Drawing Conclusions - Donna Leon [77]
His bank account, completely undisturbed by the purchase of the apartment, showed much the same routine seen in Signora Sartori’s: modest deposits and withdrawals, and, since the purchase of the apartment, the monthly payment of a condominium fee. This fee had risen during the years and was now more than four hundred euros a month and thus could no longer easily be offset by his modest pension.
From the time Signora Sartori had entered the nursing home Signor Morandi’s banking habits had changed. A month before her first bill was due, his account had been credited with a deposit of almost four thousand euros. Since then, every three or four months, a deposit of between four and five thousand euros was made, and each month more than twelve hundred euros was routinely transferred from his account to that of the nursing home.
That seemed to be that. Brunetti leafed back through the papers to check the dates and saw that, though the apartment had been purchased after Morandi’s retirement, Signora Sartori continued working at the hospital. It was unlikely that people holding such jobs could have managed, even jointly, to save enough to buy an apartment: given the absence of a mortgage and the low salary of the one still working, it became almost impossible. Neither Brunetti’s brief meeting with Morandi nor the contents of these papers suggested a man whose behaviour would be characterized by fiscal prudence.
Brunetti got to his feet and went over to the window, resuming his study of the two façades on view. He returned his attention to the wall, considering the report and wondering why it had caught Signorina Elettra’s attention. He knew her well enough to know that all of the information she had acquired would be in these papers: not to provide it would be – he was struck by the word that came to mind – to cheat. He waited for Vianello to conclude his contemplation and pass some observation on the papers.
While he waited, Brunetti considered the phenomenon of retirement. People in other countries, he had been told, dreamed of retirement as a chance to move to a warmer climate and start a whole new chapter: learn a language, buy a scuba outfit, take up taxidermy. How utterly alien that desire was to his own culture. The people he knew and those he had been observing all his life wanted nothing more, upon retirement, than to settle more deeply into their homes and the routines they had constructed over decades, making no change to their lives other than to excise from them the necessity of going to work each morning and perhaps to add the possibility of travelling a bit, but not often, and not too far. He knew no one who had bought a new home upon retirement or who had considered changing address.
What, then, would explain the sudden acquisition, at the conclusion of his working life, of a new apartment by Signor Morandi? Could there be some other Morandi? Was this an error on Signorina Elettra’s part. Error? What was he thinking? Brunetti put his fingers to his mouth, as if to stifle that rash word.
‘Why did he buy an apartment?’ Vianello asked from his side of the room.
‘What did he buy it with?’ Brunetti asked. ‘There’s no mention of a mortgage.’
Vianello returned to his chair, leaned forward to place his palm on the papers, saying, ‘Nothing in here suggests a man who saved all his life to buy a home.’
Brunetti dialled Signorina Elettra’s number.
‘Sì, Commissario?’ she answered.
‘The Inspector and I are curious about how Signor Morandi managed to buy his apartment,’ he said.
She allowed a moment to pass and then asked, ‘Did you see the date of purchase?’
Brunetti raised his shoulder and propped the phone against his ear then used both hands to leaf through the papers. He found the date and said, ‘It’s three months after he retired. But I don’t see why it’s significant.