Dressed for Death (23 page)

Brunetti nodded.

‘That, unfortunately, has become
common knowledge here, and in Verona. We have already had a number of calls
from our clients, from people who dealt with Leonardo for a number of years.
Three of them have asked to transfer their funds from this bank. Two of those
represent substantial losses for the bank. And today is only the first day.’

‘And you believe these decisions
are the result of the circumstances in which Signor Mascari’s body was found?’

‘Obviously. I should think that
would be self-evident,’ Ravanello said, but he sounded worried, not angry.

‘Do you have reason to believe
that there will be more withdrawals as a result of this?’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. In those
cases, the real losses, we can trace them directly to Leonardo’s death. But we
are far more worried about the immeasurable loss to the bank.’

‘Which would be?’

‘People who choose not to invest
with us. People who hear about this or read about this and, as a result, choose
to entrust their finances to another bank.’

Brunetti thought about this for a
while, and he also thought about the way bankers always avoided the use of the
word ‘money’, thought of the broad panoply of words they’d invented to replace
that crasser term: funds, finances, investments, liquidity, assets. Euphemism
was usually devoted to crasser things: death and bodily functions. Did that
mean there was something fundamentally sordid about money and that the language
of bankers attempted to disguise or deny this fact? He pulled his attention
back to Ravanello.

‘Have you any idea of how much
this might be?’

‘No,’ Ravanello said, shaking his
head as at the mention of death or serious illness. ‘There’s no way to
calculate it.’

‘And what you call the real
losses, how great have they been?’

Ravanello’s look became more
guarded. ‘Could you tell me why you want that information, Commissario?’

‘It’s not a case of my wanting
that information, Signor Ravanello, not specifically. We are still in the
opening stages of this investigation, and so I want to acquire as much
information as possible, from as many sources as possible. I’m not sure which
of it will prove important, but we won’t be able to make that determination
until we have acquired all of the information there is to be had regarding
Signor Mascari.’

‘I see, I see,’ Ravanello said.
He reached out and pulled a folder towards him. ‘I have those figures here,
Commissario. I was just looking at them.’ He opened the folder and ran his
finger down a computer printout of names and numbers. ‘The combined worth of
the liquidated assets, just from the two depositors I mentioned - the third
hardly matters - is roughly eight billion lire.’

‘Because he was wearing a dress?’
Brunetti said, intentionally exaggerating his response.

Ravanello disguised his distaste
at such levity, but just barely. ‘No, Commissario, not because he was wearing a
dress. But because that sort of behaviour is suggestive of a profound lack of
responsibility, and our investors, perhaps rightly, are concerned that this
same lack of responsibility might have characterized his professional as well
as his personal life.’

‘So people are bailing out before
it’s discovered that he’s bankrupted the bank by spending it all on stockings
and lace underwear?’

‘I see no reason to treat this as
a joke, Commissario,’ Ravanello said in a voice that must have brought
countless creditors to their knees.

‘I am merely attempting to
suggest that this is an excessive response to the man’s death.’

‘But his death is very
compromising.’

‘For whom?’

‘For the bank, certainly. But far
more so for Leonardo himself.’

‘Signor Ravanello, however
compromising Signor Mascari’s death may seem to be, we have no definite facts
regarding the circumstances of that death.’

‘Is that supposed to mean that he
was not found wearing a woman’s dress?’

‘Signor Ravanello, if I dress you
in a monkey suit, that does not mean you are a monkey.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Ravanello asked, no longer attempting to disguise his anger.

‘It’s supposed to mean exactly
what it does mean: the fact that Signor Mascari was wearing a dress at the time
of his death does not necessitate the fact that he was a transvestite. In fact,
it does not necessitate the fact that there was the least irregularity in his
life.’

‘I find that impossible to
believe,’ Ravanello said.

‘Apparently so do your investors.’

‘I find it impossible to believe
for other reasons, Commissario,’ Ravanello said and looked down at the folder,
closed it, and set it to the side of the desk.

‘Yes?’

‘This is very difficult to talk
about,’ he said, took the folder and shifted it to the other side of the desk.

When he said nothing more,
Brunetti urged in a softer voice, ‘Go on, Signor Ravanello.’

‘I was a friend of Leonardo’s.
Perhaps his only close friend.’ He looked up at Brunetti, then down again at
his hands. ‘I knew about him,’ he said in a soft voice.

‘Knew what, Signor Ravanello?’

‘About the dressing-up. And about
the boys.’ His colour rose as he said this, but he kept his eyes steadily on
his hands.

‘How did you know it?’

‘Leonardo told me.’ He paused
here and took a deep breath. ‘We’ve worked together for ten years. Our families
know each other. Leonardo is my son’s godfather. I don’t think he had other
friends, not close ones.’ Ravanello stopped talking, as if this was all he
could say.

Brunetti allowed a moment to pass
and then asked, ‘How did he tell you? And what did he tell you?’

‘We were here, working on a
Sunday, just the two of us. The computers had been down on Friday and Saturday,
and we couldn’t begin to work on them until Sunday. We were sitting at the
terminals in the main office, and he just turned to me and told me.’

‘What did he say?’

‘It was very strange,
Commissario. He just looked over at me. I saw that he had stopped working,
thought he wanted to tell me something or ask me something about the
transaction he was recording, so I stopped and looked at him.’ Ravanello
paused, conjuring up the scene. ‘He said, “You know, Marco, I like boys.” Then
he bent down over the computer and continued to work, just as if he’d given me
a transaction number or the price of a stock. It was very strange.’

Brunetti allowed silence to
emanate out from this for a while, and then he asked, ‘Did he ever explain the
remark or add to it?’

‘Yes. When we were finished work
that afternoon, I asked him what he meant, and he told me.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That he liked boys, not women.’

‘Boys or men?’

‘Ragazzi
.
 Boys.’

‘Did he say anything about the
dressing?’

‘Not then. But he did about a
month later. We were on the train, going out to the main office in Verona, and
we passed a few of them on the platform in Padova. He told me then.’

‘How did you respond to what he
told you?’

‘I was shocked, of course. I
never suspected Leonardo was that way.’

‘Did you warn him?’

‘About what?’

‘His position at the bank?’

‘Of course. I told him that if
anyone learned about it, his career would be ruined.’

‘Why? I’m sure many homosexuals
work in banks.’

‘No, it’s not that. It was the
dressing-up. And the whores.’

‘He told you that?’

‘Yes. He told me that he used
them and that he would do the same, sometimes.’

‘Do what?’

‘Whatever you call it - solicit?
He would take money from men. I told him that this could destroy him.’
Ravanello paused for a moment and then added, ‘And it did destroy him.’

‘Signor Ravanello, why haven’t
you told the police any of this?’

‘I’ve just told you, Commissario.
I’ve told you everything.’

‘Yes, but I came here to question
you. You didn’t contact us.’

Ravanello paused and finally
said, ‘I saw no reason to destroy his reputation.’

‘It would seem, from what you’ve
told me about your clients, that there isn’t much left to destroy.’

‘I didn’t think it was important.’
Seeing Brunetti’s look, he said, ‘That is, everyone seemed to believe it
already. So I saw no reason in betraying his confidence.’

‘I suspect there’s something you
aren’t telling me, Signor Ravanello.’

The banker met Brunetti’s gaze
and looked quickly away. ‘I also wanted to protect the bank. I wanted to see if
Leonardo had been... if he had been indiscreet.’

‘Is that banker’s language for “embezzle”?’

Again, Ravanello’s lips expressed
his opinion of Brunetti’s choice of words. ‘I wanted to be sure that the bank
had been in no way affected by his indiscretions.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘All right, Commissario,’
Ravanello said, leaning forward and speaking angrily. ‘I wanted to see that his
accounts were in order, that nothing was missing from any of the clients or
institutions whose funds he handled.’

‘You’ve had a busy morning, then.’

‘No, I came in this weekend to do
it. I spent most of Saturday and Sunday at the computer, checking through his
files, going back three years. That’s all I had time to check.’

‘And what did you find?’

‘Absolutely nothing. Everything
is perfectly as it should be. However disorderly Leonardo’s private life might
have been, his professional life is perfectly in order.’

‘And if it had not been?’
Brunetti asked.

‘Then I would have called you.’

‘I see. Can copies of these
records be made available to us?’

‘Of course,’ Ravanello agreed,
surprising Brunetti by the speed with which he did so. In his experience, banks
were even more reluctant to disclose information than to give money. Usually,
it was available only with a court order. What a pleasant, accommodating
gesture for Signor Ravanello to make.

‘Thank you, Signor Ravanello. One
of our finance people will be down to get them from you, perhaps tomorrow.’

‘I’ll have them ready.’

‘I’d also like you to think of
anything else Signor Mascari might have confided in you about his other, his
secret, life.’

‘Of course. But I think I’ve told
you everything.’

‘Well, perhaps the emotion of the
moment might be preventing you from remembering other things, minor things. I’d
be very grateful if you’d make a note of anything that comes to mind. I’ll be
in touch with you in a day or two.’

‘Of course,’ Ravanello repeated,
perhaps made amiable by the clear sense that the interview was soon to end.