Through a glass, darkly

'Good.' There followed a long pause. 'Will...' she started to say.

Brunetti spoke at the same moment. 'I'll be home early.'

'Good’ she said and hung up.

Brunetti looked at the map again. Nothing had changed, but it all suddenly seemed less terrible, though he knew this should not be so.

When in doubt, provoke. It was a principle he had learned, over the years, from Paola. He checked Pelusso's office number in his address book.

'Pelusso’ the journalist answered on the third ring.

'It's me, Guido’ Brunetti said. 'I need you to place something.'

Perhaps responding to Brunetti's tone, Pelusso did not ask the sort of ironic question an opening like this would usually provoke him to. 'Where?' was all he asked.

'Preferably on the front page of the second section.'

'Local news, huh? What sort of thing?'

'That the authorities—I don't think you have to name them, but it would be nice if the article could suggest it's the Magistrate alle Acque— have learned of the presence of dangerous substances in a field in Murano and are about to begin an investigation of their source.'

Pelusso made a humming noise, as if to convey that he was writing this down, then asked, 'What else?'

'That the investigation is related to another one currently under way.'

'Tassini?' Pelusso asked.

After only minimal hesitation, Brunetti said, 'Yes’

'You want to tell me what this is about?'

'Only if it doesn't appear in the article,' Brunetti said.

It took Pelusso some time to answer, but he finally said, 'All right.'

'It looks like Tassini's employers were using some sort of illegal system to get rid of dangerous waste.'

'What were they doing?'

'Same thing they did until 1973: just dumping it all into the laguna.'

'What sort of waste?'

'From the molatura. Ground particles of glass and minerals’ Brunetti answered.

'Doesn't sound very toxic to me.'

'I'm not sure that it is’ Brunetti agreed. 'But it's illegal.'

'And che brutta figura if one of those employers is the same man whose name is now beginning to be linked to the environmental cause’ Pelusso observed.

'Yes’ Brunetti said, realizing as he said it that he was saying far too much, and to a journalist. 'This can't appear’ he added. 'What we're saying now.'

'Why do you want it printed, then?' Pelluso asked, voice stern with unexpressed displeasure.

Brunetti chose to answer the question and ignore the way in which it had been asked. 'It's like opening an ant hill. You do it, and then you wait to see what happens.'

'And who comes out’ Pelusso added.

'Exactly.'

Pelusso laughed, his irritation forgotten, then said, 'It's not even three. I'll have it in tomorrow morning. Nothing easier; don't worry.'

It was only then that Brunetti thought to ask, 'Will there be any trouble if the whole thing's false and there's no sign of pollution?'

Pelusso laughed again, harder this time. 'How long have you been reading the Gazzettino, Guido?'

'Of course,' came Brunetti's chastened response. 'How silly of me.'

'No need to worry, really,' Pelusso said.

'But you might be questioned about your source,' Brunetti said, in what he tried to make a joking tone. 'And then I'd be looking for a job.'

'Since the information came to me from a source inside the mayor's office,' Pelusso said indignantly, no doubt in the voice he would use were he to be questioned by his employers, 'I can hardly be expected to reveal it.' After a moment, Pelusso continued, 'It'll run right next to the story about the Questura.'

'What story?' Brunetti asked, knowing this was what his friend wanted him to say.

'About the women at the Ufficio Stranieri. You've heard about what's going on, haven't you?'

Relieved at his own ignorance, Brunetti could say, honestly, 'No. Nothing.' When Pelusso remained silent, Brunetti asked, 'What is it?'

'I've got a friend who's familiar with the office’ Pelusso said, leaving it to Brunetti to translate what 'friend' might mean to an investigative journalist.

'And?'

'And he told me that two women who have been there for decades asked for, and were given, early retirement this week.'

'I'm sorry, Elio,' said an impatient Brunetti, ‘But I don't know what you're talking about.'

Not at all unsettled by Brunetti's tone, Pelusso continued. 'My friend said they'd been accepting payments from people for years for filing their applications for residence and work permits, and keeping the money'

'That's impossible,' Brunetti protested. 'Don't they have to give them receipts?'

'The story I was told,' Pelusso went on with sweet patience, 'was that they were the only ones working in the office, and they'd ask for cash from the people who came in alone or without an Italian agent. The story I heard said that one of them would ask for the payment, and then send the applicant to the other woman, who had a register, and signing this register was supposed to be their receipt. Seems they'd been doing it for years.'

'But who'd believe that? Signing a register?' demanded Brunetti.

'People in a strange country, they don't speak much Italian, and it's a city office, and there're two women saying the same thing. Seems to me lots of people would sign it. And it seems they did.'

Brunetti asked, 'So what happened?'

'Someone complained to the Questore about it, and he had them in his office the same day. With the register. They're both on administrative leave now, but they retire at the end of the month.'

'And the people who signed the register? What happens to them? Did they get their permits?'

'I don't know’ Pelusso said. 'You want me to find out?'

For a moment, Brunetti was tempted, but good sense intervened and he answered, 'No. Thanks. It's enough to know it happened.'

'The dawn of justice in our fair city,' Pelusso said in a portentous voice.

Brunetti made a rude noise and replaced the phone. He dialled Signorina Elettra's number and, when she answered, asked, 'Your friend Giorgio still work at Telecom?'

'Yes, he does,' she said but then added, 'Of course, it's no longer necessary for me to consult him.'

'Don't tease me today, please, Signorina’ Brunetti said, heard how that sounded, and quickly added, 'by suggesting that you've suddenly taken to using the official channels to obtain information.'

If she heard the gear shift in his voice, she chose to ignore it and said, 'No, Commissario. It's that I've found a more direct way to access their information.'

So much for using official channels, Brunetti thought. The gypsy children were not the only recidivists in the city. 'You've got Tassini's home number. I'd like you to get numbers for Fasano and De Cal: home, office, telefonini. And I'd like you to check for calls between any two of them’ he said, wondering why he had not thought to do this before. Though never saying so directly, Fasano had certainly made it sound as if he knew little more about Tassini than that he was working off the books and had a handicapped daughter, nothing more than what everyone at the factory would know.

'Of course’ she said.

'How long will it take?' he asked, hoping he might have the information the following morning.

'Oh, I'll bring it up in fifteen minutes or so, Commissario,' she answered.

'Much faster than Giorgio’ Brunetti said in open admiration.