The Girl of his Dreams

27

When he reached the calle, Brunetti turned to the right and, more from habit than conscious thought, started back the way he had come. He was halfway down Calle degli Avvocati when he changed his mind and decided to take the vaporetto back to the Questura. He turned abruptly, and when he did he noticed a sudden motion on the left about ten metres away as something slipped back around the corner of Calle Pesaro. Reminded of the sensation that he had been followed from the Questura, Brunetti decided to abandon caution and took off at a fast run towards the corner.

When he wheeled around it, he saw motion ahead as someone, perhaps a woman, ran down the other side of the bridge and to the right into Calle dell’Albero. Brunetti followed over the bridge, down the riva and left at the end. He paused only long enough to look down the calle at the right, which he knew to be a dead end.

And heard retreating footsteps. He followed them: the walls of the buildings on either side grew closer together as the calk narrowed, and then ahead of him he saw the tall metal doors of a palazzo. For a moment, he wondered if he had been imagining it all, but then he heard a sound on the left. He moved forward slowly, and as he walked he unbuttoned his jacket to put his pistol within reach.

He saw it then, in a doorway on the left, and at first it looked to him like a discarded overcoat or a garbage bag over which someone had tossed an old sweater. He approached, and the object moved, backed up somehow to get closer to the door, then slid silently to the right and pressed up against the wall.

Brunetti was still not sure what sort of creature he had cornered. He bent down to take a closer look, and it erupted in his direction, crashing against his legs. Instinctively, Brunetti grabbed at it, but it was like holding an eel or some sort of wild animal. It thrashed, and then two skinny legs began to kick at him.

Knowing then at least what manner of being he was dealing with, Brunetti lifted it from the ground and turned it so that the feet were facing away from him and would perhaps do less damage. Then he wrapped his arms around the upper part and pulled it to his chest, muttering the sort of things he had said to their dogs when he was a boy.

It's all right. It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you.' It kicked a few more times. Brunetti heard gasps, but gradually they subsided and the kicking stopped. It hung limp in his arms. 'I'm going to put you down now,' Brunetti said. 'Be careful where you put your feet, and don't fall.' The creature remained limp and unresponsive.

'Do you understand?'

Something under the hood of a dirty sports jacket nodded, and Brunetti lowered it to the ground. He felt the feet touch the ground one after the other, and, his hands still on the arms, he felt the entire body grow tense and prepare to flee. Effortlessly, he picked the child up again and said, 'Don't try to run away again. I'm much faster than you are.'

The tension relaxed and Brunetti lowered the child once more. The top of the hood came a few centimetres above Brunetti's belt. 'I'm going to let go and move away from you.' He did just that and then spoke to the back of the jacket. 'When you want, you can talk to me.'

There was no response. 'Is that why you were following me?' he asked. 'Do you want to talk to me?'

He saw a motion of the head, but it could have meant anything. 'All right. Then let's talk.'

A small, dirty hand came out of the sleeve of the jacket and motioned Brunetti to move farther away. Because the calle was a dead end and he was blocking the exit, he did this, moving back a full two paces. 'All right, I'm far enough away from you now. So we can talk.'

Brunetti leaned back against the wall of a building and folded his arms. He looked at the wall opposite him, though his attention was entirely on the child.

After what could have been a minute but might have been more, the child turned around. In the shadow created by the hood, Brunetti could make out eyes and mouth but not much more. He put his hands in his pockets and took another step away from the child, leaving an opening in front of him large enough for the child to try to bolt through. He watched as the child considered doing this and then discarded the idea.

The child slipped the same hand that had done the waving into the front pocket of the jacket. When it came out, the child took one step towards Brunetti and opened the ringers. In the palm Brunetti saw some small objects. He took a slow step closer, then leaned forward to see better. There was a ring and a cuff link.

Brunetti crouched down and extended his hand towards the child, who took one small step towards him. Brunetti saw that it was a boy, looking no older than eight, though he knew that the dead girl's brother was twelve. The boy let the jewellery drop into Brunetti's outstretched palm.

He pulled the objects closer and looked at them. The silver of the cuff link surrounded a small rectangle of lapis lazuli. Even Brunetti could see that the red stone in the ring was only a piece of glass. He glanced at the child, who was looking at him. 'Who sent you?' Brunetti asked.

'Mamma’ the child answered in a very light voice.

Brunetti nodded. 'You're a good boy,' he said. 'And very brave.' He didn't know how much of this the boy would understand, but when he saw the answering smile, he knew. 'And very clever,' Brunetti added, tapping the side of his own head, and the smile grew larger.

'What happened?' Brunetti asked. When the child did not answer, Brunetti asked, 'That night, what happened?'

'The tiger man,' the boy said.

Brunetti cocked his head to one side to show his confusion. 'What tiger man?' he asked.

'In the house’ the child said, waving his hand in the general direction of the houses to Brunetti's left, where stood Palazzo Benzon and the home of Giorgio Fornari.

Brunetti raised his palms in the universal sign of confusion. 'I don't know a tiger man’ he said. 'What did he do?'

'He saw us. He came in. No clothes. Tiger man’ To show what he meant, the boy stuck his ringers in his hair and ruffled it out above his head, then made cutting motions, first with one hand, then with the other, at the top of his arms. "Tiger. Bad tiger. Loud noise. Tiger noise.'

'Did the tiger man give you these?' Brunetti asked, holding the jewellery out towards the boy.

The boy's face grew cloudy with confusion. 'No, no’ he said with a violent shake of his head. 'We take. Tiger man see.' His eyes contracted as though he were trying to remember something, or trying not to remember something. Then he said, 'Ariana. He took Ariana’ To show Brunetti what he meant, he stuck his arms out in front of him and pretended to pick something up. 'Like you do me’ he said, making it clear and raising his hands with the emptiness suspended between them. He froze.

Brunetti waited.

'Door. Ariana out door’ he said, pushing his arms away from him violently and letting his hands fly open. Brunetti saw that the boy was crying.

His knees had begun to ache, but he remained crouched down, afraid of the effect on the child if he suddenly got to his feet. He let the boy cry for some time, and when he seemed calmer, Brunetti asked, 'Who was with you?'

'Xenia’ he said, raising one of his out-thrust hands to the level of his shoulder.

'Did she see the tiger man?'

The boy nodded.

'Did she see what he did?'

He nodded again.

'Does your mother know about this?' Brunetti asked.

He nodded.

'Will she talk to me?'

The boy stared at Brunetti for some time and then shook his head.

'Because of your father?' The boy shrugged.

'Why are you in the city?' Brunetti asked. 'Work’ the boy said, and Brunetti was left speechless at the use of the word.

'Will you tell your mother that you talked to me?' 'Yes. She want.'

'Does she want anything else?' Brunetti asked.

'Tiger man. Tiger man die’ the boy said fiercely, and Brunetti realized it was not only the boy's mother who wanted him dead. 'Like Ariana’ the boy said with adult savagery.

Brunetti had had enough. He spread his fingers on the ground in front of him and pushed off, rising slowly to his feet. He heard his right knee creak. As he had feared, the boy took two steps backwards and raised an involuntary arm across his face.

Brunetti backed farther away. ‘I won't hurt you.' The boy let his arm fall to his side.

'You can go now, if you like’ he said. The boy at first seemed not to understand, so Brunetti turned and walked to the end of the calle, where it formed a T junction with Calle dell'Albero. Brunetti called back to the boy. 'I'm going back to the Questura. Tell your mother I would like to talk to her.'

The boy had materialized around the corner behind him. He shook his head at Brunetti's request, but he said nothing.

Pressing his back against the wall of the building opposite Brunetti, the boy squeezed past him. He turned left into the calle, heading towards the bridge they had both run down.

He paused at the bottom but did not look back at Brunetti. As the boy put his foot on the first step, Brunetti called after him. 'You're a good boy.' The boy ran up the bridge and disappeared down the other side.