palermo Questura, asking him if he knew anything about two new pizzerias and a hotel that had recently opened in Venice.
Brunetti had heard a number of things about them and about their ownership, both apparent and real. What his friend had to tell him concerned the real owners. Of greatest interest to Brunetti was his friend’s explanation of the unwonted speed with which permits had been granted for extensive restoration of both pizzerias and the hotel.
The permits for the hotel, strangely enough, had been granted in less than two weeks. Further, permission had been granted for the crews to work round the clock, something virtually unheard of in the city. The pizzerias required less work; these permits took just under a week to be granted.
When his friend in Palermo admitted to having a special interest in the director of the office granting the permits, Brunetti could only sigh, so familiar to him was the name and so useless did he judge any attempt to investigate the methods used in conceding permissions.
With a noise that wanted to be laughter, but failed, Brunetti said, ‘Once, when I was working in Naples we parked a truck down the street from a pizzeria and left it there, filming everyone who went in and out. We even had another camera directly opposite the place, so we could film anyone who sat at the tables, until they closed.’
‘How much business did they do?’
‘Eight people went in and stayed long enough to eat. We filmed them waiting for their pizzas and eating them. And one man went in and took home six pizzas.’
‘Let me guess,’ the voice came down the line: ‘the total intake for the day showed something more than fourteen pizzas.’
Brunetti could only laugh. ‘They took in more than two thousand Euros.’
‘What did you do?’
‘We gave the film to the Guardia di Finanza.’
‘And?’
‘And it ended up in court, and the judge ruled that the cameras were an invasion of privacy, and the film could not be used as evidence because the people shown in it had not been warned that they were being filmed.’ After a moment, Brunetti added, ‘It’s the same thing that happened with the baggage handlers at the airport.’
‘I read about it.’
Brunetti glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost noon. Suddenly eager to speak to Signorina Elettra before she could leave for lunch, he said, ‘I’ll let you know if I hear anything,’ and brought the conversation to a close.
To disguise, perhaps to himself, how much he wanted to speak to her, Brunetti delayed his arrival by stopping at the squad room to show Gorini’s photo to some of the men on duty. Though it was a strong face, none of them could remember ever having seen him in the city. He left the photo with the request that the rest of the squad have a look and went downstairs, where he found Signorina Elettra at her desk, idly rubbing at the palm of her hand. Two bunches of flowers lay on the windowsill, half unwrapped and beginning to wilt.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘A disaster. The whole thing was a disaster.’
‘Tell me,’ he said, pushing the flowers aside and leaning back against the windowsill, arms folded.
With a conscious effort she pressed her palms flat on either side of her keyboard. ‘I got the flowers, then went over to the Tribunale and up to his office. He was there, working, so I suggested we go out for a coffee.
‘We went down to Caffe del Doge, and he suggested we sit down at a table instead of standing at the bar. I said I didn’t have a lot of time, but I let him persuade me to sit down, and we started talking. He told me about his job, and I listened as if I were interested.
‘The only way I could think of to get him to talk about Fontana was to speak of one of the other ushers, Rizzotto, because I went to school with his daughter and I’ve met him in the building a few times. And then I mentioned Fontana, said I’d heard he was an excellent worker. And that started the stories about him, about how dedicated he was and how efficient, and how long he’s been there, and how such men are an example to us all, and just when I thought I was going to start screaming or hit him with the flowers, he looked up and said, “Why, there he is.”
‘So before I could stop him, he went over and brought Fontana back with him. He was wearing a suit and tie. Would you believe it? It’s 32 degrees, and he’s wearing a suit and tie.’ She shook her head at the memory.
To Brunetti it hardly sounded like a disaster.
‘So he joined us,’ she went on. ‘He’s a meek little man; he ordered a
‘And then, as the three of us were sitting there all friendly, who walks in but my friend Giulia, with her sister Luisa?’
‘Coltellini?’ Brunetti asked, even though he knew he didn’t have to.
‘Yes.’
‘Giulia saw me and came over and said hello, and then her sister came over, and I thought poor Fontana was going to faint. He stood up so quickly, he knocked over his coffee and got it on his trousers. It was terrible: he didn’t know whether to shake Giulia’s hand or not, he was so happy to see them there, but all Giulia could do was hand him a napkin. He started to wipe at the coffee. It was grotesque. Poor little man. He couldn’t hide it. If he’d had a sign, we all could have read it: “I love you, I love you, I love you.” ’
‘And the judge?’
‘She said hello, and then she ignored him.’
‘It doesn’t sound like much of a disaster to me,’ Brunetti said.
‘That came when Umberto introduced us. When the judge heard my name, she couldn’t hide her surprise, and then she looked at Umberto, and at Fontana, and then she shook my hand and tried to smile.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I pretended I hadn’t noticed anything, and I don’t think she saw that I did.’
‘What happened?’
‘She sat down with us. Before that, she looked as if all she wanted to do was run from the place rather than have to be anywhere near Fontana, but she sat down with us and started to talk.’
‘About what?’
‘Oh, where I worked now that I didn’t work at the bank any more.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘That I worked at the Commune, and when she asked more questions, I said it was all so boring I couldn’t stand to talk about it, and asked her about the blouse she was wearing.’
‘Did she say anything else?’ Brunetti asked.
‘After a while, when she realized she wasn’t going to get anything out of me, she asked Fontana what we had been talking about, though she made it all sound cute and friendly: “And what interesting things have you been talking about, Araldo?” ’ she said, sprinkling saccharine on her voice.
