Patta didn’t bother asking him how he knew who was calling, a sure sign that the call was important. ‘I’d like to speak to you, Commissario.’ The use of the title, rather than his name, emphasized the importance of the call.
Brunetti said that he would go immediately down to the Vice-Questore’s office. Patta was a man of limited moods, each one clearly legible, and this was one that Brunetti needed to read carefully.
When he went into Patta’s office Brunetti found his superior sitting behind his empty desk, hands folded in front of him. Usually, Patta made the attempt to create the appearance of diligence, even if it was no more than an empty file in front of him. Today there was nothing, just a serious, one might even say solemn, face and a pair of folded hands. The spicy odour of some omnisexual cologne wafted out from Patta, whose face, this morning, appeared to have been oiled rather than shaved. Brunetti walked over to the desk and stood in front of it, wondering how long Patta would remain silent, a technique he frequently employed when he wanted to stress the importance of what he had to say.
At least a full minute passed before Patta said, ‘Sit down, Commissario.’ The repeated use of the title told Brunetti that what he was going to hear would be unpleasant in some way and that Patta knew it.
‘I’d like to talk to you about this robbery,’ Patta said with no preamble as soon as Brunetti was seated.
Brunetti suspected he did not mean this most recent one, on the Grand Canal, even though the victim was an industrialist from Milan. An assault on a person of that importance would usually be enough to drive Patta to almost any excess in the appearance of diligence.
‘Yes, sir,’ Brunetti said.
‘I learned today that you made another trip out to Vicenza.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Why was that necessary? Don’t you have enough to do here in Venice?’
Brunetti steeled himself, knowing that, despite their previous conversation, he would have to explain everything all over again. ‘I wanted to speak to some of the people who knew him, sir.’
‘Didn’t you do that the first day you were there?’
‘No, sir, there wasn’t time.’
‘You didn’t say anything about that when you came back that afternoon.’ When Brunetti didn’t respond, Patta asked, ‘Why didn’t you do that the first day?’
‘There wasn’t time, sir.’
‘You were back here by six. There would have been plenty of time to stay out there and finish things up that afternoon.’
Only with difficulty did Brunetti stop himself from displaying his astonishment that Patta would recall a detail such as the time Brunetti had returned from Vicenza. This was the man, after all, who could not be depended upon to name more than two or three of the uniformed police.
‘I didn’t get to it, sir.’
‘What happened when you went back?’
‘I spoke to Foster’s commanding officer and to one of the men who worked with him.’
‘And what did you learn?’
‘Nothing substantial, sir.’
Patta glared across the desk at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I didn’t learn anything about why a person would want to kill him.’
Patta threw his hands up in the air and let out a great sigh of exasperation. ‘That’s exactly the point, Brunetti. There is no reason why anyone would want to kill him, which is why you didn’t find it. And, I might add, why you aren’t going to find it. Because it isn’t there. He was killed for his money, and the proof of that is the fact that his wallet wasn’t found on him.’ One of his shoes wasn’t found with him, either. Did that mean he was killed for a size 11 Reebok?
Patta opened his top drawer and pulled out a few sheets of paper. ‘I think you’ve wasted more than enough time chasing out to Vicenza, Brunetti. I don’t like the idea of your bothering the Americans about this. The crime happened here, and the killer will be found here.’ Patta made that last sound firmly terminal. He picked up one of the papers and glanced at it. ‘I’d like you to make better use of your time from now on.’
‘And how might I do that, sir?’
Patta peered at him, then back at the paper. ‘I’m assigning you to the investigation of this break-in on the Grand Canal.’ Brunetti was certain that the location of that crime, and the suggestion it made about the wealth of the victim, was more than enough to make it seem, to Patta, far more important in real terms than mere murder, especially when that victim was not even an officer.
‘And what about the American, sir?’
‘We’ll go through the usual procedures. We’ll see if any of our bad boys talk about if or suddenly seem to have more money than they should.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘The Americans are looking into it, as well,’ Patta said, as if that put an end to it.
‘I beg your pardon, sir. How can the Americans look into something here in Venice?’
Patta narrowed his eyes. ‘They have their ways, Brunetti. They have their ways.’
Brunetti was in no doubt as to that, but he was in some doubt as to whether those ways would necessarily be directed towards finding the murderer. ‘I’d prefer to continue with this, sir. I don’t believe it was a
