had left Brunetti uncertain how to deal with her criticism of a superior.
‘If you think I shouldn’t talk to her, then how can I ask her about Signora Altavilla?’ he asked, preferring to avoid the subject of Lieutenant Scarpa.
She smiled at his question and said, ‘I’m afraid we’ve been talking at cross-purposes, Commissario. I’m not suggesting that you don’t speak to her. Just that you don’t lie to her. If you treat her honestly, then she’ll do the same.’
‘You know her that well?’ he asked.
‘No. But I know people who do.’
‘I see,’ he said, choosing not to enquire about that, either. He pulled the piece of paper towards him, held up a hand to stop her from getting to her feet, and dialled the number.
On the third ring, a women answered with a neutral, ‘
‘Signora Orsoni,’ he said, ‘this is Commissario Guido Brunetti.’ He gave her a chance to ask, as many people would, why the police were calling, but she said nothing.
‘I’m calling about someone who worked for your organization, Alba Libera.’ Again, she said nothing. ‘Costanza Altavilla.’
This time Brunetti determined not to say anything else and waited until she asked, ‘In what way can I be useful to you, Commissario?’ Her voice was low, with no indication of age, nor was there a discernible accent. She was a woman who spoke precise Italian and that was all he could judge.
‘I’d like to talk to you about Signora Altavilla.’
‘For what purpose?’ she asked, sounding neutral, curious, but nothing more.
Burning his bridges, Brunetti said, ‘To see if there is reason to take a closer look at her death.’
Her response was delayed a few moments, but then she asked, voice still revealing nothing, ‘Does that mean that the press report was wrong and it wasn’t a heart attack, Commissario?’
‘No, there’s no question that the heart attack was the cause of her death,’ he said. Then, when that had registered, he added, ‘I’m curious about the possible circumstances of the heart attack.’
He glanced at Signorina Elettra, who did her best to give every appearance of taking no extraordinary interest in his side of the conversation.
‘And you’d like to speak to me?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not in the city at the moment,’ she said.
‘When will you be back?’
‘Perhaps tomorrow.’
‘And if I told you it was urgent that I speak to you?’ Brunetti asked.
‘I’d say what I’m doing is also urgent,’ she said, not offering an explanation.
Stalemate. ‘Then I’ll call you again,’ Brunetti said, quite pleasantly, as if he were inviting her to lunch.
‘Good,’ she said and hung up.
He replaced the phone, looked at Signorina Elettra, and said, ‘Too busy to see me.’
‘I’m told she is not one to undervalue herself, Maddalena,’ she said.
15
‘You’ve read the reports?’ Brunetti asked, his interest in and respect for her habit of reading all official documents with attention and scepticism overcoming any scruples he might have about her civilian status.
Signorina Elettra nodded.
‘And?’
‘The technicians were thorough,’ she said. Brunetti thought it best to forgo comment, which encouraged her to add, ‘The marks on her throat and back and the trauma to her back caught my attention.’
‘And mine,’ Brunetti said, deciding to follow the path of caution and say nothing about what Rizzardi had told him in private.
Her look was sharp, but her voice was calm when she said, ‘What a pity such things fail to rouse the doctor’s.’
‘That’s usually the case,’ Brunetti admitted.
‘Indeed.’ From her inflection, he had no idea if she were making a statement or asking a question about Rizzardi’s opinion. She continued: ‘You spoke to the nuns at the
‘Yes.’
‘And?’ she asked, showing that two could play at Monosyllable.
‘And the nun with whom I spoke regarded her highly. The Mother Superior seemed forthcoming, but…’ he began and then drifted off, uncertain how to admit to his worst prejudice. She gave him no help, and so after a while he was constrained to continue. ‘But she’s from the South, so I sensed a certain…’
‘Reticence?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Vianello was with me.’
‘That usually helps,’ she said. ‘With women.’
‘Not this time. Perhaps because there were two of us. And we’re big.’
She looked across at him as though examining him for the first time. ‘I’ve never thought of either one of you as being particularly big,’ she said, then looked at him again. ‘But perhaps you are. How small was she?’
Brunetti, keeping his palm horizontal, brought it up to the centre of his chest.
Signorina Elettra nodded. He watched the animation leave her face and her eyes shift focus, two things he’d noticed in the past when her attention was captured by something. He knew enough to wait for her to come back to the conversation. When she did, she said, ‘I’ve often thought that nuns have a different reaction to men.’
‘Different in what way or from whose?’ he asked.
‘Different from women who…’ she paused, obviously unable to find the proper formulation ‘… from women who find them attractive.’
‘Do you mean in a romantic way?’
She smiled. ‘How delicately you put it, Commissario. Yes, “in a romantic way”.’
‘What’s different?’ Brunetti asked.
‘We’re less frightened of them,’ she said instantly but then added, ‘Or maybe it’s that we’re more likely to trust them because we’re more familiar with how their minds work.’
‘You think women do understand us?’
‘It’s a survival skill, Commissario.’ She smiled when she said it, but then her face grew serious and she said, ‘Maybe that really is the difference, because we live with men and deal with them every day and fall in love with them, and out of love with them. I think that must minimize our sense of the alien.’
‘Alien?’ Brunetti asked, unable to hide his surprise.
‘Different, at any rate,’ she said.
‘And nuns?’ he asked, drawing her back to what had started her down this path.
‘One whole area of interaction is closed down. Call it flirting if you want, Dottore. I mean that whole area where we play back and forth with the idea that the other person is attractive.’
‘You mean nuns don’t feel this?’ he asked, wondering at her use of the word ‘play’.
She gave a small shrug. ‘I have no idea if they do or they don’t. For their sake, I hope they do because if you manage to stifle that, then something’s gone wrong.’ Abruptly she got to her feet, both surprising him and, he realized, disappointing him that she did not want to continue with this subject.
‘You said the nun was reluctant to talk to you,’ she said, standing behind her chair. ‘If it wasn’t because of her feelings about men – and I think it would be hard for anyone to find Vianello threatening – then maybe it is because she’s a southerner or because there’s something she doesn’t want you to know. I’d never want to exclude that possibility.’ She smiled and was gone, leaving Brunetti to consider why she had not said she thought it would be hard for anyone to find him threatening.
He looked up and saw Lieutenant Scarpa at his door. Brunetti did his best to disguise his surprise and said,
