say?'
'When I told him that her parents were coming, he said he wouldn't give her a sedative, but he asked me to give her some linden tea with lots of honey. To work against the shock,' she added.
‘Yes, that's a good idea,' Brunetti said, hearing footsteps outside the apartment and eager to speak to the medical examiner. ‘Perhaps the Ispettore can stay here with you while you do that,' he said, with a significant glance at Vianello, who needed no urging to see to questioning Signora Gallante about Claudia or about anyone who might have visited her in her apartment.
With a polite goodbye, Brunetti left the apartment and went back upstairs. Dottor Rizzardi was already kneeling beside the dead girl, plastic-gloved fingers wrapped around her out-thrust wrist. He glanced up when he heard Brunetti come in and said, 'Not that there's any hope, but it's what the regulations require.' He looked down at the dead girl, removed his hand, and said, 'She's dead.' He allowed silence to expand from those terrible words, then got to his feet. A photographer, who had come in with the doctor, stepped close to the body and shot a few pictures, then moved in a slow circle around her, taking photos from every angle. He moved away and took one last shot from the doorway, then slipped his camera inside its case and went outside to wait for the doctor.
Knowing Rizzardi better than to suggest anything or to point to the colour of the dried blood, Brunetti asked, 'When would you say?'
‘Probably some time last night, but it could have been almost any time. I won't know until I have a look at her.' Rizzardi meant 'inside her'. Both of the men knew that, but neither of them could or would say it.
Looking at her again, the doctor asked, 'Presumably, you want to know what did it?'
‘Yes,' Brunetti said, moving automatically to stand beside the doctor. Rizzardi handed him a pair of transparent gloves and waited while Brunetti slipped them on.
Working together, the two men knelt and slid their hands under her body. Slowly, with the sort of gentleness with which large men usually handle babies, they raised her shoulder and then her hip and turned her over on to her back.
No knife, no instrument or implement, lay beneath her body, but the sticky holes in the front of her cotton blouse made the cause of death shockingly visible. There were, Brunetti thought at first, four of them, but then he noticed another higher up, near her shoulder. The wounds were all on the left side of her body.
Rizzardi opened the two top buttons of her shirt and pulled it aside. He glanced at the wounds, actually pulled one of them open, reminding Brunetti of some perverse poem Paola had once read to him about the wounds in Christ's body looking like lips. 'Some of these look bad enough,' Rizzardi said. 'Once I've done the autopsy, I'll be able to tell you for sure, but there's little doubt.' He closed the blouse and carefully rebuttoned it. He nodded to Brunetti and they got to their feet.
‘I know it’s only stupid superstition, but I'm glad her eyes are closed,' Rizzardi said. Then, with no preparation, 'I'd say you're looking for a person who isn't very tall, not much taller than she was.'
'Why?'
The angle. It looks as if they went in more or less horizontally. If it had been a taller person, they would have gone downward at an angle, depending on how tall the killer was. I can make a rough calculation after I measure them, but that's my first guess.' Thanks.'
It's precious little, I'm afraid.'
Rizzardi moved towards the door, and Brunetti followed in his wake. There won't be much more to tell you, but I'll call your office when I'm finished.'
'Do you have the number of Vianello's
'Yes,' Rizzardi answered. 'Why don't you have your own?'
’I do. But I keep leaving it at work or at home.'
'Why doesn't Vianello just give you his?'
'He's afraid I'll lose it.'
'It took long enough,' Brunetti said with the residual anger he felt at the years it had taken Vianello to be given what he had so long deserved.
'Scarpa?' Rizzardo asked, naming Vice-Questore Patta's personal assistant and showing just how intimate he was with the real workings of the Questura.
'Of course. He managed to block it for years, ever since he got here.'
'What changed things?'
Brunetti gazed away evasively and began to say, 'Oh, I've no...' but Rizzardi cut him short. 'What did you do?'
‘I threatened Patta that I'd ask for a transfer to Treviso or Vicenza.' 'And?'
'He caved in.'
'Did you think that would happen?' 'No, quite the opposite. I thought he'd be happy to have the chance to get rid of me.'
'And if Patta had refused to promote him, would you have gone?'
Brunetti raised his eyebrows and pulled up the corner of his mouth in another evasion. 'Would you?'
'Yes,' Brunetti said and walked towards the door. 'Call me when you're done, all right?'
Back downstairs, Brunetti found Vianello in the kitchen, sitting opposite Signora Gallante, a white porcelain teapot and a jar of honey between them. Each had a cup of yellow tea. Signora Gallante started to get to her feet when she saw Brunetti, but Vianello leaned across the table and put a hand on her arm. 'Stay there, Signora. I'll get the Commissario a cup.'
He got up and with the sort of ease that usually comes with long familiarity, opened a cabinet and pulled down a cup and saucer. He sat them in front of the now-seated Brunetti and turned back to open a drawer and get him a spoon. Silently, he poured out a cup of linden tea and took his place again across from the Signora.
Vianello said, 'The Signora's just been telling me a bit about Signorina Leonardo, sir.' Signora Gallante nodded. 'She said she was a good girl, very considerate and thoughtful.'
'Oh, yes, sir,' the old woman interrupted. 'She used to come down here for tea once in a while, and she always asked me about my grandchildren, even asked to see pictures of them. They never made any noise, she and Lucia: study, study, study; it seems that's all they ever did.'
'Didn't friends ever visit them?' Vianello asked when Brunetti made no move to do so.
'No. Once in a while I'd see a young person on the steps, a boy or a girl, but they never caused any trouble. You know how students like to study together. My sons always did that when they were in school, but they made a lot more noise, I'm afraid.' She started to smile, but then remembering just what had brought these two men to her table, her smile faded and she picked up her teacup.
‘You said you met Lucia's mother, Signora’ Brunetti began. 'Did you ever meet Signor and Signora Leonardo?'
'No, that's impossible. They're both gone, you know.' When she saw Brunetti's confusion, she tried to explain. That is, her father's dead. She told me he died when she was just a little girl’
When Signora Gallante said nothing else, Brunetti asked, 'And the mother?'
'Oh, I don't know. Claudia never spoke about her, but I always had the sense that she was gone.'
'Do you mean dead, Signora?'
'No, no, not exactly. Oh, I don't know what I mean. It's just that Claudia never said she was dead; she just made it sound like she was gone, as if she was somewhere else and was never coming back.' She thought for a moment, as if trying to recall conversations with the girl. 'It was all very strange, now that I think about it. She usually used the past tense when she spoke about her mother, but once she spoke of her as though she were still alive’
'Do you remember what she said?' Vianello asked.
'No, no, I can't. I'm very sorry, gentlemen, but I just can't. It was something about liking something, a colour or a food or something like that. Not a specific thing like a book or a movie or an actor, just something general; now that I think about it, it might have been a colour, and she said something like, 'My mother likes...' and then she said the name of the colour, whatever it was, perhaps blue. I really don't remember, but I know I thought at the time how strange it was that she spoke of her as though she were still alive.'
'Did you ask her about it?'
