about Claudia's phone calls to Filipetto?'
1 haven't printed them out yet, sir,' she said, ‘But if you'll have a look, you can see’ She touched some keys and letters flicked across the screen of her computer. The screen rolled to black for an instant, then came back to life filled with short columns of numbers. Signorina Elettra tapped her finger against the heading of each and explained: 'Number called, date, time, and length of call. Those are her calls to Filipetto,' she said, then touched another key, and further columns inserted themselves below. 'And these are the ones from his house to hers’ She gave him a moment to study the numbers and then asked, 'Strange, isn't it, seven calls between people who didn't know one another?'
She punched more keys, and new numbers replaced the old ones.
What are those?' Brunetti asked.
The calls between her number and the Library. I haven't had time to separate them yet, so they're mixed in together in chronological order’
He studied the column of figures. The first three were from her number to the Library. Then one from the Library. One from her. Then, after a gap of three weeks, a series of calls from the Library began. They were repeated at four- or five-day intervals and went on for six weeks. At first, Brunetti assumed they must be calls from Claudia to her flatmate, but then he saw that some of the calls were made after nine at night, a strange time for anyone to be in the Library. He studied the final column, which gave the length of each call, and found that, although the later calls in the series had lasted for five or ten minutes, the last one was very short, less than a minute.
Signorina Elettra had been studying the list along with him and said, 'I've had it happen to me, so I recognize the pattern.' 'Harassment?' Brunetti asked, forced to use the English
word and struck by its absence from Italian. Does that mean we lack the concept, as well as the word? he wondered. ‘I’d say so’
'Can you print me a copy of the first ones?' he asked, and at her nod, he explained, 'I think I'll go and speak to Doctor Filipetto again. See if the list refreshes his memory.'
The woman Filipetto called Eleonora let Brunetti in again and, without bothering to inquire as to the reason for his visit, led him into the study. Had Brunetti been asked, he would have sworn that the old man had not moved since they had spoken. As they had the last time, papers and magazines covered the surface in front of him.
'Ah, Commissario’ Filipetto said with every suggestion of pleasure, 'you've come back.' He waved Brunetti forward and held up a restraining hand to the woman, gesturing for her, however, not to leave the room. Brunetti was vaguely conscious of her presence behind him, somewhere near the door.
‘Yes, sir, I've come to ask you a few more questions about that girl,' Brunetti said as he took the chair the old man indicated.
'Girl?' Filipetto asked, sounding befuddled; to Brunetti, it seemed intentionally so. ‘Yes, sir, Claudia Leonardo’
Filipetto stared up at Brunetti and blinked a few times. 'Leonardo?' he asked. 'Is this someone I know?'
That's what I've come to ask about, sir. I came here a few days ago and you said you'd never heard of her.'
That's true’ Filipetto said, a slight irritation audible in his voice. 'I've never heard the name.'
'Are you sure of that, sir?' Brunetti asked blandly.
'Of course I'm sure of that’ Filipetto insisted. 'Why do you question my word?'
‘I’m not questioning your word, sir; I'm merely questioning the accuracy of your memory’
'And what is that supposed to mean?' the old man demanded.
'Nothing at all, sir, just that we sometimes forget things, all of us.'
'I'm an old man... Filipetto began, but then stopped, and Brunetti watched as a transformation took place. Filipetto hunched down in his chair; his mouth fell open and one hand scrabbled over the surface of the desk to rest on the other one. 'I don't remember everything, you know,' Filipetto said in a voice that was suddenly high pitched, the voice of a querulous old man.
Brunetti felt like Odysseus' dog, the only one able to penetrate his master's deceit and disguise. Had he not watched Filipetto deliberately turn himself into a feeble old man, compassion would have prevented his asking further questions. Even so, guile stood upon his tongue and stopped him from mentioning the record of the calls to and from Claudia Leonardo.
With a smile he worked hard to make appear as warm as it was credulous, Brunetti asked, 'Then you might have known her, sir?'
Filipetto raised his right hand and waved it weakly in the air. 'Oh, perhaps, perhaps. I don't remember much any more.' He raised his head and called to the woman near the door, 'Eleonora, did I know anyone called ...' He turned to Brunetti and asked, as if she had not been perfectly able to hear Claudia's name, 'What did you say her name was?'
'Claudia Leonardo,' Brunetti supplied neutrally.
The woman's response was a long time in coming. Finally she said, ‘Yes, I think the name is familiar, but I can't remember why it is I know it.' She said no more and didn't ask Brunetti to tell her who Claudia was.
Though it angered him to have been outmanoeuvred, Brunetti felt a grudging admiration for the way in which Filipetto had capitalized on his age and apparent infirmity.
The phone records, now, could do no more than prompt his old man's memory into recalling that, yes, yes, now that Brunetti mentioned it, perhaps he had spoken to some young girl, but he couldn't remember what it was they'd talked about.
Defeat would be no less decisive, Brunetti realized, if he were to stay to ask more questions. He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. Leaning across the desk, he shook Filipetto's hand and said, 'Thank you for your help, Notaio. I'm sorry to have bothered you with these questions.' Filipetto's grasp had actually grown weaker; his hand felt as insubstantial as a handful of dry spaghetti. The old man, speechless, could do no more than nod in Brunetti's direction.
Brunetti turned towards the door, and the woman stepped aside to let him pass. He stopped at the end of the hall, just at the door of the apartment. With no preparation, he said, 'May I ask what your relationship to Dottor Filipetto is?'
She gave him a long, steady look and answered, 'I'm his daughter.'
Brunetti thanked her, did not offer to shake her hand, and left.
21
Aware that any decision concerning what he thought of as Signora Jacobs's murder must wait upon Rizzardi's report, Brunetti found himself purposeless and without the will to do any specific thing. He did not want to go back to work, nor did he want to begin to question the people who lived near the old woman; least of all did he want to think about Claudia Leonardo and her death. He walked.
He set off from Filipetto's and cut back toward San Lorenzo, but when he reached the bridge in front of the Greek church his courage failed him and he ducked into the underpass rather than continue to the Questura. He passed through Campo Santa Maria Formosa and saw what looked like a tribe of Kurds camped in front of the abandoned
He crossed Santi Apostoli, continued past Standa, then turned to the right and back toward the waters of the
As the vaporetto pulled into Fondamente Nuove he made a decision and switched to another one that was leaving for the cemetery. He got off there, the one man among a crowd of women, most of them old and all of them
