Beastly Things

‘Of course, of course,’ Brunetti said, then with the eagerness of a novice, he went on, ‘Your position must afford you some knowledge of the way all slaughterhouses work, Dottore. In general, that is. The animals arrive, are unloaded…’ Brunetti paused with another friendly smile and said, ‘We didn’t get much of an idea.’ Trying not to look embarrassed, he said, ‘My Inspector, he…’ He stopped and shrugged and then went on, ‘So please understand that I’m speaking out of ignorance here, Dottore. I’m merely trying to imagine how it might be; I’m sure you know far better than I.’ Trying his best to look uncertain, Brunetti asked, ‘Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the animals are unloaded or led in or however it is they’re brought there. And then, presumably, Dottor Nava would examine them to see that they are healthy, and then they would be taken into the slaughterhouse and killed.’ Dull people are repetitive, Brunetti knew, hoping that Papetti also believed this.

Papetti seemed to relax at this chance to remain far away from the particular. ‘That’s more or less what happens. Yes.’

‘Are there problems that you might encounter, or that Dottor Nava might have?’

Papetti pursed his lips in a gesture of thought and then said, ‘Well, as far as the slaughterhouse is concerned, if there should be a difference between our records of the number of animals brought in and what the farmers claim: that might be one. Or if there are delays in processing that force the farmers to keep their animals here longer than planned, with the resulting costs: that’s another.’ He uncrossed and recrossed his legs and said, ‘As for Dottor Nava, his concern would be any violation of EU regulations.’

‘Could you give me an example, Signore?’ Brunetti asked.

‘If the animals suffer unnecessarily or if the proper standards of cleanliness aren’t maintained.’

‘Ah, of course. Now it makes sense to me. Thank you, Dottore.’ Brunetti was pleased at how he must look, finally understanding all of this.

As if in response to Brunetti’s willingness to understand, Papetti said, ‘We like to think of ourselves as working with the farmers to help them receive a just price for the animals they’ve raised and brought to us.’

Brunetti, enjoining himself to avoid the danger of overreaching, stopped himself from saying that he could not have put it more accurately. Instead, he muttered, ‘Indeed,’ and then said, ‘But if I might take us back to Dottor Nava, did you ever hear anyone at the macello say a word against him?’

‘Not that I can recall,’ Papetti answered instantly.

‘And you were pleased with his work?’

‘Absolutely,’ Papetti said with another swipe at the back of his hand. ‘But you have to understand that my function is primarily administrative. My direct contact with the people who work here is somewhat limited.’

‘Would any of the workers have informed you if there had been anything irregular in Dottor Nava’s activities?’ Brunetti asked.

After some consideration, Papetti said, ‘I don’t know, Commissario.’ Then, with a modest smile, he added, ‘I doubt that’s the kind of information that would be passed on to me.’ Could mere gossip percolate to so high a point?

Keeping his voice as casual as it had been since he began speaking to Papetti, Brunetti asked, ‘Do you think they’d tell you about Nava’s affair with your assistant, Signorina Borelli?’

‘How do you…?’ Papetti said, then did something Brunetti had never seen an adult do: he clapped both hands across his mouth. Roundness is an absolute. So Papetti’s eyes could not grow rounder, but they could grow larger. They did, and his face grew whiter as the blood drained from it.

He tried. Brunetti had to give him credit for that. Papetti laced his voice with indignation and demanded, ‘How do you dare say that?’ but it was a feeble attempt: both men knew it was too late in the game to try to change either his reaction or his words.

‘So they did tell you, Dottore?’ Brunetti said, finally permitting himself the smile of the wolf. ‘Or was it perhaps Signorina Borelli herself who told you?’

At first, from the noise Papetti was making, Brunetti thought the man was choking, but then he realized it was the sound of a man fighting off tears. Papetti sat with one hand over his eyes, the other draped across his bald forehead and skull in what seemed to be an attempt to hide. The noise persisted, gradually subsiding into deep heaves as Papetti caught his breath, then heavy breathing as he sat, his head and face still protected from Brunetti.

After some moments, Papetti took his hands away. The round eyes were encircled by red patches, and two more had appeared in the middle of his cheeks.

He looked at Brunetti and said, voice shaking, ‘You have to leave.’

Brunetti sat immobile.

‘You have to leave,’ Papetti repeated.

Slowly, Brunetti got to his feet, aware of who this man’s father-in-law was and aware from his own family of the lengths to which a wife’s father might go in defence of his daughter and his grandchildren. He took out his wallet and removed one of his cards. Taking a pen from Papetti’s desk, he wrote his telefonino number on the front of the card, then placed it on the desk between them.

‘This is my number, Dottore. If you decide you want to tell me more about this, you can call me whenever you wish.’

Outside, Brunetti found the driver leaning against the door of the car, eyes narrowed as he faced into the sun. He was eating an ice cream cone and looking very pleased with it. They drove back to Venice.

28

FEELING THAT TO have been out to the mainland twice in one day – regardless of how inconclusive the meetings had been and regardless of the fact that thousands of people did the same two trips every day – was more than a full day’s work for him, Brunetti decided he did not have to return to the Questura. Instead, when the driver let him out at Piazzale Roma, he offered himself the chance to go for a walk and the chance to get home by any route he chose, so long as it got him home on time for dinner.

The softness of the late afternoon encouraged him to walk in the vague direction of San Polo, turning or stopping where whim indicated. He had known this part of the city decades ago, when he took the train daily to Padova to attend his university classes and chose to walk back and forth to the station because it saved him – how much had it been then? – the fifty lire of boat fare. It had been enough for a sweet drink or a coffee; he recalled with the affection age brings to the weaknesses of youth how he had chosen coffee only when with his classmates, giving in to his normal preference for sweet drinks when alone and there was no one to judge his choice unsophisticated.

For a moment, he considered stopping for one of those drinks, if he could only remember their names. But he was a man and had laid aside the things of childhood, and so he stopped for a coffee, smiling at himself as he poured in the second envelope of sugar.

He emerged into Campo Santa Margherita, by day the same, normal campo it had been for centuries, with fruit and fish stands, a gelateria, a pharmacy, shops of all sorts, and the odd, elongated shape that made it such a good place for children to run after dogs or other children. Because he had given himself free time, Brunetti turned his mind away from the chaos that now plagued the campo at night and that had driven people he knew to sell their family homes, if only to escape the noise.

Had Gobbetti still been there, he would have stopped to buy a chocolate mousse to take home, but they had sold the business, and the pasticceria that had replaced them had not replaced the mousse. How replace the sublime?

The boats were moored on the other side of Ponte dei Pugni, one for fruit and one for vegetables, and he tried to remember if he had ever known them not to be there. If not, and they were permanently there, were they – at least in the philosophical sense – still boats? Musing on this, he got halfway across Campo San Barnaba before he decided he would like to go home and enjoy the rest of the evening’s softness from his balcony. He passed in front of the calle that led to his parents-in-law’s palazzo without giving a thought to stopping to see them. The idea was in his mind to go