Wishing that were indeed the case, Brunetti said, 'She was killed by someone who hated her or wanted it to look like they did. Which means the same thing.' Catching Vianello's look, he answered, ‘I mean that whoever did it is capable of that sort of violence, either out of rage or out of calculation. I didn't see the body, but I saw the photos.' He decided there was no sense in saying how much he regretted, now, not having come back from his vacation when he had read about the murder. He should have been suspicious of the reports in the newspapers, even more so of the answers he had been given when he phoned the Questura to ask about the case and was told it was already solved. They had been on the coast of Ireland, all four of them,
Raffi and Chiara spending half their time sailing and exploring tide pools, the other half eating, while he and Paola reread their patient ways, respectively, through Gibbon and the Palliser novels, and he had lacked the courage to broach the idea of returning to Venice.
While he waited for his superior to continue, Vianello ate his remaining sandwich and finished the water. He waved to the man behind the counter and held up the empty bottle.
Brunetti said, 'Both our wives would say this is simply sexist prejudice, but a woman didn't do that.' Vianello nodded in approval of simple sexist prejudice and Brunetti continued, 'So we have to find a reason a man would want to kill her, and it would have to be a man who either had access to the apartment or whom she would allow into the apartment.' The barman set the water on the table, and Brunetti filled both glasses before continuing, 'The only thing we've found so far that doesn't fit is the money: it stopped coming when she died, and her lawyer made no mention of it. We don't know how much the niece knew about it, or even if she did.' He poured some of the wine into his glass, but left it untouched. 'Not that there's any reason Marieschi should tell me, even if she did know about it,' he added.
'Could she have taken it?' Vianello asked.
'Of course.'
Brunetti had told him about Poppi, so Vianello said, 'Isn't it strange, that I'm reluctant to think a person with such a dog could be dishonest?' He sipped at his wine, turned to the barman and held up the empty sandwich plate, set it down, and said, 'How strange. Most of the people we arrest have children, but it would never occur to us to think that's a reason they wouldn't commit a crime.'
When Brunetti made no comment upon this observation, Vianello returned his attention to the matter at hand and said, 'The niece might just as easily have moved the money.'
Reflecting upon what he knew of the professional classes, Brunetti added, 'Or someone in the bank might have done it, once he knew she was dead.'
'Of course.'
The sandwiches came, but Brunetti could eat only half of one and set the rest of it back on his plate.
Not having to clarify that he was speaking of Signorina Elettra, Brunetti asked’Do you think she'll be able to find out who made the transfers?'
Vianello finished his wine but made no move to refill his glass. After a contemplative pause, he answered, 'If there are any records, anywhere in their files, she'll probably find them.'
'It's terrifying, isn't it?' Brunetti asked.
'If you're a banker, yes,' Vianello agreed.
They returned to the Questura, oppressed by the still-growing heat and their mutual resentment at having had to lunch on sandwiches. In her office, looking as though she'd spent her lunchtime in an air-conditioned environment waiting while the creases were pressed out of her dress, Signorina Elettra greeted them with an expression which seemed unusually sombre.
Sensitive to the difference in her mood, Vianello asked, 'The transfers?'
‘I still can't find out,' she answered tersely.
Brunetti found his mind suddenly filled with random memories of the lawyer: she was tall, athletic of build, and her grasp was firm. He tried to picture her poised over the old woman, hand raised high, but when he did, his vision was interrupted by the memory of the puzzle books he used to help Chiara with: 'What's Wrong with this Picture?' He had seen Awocatessa Marieschi's hands on Poppi's ears. He called himself a sentimental fool and found his attention returning to Signorina Elettra's voice.
'… been either of them,' she concluded, pointing to the screen of her computer.
'What?' Brunetti asked.
'The transfer,' Signorina Elettra repeated, 'could have been made by either one of them.'
'The niece?' Vianello asked.
She nodded. 'All the person needed was the account number, power of attorney, and the code number: the transfer would be automatic. All they had to do was fill out the form and hand it to a teller.' Before he could ask if it would be possible to check the signature on the form, she said, 'No, the bank would never give it to us without an order from a judge.'
Brunetti followed this trail to its inevitable conclusion. 'And the banks in the Channel Islands?' he asked.
She shook her head. 'I've tried in a number of ways, but I've never been able to get anything from them.' Her respect was grudging, but it was still audible.
Brunetti felt the temptation to ask if she kept her money there, but he resisted and, instead, asked, 'Can you think of any way to trace the request?'
'Not without an order from a judge,' she repeated. All of them knew the likelihood of this.
'Have you been able to find out anything about the niece?' Brunetti asked.
'Very little. Birth, school records, medical file, taxes. Just the usual things.' She was not being ironic, Brunetti realized: finding these details of a person's life was as easy for her as consulting the phone book.
'And?' Brunetti asked.
'And she seems as inconsequential as her aunt,' Signorina Elettra answered.
'Where does she work?'
'She's a baker's assistant at Romolo,' she answered, naming a pasticceria on the other side of the city, where Brunetti sometimes went on Sunday morning to get fresh pastries.
Brunetti's thoughts were diverted from the pastries by the arrival of Alvise, who ran into the office, preventing himself from catapulting into Vianello only by grabbing the frame of the door with one hand and pulling himself to a sudden stop, breathing heavily. 'Sir’ he gasped, looking at Brunetti. ‘I just had a call for you, from a woman’
'Yes?7 Brunetti asked, alarmed at the expression on the face of the usually phlegmatic officer.
'She said you had to come immediately’
'Come where, Alvise?' Brunetti asked.
It took Alvise a moment to answer. 'She didn't say, sir. But she said you had to come now’
'Why?' Brunetti asked. 'She said they killed Poppi.'
17
The name galvanized Brunetti. Forcing his voice to remain calm, he asked Alvise, 'Did she say where she was calling from?'
‘I don't remember, sir,' Alvise said, confused that his superior should ask for such a detail in the face of such an urgent message.
'What, exactly, did she say, Alvise?' Brunetti asked.
At the new tone in his superior's voice, Alvise released his hold on the door jamb and stood up straighter. With an effort that was visible in his face, he recalled the conversation. "The call got transferred to the switchboard when you didn't answer, sir, and Russo thought you might be with Vianello, so he transferred the call to our office, and I picked it up.'
Once again wanting to hit the person in front of him, Brunetti said only, 'Go on.'
'It was a woman and she was crying, I think, sir. She kept asking to talk to you, and when I said I'd find you, she said to tell you to come now because they killed Poppi.'
'Did she say anything else, Alvise?' Brunetti asked with iron calm.
As if being asked to recall a conversation that had taken place some weeks before, Alvise closed his eyes for a moment, opened them and stared at the floor, then said, 'Only that she just got there and found her. Poppi, I suppose.'
'Did she say where she was, Alvise?' he repeated, voice tight.