crash, but that’s no reason not to go. Besides, it might be interesting to go. It might give me some ideas about Turandot.’ Brunetti thought she was finished, but then she added, ‘But why are we wasting time talking about this?’ She looked at Brunetti, as if she held him responsible for the missing vases.
It surprised Brunetti to realize he had no idea if she was serious or not about trying to take the pieces back to China. He spoke to Brett. ‘In any case, you can’t say anything now. Whoever killed Semenzato doesn’t know what you told us, doesn’t even know if we’ve managed to come up with a reason for his murder. And I want to keep it that way.’
‘But you’ve been here, and you came to the hospital,’ Brett said.
‘Brett, you said they weren’t Venetian. I could be anyone: a friend, a relative. And I haven’t been followed.’ It was true. Only a native could successfully follow another person through the narrow streets of the city; only a native would know the sudden stops, the hidden turns, the dead ends.
‘So what should I do?’ Brett asked.
‘Nothing,’ he answered.
‘And what does that mean?’
‘Just that. Nothing. In fact, it would be wise if you were to leave the city for a while,’
‘I’m not sure I want to take this face anywhere,’ she said, but she said it with humour, a good sign.
Turning to Brunetti, Flavia said, ‘I’ve tried to get her to come to Milan with me.’
A team player, Brunetti asked her, ‘When are you going?’
‘Monday. I’ve already told them I’ll sing Thursday night. They’ve scheduled a piano rehearsal for Tuesday afternoon.’
He turned back to Brett. ‘Are you going to go?’ When she didn’t answer, he added, ‘I think it’s a good idea.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ was as much as Brett would say, and he decided to leave it at that. If she was going to be convinced, it was Flavia who could do it, not he.
‘If you decide to go, please let me know.’
‘Do you think there’s any danger?’ Flavia asked.
Brett answered the question before he could. ‘There’s probably less danger if they think I’ve spoken to the police. Then they don’t have to stop me from doing so.’ Then, to Brunetti, ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
He was not in the habit of lying, even to women. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is. Once the Chinese are notified about the fakes, whoever killed Semenzato will no longer have a reason to try to silence you. They’ll know the warning failed to stop you.’ Or, he realized, they could try to silence her permanently, but he chose to say nothing of this.
‘Wonderful,’ Brett said. ‘I can tell the Chinese and save my neck, but I ruin my career. Or I keep quiet, save my career, and then all I have to worry about is my neck.’
Flavia leaned across the table and placed her hand on Brett’s knee. ‘That’s the first time you’ve sounded like yourself since this began.’
Brett smiled in response and said, ‘Nothing like the fear of death to wake a person up, is there?’
Flavia sat back in her chair again and asked Brunetti, ‘Do you think the Chinese are involved in this?’
Brunetti was no more inclined than any other Italian to believe in conspiracy theories, which meant he often saw them even in the most innocent of coincidences. ‘I don’t believe your friend’s death was accidental,’ he said to Brett. ‘That means they have someone in China.’
‘Whoever “they” are,’ Flavia interrupted with heavy emphasis.
‘Because I don’t know who they are doesn’t mean they don’t exist,’ Brunetti said, turning to her.
‘Precisely,’ agreed Flavia and smiled.
To Brett, he said, ‘That’s why I think it might be better if you were to leave the city for a while.’
She nodded vaguely, surely not in agreement. ‘If I do go, I’ll let you know.’ Hardly a pledge of good faith. She leaned back again and rested her head on the back of the sofa. From above them all, the sound of the rain pounded down.
He turned his attention to Flavia, who signalled towards the door with her eyes, then made a small gesture with her chin, telling him it was time to leave.
He realized that there was little more to say, so he got to his feet. Brett, seeing him, pulled her feet out from beneath her and started to rise.
‘No, don’t bother,’ Flavia said, standing and moving off towards the entrance hall. ‘I’ll see him out.’
He leaned down and shook Brett’s hand. Neither said anything.
At the door, Flavia took his hand and pressed it with real warmth. ‘Thank you,’ was all she said, and then she held the door while he passed in front of her and started down the steps. The closing door cut off the sound of the falling rain.
* * * *
Chapter Eighteen
Even though he had assured Brett that he had not been followed, when he left her apartment, Brunetti paused before turning into Calle della Testa and looked both ways, searching for anyone he might remember having seen when he entered. No one looked familiar. He started to turn right, but then he recalled something he had been told when he came to the area some years ago, searching for Brett’s apartment.
