'If what you want to know is whether Raffi is interested, I think we can be fairly sure he isn't. He doesn't use drugs.'
The policeman in Brunetti wanted to know why Paola could say this: what was her source, and how reliable? Had she questioned Raffi himself, or had he volunteered the information, or was her witness some other person with knowledge of the case or the suspects? He stared at the ceiling, and as he watched, one of the lights shining in from the other side of the calle was extinguished, leaving him in comforting darkness. How foolish, how rash to believe a mother's word as to the innocence of her only son.
He stared at the ceiling, afraid to question her. The window was ajar, and through it came the bells of San Marco, telling them that it was midnight, time to be asleep. Over it, he heard Paola say, 'It's all right, Guido. Don't worry about Raffi.' He closed his eyes in momentary relief, and when he opened them again, it was morning.
23
On his way to the Questura the following morning, Brunetti began to consider how best to raise the subject of Fasano with Signorina Elettra. He did not understand the reason for her apparent regard for the man: she usually had enough sense to hold politicians in utter contempt, so why had she chosen to stand up in defence of this one? Given the peculiarities of Signorina Elettra's prejudices, it might be nothing more than the fact that Fasano had not yet made an official declaration of his desire to enter into politics, and until such time she might be willing to continue to treat him as human.
Brunetti had been seeing Fasano's photo and reading his name in the Gazzettino for years. He was tall, athletic, photogenic, was said to be a good speaker and a well-regarded employer. Brunetti had met him and his wife at a dinner some years before and had a vague memory of him as being affable and of her as an attractive blonde, but he could summon up little more than that. He might have talked with her about a play they had both seen at the Goldoni, or perhaps it had been a film: he could not retrieve the memory.
He went into Ballarin and asked for a coffee and a brioche, still trying to recall anything else about the man that the waves of gossip had washed up into his memory over the years. Brunetti had the brioche halfway to his mouth when it occurred to him that the best way to gather information would be to go and talk to the man. He stood for a few seconds, brioche poised in the air, his head tilted to one side. A man eased by him to get to the bar and Brunetti caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Quickly he finished the brioche and the coffee, paid, and started back toward Fondamenta Nuove and the 42.
The route from the Sacca Serenella ACTV embarcadero was by now familiar to Brunetti. At the end of the cement walkway, instead of turning to the right and to De Cal's factory, he went to the left and approached the other building, which he had previously ignored. Built of brick, the factory had a high peaked roof with a double row of skylights. As with most of the fornaci, the entrance was through a set of sliding metal doors.
As he approached, he recognized Palazzi standing in front of the building, smoking. 'Good morning’ Brunetti said to the workman and raised a hand in greeting. 'Looks like it'll be a nice day.'
Palazzi returned an amiable enough smile, dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, grinding it into the earth with his toe. 'Habit’ he said when he saw Brunetti watching this. 'I used to work in a chemical plant, and we had to be careful with cigarettes.
'I'm surprised they let you smoke there at all’ Brunetti said.
"They didn't’ Palazzi said and smiled again. At the sign of Brunetti's answering grin, he asked, tilting his head backwards, towards the field that ran from the factories down to the water, 'You find anything out there?'
'No results yet’ Brunetti said.
'You expecting to find anything?'
Brunetti shrugged. 'The guy in the lab'll tell me.'
'What're you looking for?'
'No idea’ Brunetti admitted.
'Just curious?' Palazzi asked, taking out his cigarettes. He shook some forward in the packet and held them out towards Brunetti, who shook his head.
When Brunetti said nothing, Palazzi repeated, 'Just curious?'
'Always curious.'
'Because of Tassini?'
'Partly, yes.'
'What's the other part?'
'Because people don't like it that I come out here.'
'And ask questions?'
Brunetti nodded.
Palazzi lit his cigarette and pulled deeply on it, leaned his head back and let out a long series of perfect smoke rings that slowly expanded to the size of haloes before evaporating in the soft morning air. 'Tassini asked a lot of questions, too’ Palazzi said.
'About what?' The sun had grown warmer since Brunetti got off the boat. He unbuttoned his jacket.
'About everything’ Palazzi said.
'Such as?'
'Such as who kept the records of what sort of chemicals came in and went out and whether any of us knew anyone in the other factories who had kids with ... kids with problems.'
'Like his daughter?' Brunetti asked.
'I suppose so.'
'And?'
Palazzi tossed his half-smoked cigarette beside the shreds of the other one and ground it out, too, then rubbed at the space with his toe until all sign of the cigarettes had been obliterated. 'Tassini didn't work with us until a couple of months ago. He was over at De Cal's for years, so we all knew him. Then, when the night man here retired, well, I suppose the boss thought it made sense to get him to work here, too. Not all that much for l'uomo di notte to do, after all.' Palazzi's voice softened. 'We knew about his daughter by then. From the guys at De Cal's. But like I told you yesterday, no one much wanted to listen to him or talk to him or get involved in his ideas.' Brunetti nodded to make it clear that he understood their reluctance, hoping to make Palazzi feel less uncomfortable about speaking of Tassini like this so soon after his death.
After a reflective, or respectful, pause, Palazzi added, 'And we all sort of felt sorry for him.' In response to Brunetti's inquisitive glance, he added, 'Because he was so clumsy: he was pretty much useless around the fornace. But all l'uomo di notte has to do is toss things in and stir them around, then keep an eye on the miscela and stir it whenever it's necessary.'
'Did he ask questions about anything else?' Brunetti asked.
Palazzi thought about this. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and studied the toes of his shoes. Finally he looked at Brunetti and said, 'About a month ago, he asked me about the plumber.'
'What about him?'
'Who he was—the one for the factory—and when was the last time he did any work here.'
'Did you know?' When Palazzi nodded, Brunetti asked, 'What did you tell him?'
'I told him I thought it was Adil-San—they're over by the Misericordia. It's their boat that comes out for pick-ups or when anything goes wrong: that's what I told him.'
'And when were they last out here?' Brunetti asked, though he had no idea why he was pursuing this.
'About two months ago, I think, around the time he started working here. The grinding shop was closed for a day while they worked on one of the sedimentation tanks.'
'Did Tassini know about that?'
'No: he was working nights, and they were finished and gone by the middle of the afternoon.'