Blood from a stone

‘About the African, do you mean, sir?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Yes.’

Brunetti nodded.

‘At home?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Excuse me, sir?’

‘Why did they call you?’

‘I’m not sure I understand, sir. I suppose they called me because I live closest, or perhaps someone here suggested they call me. I really don’t know why.’

‘They didn’t call me,’ Patta said, not without a note of petulance.

After considering what might be the safest answer, Brunetti said, ‘I imagine they simply called whatever name came to mind. Or, for all I know, there’s a list, and they call us at home in turn when it’s necessary for someone to attend the scene of a crime.’ Patta turned back to the window and Brunetti added, ‘Besides, sir, they probably didn’t want to burden someone so senior with the opening stages of an investigation.’ He did not mention that it was precisely those stages which often proved most important in solving a case.

When Patta still did not speak, he added, ‘After all, sir, your skills surely lie in deciding who is best suited to investigate a particular case.’ Brunetti realized how close to the wind he was sailing and decided to say nothing more.

After another long pause, Patta asked, ‘And do you think you’re particularly well suited to this case?’

Brunetti counted to five, very slowly, before he said, ‘No, not particularly.’

As soon as he spoke, Patta was upon him. ‘Does that mean you don’t want it?’

This time Brunetti made it to seven before he answered, ‘I don’t want it and I don’t not want it equally, sir,’ he lied. ‘I am of the opinion that it will turn out to be some story of rivalry between different gangs of blacks and we’ll end up questioning dozens of them, who will all say they have no idea who the man was or who he could have been. And in the end, we’ll learn nothing and just close the case and send it to the archives.’ He tried to sound both disapproving and bored at the same time. When Patta remained silent, Brunetti asked, ‘Is that what you wanted to see me about, sir?’

Patta turned back to him and said, ‘I think you’d better take a seat, Brunetti.’

Suppressing any sign of surprise, Brunetti did as he was told. His superior chose not to move away from the window. Clouds were gathering, and the light was rapidly dimming. Patta’s face had grown less visible since they entered the room, and Brunetti found himself wishing he dared go over and turn the light on, the better to illuminate his superior’s expression.

Finally Patta said, ‘I find your lack of interest unusual, Brunetti.’

Brunetti began to speak, decided to show reluctance, and so waited a few seconds before he said, ‘I suppose it is, sir. But I’m busy at the moment, and I have a feeling that any investigation here will prove futile.’ He glanced at Patta, saw from his stillness how attentive he was, and went on. ‘From the little I’ve heard about the vu cumpra, I’d say they live in a closed world, and there’s no way we can get into it.’ He tried to think of an appropriate comparison, and the best he could come up with was, ‘Like the Chinese.’

‘What?’ Patta demanded sharply. ‘What did you say?’

Startled by his tone, Brunetti said, ‘That they’re like the Chinese here, sir, in that they’re a closed world, a private universe, and we have no understanding of the relationships and rules that operate there, in either case.’

‘But why did you mention the Chinese?’ Patta asked in a calmer voice.

Brunetti shrugged. ‘Because they’re the only other large group I can think of here. Ethnic group, that is.’

‘The Filipinos? The people from Eastern Europe?’ Patta asked. ‘Aren’t they ethnic groups?’

Brunetti thought about this before he answered, ‘I suppose so.’ Then he added, ‘But if I have to tell the truth, it’s because they’re so racially different from us, the Africans and the Chinese, that I lump them together. Maybe that makes them seem more alien, somehow.’ When Patta made no response, he asked, ‘Why do you ask, sir?’

At that, Patta moved away from the window. He did not, however, sit down behind his desk but chose to take a chair opposite Brunetti, a decision that filled Brunetti with a strange disquiet.

‘We don’t trust one another, do we, Brunetti?’ Patta finally asked.

Ordinarily, Brunetti would lie about this and insist that they were both policemen and so it was obvious that they had to trust one another if they were to work together in the best interests of the force, but something warned him that Patta was in no mood for such nonsense, and so he said, ‘No, we don’t.’

Patta considered his answer, glanced at the floor, then back again at Brunetti. At last he said, ‘I want to tell you something that I will not explain, but I want you to trust me when I tell you it’s true.’

Instantly Brunetti thought of a conundrum proposed by his professor of logic: if a person who always lies tells you he is lying, is he telling you the truth or is he lying? Years had passed and he could no longer remember the correct answer, but Patta’s remarks sounded suspiciously similar. He remained silent.

‘We have to leave this alone,’ Patta finally said.

When it was obvious that he was going to say no more, Brunetti asked, ‘I assume this means the murder of the black man?’

Patta nodded.

‘Leave it alone how? Not investigate it or only look like we are, and find nothing?’

‘We can look like we are. That is, we can question people and make reports. But we are not to find anything.’

‘Anything like what?’ Brunetti asked.

Patta shook his head. ‘That’s all I have to say on this matter, Brunetti.’

‘You mean we’re not to find the men who killed him?’ Brunetti asked in a hard voice.

‘I mean only what I said, Brunetti, that we are to leave this alone.’

Brunetti’s impulse was to shout at Patta, but he suppressed it and, instead, asked in a voice he managed to keep calm, ‘Why are you telling me this?’

Patta’s was just as calm as he answered, ‘To spare you trouble, if I can.’ Then, as if provoked to the truth by Brunetti’s silence, he added, ‘To spare us all trouble.’

Brunetti got to his feet. ‘I appreciate the warning, sir,’ he said and walked to the door. He waited there for a moment, curious to see if Patta would ask if he understood and would obey, but the Vice-Questore said nothing more. Brunetti left, careful to shut the door quietly.

Signorina Elettra looked up eagerly as he emerged and started to speak, but Brunetti did nothing more than slide the empty folder back on to her desk. He put his forefinger to his lips and then gestured that he was going back upstairs.

As a kind of insurance that he would not give in to Patta, Brunetti called Paola and described the wooden head, asking her to add it to the information to give to her friend at the university and encouraging her to make the call. Then he opened his mind to possibility. The fact that the Vice-Questore should warn him off an investigation meant that he had himself been warned off, and that raised the question of who would deliver such a warning. And from whom would a warning carry sufficient force to persuade him within less than a day? Patta respected wealth and power, though Brunetti was never sure which meant more to him. Patta would always defer to money, but it was power that could compel his obedience, so the admonition must come from some source powerful enough to force Patta into submission.

Patta had hinted that his warning arose from concern for Brunetti’s safety, a possibility which Brunetti dismissed out of hand. Its origin was more likely to be found in Patta’s fear that Brunetti could not or would not be prevented from continuing the investigation once he began it, even if commanded to do so. The cunning of the snake became evident in Patta’s seeming concern, as if his main priority were Brunetti’s safety and not his own.

The source of a power so great as to force compliance from a Vice-Questore of police? Brunetti closed his eyes and began to run over the rosary beads of possibility. The obvious candidates fell into the general categories of governmental, ecclesiastical, and criminal; the great tragedy of his country, Brunetti mused, was how equal they were as contenders.