Death and Judgement (4 page)

'That is not a question I thought fit to ask the Mayor,' Patta answered

Then maybe I will,' Brunetti said evenly.

'Brunetti, don't go stirring up trouble with this.'

'I think that's already been done,' Brunetti said, dropping
the
photos back into the file. 'Will there be anything eke, sir?'

Patta paused a moment-before he answered. 'No, not now.' He pushed the file towards Brunetti. 'You can have this. And don't forget that I want a daily report.' When Brunetti made no acknowledgement
of
this, Patta added, 'Or give it to Lieutenant Scarpa,
’
and kept his eyes on Brunetti long enough to see what response he'd give to the name
of
Patta's universally despised assistant.

'Certainly, sir,' Brunetti said neutrally, took the folder, and got to his feet. 'Where have they taken Trevisan?'

'To the Ospedale Civile. I imagine the autopsy will be done this morning. And remember, he was a friend
of
the Mayor's.'

'Of course, sir,' Brunetti said and left the office.

6

Signorina Elettra looked u
p from her magazine when Brunetti
emerged fiom Patta's office and asked,
'Allora?'

'Trevisan. And I'm to hurry because he was a friend of the Mayor's.'

'The wife's a tiger,' Signorina Elettra said, then added by way of encouragement, 'She'll give you trouble.'

'Is there anyone in
this city you don't know?' Bru
netti asked.

'This time I don't actually know her. But she used to be one of my sister's patients.'

'Barbara,' Brunetti said involuntarily, remembering where it was he had met her sister. 'The doctor.'

The very same, commissario,' she said with a smile of real delight. 'I wondered how long it would take you to remember.'

When Signorina Elettra had first arrived, he remembered, he had thought her last name familiar; Zorzi wasn't at all a common name, but he would never have thought to associate the quick-witted, radiant - the other adjectives that presented themselves all suggested light and visibility - Elettra with the calm, understated doctor who numbered among her patients his father-in-law and now, it seemed, Signora Trevisan.

'Used to be?' Brunetti asked, leaving the question of Elettra's family to be considered at another time.

'Yes, until about a year ago. She and her daughter were both patients. But one day she went into Barbara's office and made some sort of a scene, demanding that Barbara tell her what she was treating her daughter for.'

Brunetti listened but asked nothing.

'The daughter was only fourteen, but when Barbara refused to tell her, Signora Trevisan insisted that Barbara had given her an abortion or sent her to the hospital to have one. She shouted at her and, in the end, she threw a magazine.'

'At your sister?'

'Yes.'

'What did she do?' Brunetti asked.

'Who?'

'Your sister?'

'She told her to get out of the office. Finally, after some more shouting, she did.' 'And then what?'

"The next day, Barbara sent her a registered letter with her medical records and told her to find another doctor.'

'And
the
daughter?'

'She never went back, either. But Barbara's seen her on the street, and the girl's explained that her mother has forbidden her to go back. Her mother took her to some private clinic'

'What was the daughter there for?' Brunetti asked.

He watched Signorina Elettra weigh this one out. She quickly came to the conclusion that Brunetti would find out about it, anyway, and said, 'It was a venereal infection.' 'What sort?'

'I don't remember. You’ll
have to ask my sister.' 'Or Signora Trevisan.'

Elettra's response was immediate, and angry. 'If she learned what it was, she never learned it from Barbara.'

Brunetti believed her. 'So the daughter's about fifteen now?'

Elettra nodded. 'Yes, she must be.'

Brunetti thought for a moment The law was vague here - when was it not? A doctor did not have to divulge information about a patient's health, but surely a doctor was at liberty to provide information about how a patient had behaved, and why, especially in a situation where it was not his or her own health that was at issue. Better that he speak to the doctor herself than ask Elettra to do it for him. 'Is your sister's
ambula
torio
still over near San Barnaba?
’

'Yes. She'll be there this afternoon. Do you want me to tell her to expect you?'

'Does that mean you won't tell her I'm coming unless I ask you to, signorina?'

She glanced down at th
e keys of her computer, apparentl
y found the answer she wanted there, and glanced back at Brunetti. 'It doesn't make any difference if she hears this from you or from m
e, commis
sario. She hasn't done anything wrong. So, no, I won't tell her.'

Moved by curiosity, he asked, 'And if it did make a difference? If she
had
done something wrong?'

'If it would help her, I'd warn her. Of course.'

'Even if it meant betraying a police secret, signorina?' he asked, then smiled to show he was only joking, although he wasn't.

She glanced at him, uncomprehending. 'Do you think police secrets would matter at all if something concerned my family?'

Chastened, he answered, 'No, signorina, I don't suppose they would.'

Signorina Elettra smiled, glad that she had again assisted the commissario towards understanding.

'Do you know anything else about the wife?' - he corrected himself - 'widow?'

'No, not personally. I've read about her in the paper, of course. She's always involved in Worthy Causes,' she said, making the capitals audible. 'You know, like collecting food to send to Somalia, that gets stolen and sent to Albania and sold. Or organizing those gala concerts at La Fenice that never seem to do anything but cover expenses and give the organizers a chance to get dressed up and show off to their friends. I'm surprised you don't know who she is.'

‘I
have a vague memory of having seen the name but no more than that. What about the husband?'

'International law, I think, and very good at it. I think I might have read something about a deal with Poland or Czechoslovakia - one of those places where they eat potatoes and dress badly - but I can't remember which.'

'What sort of deal?'

She shook her head, unable to remember.

'Could you find out?'

'If I went down to the
Gazzettino
offices and had a look, I suppose I could.'

'Do you have anything to do for the Vice-Questore?'

'I
’
ll just make his lunch reservation, and then
I’ll
go down to the
Gazzettino.
Would you like me to look for anything else?'

'Yes, about the wife, as well. Who is it who writes the society stuff these days?'

'Pitteri, I think.'

'Well, speak to him and see if there's anything he can tell you about either of them, the sort of thing he can't publish.'

'Which is always the sort of thing people most want to read
’

'So it seems,' Brunetti said.

'Anything else, sir?'

'No, thank you, signorina. Is Vianello here?' 'I haven't seen him yet.'

'When he comes in, would you send him up to me, please?
’

'Certainly,' she answered and went back to her magazine. Brunetti glanced down to see what article she was reading - shoulder pads - and then went back up to his own office.

The file, as was always the case at the beginning of an investigation, contained little more than names and dates. Carlo Trevisan had been born in Trento fifty years ago, had been educated at the University of Padua, from which he took a degree in law and after which he established himself as a lawyer in Venice. Eighteen years ago, he married Franca Lotto, with whom he had two children, a daughter, Francesca, now fifteen, and a son, Claudio, seventeen.

Avvocato
Trevisan had never interested himself in criminal law and had himself never been involved with the police in any way. Nor had he ever come under the scrutiny of the Guardia di Finanza, which suggested either a miracle or that the
Avvocato
's tax returns were always in order, this in itself another kind of miracle. The file contained the names of the people employed in Trevisan's law office and a copy of his passport application.

'Lavata con Perlana’
Brunetti said aloud as he laid the papers down on his desk, repeating the slogan of a liquid detergent that promised to get everything, anything, cleaner than clean. Who would be cleaner than Carlo Trevisan? More interestingly, who could have put two bullets in his gut and not bothered to take his wallet?

Brunetti pulled out his bottom drawer with the toe of his right foot, leaned back in his chair, and folded his feet on the open drawer. Whoever did it must have done it between Padua and Mestre: no one would have taken the chance of being caught on the same train when it pulled into the station at Venice. The train wasn't a local, so Mestre was the only stop between Padua and Venice. It was unlikely that someone getting off the train at Mestre would have drawn any special notice, but it was worth checking at the station. The conductors usually sat in the first compartment, so they would have to be questioned to see what they remembered. Check for
the
gun, of course; did the bullets match up with those used in any other crime? Guns were closely controlled, so it might be possible to trace the weapon. Why had Trevisan been in Padua? With whom? The wife, check the wife. Then check the neighbours and friends to see if what she said was true. The daughter — a venereal disease at the age of fourteen?

He leaned forward, pulled the drawer all the way out, and reached down for the telephone directory. He flipped it open and found the Zs. There were two listings for 'Zorzi, Barbara, Medico', o
ne for her home and one for her
office. He dialled the office number and got a machine, telling him that visiting hours began at four. He dialled the home number and heard the same voice telling him that the Dottoressa was
momentania
mente assente
and asking him to leave name, reason for his call, and the number at which he could be reached. His call would be returned
appena possibile.

'Good morning, dottoressa,' he began after the beep. This is Commissario Guido Brunetti. I'm calling in regard to the death of
Avvocato
Carlo Trevisan. I've learned that his wife and daughter were...'

'Buon giorno,
commissario,' the doctor's husky voice broke in. 'How may I help you?' Though it had been more than a year since they last met, she used the 'tu' form of address with him, making it clear to both of
them
by its use that the familiarity established then would be continued.

'Good morning, dottoressa,' he said. 'Do you always filter your calls?'

'Commissario, I have a woman who has called me every morning for the last three years, telling me I must make a house call. Each morning, she has different symptoms. Yes, I filter my calls.' Her voice was firm; but there was an undertone of humour.

‘I
didn't realize there were that many body parts,' Brunetti said.

'She plays interesting combinations,' Dottoressa Zorzi explained. 'How may I help you, commissario?'

'As I was explaining, I've learned that Signora Trevisan and her daughter were formerly patients of yours.' He paused there, waiting to see what the doctor would volunteer. Silence. 'You've heard about
Avvocato
Trevisan?
’

'Yes.'

‘I
wanted to ask if you'd be willing to talk to me about them, his wife and daughter.'

'As people or as patients?' she asked, voice calm.

'Whichever you'd feel more comfortable in doing, dottoressa,' Brunetti answered.

'We could start with the first, and men if it seemed necessary, take up the second.'

'That's very kind of you, dottoressa. Could we do it today?'

‘I
have some house calls to make this morning, but I should be finished with them by eleven. Where would you like to meet?'

Since it was she who was doing the favour, Brunetti didn't feel comfortable asking her to come to the Questura.

'Where will you be at eleven, dottoressa?'

'One moment, please
’
she said and set the phone down. In an instant, she was back. 'My patient lives near the
embarcadero
of San Marco,' she answered.

"Would you like to meet at Florian's, then?' he asked.

Her answer was not immediate and, remembering what he did of her politics, Brunetti half expected her to remark on the way he was choosing to spend the taxpayer's money.

'Florian's is fine, commissario,' she finall
y said.

'I look forward
to it. And thank you again, dot
toressa.
’

'Eleven, then,' she said, and was gone.

He tossed the phone book into the drawer and slammed it closed with his foot. When he looked up, Vianello was coming into his office.

'You wanted to see me, sir?' the sergeant asked.

'Yes. Sit down. The Vice-Questore's given me Trevisan.'

Vianello nodded, suggesting that this was already old news at the Questura.

'How much have you heard?' Brunetti asked.

'Just what was in the papers and on the radio this morning. Found on the train last night, shot. No trace of a weapon and no suspect'

Brunetti realized that, although he had read the official police file, he knew no more than that himself. He nodded Vianello towards a chair. 'You know anything about him?'