'Good, stammi bene' stammi bene' Brunetti said. Brunetti said.

'Ciao' Sergio answered and was gone. Sergio answered and was gone.

During his life, Brunetti had often heard people begin sentences with, 'If it weren't for him . ; .' and he could not hear the words without subst.i.tuting Sergio's name. When Brunetti, always the acknowledged scholar of the family, was eighteen, it was decided that there was not enough money to allow him to go to university and delay the time when he could begin to contribute to the family's income. He yearned to study the way some of his friends yearned for women, but he a.s.sented to this family decision and began to look for work. It was Sergio, newly engaged and newly employed in a medical laboratory as a technician, who agreed to contribute more to the family if it would mean that his younger brother would be allowed to study. Even then, Brunetti knew that it was the law he wanted to study, less its current application than its history and the reasons why it developed the way it had.

Because there was no faculty of law at Ca Foscari, it meant that Brunetti would have to study at Padova, the cost of his commuting adding to the responsibility Sergio agreed to a.s.sume. Sergio's marriage was delayed for three years, during which time Brunetti quickly rose to the top of his cla.s.s and began to earn some money by tutoring students younger than himself.

Had he not studied, Brunetti would not have met Paola in the university library, and he would not have become a policeman. He sometimes wondered if he would have become the same man, if the things inside of him that he considered vital would have developed in the same way, had he, perhaps, become an insurance salesman or a city bureaucrat. Knowing idle speculation when he saw it, Brunetti reached for the phone and pulled it towards him.

6.

Just as Brunetti had always thought it vulgar to ask Paola how many rooms there were in her family's palazzo palazzo and hence remained ignorant of that number, so too had he no idea of the exact number of phone lines going into Palazzo Falier. He knew three of the numbers: the more or less public one that was given out to all friends and business a.s.sociates; the one given only to members of the family; and the Count's private number, which he had never found it necessary to use. and hence remained ignorant of that number, so too had he no idea of the exact number of phone lines going into Palazzo Falier. He knew three of the numbers: the more or less public one that was given out to all friends and business a.s.sociates; the one given only to members of the family; and the Count's private number, which he had never found it necessary to use.

He called the first, as this was hardly, an emergency or a matter of great privacy.

'Palazzo Falier,' a male voice Brunetti had never heard responded on the third ring.

'Good morning. This is Guido Brunetti. I'd like to speak to ...' here he paused for an instant, uncertain whether to call the Count by his t.i.tle or to refer to him as his father-in-law.

'He's on the other line, Doctor Brunetti. May I have him call you in...' It was the other man's turn to pause. 'The light's just gone out. I'll connect you.'

There followed a soft click, after which Brunetti heard the deep baritone of his father-in-law's voice, 'Falier.' Nothing more.

'Good morning. It's Guido.'

The voice, as it had done of late, softened. 'Ah, Guido, how are you? And how are the children?'

'We're all well. And both of you?' He couldn't call her 'Donatella', and he wouldn't call her 'The Countess'.

'Both well, thank you. What is it I can do for you?' The Count knew there could be no other reason for Brunetti's call.

'I'd like to know whatever you can tell me about the Lorenzoni family.'

During the ensuing silence, Brunetti could all but hear the Count sorting through the decades of information, scandal, and rumour which he possessed about most of the notables of the city. 'Why is it you're interested in them, Guido?' the Count asked, and then added, 'If you're at liberty to tell me'

'The body of a young man's been dug up near Belluno. There was a ring in the grave with him. It has the Lorenzoni crest'

'It could be the person who stole it from him' the Count volunteered.

It could pretty well be anyone,' Brunetti agreed. 'But I've been looking through the file of the original investigation of the kidnapping, and there are a few things I'd like to clear up if I could.'

'Such as?' the Count asked.

In the more than two decades that Brunetti had known the Count, he had never known him to be indiscreet; further, nothing Brunetti had to say could not be told to anyone interested in the investigation. 'Two people said they thought it was a joke. And the stone that was blocking the gate had to have been placed there from inside.'

'I don't have a very clear memory of it, Guido. I think we were out of the country when it happened. It happened at their villa, didn't it?'

'Yes,' Brunetti answered, and then from something in the Count's voice, asked, 'Have you been there?'

'Once or twice.' The Count's tone was absolutely non-committal.

'Then you know the gates' Brunetti said, not wanting to ask directly about the Count's familiarity with the Lorenzonis. Not yet, at any rate.

'Yes' the Count answered. They open inward. There's a call box on the wall, and all a visitor has to do is push the bell and then announce himself. The gates can be opened from the house.'

'Or from the outside if you have the code' Brunetti added. "That's what his girlfriend tried to do, but the gates wouldn't open.'

'The Valloni girl, wasn't it?' the Count asked.

The name was familiar from the report 'Yes. Francesca.'

'A pretty girl. We went to her wedding.'

'Wedding?' Brunetti asked. 'How long ago was that?'

'A little more than a year ago. She married that Salviati boy. Enrico, Fulvio's son; the one who likes speedboats'

Brunetti grunted in acknowledgement of a vague memory he had of the boy. 'Did you know Roberto?'

'I met him a few times. I didn't think very much of him'

Brunetti wondered if it was the Count's social position that allowed him to speak ill of the dead, or the fact that the boy had been gone for two years, my not?'

'Because he had all the pride of his father and none of his talent.'

'What sort of talent does Count Ludovico have?'

He heard a noise from the other end of the phone, as though a door had closed, and then the Count said, 'Excuse me a moment, Guido' A few seconds pa.s.sed, after which he returned to the phone and said, I'm sorry, Guido, but a fax has just come in, and I'm afraid I have to make some calls while my agent in Mexico City is still in the office'

Brunetti wasn't sure, but he thought Mexico City was about half a day behind them. Isn't it the middle of the night there?'

'Yes. He's paid to be there, and I want to get him before he leaves.'

'Oh, I see' Brunetti said. 'When may I call you again?'

The Count's answer came quickly. 'Is there any chance we could meet for lunch, Guido? There are some things I've been wanting to talk to you about. Perhaps we could do both.'

'Gladly. When?'

'Today. Is that too soon?'

'No, not at all. I'll call Paola and tell her. Would you like her to come?'

'No,' the Count said, almost sharply, and then added, 'Some of the things I want to discuss concern her, so I'd prefer she not be there'

Confused, Brunetti said only, 'All right. Where shall we meet?' expecting the Count to name one of the famous restaurants in the city.

'There's a place over near Campo del Ghetto. The daughter of a friend of mine and her husband run it, and the food's very good. If it's not too far for you, we could meet there'

'Fine. What's it called?'

'La Bussola. It's just off San Leonardo, heading towards Campo del Ghetto Nuovo. One o'clock?'

'That'll be fine. I'll see you there. At one' Brunetti hung up and pulled the phonebook back towards him. He flipped through it until he came to the 'S's. He found a number of Salviatis, but only one Enrico, listed as a 'consulente', 'consulente', a term that always amused Brunetti as much as it confused him. a term that always amused Brunetti as much as it confused him.

The phone rang six times before a woman's voice, already annoyed at the caller, answered, 'p.r.o.nto' 'p.r.o.nto'

'Signora Salviati?' Brunetti asked.

The woman was panting, as though she'd run to answer the phone. 'Yes, what is it?'

'Signora Salviati, this is Commissario Guido Brunetti. I'd like to ask you a few questions about the Lorenzoni kidnapping' From beyond her, he heard the high wailing of a baby's scream, that genetically pitched howl no human can ignore.

He heard the phone slam down on a hard surface, thought he heard her tell him to wait, and then all sound was swallowed up in the wail, which rose up to a sudden squeal and, as suddenly as it had started, stopped.

She was back at the phone again. 'I told you everything about that years ago. I don't even remember it very clearly now. So much time has pa.s.sed, so much has happened.'

'I realize that, Signora, but it would be a great help to us if you could spare me a little time. I guarantee it wouldn't take long at all'

'Then why can't we do it on the phone?'

'I'd prefer to do it in person, Signora. I'm afraid I don't like the phone very much'

'When?' she asked in sudden concession.

'I saw that your address is in Santa Croce. I've got to be over there this morning' - he didn't, but it was close to the traghetto traghetto at San Marcuola and so he could quickly get to San Leonardo and lunch with the Count - 'so it would be very easy for me to stop by. If that's convenient with you, of course.' at San Marcuola and so he could quickly get to San Leonardo and lunch with the Count - 'so it would be very easy for me to stop by. If that's convenient with you, of course.'

'Let me look at my schedule' she said, putting the phone down again.

She had been seventeen when the kidnapping happened, so she was not even twenty now, and with what sounded like a very young baby. Schedule?

'If you came at quarter to twelve, we could talk. But I've got an engagement for lunch.'

'That's perfect for me, Signora. I'll see you then' he said quickly and hung up before she could change her mind or check her schedule again.

He called Paola and told her that he couldn't come home for lunch. As usual, she accepted this with such equanimity that Brunetti wondered for an instant if she had already made other plans. 'What will you do?' he asked.

'Humm?' she asked. 'Oh, read.'

'And the children? What about them?'

'I'll feed them, Guido, don't worry. You know how they wolf their food down if the two of us aren't there to exert a civilizing influence on them, so I'll have plenty of time to myself'

'Will you eat, too?' he asked.

'Guido, you're obsessed with food. You do know that, don't you?'

'Only because of the frequency with which you remind me of it, my treasure' he said with a laugh. He thought of telling her she was obsessed with reading, but Paola would just take that as a compliment, so he told her he'd be home for supper and hung up.

He left the Questura without bothering to tell anyone where he was going and was careful to take the back steps and so avoid Vice-Questore Patta, who, given the fact that it was after eleven, might safely be a.s.sumed to be in his office.

Outside, Brunetti, who was wearing both a woollen suit and a light coat in response to the early morning chill, was surprised at how warm it had become. He started along the embankment and was just turning left into the trail of streets that would take him out to Campo Santa Maria Formosa and, from there, to the Rialto, when he suddenly stopped and took off his coat. He turned and went back towards the Questura. When he got to the building the guards inside recognized him and pressed the switch that opened the large gla.s.s doors. He went into the small office on the right and saw Pucetti at the desk, talking on the phone. Seeing his superior, Pucetti said something and hung up, then quickly got to his feet.

'Pucetti' Brunetti said, making a pushing gesture with one hand to force the young man to sit down again. 'I'd like to leave this here for a few hours. I'll pick it up when I get back.'

Pucetti, instead of resuming his seat, came forward and took the coat from his hands. I'll put it up in your office, if I might, Dottore.'

'No, it's fine here. Don't bother.'

'I'd rather, sir. We've had a number of things disappear down here during the last few weeks.'

'What?' Brunetti asked with real surprise. 'From the guard room of the Questura?'

'It's them, sir,' Pucetti said, nodding in the direction of the interminable line that stretched back from the door of the Ufficio Stranieri, on which it seemed like hundreds of people waited to fill out the forms that would legalize their residence in the city. 'We're getting a lot of Albanians and Slavs, and you know what thieves they are.'

Had Pucetti said such a thing to Paola, she would have been all over him in an instant, calling him a bigot and a racist, and pointing out that all all Albanians and Albanians and all all Slavs, weren't anything. But as she wasn't there and as Brunetti, in general, tended to agree with Pucetti's sentiments, he did nothing more than thank the young man and leave the building. Slavs, weren't anything. But as she wasn't there and as Brunetti, in general, tended to agree with Pucetti's sentiments, he did nothing more than thank the young man and leave the building.

7.

As he was leaving Campo Santa Maria Formosa, Brunetti suddenly remembered something he had seen last autumn in Campo Santa Marina, so he cut through to the smaller campo campo and turned right just as he entered it. The metal cages were already hung outside the windows of the pet shop. Brunetti drew closer to see if the and turned right just as he entered it. The metal cages were already hung outside the windows of the pet shop. Brunetti drew closer to see if the merlo indiano merlo indiano was still there. Surely that was it, up in the top cage, feathers black and gleaming, one jet eye turned towards him. was still there. Surely that was it, up in the top cage, feathers black and gleaming, one jet eye turned towards him.

Brunetti approached the cage, leaned forward, and said, 'Ciao' 'Ciao' Nothing. Undaunted, he repeated, Nothing. Undaunted, he repeated, 'Ciao' 'Ciao' careful to draw the word out to two syllables. The bird hopped nervously from one parallel bar to the other, turned, and regarded Brunetti with the other eye. He glanced around and noticed that a white-haired woman had stopped in front of the careful to draw the word out to two syllables. The bird hopped nervously from one parallel bar to the other, turned, and regarded Brunetti with the other eye. He glanced around and noticed that a white-haired woman had stopped in front of the edicola edicola in the middle of the in the middle of the campo campo and was giving him a very strange look. He ignored her and turned his attention back to the bird. and was giving him a very strange look. He ignored her and turned his attention back to the bird. 'Ciao' 'Ciao' he he said again. said again.

It suddenly occurred to Brunetti that this might be a different bird; after all, one medium-sized mynah bird looked pretty much like any other. He tried once more, 'Ciao' 'Ciao' Silence. Disappointed, he turned away, smiling weakly at the woman, who stood still, staring across the Silence. Disappointed, he turned away, smiling weakly at the woman, who stood still, staring across the campo campo at him. at him.

Brunetti had gone only two steps when, from behind him, he heard his own voice call out, 'Ciao,' 'Ciao,' the last vowel much prolonged, in the manner of birds. the last vowel much prolonged, in the manner of birds.

He turned around immediately and went back to his place in front of the cage. 'Come ti stai?' 'Come ti stai?' he asked this time, paused a moment, then put the question again. He felt, rather than saw, a presence beside him and turned to see the white-haired woman standing there. He smiled, and she smiled back. 'Come ti stai?' 'Come ti stai?' he asked the bird again, and with absolute vocal fidelity, it asked him right back, 'Come ti stai?' 'Come ti stai?' in a voice eerily like his own. in a voice eerily like his own.

'What else can he say?' the woman asked.

'I don't know, Signora. That's all I've ever heard it say.'