Friends in High Places

‘Are you practising as a lawyer?’

‘No, I’m not,’ Brunetti answered and left it at that.

‘If you were or if you had been at the time you signed these papers, I’d be surprised you didn’t notice, on page three of the deed, the paragraph which states that you are buying the apartment in the state, both legal and physical, in which you found it on the day on which ownership passed to you.’

‘I believe that’s pretty standard language in any deed of transfer,’ Brunetti said, summoning up a vague memory from one of his classes in civil law and hoping it was.

‘The part about physical state is, certainly, though that about legal is not. Nor is this following sentence,’ Rossi said, opening the folder again and searching until he found the passage. ‘ “In the absence of the condono edilizio, the buyer accepts full responsibility to obtain the same in a timely manner and hereby absolves the sellers of any responsibilities or consequences which might occur in regard to the legal state of the apartment and/or from the failure to obtain this condono.”‘ Rossi looked up, and Brunetti thought he saw a deep sadness in his eyes at the thought that someone might have signed such a thing.

Brunetti had no memory of that particular sentence. Indeed, at the time, they had both been so intent on buying the apartment that he had done what the notary told him to do, signed what he told him to sign.

Rossi turned back to the cover, where the name of the notary was listed. ‘Did you select this notary?’ he asked.

Brunetti didn’t even remember the name and had to look at the cover. ‘No, the seller suggested we use him, and so we did. Why?’

‘No reason,’ Rossi said, too quickly.

‘Why? Do you know something about him?’

‘I believe he’s no longer practising as a notary,’ Rossi said in a soft voice.

Finally out of patience at Rossi’s questions, Brunetti demanded, ‘I’d like to know what all this means, Signor Rossi. Is there some dispute about our ownership of this apartment?’

Rossi gave his nervous smile again. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that, Signor Brunetti.’

Brunetti had no idea what could be more serious than that. ‘What is it, then?’

‘I’m afraid this apartment doesn’t exist.’

2

‘What?’ Brunetti cried before he could stop himself. He could hear the outrage in his voice but made no attempt to modify it. ‘What do you mean, it doesn’t exist?’

Rossi leaned back in his chair as if to remove himself from the immediate orbit of Brunetti’s anger. He looked as if he found it puzzling to have someone react strongly to his having called into question the very existence of a perceived reality. When he saw that Brunetti had no violent intention, he relaxed minimally, adjusted the papers on his lap, and said. ‘I mean that it doesn’t exist for us, Signor Brunetti.’

‘And what does that mean, not for you?’ Brunetti asked.

‘It means there are no records of it in our office. No requests for building permits, no plans, no final approval of the work that was done. In short, there exists no documentary evidence that this apartment was ever built.’ Before Brunetti could speak, Rossi added, placing his hand upon the file Brunetti had given him, ‘And, unfortunately, you can’t provide us with any.’

Brunetti recalled a story Paola had once told about an English writer who, confronted with a philosopher who maintained that reality did not exist, had kicked a rock and told the philosopher to take that. He turned his mind to more immediate matters. His knowledge of the workings of other city offices was vague, but it was not his understanding that this sort of information would be kept at the Ufficio Catasto, where, as far as he knew, only documents regarding ownership were kept. ‘Is it normal for your office to interest itself in this?’

‘No, not in the past,’ Rossi answered with a timid smile, as if he approved of Brunetti’s being well informed enough to ask. ‘But as the result of a new directive, our office has been commissioned to assemble a comprehensive, computerized file of all of the apartments in the city that have been declared historical monuments by the Fine Arts Commission. This building is one of them. We’re in the process of assembling the papers and files from the various offices in the city. This way, one central office, ours, will have copies of the complete documentation regarding every apartment on the list. In the end, this centralized system will save enormous amounts of time.’

Two weeks ago, Brunetti reflected, observing the smile of satisfaction Rossi gave as he said this, Il Gazzettino had carried an article announcing that, because of lack of funds, the dredging of the canals in the city had stopped. ‘How many apartments are there?’ he asked.

‘Oh, we have no idea. That’s one of the reasons this survey is being done.’

‘How long ago was the survey begun?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Eleven months,’ Rossi answered at once, leaving Brunetti little doubt that, if asked, he could supply the exact date, as well.

‘And how many of these composite files have you compiled so far?’

‘Well, because some of us have volunteered to work on Saturdays, we’ve done more than a hundred,’ Rossi said, making no attempt to disguise his pride.

‘And how many of you are working on this project?’

Rossi looked down at his right hand and, beginning with his thumb, began to count out his fellow workers. ‘Eight, I think.’

‘Eight,’ Brunetti repeated. He turned his mind away from the calculations he had been making and asked, ‘What does all of this mean? For me, specifically?’

Rossi’s answer was immediate. ‘When we don’t have the papers for an apartment, the first thing we do is ask the owner to supply them, but there’s nothing suitable in this file.’ He indicated the slim folder. ‘All you have is the deed of transfer, so we have to assume you weren’t given any records the previous owners may have had concerning the original construction.’ Before Brunetti could interrupt, he continued, ‘And that means they are either lost, which is to suggest that they once existed, or else they never did. Exist, that is.’ He looked across at Brunetti, who said nothing. Rossi continued: ‘If they are lost, and if you say you never had them, then they must be lost in one of the city offices.’

‘In that case,’ Brunetti asked, ‘what will you do to find them?’

‘Ah,’ Rossi began, ‘it’s not as simple as that. We have no obligation to keep copies of those documents. The Civil Code makes it clear that this is the responsibility of the person who owns the property under consideration. Without your copies, you can’t argue that we’ve lost ours, if you see what I mean,’ he said with another small smile. ‘And it’s impossible for us to initiate a search for the papers because we can’t afford to use manpower in a search that might prove futile.’ Seeing Brunetti’s look, he explained, ‘Because they might not exist, you see.’

Brunetti bit his lower lip and then asked, ‘And if they haven’t been lost and, instead, they never existed?’

Rossi looked down and prodded at the face of his wristwatch, centring it on his wrist. ‘In that case, Signore,’ he finally explained, glancing up at Brunetti, ‘it means that permits were never granted and the final work was never approved.’

‘That’s possible, isn’t it?’ Brunetti asked. “There was a tremendous amount of building just after the war.’

‘Yes, there was,’ Rossi said with the feigned modesty of one who spent his working life dealing with just these things. ‘But most of those projects, whether they were minor restorations or extensive renovations, most of them have received the condono edilizio and so have gained legal status, at least with our office. The problem here is that no condono exists,’ he said and waved a hand to encompass the offending walls, floor, ceiling.

‘If I might repeat my question, Signor Rossi,’ Brunetti said, forcing sweet calm and Olympian reasonableness into his voice, ‘what does this mean for me and for my apartment, specifically?’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t the authority to answer that, Signore,’ Rossi said, handing the file back to Brunetti. He leaned down and picked up his briefcase. Holding it, he got to his feet. ‘My responsibility is only to visit home-