Through a glass, darkly

'They did whatever they pleased’ Vianello said with predictable indignation, then surprised Brunetti by adding, 'but I doubt they did much harm on Murano.'

Brunetti pointed to the chair in front of his desk and asked, 'Why?'

Vianello sat. 'Well, it's a relative term,' he said, ' 'harm.' When you compare it to Marghera, that is. I know that doesn't change what happened on Murano. But Marghera's the real killer.'

'You really hate it, don't you?' Brunetti asked.

Vianello's face was deadly serious. 'Of course I do: any thinking person would. And Tassini said he hated Murano. But he never acted like he hated it.'

Brunetti failed to follow him. 'I don't understand.'

'If he had really believed it—that working for De Cal had caused what happened to his daughter—he would have done something to harm him. But all he did was talk to the men who worked with him at the fornace. And tell them that De Cal was to blame for everything.'

'Which means?' Brunetti asked.

'Which means it was just his guilt talking’ Vianello said.

This had always been Brunetti's opinion, so he let it pass unquestioned. 'But why do you hate Marghera so much?' he asked.

'Because I have children’ Vianello answered.

'So do I’ Brunetti countered.

'When you get home’ Vianello said, his voice suddenly moderate, 'ask your wife if she got the supplement to today's Gazzettino.'

'What supplement?'

Vianello got to his feet and moved over to the door. 'Just ask her’ he said. Standing at the door, he went on, 'I spoke to a few of De Cal's workers. They say business is bad, and everyone I spoke to heard he was selling, but everyone had heard he was asking a different price, though all of them were well above a million.'

'Anything else?' Brunetti asked.

'Tassini had been Fasano's uomo di notte only a month or two.'

'Before that?'

'He was already working as De Cal's uomo di notte; before that he worked in the molatura.'

'Is that a step up or a step down?' idle curiosity prompted Brunetti to ask. 'He had a wife and two kids to support.'

Vianello shrugged. 'I don't know. The guy who used to work for Fasano retired, and Tassini asked if he could have the job. At least that's what two of them told me. They said he liked working nights because it meant he could read, but they made it sound like he wanted to grow a second head.' Vianello laughed at this, and so did Brunetti, and the tension between them evaporated.

After the Inspector left, Brunetti used his curiosity about the Gazzettino supplement as an excuse to leave work early, which brought him home an hour before his usual time.

He went down to Paola's study and found her at her desk with what looked like a manuscript in front of her. He kissed her proffered cheek, then said, 'Vianello told me to ask if you read the supplement that came with the Gazzettino today.'

Her confusion was momentary, but then she set the manuscript to one side and bent to replace it with a disorganized pile of papers and magazines from the floor. 'He would ask about it, wouldn't he?' she asked with a smile, beginning to shuffle through the papers.

'What is it?'

She continued to hunt through the pile until she pulled something out and held it up in triumph. 'Porto Marghera,' she read aloud, 'Situazione e Prospettive.' She held it out so he could read the title on the cover. 'Do you think it's coincidental that this was given out with the newspaper at the same time as the trial is taking place?'

'But the trial has been going on for ever,' Brunetti objected. The trial against the petrochemical complex for its pollution of the land, the air, and the laguna had been dragging on for years: everyone in the Veneto knew that, just as they knew it would drag on for many more, or at least until the statute of limitations ran out and its spirit was subsumed into that heaven where expired cases went.

'Then let me read you one thing, and you tell me if you think it's coincidental’ she said, flipping the supplement over and running her eyes down the back cover. 'At the end, the writers express their thanks to those who have helped in the preparation of this supplement—a document that is meant to inform the people of the Veneto of any environmental danger resulting from the existence of the industrial plant in their back yard.' She glanced at Brunetti to see that she had his full attention and then continued. 'And just who is it that they thank for this cooperation?' she asked, running her finger, he assumed quite unnecessarily, down the last page. 'The authorities of the industrial zone.'

When Brunetti remained silent, she tossed the supplement onto her desk and said, 'Come on, Guido, you have to tell me that's wonderful. That's genius. They prepare a document about this percolating industrial complex that's three kilometres from us, probably filled with enough toxins and poisons to eliminate all of the northeast, and who do they ask for information about how dangerous those substances might be if not the very authorities who run the complex?' She laughed out loud, but Brunetti did not join her.

Like the presenter of a television quiz show, she paused and gave him a mock-serious look, as if hoping to provoke a response by a display of eager curiosity. When he remained silent, she said, 'Or think of it this way: the next time Patta wants some crime statistics,, he should ask the boss of the local Mafia, or the Chinese Mafia, to prepare them for him.' She raised the supplement above her head and said, 'We're all crazy, Guido.'

Brunetti sat on the sofa, silent but attentive. 'Let me read one more thing, just one’ she said, opening the booklet. She flipped forward a few pages, then back. 'Ah, here it is,' she said. 'Just listen to this: 'How to behave in case of an emergency.' ' She pushed up her glasses, pulled the supplement a bit closer, and continued to read aloud.' 'Shut yourself in your house, close the windows, turn off the gas, don't use the phone, listen to the radio, don't go outside for any reason.' ' She turned to him and added, 'The only thing they don't do is tell us not to breathe.' She let the supplement drop and said, 'We live less than three kilometres from that, Guido.'

'You've known about this for years,' Brunetti said, letting himself sink deeper into the sofa.

'Yes, I've known about it,' she agreed. 'But I didn't have this,' she said, picking up the booklet again and opening it to the last page. 'I didn't have the information that thirty-six million tons of 'material' flow through there every year. I've no idea how much thirty-six million tons is, and God knows they don't tell us what it's thirty-six million tons of, but I suspect it would take considerably less than that, in the case of fire, to ...' Her voice drifted off.

'What makes you think something like that will happen?' he asked.

'Because I spent an hour and a half today trying to give the new expiry date of my credit card to the phone company’ she shot back.

'The connection?' he inquired with Olympian calm.

'They sent me a letter, telling me the card had expired and asking me to dial their free number. When I did, I got the usual menu of cheerful suggestions: press one for this and two for that and three if you want to sign up for new services. And then the line died. Six times.'

'Why did you try six times?'

'What other choice is there? Even if I want to tell them to cancel the service, I still have to speak to them and tell them to do so and send the final bill to the bank.'

'And when is it that you are going to explain the connection with Marghera?' he asked, aware suddenly of how tired he was and how much he longed not to be involved in this conversation.

She removed her glasses, the better to see him or the better to fix him with her basilisk eye. 'Because the same people work in both places, Guido. The same people set up the programs and work on the safety systems. At the end of all of this, I was told, by the human being I finally managed to talk to, that I had to send the expiry date of the card to a fax number because their system did not allow her to take the information over the phone.'