Doctored Evidence

Brunetti had to admit that this was true. 'Then it probably was something to do with his job at the school board.'

'Looks like’ Vianello said.

16

Brunetti and Vianello were on their way down to Signorina Elettra's office to save her the effort of – Brunetti didn't know whether to say 'accessing' or 'breaking into' the hospital patient files – when he realized he no longer cared how she got the information she gave him. That in its turn provoked a flash of shame at the moment's rage he'd felt at her absence. Like Otello, he had a lieutenant who could corrupt his best feelings.

As though forewarned that today she was to play Desdemona, Signorina Elettra wore a long dress of gossamer white linen, her hair hanging loose down her back. She greeted their arrival with a smile, but before she could say anything, Vianello asked, 'Any luck yet?'

'No,' she apologized. ‘I had a phone call from the Vice-Questore.' As if that were not sufficient justification, she explained, 'He wanted me to write a letter for him, and he was very particular about the wording.' She paused, waiting to see which one of them would be the first to ask.

It was Vianello. 'Are you at liberty to reveal the nature of the letter?'

'Good heavens, no. If I did, people here would know that he's applying for a job with Interpol.'

Brunetti recovered first and said, 'Of course, of course. It had to be.' Vianello failed to find words with which to do justice to his feelings. 'Are you at liberty, perhaps, to tell us to whom the letter is addressed?' Brunetti asked.

'My loyalty to the Vice-Questore would not permit that, sir,' she said, voice rich with the sort of pious sincerity Brunetti associated with politicians and priests. Then, thrusting her forefinger towards a sheet of paper which lay on her desk, she asked idly, 'Do you think a request to the Mayor for a letter of recommendation should go through the internal post?'

‘It might be faster to email it, Signorina,' Brunetti suggested.

Vianello interrupted them. 'The Vice-Questore is a traditionalist, sir. I think he'd like to sign the letter himself.'

Signorina Elettra nodded in agreement and said, turning their attention back to Vianello's original question, ‘I thought I might have a look at his medical records.'

Brunetti said, ‘It's not necessary. Battestini died of AIDS.'

'Ah, the poor man,' Signorina Elettra said.

'He also subscribed to magazines with photos of boys,' Vianello interrupted, his tone savage.

'He still died of AIDS, Inspector,' she said, 'and no one deserves that.'

After a very long pause, Vianello gave a grudging, 'Perhaps,' reminding them that he had two children who were barely into their teens.

An uncomfortable silence fell. Before it could do some sort of damage, Brunetti said, 'Vianello spoke to people in the neighbourhood and people where he worked, and everyone responded the same way: as soon as his name was mentioned, no one knew anything about him. There's general agreement that the mother was a nasty piece of work, that the father was 'una brava persona' who liked a drink, but when Paolo's name is mentioned, everyone goes mute.' He gave her a moment to consider this and then asked, 'What would you make of that?'

She sat and pushed a button on her computer that darkened the screen. Then she propped her elbow on the desk and cupped her chin in her palm. Sitting like that for some time, she seemed almost to disappear from the room or at least to leave her white-clothed body there while her attention went elsewhere.

Finally she looked at Vianello and said, 'The silence could be respect. His mother's just been the victim of a horrible crime, and he died what was probably a horrible death, so no one will say anything bad about him, probably never will.' She raised the other hand to her forehead and scratched idly at it. 'As to the people where he worked, if he's been dead five years, they've probably forgotten about him.'

Vianello interrupted her. 'No. It was much stronger than that. They didn't want to talk about him at all.'

'Talk about him or answer questions about him?' Brunetti asked.

‘I didn't have a pistol to their heads’ said an affronted Vianello. 'They did not want to talk about him.'

'How many people work there?' Brunetti asked.

'In the whole place?'

'Yes.'

'I've no idea’ Vianello said. 'The office is on two floors, so perhaps thirty people. In his section it looked as though there were only five or six.'

‘I could easily find out, sir’ Signorina Elettra offered, but Brunetti, intrigued by the general reluctance to discuss Signora Battestini's son, thought he might stop by the office himself in the afternoon.

He told them then about his call to Lalli and said that he'd let them know as soon as he had an answer. 'Until then, Signorina, I'd like you to take a look at Luca Sardelli and Renato Fedi. They're the only living former heads of the school board.' He did not confess to them that he suggested this because it was the only possibility he could think of.

'Do you want to question them, sir?' Vianello asked.

Glancing at Signorina Elettra, Brunetti asked, 'Would you have a look first?' When she nodded, he said, 'I'm pretty sure Sardelli's at the Assessorato dello Sport, and Fedi runs a construction company in Mestre. He's also a Eurodeputato, though I don't know for which party.' She had not heard of either man, so she took notes of what he said about them and told them she would have a look immediately and should have something for them after lunch.

Because he thought it would be quicker not to go all the way home if he planned to show up at the school board after lunch, Brunetti asked Vianello if he had plans for lunch and, after only a moment's hesitation, the inspector said he had none. They agreed to meet at the front entrance in ten minutes. Brunetti picked up the phone and called Paola to tell her he would not be home.

'Pity,' she said when he told her, 'the kids are here and we're having…' she began and then stopped.

'Go ahead,' he said, 'I'm a man. I can stand it.'

'Grilled vegetables for antipasto, then veal with lemon and rosemary.'

Brunetti gave a theatrical moan.

'And fig sauce on home-made lemon sorbetto for dessert,' she added.

'Is this the truth?' he suddenly asked, 'or your way of punishing me for not coming home?'

Her silence was long. 'Would you prefer it if I told you I'm taking them over to McDonald's for a Big Mac?' she asked finally.

'That's child abuse,' he said.

'They're teenagers, Guido.'

'It's still abuse,' he said and hung up.

He and Vianello decided to walk to da Remigio, but when they got there, they discovered that it was closed until the tenth of September. That also proved to be the case at the next two places they tried, leaving them with the choice of a Chinese restaurant or the long walk to Via Garibaldi to see if anything was open down there.

Neither said anything, but by silent consent they headed back to the bar at Ponte dei Greci, where at least the tramezzini and wine were acceptable. Keeping his mind clear of the veal roast, Brunetti asked for a prosciutto e funghi, a prosciutto e pomodoro, and a simple panino con salami; Vianello, no doubt in response to the belief that, if it was not going to be a proper lunch, it didn't matter what he ate, asked for the same.

Vianello brought a bottle of mineral water and a half-litre of white wine to the table and sat opposite Brunetti. He looked at the plate of sandwiches that lay between them, said, 'Nadia made fresh pasta,' and reached for a tramezzino.

The inspector finished his first sandwich and two glasses of mineral water before speaking again. He set down his water glass, poured wine for both of them, and said, 'What do we do about Scarpa?'