of marriage to a policeman.
'It would seem so he said, leaving it at that.
Knowing how reluctant he would be to mention him, Paola asked, 'And the
boy?'
'She said that he didn't kill himself, and that's all she said.'
'She's his mother,' Paola said. 'Believe her.'
'It's as simple as that?' Brunetti asked, unable to disguise his own
scepticism.
'Yes, it's as simple as that. If anyone knew what he was capable of,
it's she.'
Unwilling to argue the point, he poured himself another glass of water
and wandered over to stand at the window that looked off to the north.
From behind him, Paola asked, 'What's she like?'
He thought about the woman, remembered her voice, the eyes that took
little interest in seeing him, the paper-thin skin of her neck.
'Reduced/ he finally said. 'She's not a whole person any more.' He
thought Paola would ask about this, but she didn't. 'All I saw was a
photo of her, taken some years ago, with the boy. And her husband. She
still looks like the same person; I mean, you could recognize her from
the photo, but there's less of her.'
'That makes sense Paola said, 'there is less of her.'
He had no idea why he thought Paola would have an answer, but he asked
her anyway, 'Will that ever go away, the diminishing?'
It was only then that Brunetti realized that his question would force
Paola to think about the death of her own children because the only way
to answer the question was to put herself in the other woman's place.
He regretted asking the question as soon as he had spoken. He had
never had the courage to ask her if she thought about that possibility
and, if so, how often. Though he had always found it absurd that
parents should worry excessively about the safety of their children,
that is, worry in the absence of any real danger, a day did not pass
but he worried about his own. The fact that he knew it to be
ridiculous, especially in a city without cars, in no way reduced his
concern or prevented him from counting out the ways the safety of his
children could be imperilled.
Paola's voice broke into his reverie. 'No, I don't think the death of
a child is something a person ever recovers from, not fully.'
'Do you think it's worse because she's a mother?' he asked.
She dismissed this with a shake of her head. 'No. That's nonsense.'
He was grateful that she chose not to give an example to prove that a
father's grief could be as deep.
He turned back from looking at the mountains, and their eyes met. 'What
do you think happened?' she asked.
He shook his head, utterly at a loss to make any sense of what had
happened to the Moro family. 'All I have is four events: he writes his
report, though nothing much comes of it except that he's punished; he
gets elected to Parliament and then leaves before his term in office is
over; his wife is shot just before he resigns; two years later, his son
is found hanged in the bathroom of his school.'
'Does the school mean anything?' Paola asked.
'Mean anything in what way? That it's a military academy?'
That's the only thing that's unusual about it, isn't it?' she asked.
That and the fact that they spend the winter walking
around the city looking like penguins. And the rest of the year
looking like they have a bad smell under their noses.' This was
Paola's usual description of snobs and their behaviour. As she had
been born to a conte and conte ssa and had spent her youth surrounded
by wealth and titles and the hangers-on who are drawn to both, he
figured she'd seen her fair share of snobs.
'I always heard it had a good academic record he said.
'Bah/ she exploded, erasing that possibility from the air with a puff
of breath.
'I'm not sure that serves as a conclusive counter argument he said.
'Articulate and well-reasoned as it is.'
Paola turned to face him and put her hands on her hips, looking like an
actress trying out for the role of Angry Woman. 'My counter-argument
might not be conclusive she said, 1?ut I shall do my best to make it
articulate.'
'Oh, I love it when you're angry like that, Signora Paola/ he said in a
voice he forced up to its highest register. Her hands fell to her
sides and she laughed. 'Tell me he said, reaching for the bottle of
Pinot Noir that stood on the counter.
'Susanna Arid/ she said, 'used to teach there, right after she came
