Death and Judgement (28 page)

‘
But then you saw the tapes?'

'Yes. But then I saw the tapes.'

'Did you think about whether it was wrong to murder them?'

That's what I'm trying to tell you, commissario. It wasn't wrong. It was right. I never questioned that, not from the beginning. And before you ask, yes, I'd do it again.
’

'Is it because the women are Bosnian? Muslim?' She made a sound he thought was a chuckle. 'It doesn't matter who the women are. Were. They're dead now, so it makes no difference to them what happens, poor things.' She thought about his question for a moment. 'No, that didn't make any difference.' She took her eyes fiom the road and looked at him. 'People talk about humanity and crimes against humanity, commissario. The newspapers are filled with editorials, and politicians talk and talk and talk. And no one does anyth
ing. All
we get is talk and noble sentiments, and still things like this go on; women get raped and murdered, and now we make movies and watch it happening.' He heard her anger, but it made her speech slower, not faster.

'So I decided to stop
them
. Because nothing else would?

'You could have come to the police.' 'And what, commissario? Have them arrested for what? Is it a crime, what they were doing?'

Brunetti didn't know and was ashamed to admit it. is it?' she insisted.

‘I
don't know,' he finally said. 'But you could have exposed them and their business with the prostitutes. That would have stopped them.'

She laughed out loud. 'How dull you are, commissario. I had no desire to stop the prostitution, none at all. I make a very good living from that. Why would I want to stop it?'

'Because of what's done to the women, the same thing that happened to you.'

She spoke more quickly now, out of irritation, not anger, it would happen to them wherever they were. They'd be whores and victims in their own countries.'

'Aren't some of them killed?'

'What do you want me to do, commissario, tell you I'm taking vengeance for all the poor dead prostitutes of the world? I'm not I'm trying to tell you why I did it. If they were arrested, everything would have come out. I would have been arrested, as well. And what would have happened? A few months in gaol while they waited for a trial, and then what? A fine? A year in gaol? Two? You think that's enough for what they did?'

Brunetti was too tired to argue ethics with this woman.
'How did you do it?' He'd settl
e for facts.

‘I
knew Trevisan and Favero were having dinner, and I knew which train Trevisan always took back. I took
the
same train. The first-class carriages are always empty at the end of the trip, so it was very easy.'

'Did he recognize you?'

‘I
don't know. It was all very fast.'

'Where did you get the gun?'

'A friend,' was
the
only explanation she gave.

'And Favero?'

'During the dinner, he went to the bathroom, and I put barbiturates in his wine. Vin Santo. I made him order a half-
bottle
after dinner because it was sweet and I knew it would cover the taste.'

'And at his house?'

'He was supposed to drive me to the railway station so I could get a train back to Venice. But, halfway there, he fell asleep at a red light I pulled him over and changed seats, then drove the car back to his house. He had one of those automatic door openers for the garage, so I opened the door, drove in and left the motor running, then pulled him back under the wheel and hit the button to close the door. I ran out of the garage as it was closing.' 'Lotto?'

'He called me and said he was worried, wanted to talk to me about what was happening.' Brunetti watched her profile as it appeared and disappeared in the light of the infrequent cars that passed
them
. Her face remained calm through all of this,
‘I
told him it would be better if we talked out of
the
city, so he agreed to meet me in Dolo. I told him I had some business on
the
mainland and would meet him on that back road in Dolo. I got there eady, and when he pulled up, I got out of my car and into his. He was in a panic He thought his sister had killed Trevisan and Favero, and he wanted to know if I thought so, too. He was afraid she was going to kill him. So all of the business would be hers. And her lover's.'

She pulled off to the side of the road and waited for a car behind them to pass. When it did, she made a U-turn and headed back
the
way they had come.

'I told him he could be sure there was nothing to fear from his sister. He seemed relieved to hear that. I don't remember how many times I shot him. Then I got back in my own car and drove back to Piazzale Roma.'

'The gun?' he asked.

'It's still in my apartment. I didn't want to throw it away until I'd finished with it' 'What do you mean?'

She gl
anced at him. 'The others.' 'What others?'

She didn't answer, shook her head in a negation he sensed was absolute.

'Didn't you think that, sooner or later, you'd be found?'

'I don't know. I didn't think about that. But then you came to the agency and I told you I didn't drive, and then I started to think about all the other things, aside from the glasses, I had done that were wrong. I suppose people saw me on the train, and the man in the garage knew I was out in my car the night Lotto died. And then tonight, I knew it was over. I thought I could get away. Well,
’
she added,
‘I
don't know if I thought it so much as I hoped it.'

Some time passed, and then Brunetti was aware of passing the first villa he had seen, though it was on his side of the road now. Suddenly she broke the silence. They'll kill me, you know.'

He had been half asleep in the warmth of the car and the unaccustomed motion. 'What?' he asked, shaking his head and sitting up straight in his seat.

'Once they know I've been arrested, once they know I killed them, they'll have no choice but to eliminate me.'

‘I
don't understand,' Brunetti said.
‘I
know who they are, at least some of them, the ones I didn't kill. And they'll make sure I don't talk.' 'Who?'

'The men who make the tapes - Trevisan wasn't the only one - and run the prostitutes. No, not the
little
men on the street, the ones who push them around and collect the money. I know the men who run the whole thing, the import-export in women. Only there's not a lot of export, is
there
, aside from the tapes? I don't know who they all are, but I know enough of them.'

'Who are they?' Brunetti asked, thinking of the Mafia and men with moustaches and southern accents.

She named the Mayor of a large town in Lombardy and the President of a large pharmaceutical company. When he whipped his head around to stare at her, she smiled a grim smile and added the name of one of
the
Assistant Ministers of Justice. This is a multinational business, commissario. We're not talking about two old men who sit in a bar, drinking cheap wine and talking about whores; we're talking about boardrooms and yachts and private planes and orders that go back and form by fax and cellular phone. These are men who have real power. How do you think they managed to get rid of
the
notes of Favero's autopsy?'

'How do you know that?' Brunetti demanded.

'Lotto told me. They didn't want anyone looking into Favero's death. Too many people are involved. I don't know all their names, but I know enough of them.' Her smile disappeared. "That's why they'll kill me.'

'We'll put you in protective custody,' Brunetti said, brain leaping ahead to
the
details.

'Like Sindona?' she asked sarcastically. 'How many guards did he have in prison, and video cameras on him twenty-four hours a day? And still they got poison into his coffee. How long do you think
I’ll
last?'

That won't happen,' Brunetd said hody, and then it occurred to him that he had no reason to believe this. He knew that she had killed the three men; yes, but all the rest remained to be proven, especially all this talk of danger and plots to kill her.

Some sort of emotional radar passed the change in his mood to her, and she stopped talking. They drove on through the night, and Bruhetti turned to watch the lights reflected on the canal on his right.

The next thing he knew, she was shaking him by the shoulder, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a wall direcdy in front of him. Instinctively, he raised his arms to cover his face and pulled his head down on to his chest. But there was no impact, no sound. The car was motionless,
the
motor silent.

'We're back in Venice,
’
she said.

He pulled his hands away and looked around him. The wall in front of him was the wall of the parking garage; on either side of him were parked cars.

She reached down between the seats and released her seat-belt. 'I suppose you'll want to take me to the Questura.'

When they arrived at the
embarcadero,
Brunetti saw a No. 1 just pulling away. He looked at his watch and was amazed to discover that it was after three. He hadn't called Paola, hadn't called the Questura to tell them what he was doing.

Signora Ceroni stood in front of the boat schedule and peered at it Unable to read the list of times, she pulled out her glasses and put them on. When she had read through them, she turned to Brunetti and said, 'Not for forty minutes.'

"Would you like to walk?' he asked. It was too cold to sit in the open
embarcadero,
and at least walking would keep them warm. He knew he could call the Questura and have a boat sent to get
them
, but it would probably be faster to walk.

'Yes, I would,' she answered,
‘I
won't get to see the city again.
’

Brunetti found this melodramatic but said nothing. He turned to
the
right and started along the embankment
.
When they got to the first bridge, she said, 'Do you mind if we walk over the Rialto? I've never much liked Strada Nuova.'

Saying nothing, Brunetti continued along the embankment until they came to
the
bridge that led to the Tolentini and
the
way through the back streets of the city towards the Rialto. She walked at a moderate pace and appeared to pay no special attention to the buildings they passed. Occasionally, Brunetti's quicker pace carried him ahead of her, but then he would stop at a corner or the foot of a bridge and wait for her. They came out beside the fish market and went down towards the Rialto. At
the
top, she paused for only a moment looked both to right and left at the Grand Canal, empty now of all boat traffic They came down off the bridge and headed through Campo San Bartolo-meo. A nightwatchman went past
them
, leading a German shepherd on a leash, but no one spoke.

It was almost four when they got to
the
Questura.

When Brunetti pounded on the heavy glass door, a light came on in the guard room to the right of the door. A guard, rubbing sleep from his eyes, came out and peered through the glass. Recognizing Brunetti, he opened the door and saluted.

‘
Buon
giomo,
commissari
o’
he said and then looked at the woman who stood beside his superior.

Brunetti thanked him and asked if there was a woman officer on duty that night. When the guard said that there was not, Brunetti told him to call who-ever's name was first on the roster and tell her to come to the Questura immediately. He dismissed the guard and led Signora Ceroni across the entrance and up the stairs towards his office. The heat had been turned down, so the building was cold, the air damp. At the top of the fourth flight, Brunetti opened the door to his office and held it for her, allowing her to pass inside in front of him.

‘I’d
like to use the bathroom,' she said.

'Sorry. Not until a female officer gets here.'

She smiled. 'Afraid I'll kill myself, commissario?' When he didn't answer, she said, 'Believe me, I'm not the one who's going to do that'

He offered her a chair and went to stand behind his desk, looking down at its surface, shuffling through some papers. Neither of them bothered to speak during the quarter-hour it took for the officer to show up, a middle-aged woman who had been on the force for years.

When the policewoman came into his office, Brunetti looked across at Ceroni and asked, 'Would you like to make a statement? Officer Di Censo can witness it.'

Ceroni shook her head.

'Would you like to call your lawyer?'

Again, that silent negation.