Hannibal - Thomas Harris [45]
Even the most contentious Florentines could not resist the verse of Dante ringing off these frescoed walls in Dr Fells clear Tuscan. First applause, and then by weteyed acclamation, the memberships affirmed Dr Fell as master of the Palazzo Capponi, leaving Sogliato to fume. If the victory pleased the doctor, Pazzi could not tell, for he turned his back again. But Sogliato was not quite through.
“If he is such an expert on Dante, let him lecture on Dante, to the Studiolo.”
Sogliato hissed the name as though it were the Inquisition. “Let him face them extempore, next Friday if he can.”
The Studiolo, named for an ornate private study, was a small, fierce group of scholars who had ruined a number of academic reputations and met often in the Palazzo Vecchio. Preparing for them was regarded as a considerable chore, appearing before them a peril. Sogliato's uncle seconded his motion and Sogliato's brotherinlaw called for a vote, which his sister recorded in the minutes. It passed. The appointment stood, but Dr Fell must satisfy the Studiolo to keep it.
The committees had a new curator for the Palazzo Capponi, they did not miss the old curator, and they gave the disgraced Pazzi's questions about the missing man short shrift. Pazzi held up admirably.
Like any good investigator, he had sifted the circumstances for profit. Who would benefit from the old curator's disappearance? The missing curator was a bachelor, a wellrespected quiet scholar with an orderly life. He had some savings, nothing much. All he had was his job and with it the privilege of living in the attic of the Palazzo Capponi.
Here was the new appointee, confirmed by the board after close questioning on Florentine history and archaic Italian. Pazzi had examined Dr Fells application forms and his National Health affidavits.
Pazzi approached him as the board members were packing their briefcases to go home.
“Dr Fell.”
“Yes, Commendatore?”
The new curator was small and sleek. His glasses were smoked in the top half of the lenses and his dark clothing beautifully cut, even for Italy.
“I was wondering if you ever met your predecessor?”
An experienced policeman's antennae are tuned to the bandwidth of fear..Watching Dr Fell carefully, Pazzi registered absolute calm.
“I never met him. I read several of his monographs in the Nuova Antologia.”
The doctor's conversational Tuscan was as clear as his recitation. If there was a trace of an accent, Pazzi could not place it.
“I know that the officers who first investigated checked the Palazzo Capponi for any sort of note, a farewell note, a suicide note, and found nothing. If you come upon anything in the papers, anything personal, even if it's trivial, would you call me?”
“Of course, Commendator Pazzi.”
“Are his personal effects still at the Palazzo?”
“Packed in two suitcases, with an inventory.”
“I'll send - I'll come by and pick them up.”
“Would you call me first, Commendatore? I can disarm the security system before you arrive, and save you time.”
The man is too calm. Properly, he should fear me a little. He asks me to call him before coming by.
The committee had ruffled Pazzi's feathers. He could do nothing about that. Now he was piqued by this man's presumption. He piqued back.
“Dr Fell, may I ask you a personal question?”
“If your duty requires it, Commendatore.”
“You have a relatively new scar on the back of your left hand.”
“And you have a new wedding ring on yours: La Vita Nuova?”
Dr Fell smiled. He has small teeth, very white. In Pazzi's instant of surprise, before he could decide to be offended, Dr Fell held up his scarred hand and went on: “Carpal tunnel syndrome, Commendatore. History is a hazardous profession.”
“Why didn't you declare carpal tunnel syndrome on your National Health forms when you came to work here?”
“My impression was, Commendatore, that injuries are relevant only if one is receiving disability payments; I am not. Nor am I disabled.”
"The surgery was in Brazil, then, your country of origin.
“It was not