‘I see,’ Brunetti said, tired of listening to the sort of empty compliments which death demanded be paid. ‘Would it be possible for me to speak to the Ingeniere?’
‘Of course,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘You must excuse me for talking so much. It’s just that one doesn’t know what to do in the face of a tragic death like that.’
Brunetti nodded, the most efficient way he’d ever found to acknowledge cliche.
She led them the few steps that separated her desk from the door to the inner office. She raised her hand and tapped twice, paused a moment, and then added a third small tap, as though she had, over the years, devised a code which would tell the man inside just what sort of visitor to expect. When the man’s voice from inside called out
She opened the door, stepped inside and to one side to allow both men to enter, then said, ‘This is Commissario Brunetti, Dottore.’ Brunetti had glanced in as they entered and seen a large, dark-haired man behind the desk, but he kept his eyes on Signorina Dolfin as she spoke, intrigued by the change in her manner, even in the tone of her voice, far warmer and richer than when she had spoken to him.
‘Thank you, Signorina,’ dal Carlo said, barely glancing at her. ‘That will be all.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said and, very slowly, turned away from dal Carlo and left the office, closing the door quietly behind her.
Dal Carlo got to his feet, smiling. He was in his late fifties, but had the taut skin and erect carriage of a younger man. His smile revealed teeth capped in the Italian manner: one size larger than necessary. ‘How pleased I am to meet you, Commissario,’ he said, extending his hand to Brunetti and, when he returned the gesture, giving it a firm, manly shake. Dal Carlo nodded to Vianello and led them to some chairs at one side of the room. ‘How may I help you?’
Taking his seat, Brunetti said, ‘I’d like to know something about Franco Rossi.’
‘Ah, yes,’ dal Carlo said, shaking his head a few times. ‘Terrible thing, tragic. He was a wonderful young man, an excellent worker. He would have had a very successful career.’ He sighed and repeated, ‘Tragic, tragic.’
‘How long had he worked here, Ingeniere?’ Brunetti asked. Vianello took a small notebook from his pocket, opened it, and started to take notes.
‘Let me see,’ dal Carlo began. ‘About five years, I’d say.’ Smiling, he said, ‘I can ask Signorina Dolfin. She’d be able to give you a more precise answer.’
‘No, that’s fine, Dottore,’ Brunetti said with a casual wave of his hand and went on: ‘What, exactly, were Signor Rossi’s duties?’
Dal Carlo put his hand to his chin, a thinking gesture, and looked down at the floor. After a suitable time, he said, ‘He had to examine plans to see that they conformed to restorations that were performed.’
‘And how did he do that, Dottore?’ Brunetti asked.
‘He looked at the blueprints here in the office and then inspected the actual place where the work had been done to see that it had been done properly.’
‘Properly?’ Brunetti asked, his voice filled with layman’s confusion.
‘That it was the same as shown on the plans.’
‘And if it wasn’t?’
‘Then Signor Rossi would report the discrepancies, and our office would initiate proceedings.’
‘Such as?’
Dal Carlo looked across at Brunetti and appeared to weigh not only the question but the reason Brunetti was asking it.
‘Usually a fine and an order that the work performed be redone to conform to the specifications on the blueprints,’ dal Carlo answered.
‘I see,’ Brunetti said, nodding to Vianello to make a special point of that last answer. ‘That could be a very expensive inspection.’
Dal Carlo looked puzzled. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Commissario.’
‘I mean that it could cost a great deal, first to do the work and then to do it again. To make no mention of the fines.’
‘Of course,’ dal Carlo said. ‘The code is quite precise about that.’
‘Doubly expensive, then,’ Brunetti said.
‘Yes, I suppose so. But few people are so rash as to attempt such a thing.’
Brunetti allowed himself a start of surprise here and looked over at dal Carlo with the small smile one conspirator gives another. ‘If you say so, Ingeniere,’ he said. Quickly, he changed topic and the tone of his voice and asked, ‘Had Signor Rossi ever received any threats?’
Again, dal Carlo seemed confused. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand that, either, Commissario.’
‘Let me be clear with you, then, Dottore. Signor Rossi had the authority to cost people a great deal of money. If he reported that illegal work had been done on a building, the owners would be liable both for fines and for the cost of further work to correct the original restorations.’ He smiled here and added, ‘We both know what building costs are in this city, so I doubt that anyone would be pleased if Signor Rossi’s inspection discovered discrepancies.’
‘Certainly not,’ dal Carlo agreed. ‘But I doubt very much that anyone would dare to threaten a city official who was doing no more than his duty.’
Suddenly Brunetti asked, ‘Would Signor Rossi have taken a bribe?’ He was careful to watch dal Carlo’s face as he asked his question and saw that he was taken aback, one might even say shocked.
Instead of answering, however, dal Carlo gave the question considerable attention. ‘I’d never thought of that before,’ he said, and Brunetti had no doubt he was telling the truth. Dal Carlo did everything but close his eyes and put his head back to give proof of further concentration. Finally he said, lying, ‘I don’t like to speak ill of him, not now, but that might be possible. Well,’ with an awkward hesitation, ‘might have been possible.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Brunetti asked, though he was fairly certain it was nothing more than a rather obvious attempt to use Rossi as a means to cover the tracks of his own probable dishonesty.
For the first time, dal Carlo looked steadily into Brunetti’s eyes. Had he needed it, Brunetti could have found no surer proof that he was lying. ‘You must understand it was nothing specific I can name or describe. His behaviour had changed in the last few months. He’d become furtive, nervous. It is only now, that you ask this question, that the possibility occurs to me.’
‘Would it be easy to do?’ Brunetti asked, and when dal Carlo seemed not to understand, he prompted: ‘Take a bribe?’
He all but expected dal Carlo to say he had never thought of such a thing, in which case Brunetti didn’t know if he could stop himself from laughing. They were, after all, in a city office. But the engineer restrained himself and said, eventually, ‘I suppose it would be possible.’
Brunetti was silent for a long time, so long that dal Carlo was finally forced to ask, ‘Why are you asking these questions, Commissario?’
At last Brunetti said, ‘We’re not completely satisfied,’ having found it always far more effective to speak in the plural, ‘that Rossi’s death was an accident.’
This time, dal Carlo could not hide his surprise, though there was no way of knowing if it was surprise at the possibility or surprise that the police had discovered it. As various ideas played through his mind, he gave Brunetti a sly glance that reminded him of the look Zecchino had given him.
With the idea of the young drug addict in his mind, Brunetti said, ‘We might have a witness that it was something else.’
‘A witness?’ Dal Carlo repeated in a loud, disbelieving voice, as though he had never heard the word.
‘Yes, someone there at the building.’ Brunetti got to his feet suddenly. ‘Thank you for your help, Dottore,’ he said, extending his hand. Dal Carlo, obviously disconcerted by the strange turn the conversation had taken, pushed himself to his feet and shot out his hand. His grip was less hearty than when they had come in.
After opening the door he finally gave voice to his surprise. ‘I find it incredible,’ he said. ‘No one would have killed him. There’s no reason for such a thing. And that building’s empty. How could anyone have seen what happened?’
When neither Brunetti nor Vianello spoke, dal Carlo walked through the door, ignoring Signorina Dolfin, busy at her computer, and saw the two policemen to the outer door of the office. None of them bothered with
