Drawing Conclusions - Donna Leon [36]
Brunetti placed the technicians’ preliminary report on top of Rizzardi’s and read through it carefully this time. He noticed a certain willingness to cater to Patta’s preference for non-interpretation. Aside from the blood on the radiator, the examination of the house suggested nothing beyond ‘normal domestic use’.
Then, on the last page, came a hammer blow to any hope Brunetti might have had of conducting an investigation. Propafenone was found in the medicine cabinet in Signora Altavilla’s bathroom. Thus proof of a pre-existing condition validated Rizzardi’s posthumous diagnosis of death by heart fibrillation.
Brunetti set the report on top of Rizzardi’s and carefully tapped at the sides of the papers until they were aligned. He folded his hands and placed them in the middle of the top sheet. He studied his thumbs, noticed that the right-hand cuff of his shirt was beginning to fray, then looked away from it and out the window.
The reports would please Patta: that was a given. But they would also please – Brunetti was equally certain of this – Niccolini. No, that was the wrong word: too strong. Slowly, as though it were a film he could view at will and at leisure, Brunetti played over his meeting with the veterinarian.
His emotion, really, might more accurately be called relief, the same emotion Brunetti had seen on the faces of people when hearing the verdict ‘Innocent’ read out. But innocent of what? No stranger to pretence and emotional forgery, Brunetti did not doubt the intensity of Niccolini’s pain. He recalled the doctor’s face after he blurted out that he too had performed autopsies. And, remembering that scene, Brunetti grew indignant that he could have been left there, while he knew what was being done in the nearby room.
He unfolded his hands and dialled the internal number for the officers’ squad room, asked to speak to Vianello. When the Inspector answered, Brunetti said, ‘I think we should go back and have another look at her apartment.’
‘Now?’ asked an audibly reluctant Vianello.
‘Why?’
‘It’s almost seven,’ the Inspector began. Surprised, Brunetti looked at his watch and saw that it was so. ‘You think we could leave it until tomorrow morning?’ Vianello asked. Before Brunetti could answer, the Inspector said, ‘I’ll call this Signora Giusti and tell her we’ll be there – what time should I say?’
Brunetti was tempted to ask Vianello if he was making a suggestion or giving an order. Instead, he said, ‘Ten would be fine.’
11
They took the Number One but chose to sit inside, where Brunetti told Vianello about the contents of both Rizzardi’s and the technicians’ reports. He also gave him his general impression of Niccolini as a man made uncomfortable by unsaid things.
As the boat passed in front of the Piazza, Brunetti looked to the right and asked, ‘It never becomes ordinary, does it?’ Before Vianello could answer and as though the Inspector had removed it from his drawer while he was out of the office, Brunetti added, ‘Where’d yesterday go?’
‘We walked,’ Vianello said.
‘What?’
‘It’s not like the movies, where you get in a car and speed to where you’re going, siren blaring. You know that. We walked, and then we walked back. So it took a long time. And the old nun, even if she didn’t want to tell us anything, she still took a fair amount of time doing it. We’re not in New York, Guido,’ he said and smiled to show the vast relief with which he greeted that fact.
As if to argue in favour of Vianello’s assertion, they were strafed by a sudden burst of light reflected from the windows of the buildings on the left side of the canal. Their eyes followed the origin of the dazzle to the row of buildings: beige, ochre, something between yellow and brown, pink; and then the windows: pointing up and pirouetting at the top, pushing aside twisted columns in order to let in more light. Then, barely seen at the waterline, the enormous cubes