A Venetian Reckoning Part 27

'I see,' Bnmetti said. "All three?'

That's what they say"

'How many of them are there?" Brunetti asked.

The men from Special Branch?'

'Yes.'

Three'

'And they all say the same thing? That she killed them because she couldn't blackmail them any more?' 'Yes.'

'Did you talk to them?'

'No. I got all this from the guard who found her.'

'When did they start to talk about her confession?' Brunetti asked. 'Before or after she was dead?'

'I don't know,' della Corte said. 'Does it matter?'

No, Brunetti realized, it didn't matter, for all three of the men from Special Branch, he was sure, would tell the same story. Adultery, blackmail, greed, and revenge: these were vices that would adequately explain what she had done. In fact, they were probably more believable than rage and horror, and the icy l.u.s.t for retribution. The word of three officers of the Special Branch was hardly to be questioned.

Brunetti said, "Thank you', and put the phone down softly. He sat and searched for sc.r.a.ps, for any thread of evidence that would pull another person to the truth. In the face of Ceroni's confession and suicide, the only tangible evidence was the phone records for the offices of the dead men. And what of that? Calls to various legitimate businesses in a number of countries, to a seedy bar in Mestre. It was little more than nothing and certainly not enough to merit investigation. Mara, he was sure, was back on the streets now, probably moved to some other city. And Silvestri would tell whatever story he was ordered to tell by the people who gave him drugs. Or he could just as easily be found dead of an overdose. Brunetti still had the videotape, but to trace it back to the Trevisans would mean asking Chiara to talk about it, to remember it, and he would not do that, no matter the consequences of his refusal.

She had warned him, but he had refused to listen. She had even named the man who would send her killers. Or perhaps there was someone even more powerful than him involved in this, another respectable man who, like the centurion in the Bible, had but to say, 'Go' and someone went. Or three such servants went to do his bidding.

From memory, he dialled a number of a friend who was a colonel at the Guardia di Finanza and briefly explained about Trevisan, Favero and Lotto and the money they must have been receiving, and hiding, for years. The colonel said they'd look into Signora Trevisan's finances as soon as they had time and personnel available. When Brunetti put the phone down, he felt no better. He put his elbows on his desk, lowered his head into his cupped hands, and sat that way for a long time. He had brought her in before dawn, but by eight o'clock the men from Special Branch had already come to get her.

He pushed himself up from his desk and went down to the officers' room two floors below, seeking Preside, the man who had been on guard duty when he brought Signora Ceroni in. He had gone off duty at eight but in his logbook he had noted, '6:18 a.m. Lt Scarpa takes over day s.h.i.+ft. Comm. Brunetti's report to Lt Scarpa.'

He left the room and stood for a moment in the hall, surprised that it took a few moments to feel entirely steady. He turned and walked towards the stairway that would take him from the Questura, forcing his mind away from the knowledge that remained behind him there. He started down the stairs, thinking of Signora Ceroni and of their strange journey through the night He realized that he would never understand why she had done it Perhaps you had to be a woman. He'd ask Paola. She usually understood things. At that thought Brunetti's heart came back to him, and he left the Questura, going home.