The fact that he failed to use the lieutenant's title was sufficient to inform Brunetti that this was an entirely unofficial conversation.
Brunetti took a sip of wine. ‘I think the only thing we can do is let him go ahead with his investigation, if that's the right word, of Signora Gismondi.'
'But it's nonsense,' Vianello said angrily. He had not met her, had done nothing more than read the file in the case and spoken to Brunetti about his conversation with her, but that had served to convince him that her only involvement in the crime had been helping the Romanian woman to leave the country. As that thought suddenly took on darker implications, he asked, 'Do you think he's capable of saying that she's an accessory because she gave her the money and bought her the train ticket?'
Brunetti no longer had any idea of what Scarpa was or was not capable of doing. He regretted that a woman as apparently decent as Signora Gismondi should have become a hostage in Scarpa's guerrilla war against him, but he knew that any attempt to rescue her would only increase the risk of reprisals from Scarpa.
‘I think the only thing we can do is let him pursue this. If we try to stop him, he'll say we've got some secret motive for protecting her, and God knows where that will lead.' It was difficult for him to anticipate Scarpa's actions because he felt so incapable of understanding his motives. That is, he could understand them, grasp them intellectually, but he lacked the mechanism that would have allowed him to follow them through by mere instinct. He realized how much better Paola was at this sort of thing or, for that matter, Signorina Elettra. Female cats, he found himself thinking, were said to be much better hunters and seemed to take more delight in torturing their prey to death.
Vianello's question brought him back from these reflections. 'Does any of this make any sense to you, sir?'
'What, the murder? Or Scarpa?'
'The murder. Scarpa's easy enough to understand.'
Wishing that were indeed the case, Brunetti said, 'She was killed by someone who hated her or wanted it to look like they did. Which means the same thing.' Catching Vianello's look, he answered, ‘I mean that whoever did it is capable of that sort of violence, either out of rage or out of calculation. I didn't see the body, but I saw the photos.' He decided there was no sense in saying how much he regretted, now, not having come back from his vacation when he had read about the murder. He should have been suspicious of the reports in the newspapers, even more so of the answers he had been given when he phoned the Questura to ask about the case and was told it was already solved. They had been on the coast of Ireland, all four of them,
Raffi and Chiara spending half their time sailing and exploring tide pools, the other half eating, while he and Paola reread their patient ways, respectively, through Gibbon and the Palliser novels, and he had lacked the courage to broach the idea of returning to Venice.
While he waited for his superior to continue, Vianello ate his remaining sandwich and finished the water. He waved to the man behind the counter and held up the empty bottle.
Brunetti said, 'Both our wives would say this is simply sexist prejudice, but a woman didn't do that.' Vianello nodded in approval of simple sexist prejudice and Brunetti continued, 'So we have to find a reason a man would want to kill her, and it would have to be a man who either had access to the apartment or whom she would allow into the apartment.' The barman set the water on the table, and Brunetti filled both glasses before continuing, 'The only thing we've found so far that doesn't fit is the money: it stopped coming when she died, and her lawyer made no mention of it. We don't know how much the niece knew about it, or even if she did.' He poured some of the wine into his glass, but left it untouched. 'Not that there's any reason Marieschi should tell me, even if she did know about it,' he added.
'Could she have taken it?' Vianello asked.
'Of course.'
Brunetti had told him about Poppi, so Vianello said, 'Isn't it strange, that I'm reluctant to think a person with such a dog could be dishonest?' He sipped at his wine, turned to the barman and held up the empty sandwich plate, set it down, and said, 'How strange. Most of the people we arrest have children, but it would never occur to us to think that's a reason they wouldn't commit a crime.'
When Brunetti made no comment upon this observation, Vianello returned his attention to the matter at hand and said, 'The niece might just as easily have moved the money.'
Reflecting upon what he knew of the professional classes, Brunetti added, 'Or someone in the bank might have done it, once he knew she was dead.'
'Of course.'
The sandwiches came, but Brunetti could eat only half of one and set the rest of it back on his plate.
Not having to clarify that he was speaking of Signorina Elettra, Brunetti asked’Do you think she'll be able to find out who made the transfers?'
Vianello finished his wine but made no move to refill his glass. After a contemplative pause, he answered, 'If there are any records, anywhere in their files, she'll probably find them.'
'It's terrifying, isn't it?' Brunetti asked.
'If you're a banker, yes,' Vianello agreed.
They returned to the Questura, oppressed by the still-growing heat and their mutual resentment at having had to lunch on sandwiches. In her office, looking as though she'd spent her lunchtime in an air-conditioned environment waiting while the creases were pressed out of her dress, Signorina Elettra greeted them with an expression which seemed unusually sombre.
Sensitive to the difference in her mood, Vianello asked, 'The transfers?'
‘I still can't find out,' she answered tersely.
Brunetti found his mind suddenly filled with random memories of the lawyer: she was tall, athletic of build, and her grasp was firm. He tried to picture her poised over the old woman, hand raised high, but when he did, his vision was interrupted by the memory of the puzzle books he used to help Chiara with: 'What's Wrong with this Picture?' He had seen Awocatessa Marieschi's hands on Poppi's ears. He called himself a sentimental fool and found his attention returning to Signorina Elettra's voice.
'… been either of them,' she concluded, pointing to the screen of her computer.
'What?' Brunetti asked.
'The transfer,' Signorina Elettra repeated, 'could have been made by either one of them.'
'The niece?' Vianello asked.
She nodded. 'All the person needed was the account number, power of attorney, and the code number: the transfer would be automatic. All they had to do was fill out the form and hand it to a teller.' Before he could ask if it would be possible to check the signature on the form, she said, 'No, the bank would never give it to us without an order from a judge.'
Brunetti followed this trail to its inevitable conclusion. 'And the banks in the Channel Islands?' he asked.
She shook her head. 'I've tried in a number of ways, but I've never been able to get anything from them.' Her respect was grudging, but it was still audible.
Brunetti felt the temptation to ask if she kept her money there, but he resisted and, instead, asked, 'Can you think of any way to trace the request?'
'Not without an order from a judge,' she repeated. All of them knew the likelihood of this.
'Have you been able to find out anything about the niece?' Brunetti asked.
'Very little. Birth, school records, medical file, taxes. Just the usual things.' She was not being ironic, Brunetti realized: finding these details of a person's life was as easy for her as consulting the phone book.
'And?' Brunetti asked.
'And she seems as inconsequential as her aunt,' Signorina Elettra answered.
'Where does she work?'
'She's a baker's assistant at Romolo,' she answered, naming a
Brunetti's thoughts were diverted from the pastries by the arrival of Alvise, who ran into the office, preventing himself from catapulting into Vianello only by grabbing the frame of the door with one hand and pulling himself to a sudden stop, breathing heavily. 'Sir’ he gasped, looking at Brunetti. ‘I just had a call for you, from a woman’
'Yes?7 Brunetti asked, alarmed at the expression on the face of the usually phlegmatic officer.
'She said you had to come immediately’
