The Girl of his Dreams - Brunetti 17 (26 page)

Ignoring the call, the pilot had swooped the boat around and shot back towards the city, passing fishing boats as though they were tiny islands and then deliberately slamming and bumping across the wake of one of the cruise ships that was heading towards the city.

Struck by memory, Brunetti spoke the words aloud, 'The cruise ships.' Still looking at the wall, he allowed the story to trickle back into his memory. Giorgio Fornari was also a friend of Brunetti's captain friend and had once called to tell him about something he had heard from the owner of a shop on Via XXII Marzo who found himself caught in the middle of yet another inventive method of growing rich off the city.

It seemed, according to what Fornari had been told, that the passengers of these cruise ships were routinely warned that Venice was a city where it was not safe to shop or eat. Since most of the passengers were Americans, who knew themselves to be safe only when at home in front of their own television sets, they believed this and were relieved when the boat provided them with a list of 'safe' shops and restaurants where they were sure not to be cheated. Not only were the places guaranteed not to cheat them - and here the Captain had not been able to keep himself from laughing as he told Brunetti -but these same establishments would provide a 10 per cent discount to ship's passengers: all they had to do was provide their passenger identification and ask.

With mounting glee, the Captain had gone on to explain that, always eager to cause more joy, the staff of the ships offered some sort of lottery to the passengers returning to the ships: if they submitted the receipts of their purchases or for their lunch, the number of chances they got in the lottery would be calculated in relation to how much they had spent.

'Everyone happy, everyone content with their discounts,' Brunetti remembered the Captain saying with a wolfish smile. And the next day members of the ship's crew made the rounds of the 'safe' shops and restaurants and collected
their
10 per cent, a small enough consideration for the businesses to see that their names appeared on the safe list. If the shops tried to understate what the passengers had spent, why, did they not have the receipts that proved a higher total sum? Safe, indeed.

And Giorgio Fornari had asked the Captain if there were any way this could be stopped. The Captain, in the spirit of true friendship, had warned Fornari to keep his mouth shut and had told him to warn the owners of the shop to do the same. Brunetti recalled what the Captain had said,
‘I
think he was offended because he thought it was wrong. Imagine that
’

Brunetti knew this incident could hardly be used as a portrait of Fornari, but perhaps it could serve as a snapshot. Caught in a particular situation, he had reacted as an honest man. His friend had told him about Fornari's indignation that the city could be used like this by people - the owners of the ships being foreigners - who were neither Venetians nor Italians. It was then that the Captain had had to remind Fornari that a scam such as this could not continue, perhaps could not even be organized, without the tacit consent, perhaps even the involvement, of 'certain interests' in the city.

But by then they were pulling up to the dock at the end of the Giudecca, the boys' outing at an end, and the story of Giorgio Fornari's indignation at dishonesty had been filed in Brunetti's memory.

'Imagine that,' he said aloud.

Brunetti was distracted from further contemplation of this marvel by a call from Signorina Eletrra, who began by saying, 'I've found a number of things about that Mutti person.'

Her pronunciation of the name was as good as a shriek. 'Found what?' he enquired.

'As I told you, sir, he's never been a member of any religious order.'

'Yes, I remember
’
Brunetti said, then added, for her tone demanded he do so, 'But?'

'But Padre Antonin was right when he mentioned Umbria. Mutti was there for two years, in Assisi. He wore a Franciscan habit then.'

In response to her careful phrasing, Brunetti asked, 'What was he doing?'

'Running a sort of wellness retreat centre.'

'Wellness retreat centre?' Brunetti repeated, feeling himself taking yet another step forward into the time in which he was living.

'A place where wealthy people could go for a weekend of
...
well, of purification.'

'Physical?' he asked, thinking of Abano, where she had so recently been, though not forgetting the mention of the Franciscan habit.

'And spiritual.'

'Ah,' Brunetti allowed himself to say, then, 'And?'

'And both the health authorities and the Guardia di Finanza were obliged to step in and close it down.'

'And Mutti?' Brunetti enquired, omitting the clerical title.

'He knew nothing about the finances of the place, of course. He was there as a spiritual consultant.' 'And the financial records?' 'There were none.' 'What happened?'

'He was convicted of fraud, given a fine, and released.' 'And?'

'And apparently he transferred himself to Venice
’
'Indeed
’
Brunetti said an
d then, deciding, 'I'd like you
to call the Guardia di Finanza. Ask for Capitano Zeccardi.

Tell him everything you'
ve just told me and say that he
might want to take a clo
ser look at whatever Mutti's up
to
’

'Is that all, Commissario?'

'Yes
’
Brunetti said, and then, remembering, contradicted himself and said, 'No. Tell the Captain this is to thank him for the ride he gave me in the
laguna.
He'll understand
’

During dinner he was perhaps less talkative than usual, though none of the others seemed to heed it, so involved were they in a discussion of the street war that seemed to be in process in Napoli.

Two of them got shot today
’
Raffi said, reaching for the bowl of
ruote
with
melanzane
and
ricotta.
'It's like the Wild West down there. You walk out of your house, going down to the corner for a litre of milk, and
Zacchetel -
someone blows your head off
’

In the voice she used to cool the enthusiasm of youth, Paola said, 'I suspect, if it's Napoli, they are more likely to be going down to the corner for a litre of cocaine.' Without a break, she asked, 'Chiara, would you like more pasta?'

'They aren't all like that, are they?' Chiara enquired of her father, nodding in response to her mother's request.

'No
’
Brunetti said, slipping into his role as source of police authority. 'Your mother is exaggerating again.'

Chiara said, 'Our teachers say that the Mafia is being fought by the police and the government.' To Brunetti, this sounded like something that had been memorized.

'And how long has that fight been going on?' her mother asked her in a deceptively reasonable voice. 'Ask them that, the next time one of them is stupid enough to say such a thing
’
Paola concluded, once again doing her best to foster her children's faith in their teachers, to make no mention of the government.

Brunetti started to protest, but she cut him off, saying, 'Can you name a war that's been going on for sixty years? In Europe? We've had it ever since the real war ended and the Americans brought the Mafia back to help fight the menace -' and here her voice took on the tones of soft and liquid faith, as it tended to do when she mouthed any of the pieties that disgusted her - 'of international Communism. So, instead of having the risk that the Communists might have entered the government after the war, we've got the Mafia, and we'll have them around our necks for ever.'

As a member of the forces of order, it was here Brunetti's duty to oppose her in this belief and maintain that, under the serious leadership of the current government, the police and the other organs of state were making great strides in their fight against the Mafia. Instead, he asked what was for dessert.

24

A day passed, during which Brunetti was kept busy compiling a report on patterns of crime in the Veneto: Patta would use this information for a speech he was to deliver at a conference to be held in Rome in two months. Rather than foist the research on to Signorina Elettra or the men in his department, Brunetti decided to do it himself and thus spent hours each day reading police files from all over the Veneto as well as checking figures available from other provinces and countries.

As he searched the current statistics, he was assailed by those four words: Zingari, Rom, Sinti, Nomadi, for the majority of the people arrested for certain crimes belonged to them. Robbery, theft, breaking and entering: time and time again, those arrested were nomads of one sort or another. Even without records of the arrest of children for these crimes, a reader did not have to be particularly skilled in the arcana of polic
e files to be able to interpret
the repeated explanation given for the use of police vehicles for trips on the mainland: 'return child to guardian', 'return unaccompanied minors to parents'.

Brunetti read of one case of a young man who had been arrested numerous times but who had repeatedly claimed to be only thirteen and thus too young to be arrested. In the absence of written proof of his identity, the presiding magistrate ordered a complete body X-ray to be taken of him so as to determine his age by the condition of his bones.

The nomads had, all these centuries, managed to keep themselves almost completely separated from the societies in whose midst they lived. Horse-traders and trainers, tinkers, gem-setters by trade, most of their jobs had been rendered obsolete in the modern age. But they continued to live off what they called the
gadje -
considering theft not much different from trade. During the last war, this alienation had cost them dear, for they had gone to their death in frightening numbers.

As he continued to compile statistics from other regions, the pattern became more common: break-ins, pickpocketing, burglary: all over the country, members of the nomad groups were arrested in disproportionate numbers and with disproportionate frequency. But there were some cases - especially a particularly vile one in Rome - of organized prostitution, the children rented out, it would appear, by members of the clans to the men interested in their services. Brunetti thought of the autopsy report.

Though he forced himself back to the examination of general crime statistics, that particular case continued to nag at him, and the girl's face, both in death and in the photos he had placed on the steps of the caravan, would return to him at odd times and more than once in his dreams. Pushing those memories aside, he forced himself back to the business of tabulating comparisons among the numbers of crimes, but when he found himself at a loss for the Venetian equivalent of automobile theft, he stopped and gave up for the moment.

'See if there's anything that can be done for the mother,' Patta had enjoined him. Brunetti had no idea what could be done for the mother of an eleven-year-old girl who had drowned, and he suspected that the Vice-Questore would also be at a loss. But Patta had given the command, and Brunetti would obey it.

This time the car that took him there belonged to the Squadra Mobile, and the driver, when Brunetti told him where he wanted to go, recognized the name of the camp. 'Be easier if we just ran a normal service like a bus, Commissario,' he said. He was a man in his forties and had slipped into the dialect he heard Brunetti speak. He was tall and fair-skinned, with an open, relaxed manner. 'Why's that?' Brunetti asked.

'Because we go out there so often. Or maybe it's more like a taxi service for their kids.'

'Like that, eh?' Brunetti asked, noticing that the trees were in stronger bloom today: the green was darker, more sure of itself. 'Sounds bad.'

'Not my place to say whether it's bad or good, sir,' the driver said. 'But after you do it for a while, it's got to look pretty strange.'

'Why?'

'It's like there's a different law for them than there is for the rest of us.' He risked a side glance at Brunetti, and sensing that the Commissario was both listening and i
nterested, the driver went on. ‘I’
ve got two kids at home: six and nine. Can you imagine what would happen if I refused to send them to school and if they got brought home for stealing? Six times? Ten times?'

'What would be different?' Brunetti asked although he had a pretty fair idea.

'Well, for one thing, I'd pound both of them into next week,' the driver said with a smile, making it clear that 'pound' would translate into strong words and no television for a month. 'And I'd lose my job. That's for sure. Or it would be so hard for me to keep it that I'd quit.' That, Brunetti suspected, was a bit of an exaggeration, but he was reminded of similar cases, when the children of policemen had been arrested, and their fathers' careers had been damaged seriously.

'How else?'

'Well, if they kept away for a long time, I suppose the social services could step in and take the kids away, maybe send them to foster homes. I don't know.'