He dropped the other maps back into the box and took the map of the laguna out on to the terrace. Careful of the long-dried tape that held parts of it together, he opened it slowly and stretched it out on the table. How tiny the islands looked, surrounded by the vast expanse of palude. For kilometres in every direction, the capillaries and veins of the channels spread, pumping water in and out twice a day, as regular as the moon itself. For a thousand years, those few canals at Chioggia, Malamocco and San Nicolo had served as aortas, keeping the waters clean, even at the height of the Serenissima's power, when hundreds of thousands of people had lived there, their waste added to the waters every day.
Brunetti caught himself before this thought could take its familiar course. He recalled what Paola had said two nights ago, of the disgruntled Roman, life blighted by displeasure with the present, ever longing for the better past he knew was lost, and he pulled his thoughts away from history and turned them to geography.
The immensity of the area depicted on the map reminded him how lost he was in it and how ignorant of how things were organized upon its waters, even in relation to the jurisdiction of crimes. If cases were given out, rather in the manner of party favours, to the first comer, then how could one expect to find consistent records of what had happened there?
He assumed that large fish were taken from the Adriatic; where then did the clams and shrimp come from? He had no idea what places in the laguna could legitimately be used for fishing, though he assumed that all of the shallow waters lying just off the coast of Marghera would be closed. Yet if what Bonsuan said, and Vianello believed, was true, then even that area was still fished.
He sometimes went to Rialto with Paola to buy fish and recalled the sign often placed on the gleaming skins of the fish on display: 'Nostrani’ as if the claim that the fish was 'Ours' somehow imbued it with health and goodness, washed it clean of even the thought of contamination. He'd seen the same sign on cherries, peaches, plums, and again, he realized, the same magic was meant to work: the fact that the fruit was Italian was enough to sweep it clean of all taint of chemical or pesticide and render it pure as mother's milk.
He'd once read a book that traced the history of what people ate, and so he knew that his ancestors, far from having enjoyed an Edenic diet both safe and healthy, had ingested vast quantities of chemicals and poisons with every bite and had risked tuberculosis, and worse, with every sip of milk.
Dissatisfied by his own dissatisfaction, he folded the map and took it back into the apartment. 'Paola,' he called towards the back of the apartment, 'let's go get a drink.'
The first thing he learned on Monday morning was that, despite his plans, he was in charge while Patta was gone. Marotta, it turned out, had been summoned back to Turin for a week to testify in a case.. He had not been directly involved, had merely been in charge of a squad of detectives when two of them had made the arrest of six suspects in an arms trafficking case. It was highly unlikely that he would be called to testify, he probably could have refused to go, but as it meant a trip home at government expense as well as a living allowance for the time he was there, he accepted, leaving a note for Brunetti explaining that his presence was essential to the successful prosecution of the case and that he was sure Vice-Questore Patta would approve of his decision to designate Brunetti as his own acting commander.
Repeatedly he called down to Signorina Elettra's office during the course of the morning, but as it was her habit not to overburden the Questura with her presence when her superior was absent, he wasn't certain whether she had decided to sleep until noon or to go out to Pellestrina. At eleven, his phone rang, and he was greatly relieved to hear her voice.
'Where are you, Signorina?' he asked, rather than demanded.
'On the beach of Pellestrina, sir, the side that faces the sea. Did you know they'd removed the grounded ship?' When he didn't answer, she went on, ‘I was surprised not to see it there. My cousin said they hauled it off last year. I miss it.'
'When did you get there, Signorina?'
'I came out before lunch on Saturday because I wanted to have as much time here as possible.'
'What did you tell your cousin?'
He heard the sharp cry of a seagull. 'That I was sorry I hadn't been out for so long but I wanted to get away from the city for a while,' she said, then paused and the gull had something else to say. When it was finished, she went on, ‘I told Bruna I'd had "una storia" that ended badly and wanted to get away from anything that would remind me of him.' In a softer voice, she added, 'Well, that's true enough,' and Brunetti found himself immediately curious about who he was and why it had ended.
'How long did you tell her you'd be there?'
'Oh, I was vague about that; at least a week, probably more, depending on how I felt. But I already feel better; the sun's wonderful, and the air is completely different from the city. I could stay here for ever.'
The bureaucrat in him spoke before he could help it. ‘I certainly hope you don't mean that.'
'Just a figure of speech, sir.'
'What are you going to do?'
'Walk on the beach and see who I meet. Go and have a coffee at the bar and see what's new. Talk to people. Go fishing.'
'Just a normal vacation on Pellestrina?' Brunetti asked.
'Exactly,' she said, to which the gull made no comment. With the promise to call him again, she broke the connection.
14
As she slipped the telefonino back into the left pocket of her jacket, Elettra Zorzi was glad she'd thought to bring the suede, instead of the wool. The pockets were deeper and thus more securely held the tiny Nokia, little bigger than a pack of cigarettes. And it was a better match for the navy blue slacks, though she wasn't really happy with the way it looked with the Topsiders she'd brought along to wear on the beach. She'd never liked the combination of leather and suede, wished now she'd bought that pair of fawn-coloured suede loafers she'd seen in the Fratelli Rossetti sale.
The gull called out again, but she ignored it. When it continued to squawk at her, she turned and walked directly at it until it took off and flew away down the beach in the direction of the Riserva of Ca' Roman. Like most Venetians, she tolerated gulls but loathed pigeons, which she viewed as a source of constant trouble, their nests blocking drainpipes and their constant droppings turning marble into meringue. She thought of the tourists she'd often seen in San Marco, pigeons hopping about on their heads and outstretched arms, and she shivered: flying rats.
She continued down the beach, away from the village, glad of the feel of the sun on her back, intent on nothing more than reaching San Pietro in Volta and having a coffee before turning back to Pellestrina. She lengthened her stride, aware at every step of how long she'd been sitting at a desk and how much her body rejoiced in this simple act of walking on the beach in the sun.
Her cousin Bruna, when she'd called last week, had not seemed at all surprised at her suggestion that she come out for a week or so. When she asked why Elettra was free at such short notice, she decided to tell at least part of the truth and explained that she and her boyfriend had planned for months to go to France for two weeks, but their sudden separation had ended those plans, leaving her with the impossibility of changing her request for vacation time. Bruna had shown no sign of taking offence at being only second choice and had insisted she come out immediately, to leave all thought of him behind in the city.