‘I’d like to know who killed him,’ Brunetti said impassively.
Butterworth hesitated a moment, not knowing how to take the remark, then decided to treat it as a joke. ‘Yes,’ he said, with a small laugh that barely passed his lips, ‘we’d all like to know that. But I’m not sure we have any information that might help us find out who it was.’
‘What information do you have?’
He slid the file towards Brunetti. Even though he knew it would contain the same material he had just seen, Brunetti opened it and read through the pages again. This file contained a different photograph from the one he had seen in the other. For the first time, though he had seen his dead face and naked body, Brunetti got a clear idea of what the young man looked like. More handsome in this photo, Foster here had a short moustache that he had shaved off sometime before he was killed.
‘When was ibis photo taken?’
‘Probably when he entered the service.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘Seven years.’
‘How long has he been here in Italy?’
‘Four years. In fact, he just re-upped in order to stay here.’
‘Excuse me,’ Brunetti said.
‘Re-enlisted. For another three years.’
‘And he would have remained here?’
‘Yes.’
Remembering something he had read in the file, Brunetti asked, ‘How did he learn Italian?’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Butterworth said.
‘If he had a full time job here, that wouldn’t leave him a lot of time to learn a new language,’ Brunetti explained.
‘Yes, of course,’ Brunetti said and smiled, as he guessed he was expected to do, at the Major’s ability to speak Italian. ‘Did he live here? There are barracks here, aren’t there?’
‘Yes, there are,’ Butterworth answered. ‘But Sergeant Foster had his own apartment in Vicenza.’
Brunetti knew the apartment would have been searched, so he didn’t bother to ask if it had been. ‘Did you find anything?’
‘No.’
‘Would it be possible for me to have a look at it?’
‘I’m not sure that’s necessary,’ Butterworth said quickly.
‘I’m not sure it’s necessary, either,’ Brunetti said with a small smile. ‘But I’d like to see where he lived.’
‘It’s not regular procedure, for you to see it.’
‘I didn’t realize there was a regular procedure here,’ Brunetti said. He knew that either the Carabinieri or the Vicenza police could easily authorize his inspection of the apartment, but he wanted, at least at this point of the investigation, to remain as agreeable as possible with all of the authorities concerned.
‘I suppose it could be arranged,’ Butterworth conceded. ‘When would you like to do it?’
‘There’s no hurry. This afternoon. Tomorrow.’
‘I didn’t realize you were planning to return tomorrow, Vice-Questore.’
‘Only if I don’t finish everything today, Major.’
‘What else was it you wanted to do?’
‘I’d like to talk to some of the people who knew him, who worked with him.’ Brunetti had noticed, among the papers in the file, that the dead man had attended university classes at the base. Like the Romans, these new empire builders carried their schools with them. ‘Perhaps to people he went to university with.’
‘I suppose something can be arranged, though I admit I don’t see the reason for it. We’ll handle this end of the investigation.’ He paused, as if waiting for Brunetti to challenge him. When Brunetti said nothing, Butterworth asked, ‘When would you prefer to see his apartment?’
Brunetti glanced down at his watch. It was almost noon. ‘Perhaps sometime this afternoon. If you could tell me where the apartment is, then I could have my driver take me mere on my way back to the railway station?’
‘Would you like me to go along with you, Vice-Questore?’
‘That’s very kind of you, Major, but I don’t think that will be necessary. If you’d just give me the address.’
Major Butterworth pulled a pad towards him and, without having to open the file to find it, wrote an address and handed it to Brunetti. ‘It’s not far from here. I’m sure your driver won’t have any trouble finding it.’
‘Thank you, Major,’ Brunetti said and stood. ‘Would you have any objection if I spent some time here on the base?’
