He could think of nothing else to ask and so got to his feet and extended his hand. Thank you for your time and your help, Signor Ford’ Brunetti said.
‘Do you have any idea...?' the other man asked, unable to phrase the question.
'We're continuing the investigation’ came Brunetti's formulaic response.
'Good. It's a terrible thing. She was a lovely girl. We were all very fond of her.'
There seemed nothing Brunetti could add to that, so he followed Ford from the office and through the empty reading room. Ford offered to see him to the entrance, but Brunetti politely said he would go downstairs alone. He let himself out into the pale light of a late autumn day with little to do save go home for lunch, taking with him only the feeling of the senseless loss of a young life which his time with Ford had brought so forcefully back to him.
18
At home, Paola greeted him with the news that he'd had two calls from Marco Erizzo, asking that he call back as soon as possible. Beside the phone she had written the number of Marco's
and Brunetti called it immediately, though he could see through the door that his family was already seated at the table, steam rising from their tagliatelle.
On the second ring, Marco answered with his name.
'It's me, Guido. What is it?'
‘Your men are looking for me,' Marco said in an agitated voice. 'But I'd rather you came and got me and took me in.'
Thinking that Marco had perhaps been watching too much television, Brunetti asked, 'What are you talking about, Marco? What men? What have you done?'
‘I told you what was happening, didn't I?'
'About the permits? Yes, you told me. Is that what this is about?'
‘Yes.' There were noises in the background, a blast of static on the line. Brunetti asked when the line cleared, What happened?'
'It was the architect’ Marco said. That bastard. He was the one. The permits were ready three months ago, but he kept telling me they weren't and that if we made some minor changes to the plans, maybe they'd finally approve them. And then, like I told you, he said someone in the Commune wanted thirty million lire. And all this time I was paying him for every new set of plans he drew up and for all the time he said he spent working for me.' His voice stopped, cut off by rage.
'How did you find out?'
‘I was having a drink with Angelo Costantini yesterday, and a friend of his came in, and when he introduced us, this guy recognized my name and said he works in the planning office and asked me when I was going to come in and pick up the permissions.' He paused to allow Brunetti to express shock or disapproval, but Brunetti's attention was devoted to his tagliatelle, now covered with an upended plate in what he hoped would be a successful attempt to keep them warm.
'What did you do, Marco?' he asked, his attention still distracted by his quickly cooling lunch.
‘I asked him what he was talking about, and he said that the architect told them - it must have been two months ago -that I wanted him to make some more changes to the plans so he needed to discuss them with me before he submitted the final drawings.'
'But if they were already approved, why didn't they just call you?'
They called the architect. He's lucky I didn't kill him.'
Brunetti suddenly understood the reason for the call. 'What happened?'
‘I went to his office this morning’ Marco said, then stopped.
'And what did you do?'
'I told him* what I'd heard, what the guy at the planning office told me.'
'And then?'
Then he told me I must have misunderstood what he meant and that he'd go over there and straighten things out this morning.' He heard Marco breathe deeply in an attempt to control his anger. 'But I told him I knew what was going on and that he was fired.'
'And?'
'And he said I couldn't fire him until the job was finished and if I did he'd sue me for breach of contract.' 'And?'
The pause was one Brunetti had often heard from his children, so he knew to wait it out. 'So I hit him,' Marco finally said. Another pause, and then he said, 'He sat there, behind his big desk, with plans and projects laid out on it, and he told me he'd sue me if I tried to fire him. And I lost my temper.'
'What happened?'
‘I went around his desk; I just wanted to get my hands on him .’
Brunetti imagined Marco saying this before a judge and cringed. 'He stood up and came towards me.'
When it seemed that this was the only explanation Marco was going to give, Brunetti said, Tell me exactly what you did, Marco,' using the same tone he used with the kids when they came home from school with bad reports.
‘I told you. I hit him.' Before Brunetti could speak, Marco went on, 'It wasn't very hard. I didn't even knock him down, just sort of shoved him away from me.'
'Did you hit him with a fist?' Brunetti asked, thinking it necessary to determine just what 'shove' might mean.
After a long pause, Marco said, 'Sort of.'
Brunetti left that and asked, 'Where?'
'On his jaw, or his nose.'
'And?'
'He just sort of fell back in his chair.' 'Was there any blood?'
‘I don't know’ 'Why not?'
‘I left. I watched him sit back down and then I left.'
'Why do you think my men are after you, then?'
'Because that’ s the sort of man he is. He'd call the police and say I tried to kill him. But I wanted you to know what really happened.'
'Is this what really happened, Marco?'
'Yes, I swear it on my mother's head’
'All right. What do you want me to do?'
There was real surprise in Marco's voice when he said, 'Nothing. Why should I want you to do anything? I just wanted you to know’
'Where are you now?'
'In the restaurant’
The one near Rialto?' Brunetti asked. ‘Yes. Why?'
‘I’ll be there in five minutes. Wait for me. Don't do anything and don't talk to anyone. Do you understand me, Marco? Not to anyone. And don't call your lawyer’
'All right,' Marco said sulkily.
'I'll be there,' Brunetti said and put the phone down. He went back to the table, lifted the cover from his plate and breathed in the savoury aroma of grated smoked ricotta and eggplant. He set the cover gently back in place, kissed Paola on the top of her head and said, ‘I’ve got to go and see Marco’
As he let himself out of the door, he heard Chiara saying, 'OK, Raffi, you can have half’
The restaurant was full, tables covered with things, marvellous things: one couple sat with lobsters the size of dachshunds in front of them, while to the left a group of businessmen were eating their way through a platter of seafood that would have fed a Sri Lankan village for a week. Brunetti went straight into the kitchen, where he found Marco talking to Signora Maria, the cook. Marco came over to Brunetti. 'Do you want to eat?' he asked.
This was one of the best restaurants in the city, and Signora Maria was a woman whose genius had provided
