Suffer the Little Children

been strewn about, then apparently stamped on. Cash register and computer screen were thrown on top .of them. Like a tongue lolling from a dog's mouth, the cash drawer lay halfway out of the register and bent to one side: coins and small-denomination bills had vomited from it.

'Mamma mia’ exclaimed Vianello. ‘I don't think I've ever seen anything like this. Even that guy who went into his ex-wife's new house didn't do this much damage.'

'Her new husband stopped him, remember?' Brunetti said.

'Ah, yes. I'd forgotten. But even so, it was nothing like this.' In emphasis, Vianello pointed at the jumble of bottles and boxes that filled the space behind the counter to the height of their shins.

They heard a noise behind them and spun around to see Signora Invernizzi standing in the doorway, her bag clasped to her chest. 'Maria

Vergine’ she whispered. 'Do you think it was drug addicts again?'

Given the extent of the damage, Brunetti had already excluded that possibility. Addicts knew where the drugs were kept and knew what they wanted. They usually took the drugs, checked the cash register for anything that had been left there overnight, and let themselves out quietly. This had none of the signs of theft: quite the contrary, the money had not been touched. The destruction they gazed on spoke of rage, not greed.

'No, I don't think so, Signora,' Brunetti answered. He glanced at his watch and asked, 'Why is it that no one's come in this morning, Signora? Aside from you, that is?'

'We had the turno last week; open day and night. We don't have to open until three-thirty today, but I came in to restock the shelves before we do. It's not much, but Dottor Franchi said it's good if the other doctors get a half-day off after working like that.' She grew suddenly thoughtful at the reference to her employer and added, ‘I hope he gets here soon.'

'You called him?' Vianello asked.

‘Yes, as soon as I called you. He was in Mestre.'

'And what did you tell him, Signora?'

She seemed puzzled by the question. The same thing I told you: that someone had broken in.'

'Did you tell him about all of this?' Brunetti asked, gesturing in a wide circle at the devastation that surrounded them.

'No, sir, I didn't see it,' she reminded him. She lowered her bag and looked around for a place to put it. Finding no clean surface, she hooked it over her arm and said, 'I suppose I didn't want to be the one to tell him, even about what I saw from the door.' Then, as if she'd suddenly remembered something, she set her bag on the littered counter and quickly left the room without explanation.

Brunetti signalled Vianello to remain and followed Signora Invernizzi. She headed back down the corridor and paused outside a door that Brunetti and Vianello had passed without opening. She opened it and reached in to switch on the light. Whatever she saw in there caused her to raise her hands to her face and shake her head. Brunetti thought he heard her mutter something, and instantly he feared that the violence had found a human target.

Stepping up beside her, he took her arm and led her gently away from the doorway and from whatever it was that had so shocked her. Once she had started back towards the main room, he returned to the door and went inside. It was small, each side no more than three metres long, and must once have served as a storeroom or closet. Two walls held bookshelves, but all of the books were now on the floor. The solid wooden desk had once held a computer, but both computer and desk had been tipped on to the floor. The desk, probably because of the solidity of its construction, had suffered nothing more than a pair of parallel scratches on its surface, but the computer had not escaped harm. Pieces of the screen crunched under Brunetti's feet, and wires protruded from its eviscerated case. The keyboard appeared to have been snapped in half, though the plastic case continued to hold the two sides together. The rectangular metal case that contained the hard drive had been hit repeatedly with what he assumed was the crowbar that had been used to force entry. The metal had been deeply dented, and sharp- edged wounds gaped here and there. One corner had been smashed in, as if an attempt had been made to prise the box open. But the best the assailant had achieved was to force loose part of the back panel; inside, Brunetti could make out a flat metal board with tiny coloured dots soldered to its surface. If the other destruction had been vandalism, this was attempted murder.

Brunetti heard footsteps behind him and assumed it was Vianello. He noticed a smear of red on a piece of metal prised up from the back panel and crouched down to take a closer look. Yes, it was blood that appeared to have been wiped away hurriedly, leaving a small trace and a darker stain where the blood had flowed into the seam between the back panel and the frame. Nearby, on the white cover of a book, there was what appeared to be a single red drop, surrounded by tiny red splashlets.

'Who are you? What are you doing here?' a man's voice demanded angrily behind him.

Brunetti pushed himself quickly to his feet and turned to face the man. He was shorter than Brunetti, but thicker, especially in the arms and chest, as though he worked at a heavy physical job or had spent a lot of time swimming. He had hair the colour of apricots, thinning in front and exposing a great deal of forehead. His eyes were light, pale green perhaps, his nose thin, his mouth tight with irritation at Brunetti's continued silence.

'I'm Commissario Guido Brunetti,' Brunetti said.

The man could not hide his surprise. With evident effort, he removed the aggression from his face and replaced it with something softer.

'Are you the owner?' Brunetti asked mildly.

'Yes,' the other man answered, and, his manner warming further, extended his hand. 'Mauro Franchi.'

Brunetti shook the man's hand with conscious briskness. 'Signora Invernizzi called the Questura to report the break-in, and because my colleague and I were already in the area, they called us’ Brunetti said, speaking with the faintest hint of irritation, as if a commissario had better things to do with his time than rush off to the scene of something so ordinary as a break-in. Brunetti had no idea what made him downplay the presence of someone of the rank of commissario at the scene, but he preferred that Dottor Franchi not begin to speculate.

'How long have you been here?' Franchi asked, and again it seemed to Brunetti the sort of question he should really be asking.

'A few minutes’ Brunetti answered. 'But time enough to see the damage.'

'It's the third time’ Franchi surprised him by saying. 'We're no longer safe to conduct business in this city'

'Third time what?' Brunetti asked, ignoring Franchi's other comment. Before the other man could answer, they heard footsteps approaching from the front of the pharmacy.

Franchi wheeled around, and when Vianello appeared at the door, Signora Invernizzi a step behind, Brunetti said, 'This is my colleague, Inspector Vianello.' Franchi nodded to Vianello but did not extend his hand. He stepped out into the corridor and approached Signora Invernizzi. At a gesture from Brunetti, Vianello joined him in the smaller room. Brunetti pointed to the smear of blood on the back of the metal case and to the spots on the book.

Vianello went down on one knee. Brunetti watched his head turn slowly from left to right, and suddenly Vianello's hand shot out and he said, 'There's another one.' When Vianello pointed to it, Brunetti saw the spot on the dark tile. 'Well, if we ever get someone for it, we can do a DNA match, I suppose’ Vianello said, sounding sceptical at the thought that the test would be used for a case this minor. Or perhaps that they would ever arrest anyone for the crime.

A moment later, they heard the other two, talking softiy, move off towards the front room. Franchi's voice floated back, and Brunetti thought he heard the phrase, 'My mother won't...'

'Invernizzi say anything?' Brunetti asked.

'Only what a job it will be to clean up and put it all back together’ Vianello answered. 'And then she mentioned the insurance and said how impossible it is to get them to pay for anything. She started telling me about the daughter of a friend of hers who was knocked off a bicycle ten years ago, and the case still isn't settled.'

'Is that why you came back here?' Brunetti asked with a smile.

Vianello shrugged. 'She kept asking me if she should call the other people who work here and ask them to come in to help clean up.'

'How many of them are there?'

'Two other pharmacists and the cleaning woman. Aside from the owner, that is.'

Let’s go see what he's decided’ Brunetti said and started out of the room. He paused at the door and added,