Donna Leon - Anonymous Venetian aka Dressed for Death

‘Yes, I know it.’

I’ll meet you there, tonight.’

‘What time?’

‘Not until late. I’ve got something to do first, and I don’t know when I’ll be finished.’

‘What time?’

‘I’ll be there by one this morning.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘When you come up out of the tunnel, go down to the first street and turn left. I’ll be parked on the right side in a light blue Panda.’

‘Why did you ask about the parking lot?’

‘Nothing. I just wanted to know if you knew about it. I don’t want to be in the parking lot. It’s too well lit.’

‘All right, Signor Crespo, I’ll meet you.’

‘Good,’ Crespo said and hung up before Brunetti could say anything more.

Well, Brunetti wondered, who had put Signor Crespo up to making that particular call? He did not for an instant believe that Crespo had made the call for his own purposes or designs – someone like Crespo would never have called back – but that in no way diminished his curiosity to know what the call had really been about. The most likely conclusion was that someone wanted to deliver a threat, or perhaps something stronger, and what better way to do that than to lure him out on to a public street at one in the morning?

He phoned the Mestre Questura and asked to speak to Sergeant Gallo, only to be told that the sergeant had been sent to Milan for a few days to give evidence in a court case. Did he want to speak to Sergeant Buffo, who was handling Sergeant Gallo’s work? Brunetti said no and hung up.

He called Vianello and asked him to come up to his office. When the sergeant came in, Brunetti asked him to sit down and told him about Crespo’s call and his own to Gallo. ‘What do you think?’ Brunetti asked.

‘I’d say they’re, well, somebody’s trying to get you out of Venice and into an open space where you’re not well protected. And if there’s any protecting to be done, it’s going to have to be done by our boys.’

‘What means would they use?’

‘Well, it could be someone sitting in a car, but they’d know we’ll have people there. Or it could be a car or a motorcycle that came by, either to run you down or to take a shot at you.’

‘Bomb?’ Brunetti asked, shivering involuntarily at the memory of the photos he’d seen of the wreckage left by the bombs that had destroyed politicians and judges.

‘No, I don’t think you’re that important,’ Vianello said. Cold comfort, but comfort nevertheless.

‘Thanks. I’d say it will probably be someone who will drive by.’

‘So what do you want to do?’

‘I’d like people in at least two of the houses, one at the beginning and one at the end of the street. And, if you can get someone to volunteer for it, someone in the back seat of a car. It’ll be hell, being inside a closed car in this heat. That’s already three people. I don’t think I can assign more than that.’

‘Well, I won’t fit in a back seat, and I don’t think I’d much like just sitting in a house and having to watch, but I think I might park around the corner, if I can get one of the women officers to come with me, and make love for a while.’

‘Perhaps Signora Elettra would be willing to volunteer,’ Brunetti said and laughed.

Vianello’s voice was sharp, as sharp as it had ever been. ‘I’m not joking, Commissario. I know that street; my aunt from Treviso always leaves her car there when she comes to visit, and I always take her back. I often see people in cars there, so one or two more won’t make any difference.’

Brunetti had it on his lips to ask how Nadia would view this, but he thought better of it and, instead, said, ‘All right, but she has to be a volunteer for this. If there’s any danger, I don’t like the idea of a woman being involved.’ Before Vianello could object, Brunetti added, ‘Even if she is a police officer.’

Did Vianello raise his eyes to the ceiling at that? Brunetti thought so but didn’t ask. ‘Anything else, Sergeant?’

‘You have to be there at one?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s no train that late. You’ll have to take the bus out and walk down from the station and through the tunnel.’

‘What about getting back to Venice?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Depends on what happens, I suppose.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’

‘I’ll see if I can find anyone who wants to be in the back of the car,’ Vianello said.

‘Who’s on night duty this week?’

‘Riverre and Alvise.’

‘Oh,’ Brunetti said simply, but the sound spoke volumes.

‘That’s who’s on the roster.’

‘I guess you better put them in the houses.’ Neither one of them wanted to say that, put in the back of a car, either one of them would simply fall asleep. Of course, there was equal possibility of that if they were put in a house, but perhaps the owners would be sufficiently curious to help keep them awake.

‘What about the others? Do you think you’ll be able to get volunteers?’

‘There’ll be no trouble,’ Vianello assured him. ‘Rallo will want to come, and I’ll ask Maria Nardi. Her husband is on some sort of training programme in Milano for a week, so she might like to do it. Besides, it’s overtime. Isn’t it?’

Brunetti nodded, then added, ‘Vianello, make it clear to them that there might be some danger involved.’

‘Danger? In Mestre?’ Vianello asked with a laugh, dismissing the idea, then added, ‘Do you want to carry a radio?’

‘No, I don’t think so, not with four of you so close.’

‘Well, two of us, at any rate,’ Vianello corrected him, saving Brunetti the embarrassment of having to speak slightingly of the lower orders.

‘If we’re going to be up all night with this, then I suppose we ought to be able to go home for a while,’ Brunetti said, looking at his watch.

‘Then I’ll see you there, sir,’ Vianello said and stood.

Just as Vianello had said, there was no train that would get Brunetti to the Mestre station at that hour, so he contented himself with taking the Number One bus and getting out, the only passenger at that hour, across from the Mestre train station.

He walked up the steps into the station then down again through the tunnel that cut under the train tracks and came up on the other side. He emerged on a quiet, tree-lined street, behind him the well-lit parking lot, filled now with cars parked there for the night. The street in front of him was lined on both sides with parked cars; light filtered down on to them from the few street lights above. Brunetti stayed on the right side of the street, where there were fewer trees and, consequently, more light. He walked up to the first corner and paused, looking all round him. About four cars down, on the other side of the street, he saw a couple in a fierce embrace, but the man’s head was obscured by the woman’s, so he could not tell if it was Vianello or some other married man having a stolen hour.

He looked down the street to the left, studying the houses that lined it on both sides. At the front of one, about half-way down the block, the dim grey light of a television filtered out through the lower windows; the rest were dark. Riverre and Alvise would be at the windows of two of those houses, but he felt no desire to look up in their direction: he was afraid they might take it as a signal of some sort and come rushing to his aid.

He turned into the street, looking for a light-blue Panda on the right-hand side. He walked to the end of the street, seeing no car that fitted that description, turned, and came back. Nothing. He noticed that, up at the corner, there was a large rubbish bin, and he crossed to the other side, thinking again of those pictures he had seen of what little remained of Judge Falcone’s vehicle. A car turned into the road, coming from the roundabout, and slowed, heading towards Brunetti. He backed between the protection of two parked cars, but it drove past and went into the parking lot. The driver got out, locked his door, and disappeared into the tunnel to the station.