'The health of the workers?' Brunetti asked.
'Yes. Of course’ Fasano said with sudden heat, adding, 'and mine.' He smiled to suggest he was joking. 'But it's not working on Murano that puts them in danger, Commissario: it's working so near to Marghera. You read the papers; you know what's going on at the trial.' Then, with a rueful half-smile, he amended that to, 'Or not going on.' He took a step to his left and raised a hand in the direction of what Brunetti thought was north-west. "The danger's over there,' he said; then, as if unwilling to leave Brunetti in any doubt, specified, 'Marghera.'
He saw that he had Brunetti's attention and went on, "That's where the pollution comes from; that's what puts my workers at risk.' His voice had grown stronger. "Those are the people who dump and pour and pollute, toss anything they want into the laguna or ship it south to be spread on fields. Not here, believe me.'
Fasano stopped, as if he had realized how heated his voice had become. He tried to laugh off his enthusiasm but failed. 'I'm sorry if I get excited about this’ he said. 'But I've got kids. And to know what they're pumping into the atmosphere and the water, every day, well, it makes me ... I suppose it makes me a little crazy.'
'And there's nothing coming from here?' Brunetti asked.
Fasano answered with a shrug that dismissed the very possibility. "There was never much of a problem with pollution here. But now they've got us so closely watched and measured and weighed, well, there's no chance we could get away with polluting anything.' After a moment, he added, 'For the sake of my children, I'd like to be able to say the same about Marghera, but I can't.'
Brunetti had built up, over the years, the habit of suspicion, especially when people spoke of their concern for the good of others, but he had to confess, if only to himself, that Fasano sounded very much like Vianello on the subject of pollution. And because of the trust Brunetti had come to invest in the Inspector, Fasano sounded sincere.
'Could pollution from Marghera have been the cause of Tassini's daughter's problems?' Brunetti asked.
Fasano shrugged again, then said, almost reluctantly, 'No, I don't think so. Much as I believe Marghera is slowly poisoning us all, I don't think it's responsible for what happened to the little girl.' Brunetti asked for no explanation, but Fasano went on to supply one. 'I've heard about what happened when she was born.'
When it was obvious that Fasano would not elaborate, Brunetti asked, 'Then why did he blame De Cal?'
Fasano started to answer, stopped himself and studied Brunetti's face for a moment, as if asking himself how far he could go with a person he did not know very well. Finally he asked, 'He had to blame someone, didn't he?'
Fasano turned aside and walked back to his desk, where he bent over the vase he had placed there. It stood about fifty centimetres tall, its lines perfectly simple and clean. 'It's beautiful,' Brunetti said spontaneously.
Fasano turned with a smile that softened his entire face. "Thank you, Commissario. Every once in a while, I like to see if I can still make something that isn't all squashed to one side or that has one handle that's bigger than the other.'
'I didn't realize you actually worked the glass’ Brunetti said, making no attempt to disguise his admiration.
'I spent my childhood here,' Fasano said, not without pride. 'My father wanted me to go to university, the first person in our family, so I did, but I always spent my summers here, at the fornace.' He picked up the vase and turned it around twice, studying the surface. Brunetti noticed that it had the faintest cast of amethyst, so light as to be almost invisible in bright light.
Still turning the vase and keeping his eyes on it, Fasano said finally, as though he had been thinking about it since Brunetti had first posed the question, 'He had to believe himself. Everyone here knows what happened when the little girl was born. I think that's why everyone was usually so patient with him. He had to blame something, well, something other than himself, so he ended up blaming De Cal.' He set the vase down on his desk again. 'But he never did anyone any harm.'
Brunetti stopped himself from suggesting that Tassini had done his daughter more than enough harm and said only, 'Did Signor De Cal ever have any trouble with him?'
He watched Fasano consider how to answer this. Finally the man said, 'I've never heard that he did.'
'Do you know Signor De Cal?'
Fasano smiled and said, 'Our families have had factories side by side for more than a hundred years, Commissario.'
'Yes, of course,' answered a chastened Brunetti. 'Did he ever say anything about Tassini or about having trouble with him?'
'You've met Signor De Cal?' Fasano asked.
'Yes.'
'Then can you imagine the workman who would give him any real trouble?'
'No.'
'De Cal would probably have eaten him alive if Tassini had so much as suggested he was responsible for the little girl.' Fasano leaned back against his desk, bracing his hands on either side of him. "That's another reason why Tassini had to keep telling other people, I think. He couldn't say anything to De Cal. He must have been afraid to.'
'It sounds as if you've given his accusations some thought, Signore,' Brunetti said.
Fasano shrugged. 'I suppose I have. After all, we work around these materials all the time, and the idea that they might be harmful to me, or to us, is one I don't like.'
'You don't sound like you believe they are, if I might say so’ Brunetti observed.
'No, I don't’ Fasano said. 'I've read the scientific papers and the reports, Commissario. The danger, I repeat, is over there.' Half turning, he pointed to the north-west.
'One of my inspectors believes it's killing us’ Brunetti said.
'He's right’ Fasano said forcefully. But he said no more, for which Brunetti was almost thankful.
Fasano pushed himself away from his desk, 'I'm afraid I have to go back to work’ he said.
Brunetti expected him to walk around and sit at the desk, but Fasano picked up the vase and went and stood by the door to his office. 'I want to grind off a few imperfections’ he said, making it clear that Brunetti was not invited to join him.
Brunetti thanked him for his time and left the factory, heading back towards the pier.
24
Brunetti took the 42 back to Fondamenta Nuove and then, because it was near, walked towards the Fondamenta della Misericordia. He stopped for a coffee and asked where Adil-San was, learning not only where to find them but that they were honest and busy and that the owner's son had recently married a girl from Denmark he had met at university, and it wasn't expected to last. No, not because of the girl, even if she was a foreigner, but because Roberto was a donnaiolo, and they never change, do they, they never stop chasing women? Nodding his head in acknowledgement or appreciation of this information, Brunetti left the bar and took the first right, following the canal until he saw the sign on the opposite side. Up and down a bridge and then back and into the plumbers' office, where he found a young woman sitting behind a computer.
She looked up and smiled when he came in, asking what she could do for him. Her mouth was perhaps too big, or her lipstick too dark, but she was lovely, and Brunetti found himself flattered by her attention. 'I'd like to speak to the manager, please’ he said.
'Is this about an estimate, sir?' she asked, her smile growing warmer and suggesting to Brunetti that perhaps her mouth was really just the right size.
'No. I'd like to ask him about a client,' he said taking his warrant card from his wallet.
She looked at it, at him, then back at the photo. 'I've never seen one of these before,' she said. 'It's just like on television, isn't it?'