by Donna Leon
'And she trusted everyone, so anyone could have given it to her’
'Do you mean poisoned her?' Brunetti asked.
She nodded. Before he could ask how this could happen, she said, "There's a garden out in the back, and I leave her there all day, even when I go to lunch. Everyone knows that.'
'Everyone in the neighbourhood or all of your clients?' he asked.
She ignored the question and said, 'When I got back, I went to get her to bring her up here. But I could tell when I saw her. There was . . . there was vomit all over the grass, and she couldn't walk. I had to carry her up here’ She looked around the office, saw the stain on the wall but appeared not to notice those on her skirt nor the one on her left shoe, and said, ‘I put her down in here, and then she was sick again. So I took her inside and tried to call the vet, but he wasn't there. But then she got sick again. And then she was dead.' Neither of them spoke until Signora Marieschi said, 'So I called you. But you weren't there, either.' She said it so that he would sense the same futile reproach she felt towards the vet.
Ignoring her tone, Brunetti said, leaning slightly towards her, 'The officer who gave me the message said you said someone killed her, Signora. Can you tell me who you think did it?'
She clasped her hands together and, leaning forward, pushed them between her knees. He saw only the top of her head and her shoulders.
Both of them remained like that for a long time.
When she spoke, her voice was so soft that Brunetti had to lean even closer to her to hear what she said. 'Her niece,' she said, and then again, 'Graziella.'
Brunetti removed some of the sympathy from his voice and asked, 'Why would she do mat?'
Her shrug was so strong that Brunetti felt pushed away by it. He waited for further clarification, and when it was not formcoming, he asked, 'Was it about anything concerning the estate, Signora?' unwilling to let her know that he was aware of the bank accounts.
'Perhaps,' the lawyer answered, and his practised ear detected the first traces of equivocation, as though the shock of the dog's death was beginning to wear off.
'What is it she thinks you did, Signora?' he asked.
He was prepared for her to shrug this off, but he was not prepared for her to look him in the face and lie. 'I don't know,' she said.
This, he realized, was the crucial point. If he allowed the lie to pass, then there would be no more truth from her, no matter how long he questioned her or how many times he questioned her again. Casually then, as though he were a trusted old friend asked in to sit at the fireside and talk of familiar things, he said, 'We'd have very little trouble proving that you moved her money out of the country, Awocatessa, and even if we failed to get a conviction because you do have the power of attorney, your reputation as a lawyer would be compromised.' Then, as if it had just occurred to him, as a friend, to warn her of further consequences, he added, 'And I suspect the Finanza would also want to talk to you about the money.'
Her astonishment was total. All her lawyerly skills fell from her and she blurted out, 'How did you know about that?'
'It's sufficient that we do know,' he said, all compassion absent from his voice. She registered the change in his tone and sat up straight, even moved her chair a bit away from his. As he studied her, he saw her harden in much the same way he had.
‘I think we had better talk about this honestly.' He watched her begin to object and cut her off. ‘I don't care in the least about the money or what you did with it: all I want to know is where it came from.' Again, he saw her getting ready to speak, and he knew she would lie to him unless he managed to frighten her sufficiently. 'If I'm not satisfied with what you tell me about the money, I will file an official report about the bank accounts, the power of attorney, and the dates and destinations of the transfers.'
'How did you find out?' she asked in a voice he had not heard her use before.
'As I said before, that's irrelevant. My only interest is in finding out where the money came from.'
'She killed my dog’ she said with sudden savagery.
Brunetti lost his patience and answered, 'Then you better hope she didn't kill her aunt, too, because if she did, you're probably next on her list.'
Her eyes widened as this hit home. She shook her head once, twice, three times, as though she wanted to eradicate the possibility. 'No, she couldn't have’ she said. 'Never.'
'Why?'
‘I know her. She wouldn't do it.' There was no questioning the certainty with which she spoke.
'And Poppi? Didn't she kill her?' He had no idea if this was the truth, but it sufficed that she believed it.
'She hates dogs, hates animals.'
'How well do you know her?'
'Well enough to know that.'
'That's different from knowing she wouldn't kill her aunt.'
Provoked by his scepticism, she said, 'If she did kill her, she would have taken the money before. Or the day after.'
Realizing that she must then have known about the niece's power of attorney, perhaps even prepared it herself, he asked, 'But you worked more quickly?'
If she was insulted, she gave no sign of it and answered only, 'Yes.'
"Then you might be the one who killed her’ he suggested, thinking it unlikely but curious as to how she would react to the suggestion.
‘I wouldn't kill anyone for so little’ she said; he found himself unable to comment.
Instead, he returned to the bank accounts. 'Where did the money come from?' She gave no sign that she was willing to answer, so he went on, 'You were her lawyer, and she trusted you with a power of attorney, so you know something.' When she still resisted, he said, 'Whoever killed her was someone she trusted enough to let into her apartment. Perhaps they knew about the money, or perhaps this was the person who had been giving her the money all those years.' He watched her mind run ahead of his words and saw it register certain possibilities. Without naming the worst of them, he said, 'It might be in your best interests that we find this person, Avvocatessa.'
Her voice tight, she asked, 'Could that be who killed her?' When he didn't answer, she added, 'Poppi?'
He nodded, though he thought that the person capable of such savagery against Signora Battestini was not someone who would bother to send a warning by killing someone's dog.
All resistance disappeared as she shrank back from the awareness of her own mortality. ‘I don't know who it was’ she said. 'Really, I never knew. She never told me.'
Brunetti waited almost a full minute for her to continue, but when she remained silent, he asked, 'What did she tell you?'
'Nothing. Just that the money was deposited every month.'
'Did she say what she wanted the money for or what she wanted done with it?'
She shook her head. 'No, never, just that it was there.' She thought about this for some time, then could not hide her own bewilderment when she said, ‘I don't think it was important to her, spending it or being able to spend it. She just liked having it, knowing it was there.' She looked up and around the room, as if seeking some explanation for behaviour as strange as this. Then she looked back at Brunetti and said, 'She didn't tell me about it until three years ago, when she started to talk about making a will.'
'And what did she tell you?' he asked again.
'Only that it was there.'
'Did she tell you who she wanted it to go to?'
The lawyer feigned confusion, and he repeated, 'Did she tell you where she wanted it to go? You were there to talk about her will, so she must have mentioned the money to some purpose.'
'No,' she said, obviously lying.
'Why did she give you power of attorney?' he asked.
Her pause was a long one, no doubt allowing her time to construct an answer he might believe. 'She wanted me to take care of things for her.' It was vague, but it appeared to be all she was willing to divulge.
'Such as?' he asked.
'Finding the women who went in to help her. Paying them. We thought
it would be easier if I didn't have to keep asking her to sign cheques.
By then, she wasn't leaving the house any more, so she couldn't get to the bank’ She waited to see how he would react to this, and when he said nothing, she added, 'It was easier.'
She must consider him a fool, to think he would believe a person like Signora Battestini would trust anyone with all of her money. He wondered how Marieschi had persuaded the old woman to sign the power of attorney or what it was she thought she was signing. He wondered who had been there to witness the document. As he had told her, he cared little about where the money went, wanting only to know where it had come from. 'So you used the money to pay the expenses of the women who helped her?'
'Yes. Her utility bills were paid automatically by the bank’
'They were all illegal, weren't they?' he asked abruptly.
She feigned confusion and said, ‘I don't know what you mean’
‘I confess to being amazed, Avvocatessa, that a lawyer in this country wouldn't be familiar with the idea of illegal workers.'
Forgetting herself entirely, she said, 'You can't prove I knew that.'
He went on with studied calm, 'I think it's time for me to explain a few things to you. Whatever business it is you're running with illegal workers and fake passports is of no interest to me, not during a murder investigation. But if you continue to lie to me or evade my questions, I will see that a complete report of your activities, as well as the addresses of the women in Trieste and Milano who are also using the false papers of Florinda Ghiorghiu, goes to the Immigration Police tomorrow as well as details about your handling of Signora Battestini's bank accounts, which will go to the Guardia di Finanza.'
She began to protest, and he stopped her with an out-thrust hand. 'Further, if you lie to me again, I will today file a report about the death of your dog, making note of your assertion that Signora Battestini's niece killed her, and that will require that the woman be questioned about possible motives for having killed the dog.'
She was not looking at him, but he could tell she was attending to his every word. 'Is that clear?'
'Yes.'
‘I want you to tell me everything she ever said in reference to those accounts, and I want you to tell me any thoughts you may have entertained, during the years you knew about them, of their possible source, regardless of where this information came from or how credible you think it to be.' He paused, then added, 'Do you understand?'
There was no hesitation before she answered, 'Yes.' She sighed, but she was such an accomplished liar that he paid no attention. She allowed some time to pass and then said, 'She told me about the accounts when she made her will, but she never told me where the money came from. I told you that. But once, about a year ago, she was talking about her son -1 told you I never met him - and she said that he had been a good boy and had provided for her in her old age. That he and the Madonna would take good care of her.' He studied her face as she spoke, wondering if she was telling the truth and wondering if he would be able to tell if she wasn't.
'She'd become very repetitive by then,' she went on, 'the way old people get, so I didn't pay much attention to what she said.'
'Why were you there this time? You said it was three years ago she wanted to make a will.'
'It was about the television. I went to ask her to try to remember to turn it down before she went to bed. The only thing I could think of to do was to tell her the police would come in and sequester the television if she didn't. I'd told her before, but she always forgot things, or else she remembered only the things she wanted to.'
'I see,' he said.
'And she told me, again, what a good boy he had been, always staying with her. And that's when she said that he had left her safe and under the protection of the Madonna. I didn't think much of it at the time - when she started to ramble, I never paid much attention - but later it occurred to me that she might have been talking about the money, that it was the son who had arranged for it or who had done whatever it was that got the money deposited.'
'Did you ask her about this?'
'No. I told you, it didn't occur to me until a couple of days later. And I'd learned by then never to ask her directly about the accounts, so I didn't.'
There were still questions he wanted to ask her: when she had begun to plan to steal the money; what made her certain the niece wouldn't bring charges against her. But for the moment, he had obtained the information he wanted. He thought she had been frightened enough to tell the truth and was neither proud nor ashamed of the techniques he had used to make her do so.
He got to his feet. 'If I have any further questions, I'll contact you,' he said. 'If you think of anything else, I want you to call me.' He took one of his cards, wrote his home phone number on the back, and handed it to her.
He turned to leave, but she stopped him by asking, 'What do I do if it wasn't the niece?'
He was fairly certain it was the niece and she had nothing to fear. But then he remembered how immediate her protestation had been that she would not kill anyone for so little, and he saw no reason to save her from being afraid. 'Try not to be alone in your office or your home. Call me if anything suspicious happens,' he said and left her office.
18
As soon as he was outside, he called Vianello, who answered his telefonino but was already back at the Questura, having found no one at Awocatessa Marieschi's home address. Brunetti quickly explained what had happened at the lawyer's and told Vianello to meet him at Romolo, where he wanted, finally, to talk to Signora Battestini's niece.
'You think she could have done it?' Vianello asked, and when Brunetti was slow to answer, he clarified his question by adding, 'Poisoned the dog?'
‘I think so,' Brunetti answered.
'I'll see you there,' Vianello said, and was gone.
To save time, Brunetti took the 82 at Arsenale and got off at Accademia. He crossed the small campo without paying attention to the long line of scantily clad tourists in front of the museum, passed on his left the gallery he always thought of as the Supermarket of Art, and headed down towards San Barnaba.
In the narrow streets, the heat assailed him. In the past, heat like this had reduced the number of tourists; now it seemed to serve the same purpose as heat in a petri dish: the alien life form multiplied under his very eyes. When he arrived at the pasticceria, he saw Vianello standing on the other side of the calle, looking into the window of a shop that sold masks.
They went into the pastry shop together. Vianello ordered a coffee and a glass of mineral water, and Brunetti nodded his request for the same. The glass cabinet was filled with the pastries Brunetti knew so well: the cream-filled puffs of pastry, the chocolate bigne, and Chiara's favourite, the whipped-cream-filled swans. The heat rendered them all equally unappetising.
As they drank their coffee, Brunetti recounted in greater detail his conversation with the lawyer, saying only that the dog had been poisoned, but giving no details of the circumstances.
Tt means this woman -' Vianello said, indicating the back regions of the shop where presumably the kitchens lay - 'knew enough about Marieschi to know how to hurt her.'
'If you'd seen her with the dog, even once, you'd know that’ Brunetti said, recalling their meeting and that noble golden head.
Vianello finished his water and held up his glass to the woman behind the bar. Brunetti drank his, set the glass on the counter, and nodded when she held up the bottle and looked his way.
When she began to pour the water, Brunetti asked, 'Is Signorina Simionato here?'
'You mean Graziella?' the woman asked, evidently curious as to what these two men could want.
'Yes’
‘I think so’ she said uneasily, stepping back from the counter and turning to a door at the back of the shop. 'Let me ask.' Before she could move away from them, Brunetti held up his hand and said, 'I'd rather you didn't speak to her, Signora, not before we do.'
'Police?' she asked, wide-eyed.
> 'Yes’ Brunetti answered, wondering why they bothered to carry warrant cards if they were this easily recognized, even by the women behind the counters in pastry shops.
'Is she there?' Brunetti asked, indicating the open door behind the far end of the counter.
'Yes’ the young woman answered. 'What is ...?' she left the question unfinished.
Vianello pulled out a notebook and asked, 'What time did she get here today, Signora? Do you know?'
The woman stared at the notebook as though it were a living, dangerous thing. Seeing her reluctance, Brunetti took out his wallet but, instead of showing her his warrant card, took out a five Euro note and laid it on the counter to pay their bill. 'What time did she get here today, Signora?'
'About two, maybe a little later,' she said.
That seemed like a strange time for a baker to arrive at work, Brunetti thought. But at once she explained, 'There's going to be a health inspection next week, so we have to get ready. Everybody's working an extra half-shift.' Brunetti thought it inappropriate to comment on the fact that these inspections were not meant to be announced in advance. The woman added, 'Some of the bakers are here, too, during the afternoons, getting ready.'