Brunetti kept his eyes on Patta and pretended to pay no attention to the reaction of the man next to him, who cleared his throat.
‘Maggior Guarino’s been involved with this problem for some time, and his investigations have led him to the Veneto. As you might realize, Brunetti, this concerns all of us now,’ Patta continued, voice filled with the shock of the new. As Patta spoke, Brunetti tried to figure out why he had been asked to join them. Transportation, at least the kind that moved on road or rail, had never been a concern of the police in Venice. He had little direct experience with land transport, criminal or otherwise, nor could he remember that any of the men in his squad had, either.
‘. . and so I hoped that, by introducing you two, some synergy could be created,’ Patta concluded, using the foreign word and again giving evidence of his ability to be fatuous in any language he used.
Guarino started to answer, but, seeing Patta’s not very discreet glance at his watch, seemed to change his mind and said, ‘You’ve already been too generous with your time, Vice-Questore: I can’t in conscience ask you to give us any more of it.’ This was accompanied by a large smile, which Patta returned affably. ‘Perhaps the Commissario and I,’ Guarino said, with a nod in Brunetti’s direction, ‘should talk about this together, and then get back to you to ask for your input?’ When Guarino used the English word, it sounded as though he knew what it meant.
Brunetti was amazed at the speed with which Guarino had acquired the pitch-perfect manner for addressing Patta and at the subtlety of his suggestion. Patta would be asked to give an opinion, but only after other men had done the work: thus he was to be spared both effort and responsibility and would still be able to take credit for any progress achieved. This for Patta would surely be the best of all possible worlds.
‘Yes, yes,’ Patta said, as if the Major’s words had suddenly forced him to reflect upon the burdens of office. Guarino stood, followed by Brunetti. The Major made a few more remarks; Brunetti went to the door and waited for him to finish, then they left the office together.
Signorina Elettra turned to them as they emerged. ‘I hope your meeting was successful, Signori,’ she said pleasantly.
‘With an inspiration such as that presented by the Vice-Questore, Signora, it could have been nothing but,’ Guarino said in a dead level voice.
Brunetti watched as her attention turned to the man who had spoken. ‘Indeed,’ she answered, giving Guarino her brightest look. ‘I’m so pleased to discover another person who finds him inspiring.’
‘How could one fail to, Signora? Or is it Signorina?’ Guarino asked, injecting into his voice curiosity, or was it astonishment, that she might still be unmarried.
‘After the current head of our government, Vice-Questore Patta is the most inspiring man I’ve ever encountered,’ she answered, smiling, but responding to only the first of his inquiries.
‘I can well believe it,’ Guarino agreed. ‘Charismatic, each of them in his own way.’ Turning to Brunetti, he asked, ‘Is there a place where we can talk?’
Brunetti nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and they left the office. As they climbed the stairs, Guarino asked, ‘How long has she worked for the Vice-Questore?’
‘Long enough to fall completely under his spell,’ Brunetti answered. Then, at Guarino’s look, ‘I’m not sure. Years. It seems as if she’s always been here, though she hasn’t.’
‘Would things fall apart if she weren’t?’ Guarino asked.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘We have someone like her in the office,’ the Major answered. ‘Signora Landi: the formidable Gilda. Is your Signora Landi a civilian?’
‘Yes, she is,’ Brunetti answered, wondering that Guarino had failed to notice the jacket that had hung oh-so-negligently on the back of her chair. Brunetti knew little of fashion, but he could spot an Etro lining at twenty paces, and he knew that the Ministry of the Interior was not in the habit of using it in their uniform jackets. Guarino had apparently overlooked the clue.
‘Married?’
‘No,’ Brunetti answered, then surprised himself by asking, ‘Are you?’
Brunetti had moved ahead of the other officer, so he did not hear his answer. He turned back and said, ‘Excuse me?’
‘Not really,’ Guarino said.
Now, what in hell was that supposed to mean? Brunetti asked himself. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ he said politely.
‘We’re separated.’
‘Oh.’
Inside Brunetti’s office he led his guest over to the window and showed him what view there was: the eternally about-to-be-renovated church and the completely restored rest home. ‘Where does the canal go?’ Guarino asked, leaning forward and looking to the right.
‘Down to Riva degli Schiavoni and the bacino.’
‘You mean the laguna?’
‘Well, the water that will take you out to the laguna.’
‘Sorry to sound like such a country bumpkin,’ Guarino said, ‘I know it’s a city, but it still doesn’t feel like one to me.’
‘No cars?’
Guarino smiled and grew younger. ‘Well, it’s partly that. But the strangest thing is the silence.’ After a long moment, he saw that Brunetti was about to speak but added, ‘I know, I know, most people in cities hate the traffic and the smog, but the worst is the noise, believe me. It never stops, even late at night or early in the morning: there’s always a machine at work somewhere: a bus, or a car, a plane coming in to land, or a car alarm.’
‘Usually the worst we get,’ Brunetti said with an easy laugh, ‘is someone walking under your window and talking late at night.’
‘They would have to talk very loud to bother me,’ Guarino said and laughed.
‘Why?’
‘I live on the seventh floor.’
‘Ah,’ was the only thing Brunetti could think of to say, so unusual to him was the reality of such a thing. In the abstract, he knew that people in cities lived in tall buildings, but it seemed inconceivable that they would hear any noise on the seventh floor.
He waved Guarino to a chair and sat down himself. ‘What is it you want from the Vice-Questore?’ he asked, feeling that they had spent enough time on preliminaries. He pulled open his second drawer with his foot, then propped his crossed feet on it.
The casual gesture seemed to relax Guarino, who went on. ‘A bit less than a year ago, our attention was called to a trucking company in Tessera, not far from the airport.’
Brunetti was immediately alert: a month ago, the attention of the entire region had been called to a trucking company in Tessera.
‘We first got interested when the name of the company turned up in the course of another investigation,’ Guarino continued. This was a routine lie Brunetti himself had used countless times, but he let it pass unremarked.