A Sea of Troubles

was raised in protest at the man behind him in the line. A look from Pucetti sufficed to quiet them both, and he turned back to Brunetti.

'Did you have the chance to speak to Signorina Elettra?' Brunetti asked casually.

'Once or twice, sir, when she came in for a coffee, but there were always people there, so we just played our roles and talked about the weather or the fishing.'

'That young man,' Brunetti began. 'Do you have any idea who he is?' It didn't occur to Brunetti that he left it to Pucetti to infer which man he meant, nor did he consider the significance of the fact that Pucetti knew exactly whom he intended.

'He's the nephew of one of the fishermen out there.'

'What's his name?'

'Who, the man or his uncle?'

'The man. What's his name?' Brunetti realized how eager he sounded, so he slipped one hand into the pocket of his jacket and shifted his weight, to stand in a more relaxed posture. 'If you know, that is,' he added lamely.

'Targhetta,' Pucetti answered, with no indication that he found Brunetti's interest at all out of the ordinary. 'Carlo.'

Brunetti was about to ask more about the young man and what he was doing on Pellestrina when he sensed Pucetti's increasing curiosity as to his interest in Signorina Elettra's personal life. 'Good, thank you, Pucetti. You can put yourself back on the usual duty roster,' he said, quite forgetting that they had been using the same roster for two weeks now in the absence of Signorina Elettra to oversee the rotation of staff.

Back in his office, he did allow for her absence and phoned the office of the Guardia di Finanza himself, asking for Maresciallo Resto.

The Maresciallo, he was told, was momentarily out of the office, and would he like to speak to someone else? His refusal was instantaneous and automatic, and when he hung up he was assailed by the full significance of his response. Even in something like this, an ordinary phone call from one agency of the state to another, he was unwilling to reveal the reason for his call to anyone, regardless of their rank or position, unless that person were vouched for by someone he knew and trusted. What saddened him was not so much the fact that the people he dealt with might be in the pay of the Mafia or unreliable for some other reason, as the fact that distrust was an instinct, one so strong as to preclude a priori any chance of cooperation among the fragmented forces of public order. And Maresciallo

Resto, he realized, had earned his trust only by having earned Signorina Elettra's. This reflection brought him back to Pellestrina, the now-identified young man, and thoughts of Signorina Elettra. He dwelt upon those for a quarter of an hour and then called the Finanza again.

'Resto,' a light voice answered.

'Maresciallo,' Brunetti began, 'this is Commissario Guido Brunetti, at the Questura. I'm calling to ask you for some information.'

'Are you Elettra's boss?' the man asked, surprising Brunetti not by the question but by the casual use of her first name.

'Yes.'

'Good. Then ask anything.' Brunetti waited, though he waited in vain, for the usual encomia to Signorina Elettra's many virtues.

'I'm curious about a case you handled two years ago. A fishing boat was sequestered from a fisherman on Burano, Vittorio Spadini.' He waited for Resto to comment, but the other man was silent, and so Brunetti went on. 'I'd like to know whatever you can tell me about the case, or about him.'

'Is this about the murders?' Resto asked, surprising him with the question.

'Why do you ask?'

Resto gave a small laugh. 'There've been three deaths on Pellestrina in the last ten days, two of them fishermen, and now the police call and ask me about a fisherman. I'd have to be a Carabiniere not to wonder about the connection.'

It was said as a joke, but it was not a joke.

'He's said to have been involved with one of the victims,' Brunetti offered by way of explanation.

'Have you questioned him?'

'There's no sign of him. A neighbour says he's not around.'

Resto paused, then said, 'Wait a minute while I get the file.' He was gone for a short time, then came back, picked up the phone, and said, 'The file's down in the archive. I'll call you back,' and hung up.

So Resto also wanted to be sure who he was talking to, Brunetti realized, suspecting that the Maresciallo had the file in his hand but thought it wisest to call the Questura and ask for Brunetti.

When the phone rang a moment later, he answered with his name and, as nothing was to be gained by provoking the man, resisted the temptation to ask Resto if he were sure now with whom he was dealing.

Brunetti heard pages being turned, and then Resto said, 'We started the investigation in June, two years ago. We put a flag up at his bank and put a tap on his phone and his accountant's phone and fax. We kept track of how much he sold at the fish market, then checked to see how much of that he declared.'

'What else?' Brunetti prodded.

'And we ran the usual checks on him.'

'Which are?' Brunetti asked.

'I'd rather not say,' Resto answered. 'But we eventually realized he was selling clams and fish for a value of almost a billion lire a year and declaring an income of less than a hundred million.'

'And?' Brunetti asked into the next silence. 'And we kept an eye on him for a few months. And then we landed him.' 'Like a fish?'

'Exactly. Like a fish. But he turned into a clam once we had him. Nothing. No money, no idea where he's got it. If he's got it.'

'How long do you think he was earning this much?'

'No way of knowing. Could have been five years. Or more.'

'And you've no idea where he's got it hidden?'

'He could have spent it.'

Brunetti, who had seen the state of Spadini's house, doubted that, but he didn't offer this information. He considered what he'd heard, then asked, 'What put you on to him?'

'One-one-seven.'

'Excuse me?' Brunetti said.

'The number, the one for anonymous denuncie.'

Brunetti had heard, for years, about this number, 117, set up to allow citizens to make anonymous accusations of tax evasion. Though he had heard the story, he had never quite believed in it and had persisted in thinking of 117 as yet another urban myth. But here was a maresciallo of the very Finanza itself, telling him it was true: the number existed and it had been used to launch the investigation of Vittorio Spadini, one that led to the loss of his boat.

'What sort of record is kept of these calls?'

'I'm afraid I can't discuss that with you, Commissario,' Resto said, neither regret nor reluctance audible in his voice.

‘I see,' Brunetti answered. 'Were criminal charges pressed against him at the time?'

'No. It was judged better to fine him.'

'How much was the fine?'

'Five hundred million lire,' Resto said. 'At the end, that is. It was higher at the beginning, but then it was reduced.'

'Why?'

'We examined his assets, and all he had was the boat and two small bank accounts.'

'Yet you knew he was making half a billion a year?'

'We had reason to believe that, yes. But it was decided that, in the absence of equity on his part, we would settle for the lesser sum.'

'Which represented?'