He walked across the field, his eyes fixed to the instrument, moving at an angle that took him slightly to the left, towards the laguna to the north of the island. Halfway between De Cal's factory and the water, he stopped. When Brunetti joined him, Foa pulled the hand that held the paper towards him and checked the second number.
His attention on the GPS, Foa moved to the left, heading for the fence that had once stood between De Cal's property and the land next door. All that was left to indicate its previous existence or function was a line of bleached stakes and sticks, like the bones of some desiccated land animal long ago devoured by marauders. As if to provide a clearer demarcation between the two properties, nothing grew on the strip where once the fence had stood: the grass began only about a metre to either side of the tangled sticks.
After a time, Foa stopped and studied the instrument, then moved a few steps closer to the fence. 'What was the last digit, sir? Of the second number?'
Brunetti glanced at the paper. 'Point ninety.'
Foa took two small sideways steps until he was astride the rotting pieces of fence. He kicked them aside. He looked at the GPS and moved minimally to the right in response to whatever he read there, then called back to Brunetti, 'OK, this is it. Whatever this guy thought was important, this is the first place where he wanted you to look.' He took the paper from Brunetti, studied it for a moment, then turned and looked at De Cal's factory. 'The second lot of coordinates has got to be inside that building’ Foa said.
He checked the GPS, and looked around them again. "The third place is probably inside that one’ he said, pointing to the factory that stood on the other side of the field, to the right of De Cal's.
Brunetti gazed around them. Could it be that something was visible from this point that might not be seen from another angle? They both turned in full circles and, without even discussing the possibility that they were meant to see something, dismissed it. Brunetti turned back towards De Cal's factory, and as he moved, both of them heard the squelching sound his foot made as he raised it. Neither had been aware of the dampness when they got there, but when they looked down and moved their feet, they saw the water quickly seep in to fill their footsteps.
The idea came to them simultaneously. 'I've got an empty bucket in the launch, Commissario. In case you'd like to take some of this stuff to Bocchese.'
'Yes’ Brunetti said, not at all sure what would be there but absolutely certain that something would be. He waited while the pilot headed for the factory and cut around it in the direction of the launch. Every so often Brunetti shifted his feet and heard and felt the sibilance of the mud.
Foa was quickly back with a pink plastic bucket and a small spade, the sort of thing a child would use for building castles on the beach. When Foa saw the attention Brunetti devoted to these objects, he pressed his lips together nervously and said, 'Well, I take the boat home with me on weekends sometimes, to work on the engine.'
'Does your daughter help you?' Brunetti asked.
'She's only three, sir’ Foa said with a smile. 'But she likes to come along when I go out in the laguna to dig for clams.'
'Better to go out there in a boat you know is safe, I suppose, especially if you have a child,' said Brunetti.
Foa answered with a smile. 'I buy my own gas’ he said, and Brunetti believed him. He liked the fact that Foa felt it important to tell him.
Brunetti took the shovel and dug it into the mud at their feet. Foa held the bucket for him as he spilled in a few shovelfuls, then placed the blade of the shovel flat on the ground and allowed some water to seep in. He added this carefully to the mud.
A man's voice spoke from their left. 'What are you doing?'
Brunetti stopped and stood upright. A man was approaching them from the factory he had been told belonged to Gianluca Fasano. 'What are you doing here?' the man demanded, clearly not at all impressed by the sight of Foa's police uniform. He was tall, taller than Vianello, and thicker, as well. The thick ridge of bone above his eyes cast them into shadow, even in this morning light. His lips were thin and cracked, and the skin around them looked irritated.
'Good morning’ Brunetti said, walking towards the man and putting out his hand. His gesture surprised the man into taking it. 'I'm Commissario Guido Brunetti.'
‘Talazzi’ he said as he shook Brunetti's hand. 'Raffaele.'
Foa approached, and Brunetti introduced the two men, who also shook hands.
'Could you tell me what you're doing?' Palazzi asked in a more moderate tone.
'I'm in charge of the investigation into the death of I'uomo di notte. He worked in your factory, too, didn't he?'
'Yes,' Palazzi said, then pointed down at the bucket. 'But what's that?'
I'm taking a sample of the soil from Signor De Cal's property there,' Brunetti said, indicating with the spade the place where they had been when Palazzi first saw them.
'What for?' Palazzi asked with real curiosity.
'To examine,' Brunetti said.
'Because of Giorgio?' Palazzi asked.
'You knew him?' Brunetti asked.
'Oh, we all knew him,' Palazzi said with a bittersweet smile. 'Poor guy. I've known him for what, six years?' Palazzi shook his head, as if surprised to discover how long he had known the dead man.
'So you knew him before his daughter was born?' Brunetti asked.
'The poor devil’ Palazzi said. 'No one deserved that.'
'Deserved what, Signor Palazzi?' Brunetti asked and set the bucket on the ground, the better to convey the idea that he was mere for a long conversation. Foa moved his feet apart and relaxed.
"The baby. That she should be born like that. I've got two kids, and thank God they're normal.'
'Did you ever see Signor Tassini's daughter?'
'No, but he told me about her. He told us all about her.'
'Did he tell you why he thought she was that way?' Brunetti asked.
'Oh, Lord, he told us all a hundred times, told us until none of us would listen to him any more.' Palazzi thought about this and then said, 'I'm sorry now we didn't listen to him, now that he's gone. It probably wouldn't have cost us that much.' But then he thought better of it and said, 'But it was awful. Really. He'd start and he'd go on for an hour, or at least until you had to tell him to stop or you just walked away. He'd come in early sometimes, I think, just to talk to us about it, or stay after his shift was over in the morning.' Palazzi weighed it all up and said, 'I guess we stopped listening to him, or he realized we wouldn't listen to him. Anyway, he didn't have so much to say lately.'
'Was he crazy?' Brunetti surprised himself by asking.
Palazzi's mouth fell open at this affront to the dead. 'No. He wasn't crazy. He was just . . . well ... he was strange. I mean, he could talk about things, just like one of us, but as soon as some subjects came up, he was gone.'
'Did he ever threaten his employer, Signor De Cal? Or Signor Fasano?'
Palazzi laughed at the idea. 'Giorgio threaten somebody? You're the crazy one if you can ask that.'
'Did they ever threaten him?' Brunetti asked quickly.
This question really did astonish Palazzi. 'Why would they do that? They could have fired him. Just told him to leave. He was working in nero, so there was nothing he could have done. He'd have had to leave.'
'Are many of you working in nero?' Brunetti asked and regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.
There was a long pause, and then Palazzi said, in a very formal, controlled voice, 'I wouldn't know about that, Commissario.' His tone told Brunetti how little Palazzi would know from now on. Rather than insist, Brunetti thanked him, shook his hand, waited for Foa to do the same, then bent and picked up the pink bucket. He abandoned the idea of going into the factory buildings to try to find the spots that would correspond to the other sets of coordinates.