Drawing Conclusions - Donna Leon [18]
Instantly, as if he feared the press would somehow get hold of this remark and pounce upon its callousness, Patta amended it for those silent listeners, ‘Professionally, I mean, of course. At the human level, her death is, as is anyone’s, terrible.’ Then, as if prodded by his son’s voice, he added, ‘And doubly so, given the circumstances.’
‘Indeed,’ Brunetti affirmed, resisting the impulse to bow his head respectfully at the sibylline opacity of his superior’s words, and allowing a moment to pass in silence. ‘I believe there’s nothing we can say to the press at the moment, sir, certainly not until Rizzardi has told us what he found.’
Patta fell upon Brunetti’s uncertainty hungrily. ‘Then you think it was a natural death?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Brunetti answered, keeping to himself the mark near the woman’s collarbone. If the physical evidence did point to a crime, it would fall to Patta to reveal this news, thus reaffirming his role as chief protector of the safety of the city.
‘When we have the results, you should be the one to speak to the press, sir. They’ll certainly pay more attention to anything that comes from you.’ Brunetti wrapped the fingers of his right hand into a fist. Not even a beta dog had to continue lying on its back for so long, he told himself, suddenly tiring of his role.
‘Right,’ Patta said, restored to his good humour. ‘Let me know what Rizzardi tells you as soon as you see him.’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘And find her son. His name is Claudio Niccolini.’
Brunetti wished the Vice-Questore good morning and went to the outer office to speak to Signorina Elettra, certain that she would easily find a veterinarian of the name Claudio Niccolini somewhere in the Veneto.
6
It proved far easier than he had imagined: all Signorina Elettra did was enter ‘Veterinarian’ and search the Yellow Pages for both cities, and she quickly found the number of the office of Dott. Claudio Niccolini in Vicenza.
Brunetti went back to his office to make the call, only to learn that the doctor was not in the office that day. When he gave his name and rank and explained that he had to speak to the doctor about the death of his mother, the woman with whom he was speaking said that Dr Niccolini had already been informed and was on his way to Venice, in fact was probably already there. The reproach in her voice was unmistakable. Brunetti offered no explanation for the delay in his call and, instead, asked for the doctor’s telefonino number. The woman gave it to him and hung up without further comment.
Brunetti dialled the number; a man answered on the fourth ring. ‘Sì?’
‘Dottor Niccolini?’
‘Sì. Chi parla?’
‘This is Commissario Guido Brunetti, Dottore. First, I want to offer my condolences for your loss,’ Brunetti said, paused, and then added, ‘I’d like to speak to you about your mother, if I might.’ Brunetti had no idea what his authority was, since he had gone to the woman’s home almost by default, and he had certainly not been given any formal assignment to look into the circumstances of her death.
The other man took a very long time to answer, and when he did he blurted out, ‘Why …’ and then stopped. After yet another seemingly interminable pause, he said, fighting to control his uneasiness, ‘I didn’t know the police were involved.’
If that’s what he thought, Brunetti decided it was best to let him go on believing it. ‘Only because the first call came to us, Dottore,’ Brunetti said in his blandest bureaucratic voice. Then, switching registers to that of the beleaguered official, much put upon by the incompetence of others, he added, ‘Usually the hospital would send a team, but because the person who reported the death called us, instead, we were obliged to go.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Niccolini said in a calmer voice.
Brunetti then asked, ‘May I ask where you are, Dottore?’
‘I’m at the hospital, waiting to speak to the pathologist.’
‘I’m already on my way there,’ Brunetti lied effortlessly, then added, ‘There are some formalities;