Drawing Conclusions - Donna Leon [68]
She made no gratuitous reference to her sister here, and Brunetti was glad of that.
‘And Signora Altavilla?’
‘A cousin of hers told her about us. She and I had a talk, and she told me she would be willing to help us. She was a widow, lived alone, had an extra room, and there were three other apartments in the building.’ Seeing Brunetti’s puzzled expression, she explained, ‘It means people are constantly going in and out of the building.’
‘How long ago was this?’
She tilted her head to the right while she searched her memory.
‘Two, three years ago, I’d say. I’d have to check my records.’
‘Where are your offices, if I might ask?’ Brunetti said, though that would be easy enough to find out.
‘Not far from here,’ she said, irritating him with the unnecessary evasion.
Brunetti continued, ‘Did anything similar to what happened to that old woman – a man coming to the house or suspecting that someone was staying there – ever happen to Signora Altavilla?’
She put her hands on the table and laced her fingers together. ‘She never said anything.’ By way of explanation, she added, ‘We give clear instructions about that. The house owner has to report anything – even if it’s only a suspicion – immediately.’ Then she said, with a weary smile, ‘Not everyone is as clever as that old woman.’
‘Do you know if she was ever troubled by anything one of her guests told her?’
Her smile grew warmer. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said.’
Momentarily confused, Brunetti said, ‘I don’t understand.’
‘To call them guests.’
‘It seems to me that’s what they are,’ he answered simply, ignoring her attempt at diversion. ‘Did this ever happen, that she was troubled by something she heard?’
Signora Orsoni raised her chin and pulled in air, creating a noise Brunetti could hear from the other side of the table. ‘No, not really. That is, she never told me about anything like that.’ She gave him an evaluating glance, then said, ‘Usually these women talk very little.’ She offered no further explication, though Brunetti still felt she had something else to say.
‘But?’ he encouraged.
‘But it came the other way,’ she said, confusing him again. ‘That is, a woman who was staying with her said she thought something had upset Costanza.’
‘What exactly did she say?’ Brunetti asked, trying to hide his rush of interest.
Orsoni rubbed her forehead, as if to show Brunetti how hard she was trying to remember. ‘She said that when she went to stay with her, Costanza seemed a very calm person, but then after she had been there for a few weeks, Costanza came home one day looking troubled. She thought it would pass, but the mood she came home in seemed to linger.’
‘Where had she gone? Did she know?’
‘She said the only places Costanza ever went were to visit her son and to see the old people in the nursing home.’
‘When did she tell you this?’
‘When she was leaving – when I was going to the airport with her. It must have happened about a month ago, so perhaps Costanza’s spirits improved after that.’
‘Did this woman ask her about it?’
Signora Orsoni spread her palms out flat. ‘You have to understand the dynamic here, Commissario. You call these women guests, but it’s not like that. They’re in hiding. Some of them go out to work, but most of them stay home, and the only thing they can do is worry about what’s going to happen to them.’
She looked at him to be sure she had his full attention and continued. ‘Bad things have happened to these women, Commissario. They’ve been beaten, and raped, and men have tried to kill them, so it’s difficult for them to concern themselves with the problems of other people.’ She paused, as if to measure the sympathy with which he greeted this, and then said, ‘They find it hard even to imagine that people like the ones they stay with – who have homes, and jobs, who don’t have financial problems, and who aren’t at risk – it’s hard for them to think that these people can have problems.’ She stared across the table at him. ‘So the amazing thing is not that she didn’t