The Girl of his Dreams

answered, 'that's what I should say: it's the acceptable way to talk. But I think I'm tired, tired to death, of always having to be careful to express the right sympathies, of always having to make sheep's eyes and say pious things whenever I'm confronted with one of life's victims.' Vianello considered this and then added, 'It's almost as if we were living in one of those Eastern European countries, years ago, where you had one way to speak publicly and a different way to speak honestly.'

'I'm not sure I follow.'

Vianello looked up and met Brunetti's eyes. ‘I think you do.' When Brunetti looked away, the Inspector continued, 'You've listened to enough people, the way they say all those things about how we can't have bad feelings and have to accept minorities and respect their rights and be tolerant. But as soon as they've finished saying it, if they trust you, they say what they're really thinking.'

'Which is?' Brunetti enquired mildly.

'That they're fed up with watching this country turn into a place where they don't feel safe and where they lock their doors when they run next door to a neighbour's to borrow a cup of sugar, and whenever the prisons are full the government says some noble words about giving people another chance to insert themselves into society and tosses the doors open to let the killers out.' Vianello stopped as suddenly as he had started.

After what seemed like a long time had passed, Brunetti asked, 'Will you say the same things tomorrow?'

Vianello shrugged and finally looked across at him and said, 'Probably not.' He smiled and gave a different kind of shrug. 'It's hard, never to say these things. I think I'd feel less guilty about thinking them if I could admit to them once in a while.'

Brunetti nodded.

Vianello gave himself a shake, much in the manner of a large dog getting to its feet. Then, his voice steady with friendship, he asked, 'What do you think's going to happen?' He sounded entirely normal, and Brunetti had the strange sensation that he had just watched Vianello's spirit slip back into his body.

‘I have no idea,' Brunetti said. 'Rocich is a ticking bomb. The only way he knows how to deal with anything is by hitting at it. The boss or the leader, or whatever he is, is too powerful for him to try going up against. That leaves the woman and the children.' He hesitated an instant, but then decided that he would say what he was thinking, 'and he'd be violent even if he weren't a Gypsy.'

‘I agree,' Vianello said.

‘I don't want to call attention to the woman. Can't call her in here for questioning, can't go back there and try to talk to her.'

'And so?'

'And so I wait for this doctor to call me. And after he does or I get tired of waiting for him to call, I go back and talk to the Fornaris again and have another look at their apartment.'

26

Brunetti did not have long to wait for Dottor Calfi to return his call: the phone rang only minutes after Vianello had gone back down to the squad room. Brunetti lifted the phone and gave his name.

'Commissario, this is Edoardo Calfi. You asked me to call’ The voice was a light tenor, the accent Lombard: perhaps Milano.

'Thank you for calling, Dottore. As I told you in my message, I'd like to ask you some questions about patients of yours.'

'What patients are those?'

'Members of a family known as Rocich,' Brunetti said. 'They are nomads living in the camp near Dolo’

‘I know who they are,' the doctor said sharply, and Brunetti began to think the call was going to be a failure. This impression grew stronger when Calfi added, 'And they are not 'known as' Rocich, Commissario: it is their name’

'Good’ Brunetti said, working to keep his voice calm and pleasant. 'Could you tell me which of the family members are patients of yours?'

'Before I do, I'd like to know why you're asking this question, Commissario.'

'I'm asking you, Dottore’ Brunetti said, 'in order to save time.'

'I'm afraid I don't understand.'

'With a judge's order, I could perhaps get the information from the central records in that district, but since these are questions I'd like to address to their doctor personally, I'm trying to save time by establishing that they are your patients.'

'They are’

'Thank you, Dottore. Could you tell me which members of the family you've treated?' 'All of them.' 'And that would be?'

'The father and mother, and the three children’ the doctor answered, and Brunetti fought down the impulse to say he made it sound just like the three little bears.

'It's about the younger daughter I'd like to ask information, Dottore.'

'Yes?' The doctor's voice was cautious.

'I'd like to know if you've ever treated her for a venereal disease’ Brunetti said, as if she were still alive.

That was quickly put paid to by the doctor, who said, 'I do read the newspapers, Commissario, so I know Ariana is dead. Why do you want to know if I treated her' – he asked, placing great emphasis on the past tense – 'for this sort of disease?'

'Because signs of gonorrhoeal infection were found during the autopsy’ Brunetti said in a neutral voice.

'Yes, I knew about the disease’ the doctor said. 'She was under treatment for the problem.' Brunetti forbore to ask whether, as a doctor, he had thought it proper to report this 'problem' to someone at the social services.

'Could you tell me how long she had been under treatment?'

‘I don't see how this is relevant’ the doctor said.

Brunetti doubted that but answered only, 'It might help us in our investigation of her death, Dottore.'

'Some months’ Calfi acquiesced by saying.

'Thank you’ Brunetti said, deciding not to ask for clarification but to settle for what he could get.

'I'd like to say something if I may’ the doctor began.

'Of course, Dottore.'

'This family has been in my care for almost a year. And during that time I've come to take a great interest in them and in the troubles they meet with here.' At this point, Brunetti could pretty well predict what he was going to hear. Dottor Calfi was a crusader, and he knew he could do nothing more with crusaders than listen to them, agree with them entirely, and then try to get out of them what he wanted.

'I'm sure many doctors come to feel a strong concern for their patients’ Brunetti said in a voice he washed clean of any sentiments save warmth and admiration.

'Life's not easy for them’ Calfi said. 'It's never been easy for them.'

Brunetti made a noise of assent.

For the next few minutes, Calfi catalogued the misfortunes of the Rocich family, at least the version he had been given of those misfortunes. All of them had, at one time or another, been the victims of brutality. Even the wife had been beaten by the police in Mestre, one eye blackened and her neck badly bruised on both sides. The children had suffered persecution in school and were afraid to return. Rocich himself was unable to find work.

When the doctor stopped speaking, Brunetti asked, voice warm with concern and fellow feeling, 'How did the child contract the disease, Dottore?'

'She was raped,' Calf! said indignantly, almost as if Brunetti had tried to deny this or had perhaps been involved in some way in the deed. 'Her father told me that she was walking back to the camp late one afternoon and was offered a ride by a man in a big car. At least that's what she told him.'

‘I see,' said a very concerned Brunetti.

'The man pulled off the road on the way to the camp and raped her’ Calfi said, voice rising with anger.

'Did they report it to the police?' asked an equally angry Brunetti.