The Girl of his Dreams

change the rate of rigor mortis. I sent one of my men over there to measure the temperature of the water, and perhaps when I calculate it I can get closer to the time’ A pause and then, 'You don't want to know about that sort of thing, do you, Guido?' 'No, not really’

'Close to midnight, then,' Rizzardi said. 'Or if you prefer, you could say an hour on either side of midnight. I can't get closer than that.'

'All right,' Brunetti said, curious now about the reluctance that seeped from every word Rizzardi spoke. He knew he should ask or somehow prod the pathologist, but he was unwilling to do it: he sensed it would be better to let Rizzardi find his own way to whatever it was he did not want to say.

'There's evidence,' the pathologist began and then paused to clear his throat again. 'There's evidence of sexual activity’

This meant nothing to Brunetti. That is, it meant something, but he had no idea what it meant, not in a real sense. He did not know how to ask or what to ask.

'No, not rape, at least not recently. But, er, activity. I don't know what to call it. The child has had sex, though not in the near past, not any time close to when she died. Not hours, that is, probably not even days.'

Brunetti's mind leaped to the first safe place it could find. 'Could she be older?'

'Perhaps, but not by much more than a year, I'd say’

'Ah,' Brunetti said and waited for the pathologist to continue. When he did not, Brunetti asked, 'What else?'

'The scratches on her palms. There were fragments of a reddish material in them. And under her nails. Two were broken off, one of them almost torn away. And the undersides of the toes of her left foot are badly scraped’

'What about her knees?' Brunetti asked. He tried to remember the small body recalled only one knee, the other under the clinging fabric of the skirt.

'One's got scratches. Same thing, a reddish, grainy material; some larger fragments.'

'The other?'

'It must have been covered by her skirt. There's a place on the front of her skirt where the fabric is worn away’

'Anything else?' Brunetti asked.

'Yes,' the pathologist said, cleared his throat, and went on. 'She had a watch, in a pocket sewn into her knickers’ Brunetti had heard of this: at the time, he had not thought to look for anything under those clinging skirts. After some time, the pathologist added, 'And there was a ring in her vagina’

Brunetti had heard this rumour, as well, but had always chosen to dismiss it.

'It looks like a wedding ring’ the pathologist said in a neutral voice. Brunetti said nothing, and Rizzardi added, 'The watch is a pocket watch. Gold’

A long silence stretched out as Brunetti quickly revised everything he had concluded about the girl because of her blonde hair and her light eyes. They had blinded him to the long skirt and to the fact that the skin covered by the strap of her sandal had still been fairly dark.

'Gypsy?' he asked the doctor.

'We call them Rom now, Guido’ Rizzardi answered.

Brunetti felt a flash of belligerence: no matter what we call them, no one can toss them into the water, for Christ's sake. 'Tell me about the ring and the watch’ he asked with forced calm.

'The wedding ring has initials and a date, and the watch looks antique. It's the kind that you have to open to see the face.'

'Is there anything on the inside of the cover?'

‘I didn't open it. I took it out of her pocket and put it in a plastic bag with the ring. Those are the rules, Guido.'

‘I know, I know. Sorry Ettore.' Brunetti allowed the anger to leak out of him and then asked, 'What do you think caused the marks on her hands?'

'That's not what I'm supposed to do. You know that.'

'What do you think caused the marks on her hands?' Brunetti repeated.

If Rizzardi had been waiting for the question, he could have answered it no more quickly. 'The evidence suggests she slid some distance, probably on a terracotta surface. The fabric is worn away down the front of the cardigan, and two buttons are missing. And, as I told you, there's the worn spot on the front of her skirt.'

'So she slid on her stomach?'

'It would seem so. As she went down the roof, she'd try to grab on to the tiles to stop herself: it's natural. That's what cut up her palms and ripped the nails.'

Again, Brunetti waited. Part of him wanted to keep Rizzardi talking about the details in which might be traced the girl's actions as she slid down a roof or from an altana or a terrace. He did not want to have to go back to the other things.

'And what could have happened?' Brunetti asked.

'That's another thing I'm not supposed to do, Guido,' Rizzardi protested.

‘I know. But tell me.'

For some time Brunetti feared he had gone too far and that Rizzardi would hang up, but then the doctor said,

'It could be – but this is only my guess – that she was surprised wherever she was: someone came in, saw her there. She'd try to get away, but if it was a man, he'd be too big and could stop her from getting to the door, if that's how she got in. So the first thing she'd do is try a window, or the door to an altana or a terrace.'

As he listened, Brunetti performed a similar reconstruction of events. Any unwatched street door was fair game to the gangs of thieves who roamed the city. Because they were minors, nothing could be done to them, and, if arrested, they were quickly returned to the care of their parents, or to the people presenting evidence that they were the parents. And then just as quickly the children were back at work.

The classic means of forced entry was the screwdriver, and who would prosecute a child found with a screwdriver in her pocket? Once inside a building, they went to the apartments which, from the outside, had been shuttered or, at night, showed no light. Nothing but una porta blindata could stop them entering, and once inside nothing could prevent them from taking whatever they chose, though usually they limited themselves to money and gold. Wedding rings and watches.

At the same time as one part of his mind was recalling all of this, another was drawing up a list of what had to be done: check the files to see if a child matching her description had ever been arrested; show her photo around the Questura and to the Carabinieri; have Foa check the tide charts to try to figure out where she might have gone into the water eight to ten hours before they found her. He knew it would probably be futile to find out whether anyone had reported a burglary the night of her death: most people didn't bother, and if someone had interrupted her, then they might have seen her go into the water, and that would make it certain they would not inform the police. The way to begin, then, was to trace the ring and the watch.

Rizzardi was no longer speaking, though Brunetti had not noticed when he stopped. Suddenly annoyed with himself for avoiding what he knew he had to address, Brunetti said, 'You said there are signs of sexual activity. Could it be the… could it be the ring?'

'The ring didn't cause gonorrhoea’ the pathologist answered with troubling coolness. 'The lab hasn't had time to confirm the samples, but that's what it is. The results will be back in a few days, but you can be sure that's what they'll say.'

'Is there any other way she…' Brunetti began and let the sentence drift away.

'None. The infection is pretty well established; it's the only way she could have got it.'

'Can you tell when…?' began a reluctant Brunetti.

Rizzardi cut him off. 'No.'

After some time, Brunetti asked, 'Anything else?' 'No.'

'Then thanks for calling, Ettore.' 'Let me know if…' began an equally reluctant Rizzardi.

'Yes. Of course’ Brunetti said and replaced the phone.

He picked it up immediately and dialled the number of the officers' room. Pucetti answered. 'Go over to Rizzardi at the hospital and ask him for a bag with a ring and a watch. Make sure you sign a receipt for it. Take