Doctored Evidence

goes to the Immigration Police tomorrow as well as details about your handling of Signora Battestini's bank accounts, which will go to the Guardia di Finanza.'

She began to protest, and he stopped her with an out-thrust hand. 'Further, if you lie to me again, I will today file a report about the death of your dog, making note of your assertion that Signora Battestini's niece killed her, and that will require that the woman be questioned about possible motives for having killed the dog.'

She was not looking at him, but he could tell she was attending to his every word. 'Is that clear?'

'Yes.'

‘I want you to tell me everything she ever said in reference to those accounts, and I want you to tell me any thoughts you may have entertained, during the years you knew about them, of their possible source, regardless of where this information came from or how credible you think it to be.' He paused, then added, 'Do you understand?'

There was no hesitation before she answered, 'Yes.' She sighed, but she was such an accomplished liar that he paid no attention. She allowed some time to pass and then said, 'She told me about the accounts when she made her will, but she never told me where the money came from. I told you that. But once, about a year ago, she was talking about her son -1 told you I never met him – and she said that he had been a good boy and had provided for her in her old age. That he and the Madonna would take good care of her.' He studied her face as she spoke, wondering if she was telling the truth and wondering if he would be able to tell if she wasn't.

'She'd become very repetitive by then,' she went on, 'the way old people get, so I didn't pay much attention to what she said.'

'Why were you there this time? You said it was three years ago she wanted to make a will.'

'It was about the television. I went to ask her to try to remember to turn it down before she went to bed. The only thing I could think of to do was to tell her the police would come in and sequester the television if she didn't. I'd told her before, but she always forgot things, or else she remembered only the things she wanted to.'

'I see,' he said.

'And she told me, again, what a good boy he had been, always staying with her. And that's when she said that he had left her safe and under the protection of the Madonna. I didn't think much of it at the time – when she started to ramble, I never paid much attention – but later it occurred to me that she might have been talking about the money, that it was the son who had arranged for it or who had done whatever it was that got the money deposited.'

'Did you ask her about this?'

'No. I told you, it didn't occur to me until a couple of days later. And I'd learned by then never to ask her directly about the accounts, so I didn't.'

There were still questions he wanted to ask her: when she had begun to plan to steal the money; what made her certain the niece wouldn't bring charges against her. But for the moment, he had obtained the information he wanted. He thought she had been frightened enough to tell the truth and was neither proud nor ashamed of the techniques he had used to make her do so.

He got to his feet. 'If I have any further questions, I'll contact you,' he said. 'If you think of anything else, I want you to call me.' He took one of his cards, wrote his home phone number on the back, and handed it to her.

He turned to leave, but she stopped him by asking, 'What do I do if it wasn't the niece?'

He was fairly certain it was the niece and she had nothing to fear. But then he remembered how immediate her protestation had been that she would not kill anyone for so little, and he saw no reason to save her from being afraid. 'Try not to be alone in your office or your home. Call me if anything suspicious happens,' he said and left her office.

18

As soon as he was outside, he called Vianello, who answered his telefonino but was already back at the Questura, having found no one at Awocatessa Marieschi's home address. Brunetti quickly explained what had happened at the lawyer's and told Vianello to meet him at Romolo, where he wanted, finally, to talk to Signora Battestini's niece.

'You think she could have done it?' Vianello asked, and when Brunetti was slow to answer, he clarified his question by adding, 'Poisoned the dog?'

‘I think so,' Brunetti answered.

'I'll see you there,' Vianello said, and was gone.

To save time, Brunetti took the 82 at Arsenale and got off at Accademia. He crossed the small campo without paying attention to the long line of scantily clad tourists in front of the museum, passed on his left the gallery he always thought of as the Supermarket of Art, and headed down towards San Barnaba.

In the narrow streets, the heat assailed him. In the past, heat like this had reduced the number of tourists; now it seemed to serve the same purpose as heat in a petri dish: the alien life form multiplied under his very eyes. When he arrived at the pasticceria, he saw Vianello standing on the other side of the calle, looking into the window of a shop that sold masks.

They went into the pastry shop together. Vianello ordered a coffee and a glass of mineral water, and Brunetti nodded his request for the same. The glass cabinet was filled with the pastries Brunetti knew so well: the cream- filled puffs of pastry, the chocolate bigne, and Chiara's favourite, the whipped-cream-filled swans. The heat rendered them all equally unappetising.

As they drank their coffee, Brunetti recounted in greater detail his conversation with the lawyer, saying only that the dog had been poisoned, but giving no details of the circumstances.

Tt means this woman -' Vianello said, indicating the back regions of the shop where presumably the kitchens lay – 'knew enough about Marieschi to know how to hurt her.'

'If you'd seen her with the dog, even once, you'd know that’ Brunetti said, recalling their meeting and that noble golden head.

Vianello finished his water and held up his glass to the woman behind the bar. Brunetti drank his, set the glass on the counter, and nodded when she held up the bottle and looked his way.

When she began to pour the water, Brunetti asked, 'Is Signorina Simionato here?'

'You mean Graziella?' the woman asked, evidently curious as to what these two men could want.

'Yes’

‘I think so’ she said uneasily, stepping back from the counter and turning to a door at the back of the shop. 'Let me ask.' Before she could move away from them, Brunetti held up his hand and said, 'I'd rather you didn't speak to her, Signora, not before we do.'

'Police?' she asked, wide-eyed.

'Yes’ Brunetti answered, wondering why they bothered to carry warrant cards if they were this easily recognized, even by the women behind the counters in pastry shops.

'Is she there?' Brunetti asked, indicating the open door behind the far end of the counter.

'Yes’ the young woman answered. 'What is…?' she left the question unfinished.

Vianello pulled out a notebook and asked, 'What time did she get here today, Signora? Do you know?'

The woman stared at the notebook as though it were a living, dangerous thing. Seeing her reluctance, Brunetti took out his wallet but, instead of showing her his warrant card, took out a five Euro note and laid it on the counter to pay their bill. 'What time did she get here today, Signora?'

'About two, maybe a little later,' she said.

That seemed like a strange time for a baker to arrive at work, Brunetti thought. But at once she explained, 'There's going to be a health inspection next week, so we have to get ready. Everybody's working an extra half- shift.' Brunetti thought it inappropriate to comment on the fact that these inspections were not meant to be announced in advance. The woman added, 'Some of the bakers are here, too, during the afternoons, getting ready.'

‘I see,' Brunetti said. Then, pointing to the door, he asked, 'Through there?'