The Girl of his Dreams

17

Married for more than twenty years to a woman he thought beautiful, with a daughter who was quickly becoming just that, Brunetti was accustomed to the sight of female beauty. He lived in a country that bombarded his eyes with lovely women: on posters, on the street, standing behind the counters in bars; even one of the new officers at the station in Cannaregio had caused his heart to stop the first time he saw her. Officer Dorigo, however, had turned out to be both a complainer and a troublemaker, so Brunetti's appreciation of her had turned into something that resembled window shopping: he was perfectly happy to observe her, just so long as he did not have to speak to or listen to her.

Nevertheless, he was still not prepared for the sight of the young girl who came in the door, turned to close it, and walked towards them smiling, saying, 'Ciao, Mamma, I'm home.'

She kissed her mother, put out her hand to Brunetti in what he thought a charming imitation of adult sophistication, and said, 'Good afternoon. I'm Ludovica Fornari’

Closer to, Brunetti saw that the resemblance to Botticelli's painting was superficial. The long blonde hair was the same, surely, but the face was more rectangular, the eyes, a translucent blue, more broadly spaced. He took her hand and gave his name but not his rank.

She smiled again, and he saw that her left incisor was faintly chipped. He wondered why it had not been fixed: certainly a family with a house like this could afford it. Brunetti found himself feeling protective of this girl and wondered if something could be said to her mother. Good sense intervened here, and he turned to Signora Vivarini and said, ‘I won't keep you, Signora. Thank you for your time. I'll just get Ispettore Vianello.'

The girl made a noise and put her hand to her mouth, then started to cough. When Brunetti turned to look, the girl was bent over with her hands braced on her knees while her mother patted her repeatedly on the back. Uncertain how to help, he watched as the girl brought the coughing under control. She nodded, said something to her mother, who took her hand away, and then the girl stood upright.

'Sorry,' she whispered to Brunetti, smiling, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. 'Something stuck,' she said, pointing at her throat. Saying that launched her into another fit of coughing. After a time, she held up one hand and smiled. She took a few quick, shallow breaths, then said to her mother, her voice hoarse, 'It's all right now, Mamma’

Relieved, Brunetti crossed the corridor and opened the door to the other room. Vianello sat on the sofa, reading the magazine they had found there. The Inspector got to his feet, placed the magazine on the table, and joined Brunetti at the door. Emerging into the corridor, Vianello saw the girl, who smiled in his direction but did not extend her hand. The two men left the apartment, ignored the lift that still stood there with one door open, and took the stairs.

As soon as they were outside, Vianello asked, 'The daughter?' 'Yes.'

'Pretty girl.'

Instead of answering, Brunetti walked down to the edge of the canal, where he turned back and studied the facade of the building they had just left.

Vianello asked, looking in the same general direction, 'What are you looking for?'

'The roof, to see what sort of angle it has,' Brunetti answered, shielding his eyes from the sun with an upraised hand. They were too close, so they saw only the facade and the underside of the gutters; there was no way they could back up to improve the perspective.

'Their bedroom is at the back,' Brunetti said, thrusting his hand away from his face and gesturing towards the building. 'There were two other doors on that side of the corridor.'

'And?' Vianello enquired.

'And nothing, I'm afraid’ Brunetti answered and started back down the calle. As Vianello drew abreast of him, Brunetti said, 'She told me she was at the opera with her son and then they went to dinner with her sister and her brother-in-law. So we check that first.'

'And then?'

'If it's true, then we try to find out something about the girl’

After a moment's hesitation, Vianello asked hesitantly, 'The Gypsy?'

'Yes, of course’ Brunetti answered, slowing for a moment and giving him a curious look.

Vianello met his glance, looked away, and when he looked back, asked, 'Did Rizzardi really say that? About gonorrhoea?'

'Yes.'

They came out into Campo Santo Stefano and by mutual consent started towards the Accademia Bridge and the boat that would take them back to the Questura.

As they passed behind the statue, Vianello said, 'Why do I keep thinking it's worse because of her age?'

They walked in front of the church and turned towards the bridge. 'Because it is worse’ Brunetti said.

Pucetti came in to report soon after the other men returned to the Questura. By then, Brunetti had located Signora Fornari's brother-in-law, who confirmed her story, even adding that he had walked her and her son to the 1.07 vaporetto.

Pucetti had done as told and had shown the photos of the dead girl to his colleagues downstairs; he had left copies of the photos at the Carabinieri station at San Zaccaria, asking that they be circulated to see if anyone recognized her. As he spoke, he placed the folder with the remaining photos on his superior's desk.

When the younger man had stopped talking, Brunetti asked, 'But no one recognized her?'

'No one here, not yet. I put two of the photos on the noticeboard’ Pucetti said. 'One of the Carabinieri over at San Zaccaria said he thought she'd been brought in there about a month ago, but he wasn't sure. He said he'd check the records and talk to the men who filed the report.'

'Let's hope he does it,' remarked Vianello, who had greater experience of the Carabinieri and their ways.

'I think he will,' protested Pucetti. 'The fact that it's a child seemed to bother him. Seemed to bother everyone I spoke to, in fact.'

Glances passed between the three men.

'You going to speak to her son?' Vianello asked, reminding Brunetti that the boy had still to be questioned to corroborate his mother's story.

'She wouldn't risk that,' Brunetti said, not certain why he knew this but no less certain about it for that.

'Commissario,' Pucetti began in a tentative voice, 'may I ask something?' At his superior's nod, the young officer continued, 'You sound, at least from what I've heard you say, like you think this Vivarini woman is guilty of something, or trying to hide something.'

Brunetti resisted the urge to pat Pucetti on the shoulder, nor did he smile. 'Signora Vivarini said she didn't notice that anything was missing. A wedding ring, a pocket watch, a pair of cuff links, and another ring.'

Pucetti listened attentively, filing away what Brunetti said.

'She was surprised when the police showed up, I think genuinely.' Pucetti nodded, adding this to his information. 'And as anyone would be expected to be,' Brunetti added, and Pucetti nodded again.

Brunetti toyed with the idea of asking Pucetti to comment on this, to tell them what he thought, but he resisted the temptation and continued. 'At no time during our conversation – and Vianello and I were in her house for at least half an hour – did she think to ask about the child who was pulled out of the water near her home’

'Does that mean you suspect her of that?' Pucetti asked, unable to stop his astonished emphasis of the last word.

'No,' Brunetti said. 'But she didn't ask about the child, even when I told her we found the objects in the possession of someone we were investigating. That's why I'm suspicious.'

The first expression Brunetti saw flash across Pucetti's face was akin to dislike, and he was surprised at how much it offended him to see it there. But the younger man shook his head, glanced at his feet for some time, then came up with a smiling face. 'She should have, shouldn't she?'

Brunetti glanced across at Vianello and was relieved to see that he was smiling, too. The Inspector said to Pucetti, 'Little kid drowns in front of your house, and then the police show up, asking about things that have gone missing. Seems to me that, if the cops are there for half an hour, you'd have enough time to begin to wonder if maybe there's some sort of connection between the two things. After all, it's not as if people drown here every day, is it?'

'But what connection are you looking for?' Pucetti asked.

Brunetti raised his eyebrows, tilting his chin to one side to suggest endless possibilities. 'It could be nothing but coincidence. We've got the advantage that we know the girl had the ring and the watch, so we know that she was in the house. Signora Vivarini doesn't necessarily have to know the girl was there, so she might not see the connection, but it's still strange that she didn't ask about her’

'That's all?' Pucetti asked.

'For the moment, yes,' Brunetti answered.