Through a glass, darkly

The route from the Sacca Serenella ACTV embarcadero was by now familiar to Brunetti. At the end of the cement walkway, instead of turning to the right and to De Cal's factory, he went to the left and approached the other building, which he had previously ignored. Built of brick, the factory had a high peaked roof with a double row of skylights. As with most of the fornaci, the entrance was through a set of sliding metal doors.

As he approached, he recognized Palazzi standing in front of the building, smoking. 'Good morning’ Brunetti said to the workman and raised a hand in greeting. 'Looks like it'll be a nice day.'

Palazzi returned an amiable enough smile, dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, grinding it into the earth with his toe. 'Habit’ he said when he saw Brunetti watching this. 'I used to work in a chemical plant, and we had to be careful with cigarettes.

'I'm surprised they let you smoke there at all’ Brunetti said.

'They didn't’ Palazzi said and smiled again. At the sign of Brunetti's answering grin, he asked, tilting his head backwards, towards the field that ran from the factories down to the water, 'You find anything out there?'

'No results yet’ Brunetti said.

'You expecting to find anything?'

Brunetti shrugged. 'The guy in the lab'll tell me.'

'What're you looking for?'

'No idea’ Brunetti admitted.

'Just curious?' Palazzi asked, taking out his cigarettes. He shook some forward in the packet and held them out towards Brunetti, who shook his head.

When Brunetti said nothing, Palazzi repeated, 'Just curious?'

'Always curious.'

'Because of Tassini?'

'Partly, yes.'

'What's the other part?'

'Because people don't like it that I come out here.'

'And ask questions?'

Brunetti nodded.

Palazzi lit his cigarette and pulled deeply on it, leaned his head back and let out a long series of perfect smoke rings that slowly expanded to the size of haloes before evaporating in the soft morning air. 'Tassini asked a lot of questions, too’ Palazzi said.

'About what?' The sun had grown warmer since Brunetti got off the boat. He unbuttoned his jacket.

'About everything’ Palazzi said.

'Such as?'

'Such as who kept the records of what sort of chemicals came in and went out and whether any of us knew anyone in the other factories who had kids with ... kids with problems.'

'Like his daughter?' Brunetti asked.

'I suppose so.'

'And?'

Palazzi tossed his half-smoked cigarette beside the shreds of the other one and ground it out, too, then rubbed at the space with his toe until all sign of the cigarettes had been obliterated. 'Tassini didn't work with us until a couple of months ago. He was over at De Cal's for years, so we all knew him. Then, when the night man here retired, well, I suppose the boss thought it made sense to get him to work here, too. Not all that much for l'uomo di notte to do, after all.' Palazzi's voice softened. 'We knew about his daughter by then. From the guys at De Cal's. But like I told you yesterday, no one much wanted to listen to him or talk to him or get involved in his ideas.' Brunetti nodded to make it clear that he understood their reluctance, hoping to make Palazzi feel less uncomfortable about speaking of Tassini like this so soon after his death.

After a reflective, or respectful, pause, Palazzi added, 'And we all sort of felt sorry for him.' In response to Brunetti's inquisitive glance, he added, 'Because he was so clumsy: he was pretty much useless around the fornace. But all l'uomo di notte has to do is toss things in and stir them around, then keep an eye on the miscela and stir it whenever it's necessary.'

'Did he ask questions about anything else?' Brunetti asked.

Palazzi thought about this. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and studied the toes of his shoes. Finally he looked at Brunetti and said, 'About a month ago, he asked me about the plumber.'

'What about him?'

'Who he was—the one for the factory—and when was the last time he did any work here.'

'Did you know?' When Palazzi nodded, Brunetti asked, 'What did you tell him?'

'I told him I thought it was Adil-San—they're over by the Misericordia. It's their boat that comes out for pick- ups or when anything goes wrong: that's what I told him.'

'And when were they last out here?' Brunetti asked, though he had no idea why he was pursuing this.

'About two months ago, I think, around the time he started working here. The grinding shop was closed for a day while they worked on one of the sedimentation tanks.'

'Did Tassini know about that?'

'No: he was working nights, and they were finished and gone by the middle of the afternoon.'

'I see,' Brunetti said, though he didn't.

Palazzi looked at his watch. Seeing him shift his weight prior to moving on, Brunetti asked, 'Your boss around?'

'I saw him come in a while ago. He's probably in his office. Would you like me to find out?'

'No, thanks,' Brunetti said easily. 'If you'll tell me where it is, I'll find him. It's nothing important, just some bureaucratic questions about Tassini and how long he worked here.'

Palazzi gave Brunetti a long look and said, 'Odd that the police should send a commissario all the way out here to ask bureaucratic questions, isn't it?' He smiled and Brunetti wondered which of them had been conducting the interrogation.

He thanked Palazzi again, and the man turned and went back inside the factory. Brunetti followed him through the sliding doors and into the now-familiar gloom of the work space. The open rectangles of the furnaces glared at him from the far end of the room, light-rimmed figures moving around in front of them. He stood and watched them for a few minutes, saw them

bend carefully forward and slide the canes into the glaring light of the furnaces in the familiar rhythm. Something about the way they moved caught at his memory, but all he saw were men twirling the rods and inserting them into the fire, continuing to rotate them until they pulled them out, never pausing in the constant rotation: precisely what he had seen often over the last few days. He turned away.

Four doors stood along the right wall. Fasano's name was on the first. Just as he was about to knock, Brunetti realized what he had just seen in the glare of the furnaces. The maestri used their right hands to hold the end of the long rods, levering them from the position of greater strength. The glove and protective sleeves were worn on the left, the side closest to the fire. But Tassini had held his glass, and the phone, with his left hand, so he should have been wearing the sleeve and glove on the right.

Brunetti knocked, then entered at a shout. Fasano stood by the single window, bent close to something he held towards the light. He was in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his attention devoted entirely to the object in his hands.

'Signor Fasano?' Brunetti asked, though he recognized him from his photos and from their one meeting.

'Yes’ Fasano answered, glancing across. 'Ah,' he said when he saw Brunetti, 'you're the policeman who's been coming out here, aren't you?'

'Yes. Guido Brunetti,' he said, choosing to make no reference to the long-ago dinner party.

'I remember’ Fasano said. 'At the Guzzinis', about five years ago.'

'You have a good memory’ Brunetti said, which could mean either that he did or he did not recall the meeting.

Fasano smiled and walked over to his desk. He set the object on it—a tall filigree vase that tapered to a lily- like opening at the top—then came across and offered his hand to Brunetti.