were both there. After dinner, my friend went home and I went for a walk.’
He looked across at Brunetti. ‘I know that sounds strange, but I like being in the city by myself, with no people, and I wanted to be alone.’ Before Brunetti could ask, he added, ‘I called my wife and told her how beautiful it was. That will be on your records, too.’
Brunetti nodded, and Papetti went on. ‘She called me about midnight.’ Brunetti did not ask Papetti to confirm that he was speaking about Signorina Borelli: the records would do that.
‘She told me to meet her at the new dock on the Zattere, down by San Basilio. I asked her what she wanted, but she wouldn’t tell me.’
‘Did you go?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Of course I went,’ Papetti said savagely. ‘I always have to do what she says.’
Torinese cleared his throat, but neither Brunetti nor Vianello said a word.
‘When I met her there, she took me back to a house. I’m not sure where it is.’ Having said that, Papetti looked around and explained, ‘I’m not Venetian, so I get lost.’
Brunetti permitted himself a nod.
‘When we went in, there was a kind of entrance hall, with windows at the back and a few stairs. Going down, not up. She took me over, and I saw a man’s feet sticking out of the water, on the steps: his feet and legs. But his head was in the water.’ Papetti looked at the floor.
‘Nava?’ Brunetti asked.
‘I didn’t know when I first saw him,’ Papetti said, raising his eyes to Brunetti’s. He shook his head and added, ‘But I knew. I mean I didn’t see, but I knew. Who else could it be?’
‘Why did you think it had to be Nava?’ Brunetti asked. Torinese sat quietly, his face wiped of all expression, as though he were on a train, eavesdropping on a conversation in the seat in front of him.
Papetti repeated dully, ‘Who else could it be?’
‘Why did she call you?’
Papetti held up his hands and looked at them, one after the other. ‘She wanted to put him in the canal, but she couldn’t open the water door. It was… the metal bar that held it closed… was rusted shut.’
Brunetti decided to let Papetti decide when to speak again. At least a minute passed, during which Torinese examined the backs of his own hands, which were placed on his thighs.
‘She had tried to hit it open with the heel of his shoe. But it wouldn’t open. So she called me.’
‘And what did you do?’ Brunetti asked after a long wait.
‘I pulled it open. I had to step into the water to get close enough to the door to open it.’
‘And then?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Then we pushed him out into the water; then I closed the door and bolted it.’
‘And Signorina Borelli?’ Brunetti asked. One of the tape recorders made a whirring noise and the red blinked off. Torinese leaned forward and pushed a button: the red light went on again.
‘She told me to go home, said she was going home.’
‘Did she tell you what happened?’
‘No. Nothing. She asked me to open the door and then to help her push him down the steps.’
‘And you did.’
‘I didn’t have any choice, did I?’ Papetti asked and looked down again, silent.
Papetti licked his lips, sucked them into his mouth, then licked them again. ‘We’ve known one another a long time.’
Calmly, Brunetti asked, ‘And that gave her that much power over you?’
Papetti opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. He gave a small cough and said, ‘I once… I once did something indiscreet.’ And then he stopped.
‘With Signorina Borelli?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you have an affair with her?’
Papetti’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Good God, no.’
‘What happened?’
Papetti closed his eyes and said, ‘I tried to kiss her.’
Brunetti shot a glance at Vianello, who raised his eyebrows.
‘That’s all?’ Brunetti asked.
Papetti looked at him. ‘Yes. But it was enough.’
‘Enough for what?’
‘For her to get the idea.’ When Brunetti failed to understand, Papetti said, ‘About telling my father-in-law.’ Then after a moment, he added, ‘Or she planned it and that’s why she asked for a ride home. She said her car was in for servicing.’ Papetti ran both hands across his scalp. ‘Or it really was. I don’t know.’ Then, fiercely, ‘I’m a fool.’
Brunetti said nothing.
Voice unsteady, Papetti said, ‘He’d kill me.’ Then he asked, ‘What else could I do?’
It seemed to Brunetti that he had passed his entire life hearing people ask that same question. Only once, about fifteen years ago, had a man who had strangled three prostitutes said, ‘I liked it when they screamed.’ Though it had chilled Brunetti’s blood to hear it then, and still did to remember it, the man had at least spoken the truth.
‘After you put the body in the water, what did you do, Signor Papetti?’ he asked, deciding there was no way to prove or disprove Papetti’s story. What was not in question was the woman’s power over him.
‘I went back to Piazzale Roma and got my car and went home.’
‘Have you seen Signorina Borelli since then?’
‘Yes. At the
‘Has either of you spoken about this?’
Puzzled, Papetti asked, ‘No, why should we?’
‘I see,’ Brunetti answered. Turning to Torinese, Brunetti said, ‘If you have anything to say to your client, Avvocato, my colleague and I can leave you here for a while.’
Torinese shook his head, then said, ‘No, I have nothing to say.’
‘Then I would like to ask Dottor Papetti,’ Brunetti went on, ‘to tell me something more about the way things work at the
‘Suspicion is not the same thing as information,’ Torinese interjected, making one of those distinctions that earn lawyers hundreds of Euros an hour.
‘Thank you for that point of law, Avvocato,’ Brunetti answered.
The lawyer looked across at Brunetti as if in search of clarification. ‘Forgive me for being vulgar, Commissario, but am I correct in assuming that we are involved in a bargaining session here?’ Knowing his gesture would not appear on the tape, Brunetti gave a small nod. ‘In which case I would like to know what sort of an offer you might be making my client in return for whatever information he might have to give you.’
Brunetti had to compliment the man on the eloquence of his vagueness: ‘assuming’, ‘would like’, ‘might’, and ‘might’ again. For a moment, he considered decapitating Torinese and using his smoked head as a bookend, so perfect did he find his attention to the niceties of language. Casting away that thought, he said, ‘The only offer I can make is the continued goodwill of your client’s father-in-law.’
That stopped them. Papetti’s mouth dropped open, and Brunetti thought he was going to begin to cry again. Instead, he looked at Torinese, as if waiting for him to speak, then back at Brunetti. ‘I don’t know what…’ he started to say.
Torinese gave his client a quick look and tried to take over. ‘If you could clarify your statement, Commissario, I’m sure both my client and I would be very pleased.’
Brunetti waited for the colour to return to Papetti’s face; when it did, he said, careful to speak to Torinese, ‘I’m sure your client understands my meaning. The last thing, the very last thing, I would like to see happen is for Dottor Papetti’s father-in-law to misunderstand the nature of his relationship with any of the employees at the
