Vianello looked up at Brunetti; the sulks disappeared. 'Just what everyone's been saying. That he was unfiglio di papa unfiglio di papa with too much money and too little to do. I asked him about the car, and at first he denied it. But I told him there'd be no consequences, that we just wanted to know about it. So he told me that Roberto asked them to do it to get his father's attention. Well, Roberto didn't say that; it's what the boy said. In fact, he sounded sort of sorry for him, for Roberto.' with too much money and too little to do. I asked him about the car, and at first he denied it. But I told him there'd be no consequences, that we just wanted to know about it. So he told me that Roberto asked them to do it to get his father's attention. Well, Roberto didn't say that; it's what the boy said. In fact, he sounded sort of sorry for him, for Roberto.'

When he saw Brunetti start to speak, he clarified his remark. 'No, not that he's dead, or not only that he's dead. It seemed to me like he was sorry that Roberto had to go to. such lengths to get his father's attention, that he could be so lonely, so lost.'

Brunetti grunted in a.s.sent, and Vianello went on.

'They drove the car to Verona and left it in a parking garage, then took the train home. Roberto gave them the money for it all, even took them to dinner afterwards'

'They were still friends when he disappeared, weren't they?'

'It seems so, though this one - Niccolo Pertusi -1 know his uncle, who says he's a good boy - but Niccolo said Roberto seemed like a different person the last few weeks before it happened. Tired, no more jokes, always talking about how bad he felt, and about the doctors he saw.'

'He was only twenty-one,' Brunetti said.

'I know. Strange, isn't it? I wonder if he was really sick.' Vianello laughed. 'My Aunt Lucia would say it was a warning. Only she'd say it was' and here Vianello added creepy emphasis, '"A Warning"'

'No,' Brunetti said. 'It sounds to me like he really was sick.'

Neither of them had to say it Brunetti nodded and went up to his office to make the call-- As usual, he lost ten minutes in explaining to various secretaries and nurses just who he was and what he wanted, then another five in a.s.suring the specialist in Padova, Doctor Giovanni Montini, that the information about Roberto Lorenzoni was necessary. More time pa.s.sed as the doctor had a nurse look for Roberto's file.

When he finally had it, the doctor told Brunetti what he'd already heard so often he was beginning to feel the same symptoms: la.s.situde, headache, and general malaise.

'And did you ever determine what the cause was, '

Doctor?' Brunetti asked. 'After all, it's surely unusual for a man in the prime of youth to have these symptoms?'

It could have been depression' the doctor suggested.

'Roberto Lorenzoni didn't sound like a depressive type to me. Doctor,' Brunetti said.

'No, perhaps not' the doctor agreed. Brunetti could hear pages being turned. 'No, I've no idea what might have been wrong,' the doctor finally said. 'The lab results might have said.'

'Lab results?' Brunetti asked.

'Yes, he was a private patient and could pay for them himself. I ordered a whole battery of tests.' Brunetti could have asked if a patient with the same symptoms who was on the public health rolls would have been left untested. Instead, he asked, '"Might have said". Doctor?'

'Yes, I don't have them here in the file'

'And why might that be?' Brunetti asked.

'Since he never called to make a follow-up appointment,. I suppose we never requested the results from the lab.'

'Would it be possible to do that now, Doctor?'

The doctor's reluctance was audible. 'It's quite irregular.'

'But do you think you could get the results, Doctor?'

1 don't see any way that could help.'

'Doctor, at this point, any Information we have about the boy might help us find the people who murdered him' It had long been Brunetti's experience that, no matter how inured people might have become to the word 'death', all of them responded the same way to the word 'murder'.

After a long pause, the doctor asked, 'Isn't there some official way you can request them?'

'Yes, there is, but it's a slow and complicated process. Doctor, you could save us a lot of time and paperwork if you'd request them.'

'Well, I suppose so,' Doctor Montini said, reluctance again audible.

Thank you, Doctor,' Brunetti said and gave him the fax number of the Questura.

Having been finessed into sending the fax, the doctor took the only revenge he could. 'By the end of the week, then' and hung up before Brunetti could say anything.

20.

Remembering Patta's admonition to treat the Lorenzonis well - whatever that meant - Brunetti called the number of Maurizio's cellular and asked if he could speak to the family that evening.

'I don't know if my aunt is able to see anyone' Maurizio said, speaking over the noise of what sounded like street traffic.

'Then I need to speak to you and your uncle' Brunetti said.

'We've already spoken to you, spoken to all kinds of police, for about two years, and what's it got us?' the young man asked. The words, Brunetti realized, Came from the text of sarcasm, but they were spoken in the tones of grief .

1 can understand your feelings' Brunetti said, knowing this was a lie, 'But I need to get more information from your uncle, and from you.'

'What sort of information?7 'About Roberto's friends. About a number of things. About the Lorenzoni businesses, for one.'

'What about the businesses?' Maurizio asked, this time having to raise his voice over the background noise. Whatever he said next was blotted out by a man's voice speaking over what sounded like a public address system.

'Where are you?' Brunetti asked.

'On the 82, just pulling into Rialto,' Maurizio answered, then repeated his question, 'What about the businesses?'

'The kidnapping could be related to them.'

'That's absurd,' Maurizio said heatedly, his next words drowned out by the repeated message that Rialto was the next stop.

'What time may I come and talk to you tonight?' Brunetti asked as if Lorenzoni had raised no objections.

There was a pause. Both of them listened to the voice on the public address system, this time in English, and then Maurizio said, 'Seven,' and broke the connection.

The idea that the Lorenzoni business interests might have been involved in the kidnapping was anything but absurd. Quite the contrary, the businesses were the source of the wealth that made the boy a target. From what he had heard about Roberto, it seemed unlikely to Brunetti that anyone would kidnap him for the pleasure of his company or the delights of his conversation. The thought had come unbidden, but Brunetti was ashamed at having entertained it even for an instant. For G.o.d's sake, he was only twenty-one years old, and he had been killed by a bullet through his head.

Some odd linkage of ideas in his mind had Brunetti remembering something Paola had once said, years ago, when he told her about the way Alvise, the dullest policeman on the force, had been suddenly transformed by love, raving on about the many charms of his girlfriend or wife - Brunetti could now no longer remember which. He recalled laughing at the very idea of Alvise in love, laughing until Paola had said, voice icy, 'Just because we're smarter than people doesn't mean our emotions are any finer, Guido.'

Embarra.s.sed, he had tried to argue the point, but she had been, as she always was when intellectual truth was concerned, both rigorous and relentless. 'It's convenient for us to think that the nasty emotions, hate and anger, can adhere to the lower orders as if they owned them by right. So that leaves us, not surprisingly, to lay claim to love and joy and all those high-souled things.' He'd tried to protest, but she'd cut him short with a gesture. "They love, the stupid and the dull and the crude, quite as strongly as we do. They just can't dress their emotions up in pretty words the way we do.'

Part of him had known she was right, but it had taken him days to admit it. He thought of that now: no matter how arrogant the Count or how spoilt the Contessa might have been, they were parents whose only child had been murdered. That their blood and manners were n.o.ble did not exclude the fact that their grief was, too.

He arrived at seven, and this time a maid let him into the Lorenzonis' home. She led him to the same room as before, and he found himself in the company of the same people. Only they were not the same. The Count's face was drawn more tightly over the bones beneath it, the nose sharper and more aquiline than before. Maurizio had lost whatever glow of health or, if nothing else, youth he had possessed the last time and seemed to be wearing clothes a size too large for him.

But the worst was the Contessa. She sat in the same chair, but now she gave the impression that the chair was in the process of devouring her, so little of her body seemed to remain within its enveloping wings. Brunetti glanced at her and was shocked by the skull-like hollows in front of her ears, the tendons and bones visible in the hands that clutched the beads of a rosary.

None of them acknowledged his entrance, though the maid spoke his name when she led him in. Suddenly uncertain how to proceed, Brunetti spoke to a point somewhere between the Count and his nephew. 'I know this is painful for you, all of you, but I need to know more about why Roberto might have been taken and to discover who might have done it.'

The Countess said something so softly that Brunetti didn't hear her. He glanced down at her, but her eyes remained on her hands and on the beads that slipped through her thin fingers.

'I don't see why any of this is necessary,' the Count said, making no attempt to disguise his anger.

'Now that we know what has happened' Brunetti began, 'we'll continue our investigation' 'To what purpose?' the Count demanded. 'To find the people who are responsible for this'

'What difference will that make?' 'Perhaps to prevent its happening again.' 'They can't kidnap my son again. They They can't kill him again' can't kill him again'

Brunetti glanced down at the Countess to see if she was following what was being said, but she gave no sign of hearing. 'But they could be stopped from doing it again, to someone else, or to someone else's son'

'That hardly matters to us,' the Count said, and Brunetti believed he meant it.

'Then to see that they are punished?' Brunetti suggested. Vengeance was usually attractive to the victims of crime.

The Count shrugged this away then turned towards his nephew. Because Brunetti was blocked from seeing the young man's face, he had no idea of what pa.s.sed between them, but when the Count turned around, he asked, 'What sort of things do you want to know?'

If you have ever had business dealings with...' and here Brunetti paused, not certain which euphemism to use. 'Have you ever dealt with companies or persons who later proved to be criminals?'

'Do you mean the Mafia?' the Count asked. 'Yes.'

'Then why not just say it, for G.o.d's sake?'

At his uncle's explosion, Maurizio took a step towards him, one hand raised to the level of his waist, but a glance from the Count stopped him. He lowered his hand and stepped back.

The Mafia, then,' Brunetti said. "Have you ever had dealings with it?'

'Not that I know of' the Count answered.

'Have any companies you've done business with been involved in criminal activity?'

'Where do you live, on the moon?' the Count suddenly demanded, his face flushing red with anger. 'Of course I deal with companies involved in criminal activity. This is Italy. There's no other way to do business.'

'Could you be more specific, sir?' Brunetti asked.

The Count threw up his hands in what seemed like disgust at Brunetti's ignorance. 'I buy raw materials from a company that has been fined for dumping mercury into the Volga River. The president of one of my suppliers is in jail in Singapore for employing ten-year-olds and making them work fourteen-hour days. Another one, the vice-president of a refinery in Poland, has been arrested on drug charges.' As he spoke, the Count paced back and forth in front of the empty fireplace. He stopped in front of Brunetti and demanded, 'Do you want more?'

'They all seem very far away' Brunetti said mildly.

'Far away?'

'Far away from here. I had something in mind a little closer, perhaps in Italy.'

The Count appeared utterly at a loss how to take what Brunetti said, whether to respond with anger or information. Maurizio chose this moment to interrupt. 'We had some trouble, about three years ago, with a supplier in Naples.' Brunetti gave him a quizzical glance and the young man continued, lie was providing engine parts for our trucks, but they turned out to have been stolen from shipments made through the port of Naples' 'What happened?7 'We changed supplier' Maurizio explained. 'Was it a large contract?'Brunetti asked. 'Large enough' the Count interrupted. 'How large?' Brunetti asked. 'About fifty million lire a month.' 'Were there bad feelings? Threats?' Brunetti asked.

The Count shrugged. There were words, but no threats.' 'Why?'

The Count took so long in answering this that Brunetti was finally prompted to repeat the question. 'Why?'

'I recommended him to another trucking company.'

'A compet.i.tor?'Brunetti asked.

'Everyone's a compet.i.tor' the Count said.

'Was there ever any other trouble? Perhaps with an employee? Did one of them perhaps have connections to the Mafia?'

'No' Maurizio interrupted before his uncle could answer.

Brunetti had been watching the Count when he asked the question, and he saw his surprise at the young man's response.

Calmly, he repeated the question directly to the Count. 'Were you aware of an employee who had criminal connections?'

He shook his head. 'No. No.'

Before Brunetti could ask another question, the Countess spoke. 'He was my baby. I loved him so much' By the time he glanced down at her, she had stopped talking and was again pulling the smooth beads between her fingers.

The Count leaned down and caressed her thin cheek, but she gave no indication that she was aware of his touch, or of his presence. 'I think this has gone on long enough' he said, straightening up.

There was still one thing Brunetti wanted. 'Do you have his pa.s.sport?'

When the Count failed to answer, Maurizio asked, 'Roberto's?' At Brunetti's nod, he said, 'Of course.'

Is it here?'

'Yes, it's in his room. I saw it there when we were ... When we cleaned it'

'Would you get it for me?'

Maurizio gave a puzzled glance at the Count, who remained motionless and silent.

Maurizio excused himself and for a full three minutes the two men listened to the whispered Ave Marias of the Countess, words repeated and repeated as the beads clicked together.

Maurizio returned and handed the pa.s.sport to Brunetti.

'Would you like me to sign a receipt for this?' he asked.