some pasta.' She got to her feet and went to the door. 'What will you
do?' she asked.
Till have to speak to him Brunetti said.
He did so the next day, at four in the afternoon, a time chosen by
Dottor Moro, who had insisted on coming to the Questura rather than
have Brunetti come to his home. The doctor was on time to the minute,
and Brunetti stood up when a uniformed officer ushered him into his
office. Brunetti came around his desk and extended his hand. They
exchanged strained courtesies and then, as soon as he was seated, Moro
asked, 'What is it you want, Commissario?' His voice was level and
calm, devoid of curiosity or, for that fact, interest. Events had
washed him clean of such things.
Brunetti, who had retreated behind his desk more out of habit than
choice, began by saying, There are some things I think you should know,
Dottore.' He paused, waiting for the doctor to respond, perhaps with
sarcasm, perhaps with anger. But Moro said nothing.
'There are certain facts regarding the death of your son that
I think...' Brunetti began, then flailed to a stop. He looked at the
wall behind Moro's head, then began again. That is, I've learned some
things and want you to know them.'
'Why?'
'Because they might help you decide.'
'Decide what?' Moro asked tiredly.
'How to proceed.'
Moro shifted to one side in the chair and crossed his legs. 'I have no
idea what you're talking about, Commissario. I don't think there are
any decisions I can make, not now.'
'About your son, I think.'
Brunetti saw something flash into Moro's eyes.
'No decision can affect my son,' he said, making no attempt to disguise
his anger. And then, to hammer the message home, he added, 'He's
dead.'
Brunetti felt the moral heat of what Moro had just said sweep over him.
Again, he looked away, then back at the doctor, and again he spoke.
I've come into the possession of new information, and I think you
should be aware of what it is.' Without giving Moro a chance to
comment, he went on. 'Paolo Filippi, who is a student at the Academy,
maintains that your son died by accident and that, to avoid
embarrassment for him, and for you, he arranged it to look like
suicide.'
Brunetti waited for Moro to ask if that would not also be an
embarrassment, but Instead the doctor said, 'Nothing my boy did would
embarrass me.'
'He maintains your son died as the result of homosexual activity.'
Brunetti waited for the other man to respond.
'Even though I'm a doctor Moro said, 'I have no idea of what that can
mean.'
That your son died in an attempt to increase his sexual excitement by
near-strangulation.'
'Autoerotic asphyxiation Moro said with clinical detachment.
Brunetti nodded.
'Why should that embarrass me?' the doctor said calmly.
After a long silence, Brunetti realized that Moro was not going to
prompt him, so he said, 'I don't think what he told me is true. I
think he killed your son because his father had persuaded him that
Ernesto was a spy or a traitor of some sort. It was his influence,
perhaps even his encouragement, that led the boy to do what he did.'
Still Moro said nothing, though his eyes had widened in surprise.
In the face of the other man's silence, the best Brunetti could do was
say, 'I wanted you to know what story Filippi will give if we pursue
the case.'
'And what is this decision you've called me in here to make,
Commissario?'
'Whether you want us to bring a charge of involuntary manslaughter
against Filippi.'
Moro studied Brunetti's face for some time before he said, 'If you
think he killed Ernesto, Commissario, then involuntary manslaughter is
not much of a charge, is it?' Before Brunetti could reply, Moro added,
'Besides, this should be your decision, Commissario. Not mine.' His
voice was as cool as his expression.
'I wanted to give you the choice,' Brunetti said in what he thought was
