Ignoring Filippi's question, Brunetti said, 'I understand it's a good
school.'
'Yes. It's very hard to get in.'
'And very expensive Brunetti observed neutrally.
'Of course,' Filippi said with no attempt to disguise his pride.
'Is preference given to the sons of former students?'
'I should hope so Filippi said.
'Why is that?'
'Because then the right people get in.'
'And who are they?' Brunetti asked with mild curiosity, conscious as
he spoke that, if his own son were to use the phrase, 'the right
people', in that same tone, he would feel himself to have failed as a
parent.
'Who?' Filippi demanded.
'The right people.'
The sons of officers, of course the boy answered.
'Of course Brunetti repeated. He opened the file and glanced at the
top sheet of paper, which had nothing to do with Filippi or Moro. He
looked at Filippi, back at the paper, then again at the boy. 'Do you
remember where you were the night that Cadet Moro was .. .' he began,
deliberately hesitating after the last word before correcting it to,
'died?'
'In my room, I assume the boy answered.
'You assume?'
'Where else would I be?'
Brunetti permitted himself to look across at Vianello, who gave the
most minimal of no cis Brunetti slowly turned the page over and
glanced at the next.
'Was anyone in the room with you?'
'No.' The answer was immediate.
'Where was your roommate?'
Filippi reached out and adjusted the folded gloves until they ran
directly from the centre of the peak to the back of the cap. 'He must
have been there the boy finally said.
'I see Brunetti said. As if unable to resist the impulse, he glanced
across at Vianello. The Inspector gave another slight nod. Brunetti
looked again at the paper and, from memory, asked, 'His name's Davide
Cappellini, isn't it?'
Filippi, suppressing any sign of surprise, answered, 'Yes.'
'Is he a close friend of yours?' Brunetti asked.
'I suppose so Filippi said with the petulance that only teenagers can
express.
'Only that?'
'Only what?'
That you suppose it. That you aren't sure.'
'Of course I'm sure. What else would he be if we've shared a room for
two years?'
'Exactly/ Brunetti permitted himself to observe and bent his attention
to the papers again. After what he realized was a long time, he asked,
'Do you do things together?' Then, before Filippi could ask who he
meant, Brunetti clarified, 'You and your roommate, Cadet Cappellini?'
'What do you mean?'
'Do things together Brunetti repeated. 'Study? Sports? Other
things?'
'What other things?' Filippi demanded suspiciously.
'Hunting?' Vianello surprised them both by suggesting.
Almost as if he had forgotten the presence of the other policeman,
Filippi whipped his head towards Vianello and demanded, his voice
slipping up an octave, 'What?'
'Fishing? Hunting?' Vianello asked with innocent curiosity, then
added, 'Soccer?'
Filippi reached a hand in the direction of the gloves but stopped
himself and folded both hands together on the desk in front of him. 'I
