Donna Leon - Anonymous Venetian aka Dressed for Death

‘And what would you do if the owner of the apartment were ever to claim that you had not paid the rent? What proof would you offer?’ Brunetti asked.

This time, Ratti’s gesture was meant to dismiss the possibility of that ever happening, while his wife’s look was meant to suggest that no one would ever think of questioning her husband’s word.

‘Could you tell me just how you pay your rent, Professore?’

‘I don’t see how that is any business of the police,’ Ratti said belligerently. ‘I’m not used to being treated like this.’

‘Like what, Professore?’ Brunetti asked with real curiosity.

‘Like a suspect.’

‘Have you been treated like a suspect before, by other police, that would make you familiar with what it feels like?’

Ratti half rose in his seat and glanced over at his wife. ‘I don’t have to put up with this. A friend of mine is a city councillor.’ She made a slight gesture with her hand, and he slowly sat back down.

‘Could you tell me how you pay your rent, Professore Ratti?’

Ratti looked directly at Brunetti. ‘I deposit the rent at the Banca di Verona.’

‘At San Bartolomeo?’

‘Yes.’

‘And how much is that rent, Professore?’

‘It’s nothing,’ the professor said, dismissing the sum.

‘Is two hundred and twenty thousand lire the sum?’

‘Yes.’

Brunetti nodded. ‘And the apartment, how many square metres is it?’

Signora Ratti interrupted here, as if driven past her power to put up with such idiocy. ‘We have no idea of that. It’s adequate for our needs.’

Brunetti pulled the list of the apartments held in trust by the Lega towards him and flipped to the third page, then ran his finger down the list until he came to Ratti’s name. ‘Three hundred and twelve square metres, I think. And six rooms. Yes, I suppose that would be adequate for most needs.’

Signora Ratti was on him in a flash. ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

Brunetti turned a level glance on her. ‘Just what I said, Signora, and no more. That six rooms ought to be adequate for two – there are only two of you, aren’t there?’

‘And the maid,’ she answered.

‘Three, then,’ Brunetti agreed. ‘Still adequate.’ He turned away from her, face unchanged, and returned his attention to her husband. ‘How was it that you came to be given one of the apartments of the Lega, Professore?’

‘It was very simple,’ Ratti began, but it seemed to Brunetti that he had begun to bluster. ‘I applied for it in the normal fashion, and I was given it.’

‘To whom did you apply?’

‘To the Lega della Moralità, of course.’

‘And how did you happen to learn that the Lega had apartments which it rented?’

‘It’s common knowledge here in the city, isn’t it, Commissario?’

‘If it is not now, then it soon will be, Professore.’

Neither of the Rattis said anything to this, but Signora Ratti glanced quickly at her husband and then back at Brunetti.

‘Do you remember anyone in particular who told you about the apartments?’

Both of them answered instantly, ‘No.’

Brunetti allowed himself the bleakest of smiles. ‘You seem very sure of that.’ He made a meaningless squiggle against their name on the list. ‘And did you have an interview in order to obtain this apartment?’

‘No,’ Ratti said. ‘We filled out the paperwork and sent it in. And then we were told that we had been selected.’

‘Did you receive a letter, or perhaps a phone call?’

‘It’s been so long ago. I don’t remember,’ Ratti said. He turned to his wife for confirmation, and she shook her head.

‘And you’ve been in this apartment for two years now?’

Ratti nodded.

‘And you haven’t saved any of the receipts for the rent you’ve paid?’

This time his wife shook her head.

‘Tell me, Professore, how much time do you spend in the apartment each year?’

He thought about this for a moment. ‘We come for Carnevale.’

His wife finished his sentence with a firm, ‘Of course.’

Her husband continued. ‘Then we come for September, and sometimes for Christmas.’

His wife broke in here and added, ‘We come for the odd weekend during the rest of the year, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Brunetti repeated. ‘And the maid?’

‘We bring her with us from Milano.’

‘Of course,’ Brunetti nodded and added another squiggle to the paper in front of him.

‘May I ask you, Professore, if you are familiar with the purposes of the Lega? With its goals?’

‘I know that it aims at moral improvement,’ the professor answered in a tone that declared there could never be too much of that.

‘Ah, yes,’ Brunetti said, then asked, ‘But beyond that, to its purpose in renting apartments?’

This time, it was Ratti who glanced at his wife. ‘I think their purpose was to attempt to give the apartments to those they considered worthy of them.’

Brunetti continued, ‘Knowing this, Professore, did it at any time seem strange to you that the Lega, which is a Venetian organization, had given one of the apartments it controls to a person from Milano, a person who would, moreover, make use of the apartment only a few months of the year?’ When Ratti said nothing, Brunetti urged him, ‘Surely, you know how difficult it is to find an apartment in this city?’

Signora Ratti chose to answer this. ‘I suppose we believed that they wanted to give an apartment like this to people who would know how to appreciate it and care for it.’

‘By that are you suggesting that you would be better able to care for a large and desirable apartment than would, for example, the family of a carpenter from Cannaregio?’

‘I think that goes without saying,’ she answered.

‘And who, if I might ask, pays for repairs to the apartment?’ Brunetti asked.

Signora Ratti smiled and answered, ‘So far, there has been no need to make any repairs.’

‘But surely there must be a clause in your contract – if you were given a contract – which makes clear who is responsible for repairs.’

‘They are,’ Ratti answered.

‘The Lega?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Yes.’

‘So then maintenance is not the responsibility of the people who rent?’

‘No.’

‘And you are there for – ‘ Brunetti began and then glanced down at the paper in front of him, as though he had the number written there,’ – for about two months a year?’ When Ratti said nothing, Brunetti asked, ‘Is that correct, Professore?’

His question was rewarded with a grudging, ‘Yes.’

In a gesture he made consciously identical to the one used by the priest who taught catechism to his grammar-school class, Brunetti folded his hands neatly in front of him, just short of the bottom of the sheet of paper on his desk, and said, ‘I think it is time to begin making choices, Professore.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Then perhaps I can explain it to you. The first choice is that I have you repeat this conversation and your answers to my questions into a tape recorder or that we have a secretary come in and take it down in shorthand. Either way, I would ask you to sign a copy of that statement, ask both of you to sign it, since you are telling me the same thing.’ Brunetti paused long enough for that to register. ‘Or you could, and I suggest this is by far the wiser course, begin to tell me the truth.’ Both feigned surprise, Signora Ratti going so far as to add outrage.

‘In either case,’ Brunetti added calmly, ‘the least that will happen to you is that you will lose the apartment, though that might take some time to happen. But you will lose it; that is little, but it is certain.’ He found it interesting that neither demanded that he explain what he was talking about.