‘Down by the water, at the end of the Calle Dilera. It’s the one that’s just been restored. On the left.’
‘The one with the metal gratings?’ Vianello asked.
‘Yes,’ Brunetti answered, wondering if there was a building in the city that Vianello didn’t know.
‘What do you want me to do, sir, get us in?’
Brunetti felt a surge of relief at the sound of that ‘us’. ‘Yes. There’s a courtyard, but no one’s likely to be there, not in this rain.’ Vianello nodded in agreement. Anyone with any sense would be inside on a day like this.
‘All right. You wait here and I’ll give it a try. If it’s the one I think it is, there shouldn’t be any problem. Won’t take long. Give me about three minutes, and then you come.’ He gave Flavia a quick look, grabbed his cap and stepped back into the pounding rain.
‘What are you going to do?’ Flavia asked.
‘I’m going to get in and see if she’s there,’ he said, though he had no idea, in real terms, what this meant. Brett could be anywhere inside the palazzo, in any of the countless rooms. She didn’t even have to be inside but could already be lying dead, body floating in the filthy water that had conquered the city.
‘And if she’s not?’ Flavia asked so quickly that Brunetti was convinced she must share his vision of Brett’s fate.
Instead of answering her, he said, ‘I want you to stay here. Or go back to the apartment. There’s nothing you can do.’
Not bothering to argue with him, she dismissed what he said with a wave and asked, ‘He’s had enough time by now, hasn’t he?’ Before he could answer, Flavia pushed past him out of the bar and into the campo, where she yanked her umbrella open and stood, waiting.
He left the bar and joined her, blocking her from the wind with his body. ‘No. You can’t come. This is police business.’
The wind swooped at them, dragging her hair across her face, covering her eyes. She raked it back with an angry hand and looked up at him, stone-faced. ‘I know where it is. So I come with you now or I follow you.’
When he began to protest, she cut him off: ‘This is my life, Guido.’
Brunetti turned away from her and into Calle Dilera, flushed with rage, fighting the desire to hurl her bodily into the bar and somehow keep her there. As they approached the palazzo, Brunetti was surprised to see that the narrow calle was empty. There was no sign of Vianello, and the heavy wooden door appeared to be closed. As they drew abreast of it, the door suddenly swung open from within. A large hand emerged and beckoned them inside, and then Vianello’s face appeared in the dim light-of-the calle, smiling, running with rainwater.
Brunetti slipped inside, but before he could press the door closed, Flavia slipped into the courtyard after him. They stood still for a moment while their eyes adjusted to the darkness. ‘Too easy.’ Vianello said, pushing the door closed behind them.
Because they were so close to the Grand Canal, the water was even deeper here and had turned the courtyard into a broad lake upon which the rain continued to pound. The only light came from the windows of the palazzo, from the left side of which light spilled down into the courtyard, illuminating its centre but leaving the side where they stood wrapped in heavy darkness. Silently, the three of them moved out of the rain and slipped under the long balcony that covered three sides of the courtyard until they were all but invisible, even to one another.
Brunetti realized he had come here in response to purest impulse without considering what to do once he was inside. On his one and only visit to the palazzo he had been so quickly shepherded to the top floor that he had no clear sense of the layout of the building. He remembered passing doors that led off the exterior staircase to the rooms on each floor, but he had no idea of what lay behind those doors save for the room at the top, where he had spoken to La Capra, and the study on the floor below. It also occurred to him that he, Brunetti, an officer of the state, had just participated in the commission of a crime; what is more, he had involved in that crime not only a civilian but also a fellow officer.
‘Wait here,’ Brunetti whispered, putting his mouth close to Flavia’s ear to speak, even though the rain would have covered the sound of his voice. It was too dark for him to see whatever gesture she might have made in response, but he sensed her move even further back into the darkness.
‘Vianello,’ he said, grabbing his arm and pulling him close, ‘I’m going up the stairs to try to get in. If there’s any trouble, get her out of here. Don’t bother with anyone unless they try to stop you.’ Vianello muttered his assent. Brunetti turned away from them and took a few steps towards the stairway, pushing his legs slowly through the continued resistance of the water. It wasn’t until he reached the second step that his legs finally pulled free of the pressure of the water that sucked at them with every step. The sudden change made him feel curiously light-footed, as though he could float or fly up the steps with no effort whatsoever. With that liberty, however, he was suddenly freed to feel the grinding cold that spread up from the icy water trapped inside his boots, from the sodden clothing that hung heavy on his body. He bent down and pulled off the boots, started up the steps, then went back down and kicked the boots into the water. He waited until they sank out of sight, then started up the stairs again.
At the top of the first flight, he paused on the small balcony and turned the handle of the door that led inside. It moved down under his hand, but the door was locked and didn’t open. He climbed another flight but found this door locked as well.
He turned and looked over the railing and across the courtyard to where Flavia and Vianello must be standing, but he could see nothing except the pattern of shattered light as the rain continued to fall on the surface of the water beneath him.
To his surprise, the door at the top swung open under his hand, and he found himself at the beginning of a long corridor. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him and stood still for a moment, conscious only of the sound of water dripping from his coat on to the marble floor below him.
Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light in the corridor while he waited, listening intently for any sound that might come from beyond the doors along its length.
A sudden chill shook him until he bowed his head and hunched his shoulders in an attempt to find warmth somewhere in his body. When he looked up again, La Capra was standing at an open door a few metres from him, mouth open in surprise at seeing Brunetti.
La Capra recovered first and gave an easy smile. ‘Signor Policeman, so you’ve come back. What a pleasant coincidence. I’ve just finished putting the last few pieces into my gallery. Perhaps you’d like to have a look at them?’