Drawing Conclusions - Donna Leon [73]
‘Ah, Maddalena. What did you think of her?’ she asked with complete neutrality, offering no clue to what her own opinion might be.
‘That she likes helping people,’ Brunetti answered with equal neutrality.
‘That certainly seems a worthy desire,’ Signorina Elettra allowed.
Brunetti wondered when one of them would give in and express an opinion.
‘She reminds me a bit of those women in nineteenth-century novels, interested in the moral improvement of their inferiors,’ she said.
For a moment, Brunetti weighed the possibility that more than a decade’s exposure to his view of the world had affected hers, but then he realized how self-flattering this was: Signorina Elettra surely had her own ample reserves of scepticism.
Suddenly impatient with sparring, he said, ‘One of the women she helped was staying with Signora Altavilla up until the evening before her death, but it turns out this woman has stayed in other houses, in similar circumstances …’
‘And has made off with the silver?’ Signorina Elettra joked.
‘Something like that.’ He watched her surprise register and liked the fact that she was surprised.
‘Her name?’ she enquired.
‘Gabriela Pavon, though I very much doubt it’s her real name. And the man from whom she was supposedly hiding is Nico Martucci, a Sicilian. That probably is his real name. Lives in Treviso.’ When she began to write down the names, Brunetti said, ‘Don’t bother. I’ve got a friend in Treviso who can tell me. It’ll save time.’
He turned to leave but she said, pointing to some papers on her desk, ‘I’ve found out a few things about Signora Sartori and the man she lived with.’
‘So they aren’t married?’ he asked.
‘Not in the records of the nursing home. Her entire pension goes directly to them, and her companion Morandi pays the rest.’ Then, seeing his surprise, she added, ‘He wouldn’t have to pay, since they’re not married. But he does.’ Brunetti thought of the red-faced man he had met in Signora Sartori’s room.
‘What does it cost?’ Brunetti asked, thinking of what he and his brother had had to pay for their mother for all those years.
‘Two thousand, four hundred a month,’ then, when he raised his eyebrows, she said, ‘It’s one of the best in the city.’ She raised a hand and let it fall. ‘And those are the prices.’
‘How much is her pension?’ he asked.
‘Six hundred euros. She left four years early, so she isn’t eligible for the whole pension.’
Before he tried the maths, Brunetti asked, ‘And his?’
‘Five hundred and twenty.’ Together, their pensions covered barely half of the cost.
The man had not seemed wealthy; nor, Brunetti had to admit, had she. If he was what he seemed, a pensioner in need of paying utilities, rent, and food, where did he find the money for the nursing home?
She picked up the papers and handed them to him; he was surprised to find more than a few sheets. What could two old people like that have done in their lives?
‘What’s in here?’ he asked, holding it up with deliberate exaggeration.
With her most sibylline look, Signorina Elettra observed, ‘Their lives have not been without event.’
Brunetti allowed himself to relax into a smile for what seemed the first time that day. He waved the papers, saying, ‘I’ll have a look.’ She nodded and turned her attention to her computer.
In his office, he first dialled his home number.
Paola answered with a ‘Sì’ so devoid of patience as to discourage even the most hardened telephone salesman or to frighten her children into hurrying home to clean their rooms.
‘“And the voice of the turtle dove is heard in our land,”’ he could not stop himself from saying.
‘Guido Brunetti,’ she said, voice no more friendly than it had been with that impersonal ‘Sì’, ‘don’t you start quoting the Bible at me.’
‘I read the Song of Songs as literature, not as a sacred text.’
‘And you use it as a provocation,’ she said.
‘Merely following in the tradition of two thousand years of Christian apologists.’
‘You are a wicked, annoying man,’ she said in a lighter voice, and he knew the danger was past.
‘I am a wicked, annoying man who would like to take you