‘And then?’
‘We tell them to clean it up, and we report it to their commander, and they’re given a certain time to clean it up.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘They get an Article Fifteen.’
Brunetti smiled that bland old smile again. ‘An Article Fifteen?’
‘It’s a sort of official reprimand. It goes into the permanent file, and it can cause someone a lot of trouble.’
‘Such as?’
‘It can cost them salary, or demotion, or sometimes it can get them thrown out of the Army.’
‘For having a dirty house?’ Brunetti asked, unable to restrain his surprise.
‘Mr Brunetti, if you saw some of these houses, you’d want to throw them out of the country.’ He paused for a moment, then began again, ‘And he had to go and check out the kitchens in the embassies, especially if someone got sick there, or, worse, if a lot of people started getting sick. We had hepatitis in Belgrade last year, and he had to go and check it out.’
‘Anything else?’Brunetti asked.
‘No, nothing important.’
Brunetti smiled. ‘I’m not sure now what is and isn’t important at this point, Sergeant Wolf, but I’d like to have a clear idea of his duties.’
Sergeant Wolf returned his smile. ‘Of course. I understand. He also had to see that the kids at the school all had the proper vaccinations. You know, against things like measles and chickenpox. And he had to see that the rays got disposed of, them and some other stuff that we can’t dispose of in the normal way. And there was a certain amount of public health information that he was in charge of.’ He looked up, finished. ‘That’s about it, I think.’
‘Rays?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Yes, the X-rays from the dental clinic, and even some of them from here in the hospital. They have to be disposed of specially. We can’t put them in the trash.’
‘How is that done?’
‘Oh, we’ve got a contract with an Italian haulier who comes in once a month and takes them away. Mike had to see to that, check to see that the containers got picked up.’ Wolf smiled. ‘That’s about it.’
Brunetti returned his smile and stood. ‘Thank you, Sergeant Wolf. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Well, I hope it does some good. We all liked Mike here, and we certainly want to see you get the person who did this.’
‘Yes. Certainly,’ Brunetti said, extending his hand. ‘I don’t want to keep you from your work, Sergeant.’
The American stood to shake Brunetti’s hand. His grasp was firm, confident. ‘Glad to be of help, sir. If you have any more questions, please come and ask.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant. I just might.’
When he was back in the corridor, he traced his way back to the Public Health Office and knocked on the door again. He waited a few seconds and, hearing nothing, let himself into the office. As he had expected, the Blue Mosque and the Colosseum were still there. The Pyramids were gone.
* * * *
11
Back in the hall, he asked the first person passing by, a young black woman in a nurse’s uniform, where he might find Doctor Peters. She told him that she was going to Ward B, where Doctor Peters worked, and said she would take him there. This time, they branched off in the opposite direction, through still another set of double doors, but this time the people coming towards him wore white uniforms or light-green scrub suits, not the darker green of military uniforms. They passed a room with a sign that said it was a recovery room, then off to his right he heard the squalling of babies. He glanced down at the nurse, who smiled and nodded her head. ‘Three, all born this week.’
It seemed to Brunetti that babies had no business being born here, on a military installation, surrounded by guns, uniforms, and the business of killing. But then he remembered that, so far, he had seen a library, chapel, swimming-pool, and Baskin Robbins ice-cream parlour on this same military installation, so maybe it did make sense that babies were born here, too. How little of what he had seen here, in fact, had anything to do with the business of war or killing or being an army. Did the Americans realize, he wondered, where their money went? Did they realize the profligacy with which it was spent? Because he was an Italian, he assumed that his government was serious only about the business of tossing money away, usually in the general direction of the friends of those in government, but it had never occurred to him that the American government might be equally intent upon doing the same thing.
‘This is Doctor Peters’ office, sir. I think she’s with a patient now, but she ought to be back soon.’ She smiled and left him standing there, never having bothered to ask who he was or what he wanted.
The office looked like any doctor’s office he had ever been in. One wall was covered with thick books with thicker titles; there was a scale in one corner with a sliding metal pole for measuring height. He stepped on the scale and slid the metal weight back and forth on the horizontal pole until it clicked into place at 193. He did the arithmetic in his head, dividing by 2.2, and sighed at the result. He measured his height, 5 feet, 10 inches, but he had never been able to do that conversion without pencil and paper. Besides, he assumed that his height would be less likely to betray him, the way his weight had.
There were some posters on the wall: one of Fulvio Roiter’s predictable photos of Carnevale; a reproduction of the mosaics in San Vitale in Ravenna; an enlarged photo of mountains that looked like the jagged-toothed Dolomites. The wall to the right, as was the case in so many doctors’ offices, was covered with framed diplomas,
