‘But what makes you say that’s the reason?’
‘She said that the men knew about her and Signora Petrelli.’
Paola could never resist a set-up. ‘Before she went back to China a few years ago, you would have had trouble finding anyone in Venice who didn’t know about her and Signora Petrelli.’
More literal-minded, Brunetti protested, ‘That’s an exaggeration.’
‘Well, perhaps. But there was certainly talk at the time,’ Paola insisted.
Having corrected Paola once, Brunetti was content to leave it. Besides, he was growing hungrier, and he wanted his dinner.
‘Why wasn’t it in the papers?’ she suddenly asked.
‘It happened on Sunday. I didn’t find out about it until this morning and then only because someone noticed her name on the report. It had been given to the uniformed branch and was being treated as routine.’
‘Routine?’ she repeated in astonishment. ‘Guido, things like that don’t happen here.’
Brunetti chose not to repeat his remark about progress, and Paola, realizing he was going to offer no explanation, turned back to the desk. ‘I can’t spend any more time looking for it. I’ll have to think of something else.’
‘Why don’t you lie?’ Brunetti suggested casually.
Paola snapped her head up to look at him and asked, ‘What do you mean, lie?’
It seemed clear enough to him. ‘Just think of a place in one of the books where it might have been and tell them that’s where it is.’
‘But what if they’ve read the book?’
‘He wrote a lot of letters, didn’t he?’ Brunetti knew full well that he had: the letters had gone to Paris with them two years ago.
‘And if they ask what letter?’
He refused to answer so stupid a question.
‘To Edith Wharton, 26 July 1906,’ she supplied immediately, putting into her voice the tone of absolute certainty that Brunetti recognized as always sustaining her in her most outrageous inventions.
‘Sounds good to me,’ he said and smiled.
‘Me, too.’ She closed the last book, looked at her watch, then up at him. ‘It’s almost seven. Gianni had some beautiful lamb chops today. Come and have a glass of wine and talk to me while I cook them.’
Dante, Brunetti recalled, punished the Evil Counsellors by enclosing them within enormous tongues of flame, where they were to twist and burn for eternity. There had been, he remembered, no mention of lamb chops.
* * * *
Chapter Seven
When the story finally appeared the following day, it carried the headline ‘Attempted Robbery in Cannaregio’ and gave the briefest of accounts. Brett was described as an expert on Chinese art who had returned to Venice to seek funding from the Italian government for the excavations in Xian, where she co-ordinated the work of Chinese and Western archaeologists. There was a brief description of the two men, who had been foiled in their attempt by an unidentified
When he got to work, he stopped in Signorina Elettra’s office on the way up to his own. The freesias were gone today, replaced by a luminous spray of calla lilies. She looked up when he came in and said immediately, without even bothering to say good morning, ‘Sergeant Vianello asked me to tell you that there was nothing in Mestre. He said he spoke to some people there, but no one knew anything about the attack. And,’ she continued, looking down at a paper on her desk, ‘no one has been admitted to any of the hospitals in the area with a cut on his arm.’ Before he could ask, she said, ‘And nothing from Rome yet about the fingerprints.’
Faced with dead ends on every side, Brunetti decided it was time to see what else there was to be learned about Semenzato. ‘You used to work at Banca d’ltalia, didn’t you, signorina?’
‘Yes, sir, I did.’
‘And you still have friends there?’
‘And in other banks.’ Not one to hide her light, Signorina Elettra.
‘Do you think you could spin a web of gossamer with your computer and see what you can find out about Francesco Semenzato? Bank accounts, stock holdings, investments of any sort.’
Her response was a smile so broad as to leave Brunetti wondering at the exact velocity with which news travelled at the Questura.
‘Of course, Dottore. Nothing easier. And would you like me to check on the wife, as well? I believe she’s Sicilian.’
‘Yes, the wife as well.’
Even before he could ask, she volunteered. ‘They’ve been having trouble with their phone lines, so it might take me until tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Are you at liberty to reveal your source, signorina?’
