‘Do you remember that American who was murdered here over a week ago?’
‘Ah, yes, during a robbery. Most unfortunate.’ Then, tiring of his pose, the Count added, soberly, ‘You’ve discovered some connection between him and this Signor Gamberetto, I assume.’
‘Yes.’
‘There was another strange death among the Americans, a doctor at the Vicenza hospital. Is that correct?’
‘Yes. She was his lover.’
‘It was an overdose, as I recall.’
‘It was a murder,’ Brunetti corrected but offered no explanation.
The Count sought none and remained silent for a long time, sitting and staring at the boats that travelled up and down the canal. Finally he asked, ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Brunetti answered and then asked in his turn, bringing himself close to the reason for his coming, ‘Is this something over which you have any influence?’
The Count considered this question for a long time. ‘I’m not sure what you mean by that, Guido,’ he finally said.
Brunetti, to whom the question was sufficiently clear, ignored the Count’s remark and provided him, instead, with more information. ‘There’s a dumping site up near Lake Barcis. The barrels and cans are from the Americans’ base in Ramstein, in Germany; the labels are in English and German.’
‘Did those two Americans find this place?’
‘I think so.’
‘And they died after they found it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does anyone else know about this?’
‘A Carabiniere officer who works at the American base.’ There was no need to bring Ambrogiani’s name into this, nor did Brunetti see fit to tell the Count that the only other person who knew anything about this was his only child.
‘Can he be trusted?’
‘To do what?’
‘Don’t be intentionally ignorant, Guido,’ the Count said. ‘I’m trying to help you here.’ Not without difficulty, the Count gained control of himself and asked, ‘Can he be trusted to keep his mouth shut?’
‘Until what?’
‘Until something is done about this.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that I’ll call some people this evening and see what can be done.’
‘Done about what?’
‘About seeing that this dump is cleared up, that the things are taken away.’
‘And moved where?’ Brunetti asked, voice sharp.
‘Moved away from where they are, Guido.’
‘To some other part of Italy?’
Brunetti watched as the Count considered whether to lie to him or not. Finally, deciding against it, Brunetti would never understand why, the Count said, ‘Perhaps. But more likely out of the country.’ Before Brunetti could ask any more questions, the Count held up his hand to stop him. ‘Guido, please try to understand. I can’t promise you any more than I just have. I think that this dump can be disposed of, but, beyond that, I would be afraid to move.’
‘Do you mean that literally, afraid?’
The Count’s voice was ice. ‘Literally. Afraid.’
‘Why?’
‘I would prefer not to explain that, Guido.’
Brunetti thought he would try one more tack. ‘The reason they found out about the dump was that a little boy fell into it and burned his arm on the things leaking from those barrels. It could have been any child. It could have been Chiara.’
The Count’s glance was cool. ‘Please, Guido, now you’re being mawkishly sentimental.’
It was true, Brunetti knew it. ‘Don’t you care about any of this?’ he asked, unable to keep the passion from his voice.
The Count dipped his finger into the trace of wine left in his glass and began to run the tip of his moistened finger around the rim. As his finger moved ever faster, a high-pitched whining emerged from the crystal and filled the room. Suddenly, he lifted his finger from the glass, but the sound continued, hanging in the room, just as did their conversation. He looked from the glass to Brunetti. ‘Yes, I care about it, Guido, but not in the same way you do. You have managed to retain remnants of optimism, even in the midst of the work you do. I have none. Not for myself, nor for my future, and not for this country or its future.’
He looked down at the glass again. ‘I care that these things happen, that we poison ourselves and our progeny, that we knowingly destroy our future, but I do not believe mat there is anything - and I repeat, anything -
