Italy. They filled each wall from floor to ceiling. Four or five of them lay open on Zambino’s desk.
As Brunetti took his place in one of the three chairs that faced the lawyer’s, Zambino went around to his own chair and closed the books, carefully slipping small pieces of paper into the open pages of all of them, before setting them aside in a little pile.
‘I’ll waste no time and say that I assume you’re here to talk about Dottor Mitri,’ Zambino began. Brunetti nodded. ‘Good, then if you’ll tell me what you’d like to know, I’ll try to give you what help I can.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Avvocato,’ Brunetti began with formulaic politeness.
‘There’s no kindness in it, Commissario. It’s my duty as a citizen and my desire as a lawyer to assist you in any way that might in turn help you to find Dottor Mitri’s murderer.’
‘You don’t call him Paolo, Avvocato?’
‘Who, Mitri?’ the lawyer asked. When Brunetti nodded, he said, ‘No. Dottor Mitri was a client, not a friend.’
‘Is there any reason why he wasn’t a friend?’
Zambino had been a lawyer far too long to show surprise at anything he was asked, so he answered calmly, ‘No, no reason at all, except that we never came in contact before he called me for advice about the incident at the travel agency.’
‘Do you think he would have become a friend?’ Brunetti asked.
‘I can’t speculate about that, Commissario. I spoke to him on the phone, met him here in the office once, then went to the Vice-Questore’s office with him. That is the only contact I had with him, so I have no idea if I would have become a friend of his or not.’
‘I see,’ Brunetti said. ‘Could you tell me what he had decided to do about what you call the incident at the travel agency?’
‘About pressing charges?’
‘Yes.’
‘After speaking to you and then to the Vice-Questore, I suggested he submit a claim for damages for the window and the lost business he thought it would cost the agency – he was entitled to his percentage of that, though the window was entirely his responsibility, as he was the owner of the physical space occupied by the agency.’
‘Was it difficult for you to persuade him, Avvocato?’
‘No, not at all,’ he answered, almost as if he’d been expecting this question. ‘In fact, I’d say that he had already made up his mind to this course even before he spoke to me and wanted only to confirm his opinion with a lawyer.’
‘Have you any idea why he selected you?’ Brunetti asked.
A man less certain of his position would surely have paused here and feigned surprise at anyone’s daring to question why he would have been chosen to work as someone’s lawyer. Instead, Zambino said, ‘No, none at all. There was certainly no need for him to come to someone like me.’
‘By that do you mean someone who works primarily in business law or someone who has a reputation as high as your own?’
Zambino smiled here, and Brunetti warmed to it and to the man.
‘That’s very gracefully put, Commissario. You give me little chance but to sing my own praises.’ When he saw Brunetti’s answering smile, he continued, ‘I’ve no idea, as I said. I might have been recommended to him by someone he knew. For all I know, he might have picked my name at random out of the phone book.’ Before Brunetti could say it, Zambino added, ‘Though I hardly think Dottor Mitri was the sort of man to make a decision that way.’
‘Did you spend enough time with him to form an opinion about what sort of man he was, Awocato?’
Zambino considered this for a long time. Finally he answered, ‘I got the impression that he was a very sharp businessman and that he was very interested in success.’
‘Did you find it surprising that he would so easily abandon the case against my wife?’ When Zambino did not answer this immediately, Brunetti continued, ‘That is, there’s no chance a decision would have gone against him. She admitted her responsibility,’ – both men noticed that Brunetti did not use the word ‘guilt’ – ‘she said as much to the arresting officer, so he could have claimed virtually any sum he wanted against her – for slander, or suffering, for whatever he chose to claim – and he would probably have won the case.’
‘And yet he chose not to,’ Zambino said.
‘Why do you think that was?’
‘It could have been that he had no desire for revenge.’
‘Is that what you thought?’
Zambino considered this question. ‘No, in fact, I think he would have enjoyed revenge a great deal. He was very, very angry at what happened.’ Before Brunetti could say anything, he went on, ‘And he was angry not only at your wife but at the manager of the travel agency because he had given him quite specific instructions that he was to avoid that sort of tourism at all costs.’
‘Sex-tourism?’
‘Yes. He showed me a copy of a letter and contract he’d sent to Signor Dorandi three years ago, telling him quite plainly that he was not to engage in anything of that kind, or he’d cancel his lease and take back the licence. I’m not sure how legally binding the contract would have been had Dorandi contested it – I didn’t draw it up – but I think it shows that Mitri was serious.’
‘Did he do this for moral reasons, do you think?’
Zambino’s answer was long in coming, as if he had to consider his legal obligations to a client who was now dead. ‘No. I think he did it because he realized it would be a bad business move. In a city like Venice, publicity like that could be devastating for a travel agency. No, I don’t think he considered morality an issue; it was entirely a business decision.’
‘Do you, Avvocato, consider it a moral issue?’
‘Yes,’ said the lawyer shortly and with no need to think before he gave his answer.
Leaving that subject, Brunetti asked, ‘Have you any idea what his intentions were regarding Dorandi?’
‘I know he wrote a letter, reminding him about the contract and asking him to explain the sort of tours your wife protested against.’
‘Did he send this letter?’
‘He faxed Signor Dorandi a copy and sent another by registered mail.’
Brunetti thought about this. If Paola’s ideals were going to be considered a valid reason for murder, then the loss of the lease on a very lucrative business was just as good. ‘I’m still puzzled by the fact that he hired you, Avvocato.’
‘People do strange things, Commissario.’ The lawyer smiled. ‘Especially when they are forced to deal with the law.’
‘Businessmen seldom do expensive things, if you will excuse my vulgarity, unnecessarily.’ And before Zambino could take exception to that, Brunetti added, ‘Because it hardly seems a case where a lawyer would be necessary at all. He merely had to make his conditions known to the Vice-Questore, either with a phone call or a letter. No one opposed those conditions. Yet he hired a lawyer.’
‘At considerable expense, I will add,’ Zambino offered.
‘Exactly. Do you understand it?’
Zambino leaned back in his chair and latched his hands behind his head. In so doing he exposed a considerable breadth of stomach. ‘I think it was what the Americans call “overkill”.’ Still looking at the ceiling, he continued, ‘I think he wanted there to be no question that his demands be met, that your wife accept his conditions and the thing be ended there.’
‘Ended?’
‘Yes.’ The lawyer brought his body forward, rested his arms on the desk and said, ‘I had a very strong sense that he wanted this episode to cause him absolutely no trouble and no publicity whatsoever. Perhaps the second was even more important than the first. At one point I asked him what he was prepared to do if your wife, who seemed to be acting out of principle, refused to pay the damages; whether he would then consider initiating a civil case. He said no. He was quite insistent on this. I told him there would be no chance of his losing this case, but he still said he wouldn’t do it, or even consider it.’
‘So if my wife had refused to pay, he would not have taken any legal steps against her?’
