'Yes,' Brunetti limited himself to saying.
'It's very strange, sir. When we went back to talk to them again, it
was as if some of them didn't even know he had been in the same school
with them. Most of the ones I talked to told me they didn't know him
very well. I spoke to the boy who found him, Pellegrini, but he didn't
know anything. He was drunk the night before, said he went to bed
about midnight.' Even before Brunetti could ask, Pucetti supplied the
information: 'Yes, he'd been at a party at a friend's house, in
Dorsoduro. I asked him how he'd got in, and he said he had a key to
the port one He said he paid the portiere twenty Euros for it, and the
way he said it, it sounded like anyone who wants one can buy one.' He
waited to see if Brunetti had any questions about this, but then
continued, 'I asked his roommate, and he said it was true, that
Pellegrini woke him up when he came in. Pellegrini said he got up
about six to get some water and that's when he saw Moro.'
'He wasn't the one who called, though, was he?'
'Called us, you mean, sir?'
'Yes.'
'No. It was one of the janitors. He said he'd just got there for work
and heard a commotion in the bathroom, and when he saw what had
happened, he called.'
'More than an hour after Pellegrini found the body,' Brunetti said
aloud.
When Pucetti made no response, Brunetti said, 'What else? Go on. What
did they say about Moro?'
'It's in here, sir,' he said, placing a file on Brunetti's desk. He
paused, weighing what to say next. 'I know this sounds strange, sir,
but it seemed like most of them really didn't care about it. Not the
way we would, or a person would, if
'5
something like this happened to someone you knew, or you worked with.'
He gave this some more thought and added, 'It was creepy, sort of, the
way they talked as if they didn't know him. But they all live there
together, and take classes together. How could they not know him?'
Hearing his voice rise, Pucetti forced himself to calm down. 'Anyway,
one of them told me that he'd had a class with Moro a couple of days
before, and they'd studied together that night and the following day.
Getting ready for an exam.'
'When was the exam?'
'The day after.'
'The day after what? That he died?'
'Yes, sir.'
Brunetti's conclusion was instant, but he asked Pucetti, 'How does that
seem to you?'
It was obvious that the young officer had prepared himself for the
question, for his answer was immediate. 'People kill themselves, well,
at least it seems to me, that they'd do it after an exam, at least
they'd wait to see how badly they'd done in it, and then maybe they'd
do it. At least that's what I'd do he said, then added, 'not that I'd
kill myself over a stupid exam.'
'What would you kill yourself over?' Brunetti asked.
Owl-like, Pucetti stared across at his commander. 'Oh, I don't think
over anything, sir. Would you?'
Brunetti shook the idea away. 'No, I don't think so. But I suppose
you never know.' He had friends who were killing themselves with
stress or cigarettes or alcohol, and some of his friends had children
who were killing themselves with drugs, but he could think of no one he
knew, at least not in this instant, whom he thought capable of suicide.
But perhaps that's why suicide fell like lightning: it was always the
most unexpected people who did it.
His attention swung back to Pucetti only at the end of what he was
saying.'... about going skiing this winter.'
The Moro boy?' Brunetti asked to disguise the fact that his attention
had drifted away.
'Yes, sir. And this kid said Moro was looking forward to it, really
loved to ski.' He paused to see if his superior would comment, but
when he did not, Pucetti went on, 'He seemed upset, sir.'
'Who? This boy?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
Pucetti gave him a startled glance, puzzled that Brunetti hadn't
figured this out yet. 'Because if he didn't kill himself, then someone
