'Come into the study’ she said and led them down a bright corridor at the end of which light flooded in from a tall window that looked across at the buildings and rooftops on the other side of the Grand Canal. She stopped halfway down and opened a door on the right that led into a long narrow room two walls of which were covered almost to the ceiling with bookcases. There were three windows, but the building opposite was so close that less light penetrated than from the single window in the hall.
She led them towards a pair of comfortable-looking sofas that faced one another across a low walnut table covered with the scars of decades of feet and spills. A book lay face down on the sofa the woman chose; before sitting on the other, Brunetti closed a magazine and placed it on the table. Vianello sat beside him.
She regarded them levelly, without smiling ‘I’m afraid I don't understand why you've come, Commissario,' she said.
Her voice flowed in the Veneto cadence: in other circumstances, Brunetti would have slipped into Veneziano, but she was speaking in Italian, and so he did his part to retain the formality of their exchange. 'It's about two objects belonging to your husband which have been found.'
'And they thought it necessary to send a commissario to give them back?' she asked in a tone in which scepticism took the place of surprise.
'No, Signora,' Brunetti answered. 'There's a possibility that this is part of a wider investigation.' The remark, though it often served as a multi-purpose lie, this time was true.
She raised both hands from her lap and opened the palms in a gesture of confusion. 'I'm afraid I'm completely at a loss here, then’ She tried unsuccessfully to smile. ‘Perhaps you'd tell me what this is all about?'
Instead of answering, Brunetti took the manila envelope from his pocket and passed it across to her. 'Could you tell me if these belong to your husband, Signora?'
She unlooped the red string which held the flap and poured the objects out into the palm of her left hand. She gasped and involuntarily sought to cover her mouth with her other hand, though all she succeeded in doing was crushing the envelope against her lip. 'Where did you get these?' she demanded, looking up at him.
'Then you recognize them?' Brunetti asked.
'Of course I recognize them,' she said sharply. 'It's my husband's wedding ring and his watch’ As if uncertain, she prised open the back and, after reading the inscription, held it towards Brunetti. 'Look. Our names are there’ She set the watch on the table and held the ring up to the light, then passed it to Brunetti. 'And our initials.' When he said nothing, she demanded ’Where did you get these?'
'Could you tell me the last time you saw these objects, Signora?' Brunetti asked, ignoring her question.
For a moment, he thought she would object to his question, but then she said, 'I don't know. I saw the ring last week, when Giorgio came home from the doctor.'
Brunetti saw no relation between the two parts of her answer, but he said nothing.
'The dermatologist,' she explained. 'Giorgio's developed a rash on his left hand, and the dermatologist said it might be an allergy to copper.' She pointed to the ring, still in Brunetti's hand, and said, 'See how red it is. That's the copper alloy. At least that's what the doctor thinks. At any rate, he told Giorgio to try not wearing the ring for a week or so to see if the rash disappeared’ 'And has it?' Brunetti asked.
'Yes. I think so. I don't know if it's disappeared completely, but it wasn't so bad before he left.'
'Left?'
She seemed surprised at his question, almost as if he should have known her husband was away. 'Yes. He's in Russia.' Before either man could ask, she said, 'On business. His company sells ready-made kitchen units, and he's there negotiating a contract.'
'How long has he been gone, Signora?' Brunetti asked.
'A week.'
'And when do you expect him back?'
'Towards the middle of next week,' she said, then added, unable to disguise her impatience and disgust, 'Unless he has to stay on longer to bribe some other people.'
Brunetti let that pass, saying only, 'Yes, I've been told it's difficult.' Then he asked, 'Did he remove the watch at the same time, do you know?'
‘I think so. The clasp on the chain broke, weeks ago, so it really wasn't safe for him to carry it, and he said he was afraid someone would steal it. Before he left, he tried to find someone to fix it, but the jeweller who made the chain is gone, and Giorgio didn't have time to look any further. I said I'd try to get it done while he was away, but I suppose I forgot about it.'
'Do you have any idea when you saw it last?' Brunetti asked.
She glanced back and forth between the faces of the two men, as if hoping to read there some explanation of their curiosity about these objects. Then she closed her eyes for a moment, opened them and said, 'No, I'm sorry, I don't. I don't even remember watching Giorgio put it on the dresser. Maybe he told me he did, but I have no conscious memory of seeing it there.'
'And the wedding ring? When did you last see that?'
Again, the quick glance to see if they'd reveal the reasons for these questions; again, the failure. 'He carried it home in his watch pocket and said he wasn't going to wear it for a while. There's no other place he'd put it, but I can't remember seeing it on the dresser.' She tried to smile, good manners rising above irritation. I'm afraid I have to ask you what this is all about, Commissario.'
Brunetti saw no reason not to answer her, at least in the most general of terms. 'These objects were found in the possession of a person we believe to be involved in a series of other crimes. Now that you have identified these objects as belonging to your husband, we need to find out how they came into the possession of the person who had them.'
'What person?' she demanded.
Brunetti felt Vianello shift his weight on the sofa beside him. 'That's not something I'm at liberty to tell you, Signora. It's too early in our investigation.'
'But not too early for you to come here,' she shot back. When Brunetti made no rejoinder, she asked, 'Have you arrested anyone?'
Brunetti answered neutrally, 'I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that, either, Signora.'
Her voice took on a harder edge and she asked, 'And if you do, will my husband and I be told?'
'Of course,' he answered and asked her for the address of her husband's hotel, which she gave him. A silent Vianello wrote down the name. Brunetti did not want to irritate her further and so did not ask for the phone number.
'Could you tell me who lives here with you, Signora?' Brunetti asked, quite as if he had never heard the names of her children. This was the point, Brunetti thought as he waited for her to answer, when people usually began to protest or to refuse to answer further questions.
With no hesitation, she said, 'Only my two children: they're eighteen and sixteen.'
Glancing around the room with what he thought was an appreciative look, Brunetti asked, 'Is there anyone who helps you care for the apartment, Signora?'
'Margherita’ she answered.
'And her surname?'
'Carputti,' she answered and immediately went on, 'But she's worked for us for ten, no, for thirteen years. She'd no sooner steal anything than I would.' Before Brunetti could comment, she added, 'Besides, she's from Naples: if she did decide to steal from us, she'd be much more clever about it than to waste her time taking those things.' Brunetti hoped he would remember this explanation if it ever fell to him to defend the probity of his Southern friends.
'Do your children bring friends home, Signora?'
She looked as if it had never occurred to her that children might have friends. 'Yes, I suppose they do. They come and do homework together, or whatever it is young people do.'
As a parent, Brunetti had a set of ideas regarding what young people did in one another's homes; as a policeman, he had an entirely different set.
'Indeed’ he said, getting to his feet, followed by Vianello. Signora Vivarini got quickly to her feet.
'Would you be kind enough to show us where you last saw these objects, Signora?' Brunetti asked.
'But that's our bedroom,' she protested, and Brunetti found himself liking her for it. He flicked his eyes in Vianello's direction, and the Inspector sat back down on the sofa.
