Drawing Conclusions - Donna Leon [53]
Today Madre Rosa was sitting in one of the armchairs, a book open on her lap. She nodded when he came in and closed her book. ‘What may I do for you today, Commissario?’ she asked. She gave no indication that he should sit, and so Brunetti, though he approached her, remained standing.
‘I’d like to speak to some of the people who knew Signora Altavilla best,’ he said.
‘You must realize that your desire makes little sense to me,’ she said. When Brunetti did not respond, she added, ‘Nor does your curiosity about her.’
‘It makes sense to me, Madre,’ he said.
‘Why?’
It was out before he thought about it. ‘I’m curious about the cause of her heart attack.’ Before the nun could ask him anything, Brunetti said, ‘There’s no question that she died of a heart attack, and the doctor assures me it was very fast.’ He saw her close her eyes and nod, as if in thanks for having been given something she desired. ‘But I’d like to be sure that the heart attack was … was not brought on by anything. Anything unpleasant, that is.’
‘Sit down, Commissario,’ she said. When he did, she said, ‘You realize what you’ve just said, of course.’
‘Yes.’
‘If the cause of her heart attack – may she rest in peace – was, as you say,’ she began, pausing a moment before allowing herself to repeat his word, ‘unpleasant, then there must be a reason for that. And if you’ve come here to look for that reason, then it’s possible you think you’ll find it in something one of the people she worked with told her.’
‘That’s true,’ he said, impressed by her quickness.
‘And if that is true, then that person might equally be at risk.’
‘That’s certainly possible, as well, but I think it would depend on what it is they told her. Madre,’ he continued, deciding he had no choice but to trust her, ‘I’ve no idea what happened, and I feel foolish saying that all I have is a strange feeling that something is wrong about her death.’ Conscious of having said nothing about the marks on her body, Brunetti wondered if it were worse to lie to a nun than to any other sort of person: he decided it was not.
‘Does that mean you are not here … how to say this? That you are not here officially?’ She seemed pleased to have found the word.
‘Not at all,’ he had to admit. ‘I want only to bring some peace of mind to her son,’ he added. It was the truth, but it was not the whole truth.
‘I see,’ she said. She surprised him by opening the book in her lap and returning her attention to it. Brunetti sat quietly for a time that spread out and became minutes, and then more minutes.
At last, she held the book closer to her face, then appeared to read aloud: ‘“The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.”’ She lowered the book and looked at him above the pages. ‘Do you believe that, Commissario?’
‘No, I’m afraid I don’t, Madre,’ he said without hesitation.
She set the book on her lap, leaving the pages open, and surprised him again, this time by saying, ‘Good.’
‘Good that I said it or that I don’t believe it?’ Brunetti asked.
‘That you said it, of course. It’s tragic that you don’t believe it. But if you had said you do, you would have been a liar, and that’s worse.’
Like Pascal, she knew the truth not by reason, but by the heart. But he made no mention of this, merely asked, ‘How do you know I don’t believe it?’ he asked.
She smiled more warmly than he had seen her do so far. ‘I might be a dried-up old stick, Commissario, and from the South, as well, but I’m not a fool,’ she said.
‘And the fact that I’m not a liar, what bearing does that have on this conversation?’
‘It makes me believe that you are really interested in finding out if anything unpleasant – as you put it – might have been involved in Costanza’s death. And since she was a friend, I am interested in that, as well.’
‘Which means you’ll help?’ he asked.
‘Which means I will give you the names of the people she spent most time with. And then you are on your own, Commissario.’
16
She gave him not only their names but their room numbers as well. Two women,