'Why?'
'She's a good person.'
'Is she a friend of yours?' Brunetti asked, curious as to whether there might have been some history between them. They were of an age, and he must once have been a very impressive man.
'No, no, nothing like that’ Bovo said. 'It's that she tried to keep that other bastard from firing me. And when he did, she tried to give me a job, but her father wouldn't let her.' He finished the water and put the glass on the counter. 'So now I don't have a job. My wife does—she goes out and cleans houses—and I'm supposed to stay home with the kids.'
Brunetti thanked him, put two Euros on the counter, and held out his hand. He shook Bovo's hand carefully, thanked him again, and left.
Deciding it would be quicker, Brunetti walked down to the Faro stop and took the 41 back to Fondamenta Nuove, then switched to the 42 that would take him down to the hospital stop. From there, it was a quick walk back to the Questura.
As he walked inside, Brunetti was forced to accept the fact that he had spent almost an entire working day on something that could in no way be justified as a legitimate use of his time. Further, he had involved both an inspector and a junior officer, and some days ago he had commandeered both a police launch and a police car in the same matter. In the absence of a crime, it could not be called an investigation: it was nothing more than indulgence in the sort of curiosity he should have abandoned years before.
Conscious of this, he went to Signorina Elettra's office and was happy to find her at her desk, wrapped in spring. A pink scarf was tied around her head, gypsy fashion, and she wore a green shirt and severe black slacks. Her lipstick matched the scarf, prompting Brunetti to wonder when it would start matching the shirt.
'Are you very busy, Signorina?' he asked after they had exchanged greetings.
'No more so than usual’ she said. 'What can I do for you?'
'I'd like you to take a look and see what you can find about two men’ he began and saw her slide a notebook closer. 'Giovanni De Cal, who owns a fornace on Murano, and Giorgio Tassini, the night-watchman at De Cal's factory.'
'Everything?' she asked.
'Whatever you can find, please.'
Idly, driven only by the same sort of curiosity Brunetti felt propelling him, she asked, 'Is this for anything?'
'No, not really’ Brunetti had to admit. He was about to leave, when he added, 'And Marco Ribetti, who works for a French company, but is Venetian. An engineer. His speciality is garbage disposal, I think, or building garbage dumps.'
'I'll see what I can find.'
He thought of adding Fasano's name but stopped himself. It was only a fishing expedition, not an investigation, and she had better things to do. He thanked her and left.
10
A day passed, and then another. Brunetti heard nothing from Assunta De Cal and gave her little thought, nor did he spend time thinking about Murano and the threats made by a drunken old man. He had young men, instead, to keep him occupied, young men—though legally they were still children—who were repeatedly arrested, processed, then identified and collected by people claiming to be their parents or guardians, though because they were gypsies, few of them had documents which could prove this.
And then came the shock story in one of the weekly newspaper inserts about the fate of such young boys in more than one South American city, where they were reportedly being executed by squads of off-duty policemen. 'Well, we aren't there yet’ Brunetti muttered to himself as he finished reading the article. There were many qualities in his fellow citizens that Brunetti, as a policeman, abhorred: their willingness to accommodate crime; their failure to trust the law; their lack of rage at the inefficiency of the legal system. But we don't shoot children in the street because they steal oranges, he said, though he was not at all sure if this was sufficient reason for civic pride.
Like an epileptic sensing the imminence of a seizure, Brunetti knew he was best advised to use work to distract himself from these thoughts. He took out his notebook and found the phone number Tassini's mother-in-law had given him. A man answered.
'Signor Tassini?' Brunetti asked.
'Si’
"This is Commissario Guido Brunetti, Signore.' He paused, waiting for Tassini's question, but the man said nothing, and so Brunetti continued. 'I wonder if I could trouble you for some of your time, Signor Tassini. I'd like to speak to you.'
'Are you the one who was here?' Tassini asked, making no attempt to hide his suspicion.
'Yes, I am’ Brunetti answered easily. 'I spoke to your mother-in-law, but she could give me very little information.'
'What about?' Tassini asked neutrally.
'About the place where you work, Signore’ he said and again waited for Tassini to respond.
'What about it?'
'It has to do with your employer, Giovanni De Cal. That's why I chose to contact you away from your place of work. We would prefer that your employer not learn that we're taking an interest in him.' This was true enough, and it was similarly true that De Cal could cause considerable trouble if he were to learn that Brunetti was in essence running a private investigation.
'Is it about my complaint?' Tassini asked, curiosity getting the better of his distrust.
'It's about that, of course,' Brunetti lied effortlessly, 'as well as about Signor De Cal and a report we've had about him.'
'A report from whom?' Tassini asked.
'I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to reveal that, Signor Tassini. I'm sure you understand that everything we're told, we're told in confidence.' He waited to see if Tassini would swallow this, and when his silence suggested that he had, Brunetti asked, 'Would it be possible to speak to you?'
After some hesitation, Tassini asked, 'When?'
'Whenever it's convenient for you, Signore.'
Tassini's voice, when he answered, was less easy than it had been a moment before. 'How did you get this number?'
'Your mother-in-law gave it to me,' Brunetti said. Softening his voice and putting into it a note of near-embarrassment, he added 'Your mother-in-law told me you have no telefonino, Signor Tassini. Speaking personally, I'd like to compliment you on the wisdom of that decision.' He ended with a half-laugh.
'You think they're dangerous, too?' Tassini asked eagerly.
'From what I've read, I'd say there's good reason to believe it’ Brunetti said. From what he had read, there was also good reason to believe that automobiles, central heating, and aeroplanes were dangerous, but this was a sentiment he chose not to reveal to Signor Tassini.
'When do you want to meet?' Tassini asked.
'If you could possibly spare me the time right now, I could be there in about fifteen minutes.'
The line sang emptily for a long time, but Brunetti resisted the impulse to speak. 'All right’ Tassini said, 'but not here at the house. There's a bar opposite San Francesco di Paola.'
'On the corner before the park?' Brunetti asked.
'Yes.'
'I know it, the place that draws the little hearts on the cappuccino schiuma, no?'
'Yes’ said Tassini in a gentler tone.
'I'll be there in fifteen minutes’ said Brunetti and put down the phone.
When Brunetti entered the bar, he looked around for a man who might be the night-watchman in a glass factory. There was one man at the bar, drinking a coffee and talking to the barman. Another pair stood farther along, two coffees in front of them, one man with a briefcase propped against his leg. Another man with a large nose and a peculiarly small head stood at the end of the bar, feeding one-Euro coins into a video poker machine. His gestures were rhythmic: feed a coin, punch a button, wait to see the flashing results, punch more buttons, wait again to see the results, quick double sip at a glass of red wine, then another coin.