A Noble Radiance (9 page)

'What did the doctor
say?'

'That there was
nothing wrong with him’ She paused a moment after that, then added, 'Except for
diarrhoea, but the doctor gave him something for that’

'And?' Brunetti
asked. ‘I suppose it stopped’ she said dismissively. 'But did he continue to be
tired, the way you've described?'

'Yes. He kept saying
he was sick, and the doctors kept saying that there was nothing wrong with
him.'

‘Doctors? Did he go
to more than one?'

‘I think so. He
talked about a specialist in Padova. That's the one who finally told him he was
anaemic and gave him some pills to take. But soon after that, it happened, and
he was gone’

'Do you think he was
sick?' Brunetti asked.

'Oh, I don't know’
she answered. She crossed her legs, displaying even more thigh. 'He liked to
have attention.'

Brunetti attempted to
phrase it delicately. ‘Did he give you reason to believe he really was sick or
anaemic?'

'What do you mean,
did he give me reason?'

'Was he less, er,
energetic than usual?'

She looked across at
him, as though Brunetti had just walked into the room from some other century. 'Oh,
you mean sex?' He nodded. ‘Yes, he lost interest in it; that's another reason I
wanted it to end.'

'Did he know this,
that you wanted things to end between you?'

‘I never got a chance
to tell him.'

Brunetti considered
that and then asked, 'Why were you going to the villa that night?'

'We'd been to a party
in Treviso, and Roberto didn't want to have to drive all the way back to
Venice. So we were going to spend the night at the villa and go back in the
morning.'

‘
I
see’ Brunetti said and then
asked, 'Aside from being tired, was his behaviour different in any way in the
weeks before it happened?'  'What do you mean?'

‘Had  
he seemed especially nervous?'

'No, not that I could
say. He was short tempered with me, but he was short tempered with everyone. He
had an argument with his father, and he had one with Maurizio.'

'What was the
argument about?'

'I don't know. He
never told me things like that. And if s not that I was very interested.'

'Why were you
interested in him, Signora?'

Brunetti asked and,
catching her glance, added, ‘If I might ask’

'Oh, he was good
company. At least at the beginning he was. And he always had a lot of money’
Brunetti thought the order of importance of those two remarks might better be
reversed, but he said nothing.

'I see. Do you know
his cousin?'

'Maurizio?' she
asked, Brunetti thought rather unnecessarily.

‘Yes’

'I met him a couple
of times. At Roberto's house. And once at a party.' 'Did you like him?'

She looked across at
one of the etchings and, as if its violence had somehow inspired her, said, 'No’
why?'

She shrugged
dismissively at a memory from so long ago. 'I don't know. He seemed arrogant to
me’ Hearing this, she added, 'Not that Roberto couldn't be like that sometimes,
but Maurizio was just
...
well, he always has to tell everyone what to do. Or that's how it seemed to
me.'

'Have you seen him
since Roberto disappeared?'

'Of course,' she
answered, surprised at the question. 'Just after it happened, he was there with
Roberto's parents. All the time, when the notes came. So I saw him’

‘I
mean
after that, after the notes stopped’

'No, not to talk to,
if that’ s what you mean. I see him on the street sometimes, but we don't have
anything to say to one another’

'And Roberto's
parents?'

'No, not them, either’
Brunetti doubted if the parents of the kidnapped boy would remain in contact
with his former girlfriend, especially after her marriage to another man.

Brunetti had nothing
else to ask her, but he wanted her to remain open to the possibility of
answering more questions, should they arise. ‘I don't want to keep you from
your baby, Signora’ he said, glancing down at his watch.

'Oh, that’s all
right, I don't mind’ she answered, and Brunetti was surprised at how much he
believed her and at how much that fact made him dislike her.

He got to his feet
quickly. 'Thank you very much, Signora. I think that will be all for now.' 'For
now?'

'If it does turn out
to be Roberto's body, then the investigation will have to be reopened, Signora,
and I suspect that everyone who had any knowledge of the original kidnapping
will be questioned again.'

She pulled her lips
together in a tight grimace of irritation at how much all of this was intruding
on her time.

He went towards the
door so as not to give her the chance to complain. 'Again, thank you, Signora’
he said.

She got up from the
sofa and came towards him. Her face fell back into the curious immobility he
had noticed when he first met her, and the beauty she'd shown disappeared.

She saw him to the
door, and as she opened it, the baby wailed out from somewhere at the back of
the apartment. Ignoring it, she said, 'Would you let me know if it really is
Roberto?'

'Of course, Signora’
Brunetti answered. He started down the steps. The baby's cry was cut off by the
closing of the door.

8

Brunetti
glanced at his watch as he left the Salviati house. It was twenty to one. He
took the
traghetto
again, and when he came out at San Leonardo, he
crossed the
campo
and took the first left A few empty tables stood in
the shade in front of the restaurant.

Inside, a
counter stood to his left, a few demijohns of wine on a shelf in back of it,
long.rubber tubes flowing from their tops. To the right, two arched doors
opened into another room, and there, at a table against the wall, he saw his
father-in-law, Count Orazio Falier. The Count sat, a glass of what looked like
prosecco in front of him, reading the local paper,
Il Gazzettino.
Brunetti
was surprised to see him with such a newspaper, which meant either that his
opinion of the Count was higher than he realized, or of the local newspaper,
lower.

'Buon
di’  
Brunetti
said as he approached the table.

The Count
peered over the top of his paper and got to his feet, leaving the pages spread
before him.

'Ciao,
Guido’ the
Count said, extending his hand and clasping Brunetti's. ‘I’m glad you could
come’

‘I asked to
talk to you, remember’ Brunetti answered.

Reminded, the
Count said, 'The Lorenzonis, eh?'

Brunetti
pulled out the chair opposite the Count and sat He looked down at the paper,
and, although the body was still unidentified, he found himself wondering if
the story could somehow already be printed.

The Count interpreted
his glance. 'Not yet’ He took the time to fold the paper neatly in two, and
then in two again. ‘It’s become so bad, hasn't it?' he asked, holding the paper
up between them.

'Not if you
like cannibalism, incest, and infanticide’ Brunetti answered.

Did you read
it today?' When Brunetti shook his head, the Count explained. There was a story
this morning about a woman in Tehran who killed her husband, ground up his
heart, and ate it in something called
ab goosht'
Before Brunetti could
register either surprise or disgust, the Count went on, 'But then they opened a
parenthesis and gave the recipe for
ab goosht:
tomatoes, onions, and
chopped meat’ He shook his head. 'Who are they writing for? Who wants to know
that sort of thing?'

Brunetti had
long ago abandoned any faith he had ever had in the taste of the general
public, and so he answered, 'The readers of
II Gazzettino,
I'd say

The Count
looked across at him and nodded. "I suppose you're right’ He tossed the
paper on to the next table. 'What is it you want to know about the Lorenzonis?'

'This morning,
you said that the boy had none of the father's talent. I'd like to know what
that talent is?’

'Ciappar
schei’ the Count answered, slipping into dialect

Immediately at
ease at the sound of Veneziano, Brunetti asked, 'Making money how?'

'In any way he
can: steel, cement, shipping. If it can be moved, the Lorenzonis can take it
there for you. If it can be built, the Lorenzonis can sell you the materials to
build it.' The Count thought about what he had just said and added, 'Be a good
slogan for them, wouldn't it?' When Brunetti nodded, the Count added, 'Not that
the Lorenzonis need to advertise. At least not anywhere in the Veneto’

'Do you have
dealings with them? The firm, that is.'

'In the past,
I used their trucks to take textiles to Poland and to bring back - I'm not sure
about this; it was at least four years ago - but I think it was vodka. But with
the loosening of border controls and customs regulations, I'm finding it
cheaper to move things by rail, so I don't have any business with them any
more/

'Do you know
them socially?'

'No more than
I know a few hundred people in the city’ the Count said and looked up as the
waitress approached their table.

She wore a
man's shirt tucked into crisply pressed jeans and had hair cut as short as a
boy's.

Though she
wore no make-up, the impression she gave was anything but boyish, for the jeans
curved over her hips, and the open top three buttons of the shirt suggested
that she wore no bra but might have been well advised to do so.' Count Orazio’
she said in a deep contralto full of warmth and promise, 'if s a pleasure to
see you here again.' She turned to Brunetti and included him in the warmth of
her smile.

Brunetti
remembered that the Count had told him the daughter of a friend ran this place,
so perhaps it was as an old family friend that the Count asked,
'Come stai,
Valeria?' His use of the familiar 'tu', however, sounded
anything but avuncular, and Brunetti watched the young woman to see how she
responded.

'Molto
bene
,
Signor Conte.
E Lei
?' she answered, the formality of the words wildly at
odds with her tone.

'Fine, thank
you, my dear.' He waved an open hand towards Brunetti. This is my son-in-law’

'Piacere
,' he said to the young woman, and she returned the same
word, adding only a smile..

'What do you
recommend for us today, Valeria?' the Count asked.

'To start
with, we've got sarde in saor’ she said, 'or latte di seppie. We made the sarde
last night, and the seppie came from Rialto this morning’

Probably
frozen if they did, Brunetti thought. It was too early for fresh cuttlefish
roe, but the sardines would be fresh. Paola seemed never to have time to clean
the sardines and marinate them in onions and raisins, so they would be a treat.

'What do you
think, Guido?'

'Sarde,'he said
without hesitation. 'Yes. For me too.'

'Spaghetti alle
vongole’ the young woman said, not so much recommending as giving their order.
Both men nodded.

'And after,' Valeria
said, 'I'd recommend the rombo or perhaps the coda di rospo. Both are fresh.'

'How are they
cooked?' the Count asked.

'The rombo's grilled,
and the coda's baked with white wine, zucchini, and rosemary.'

‘Is it good, the
coda?' the Count asked.