Cappellini looked up and across at Brunetti. 'I don't know. I fell
asleep again.'
'What happened, Davide?' Pucetti asked.
With no warning, Cappellini started to cry, or at least tears started
to roll down his cheeks. Making no attempt to brush them away he spoke
through them. 'He came back later. I don't know how long it was, but
I woke up when he came in. And I knew something was wrong. Just by
the way he walked in. He wasn't trying to wake me up or anything.
Just the opposite, maybe. But something woke me up, as if there was
energy all over the place. I sat up and turned on the light. And
there he was, looking like he'd just seen something awful. I asked him
what was wrong, but he told me it was nothing and to go back to sleep.
But I knew something was wrong.'
The tears slid down his face, as if independent of his eyes. He didn't
sniff, and he still made no attempt to wipe them away. They ran down
his cheeks and fell on to his shirt, darkening it.
'I suppose I went back to sleep, and the next thing I knew, people were
running down the halls shouting and making a lot of noise. That's what
woke me up. Then Zanchi came in and woke Filippi up and told him
something. They didn't speak to me, but Zanchi gave me a look, and I
knew I couldn't say anything.'
He stopped again, and the two policemen watched his tears fall. He
nodded at Pucetti. Then you all came and started asking questions, and
I did what everyone else did, said I didn't know anything.' Pucetti
made a sympathetic patting gesture in the air with his right hand. The
boy raised a hand and wiped away the tears on the right side of his
face, ignoring the others. 'It's what I had to do.' He used the
inside of his elbow to wipe all of the tears away; when his face
emerged, he said, 'And then it was too late to say anything. To
anybody.'
The boy looked at Pucetti, then back at Brunetti, then down at his
hands, clasped in his lap. Brunetti glanced at Pucetti, but neither of
them risked saying anything.
Beyond the door, footsteps went by, then came back after a minute or so
but did not stop. Finally Brunetti asked, 'What do the other boys
say?'
Cappellini shrugged away the question.
'Do they know, Davide?' Pucetti asked.
Again, that shrug, but then he said, 'I don't know. No one talks about
it. It's almost as if it never happened. None of the teachers talks
about it either.'
The thought there was some sort of ceremony Pucetti said.
'Yes, but it was stupid. They read prayers and things. But no one
said anything.'
'How has Filippi behaved since then?' Brunetti asked.
It was as if the boy hadn't considered it before. He raised his head,
and both Brunetti and Pucetti could see how surprised he was by his own
answer. 'Just the same. Just the same as ever. As if nothing's
happened.'
'Has he said anything to you about it?' Pucetti asked.
'No, not really. But the next day, that is, the day they found him,
when all of you came here to the school and started asking questions,
he said he hoped I realized what happened to traitors.'
'What do you think he meant by that?' Brunetti asked.
With the first sign of spirit the boy had shown since the two men came
into his room, Cappellini shot back, That's a stupid question.'
'Yes, I suppose it is,' Brunetti admitted. 'Where are the other two?'
he asked. 'Zanchi and Maselli.'
Their room is down to the right. The third door
'Are you all right, Davide?' Pucetti asked.
The boy nodded once, then again, leaving his head hanging down, looking
at his hands.
Brunetti signalled to Pucetti that they should leave. The boy didn't
look up when they moved, nor when they opened the door. Outside, in
the corridor, Pucetti asked, 'Now what?'
'Do you remember how old they are, Zanchi and Maselli?' Brunetti said
by way of answer.
Pucetti shook his head, a gesture Brunetti interpreted to mean they
were both underage and thus obliged to have a lawyer or parent present
when they were questioned, at least if what they said were to have any
legal weight at all.
Brunetti saw then the futility of having rushed here to speak to this
