Donna Leon - Beastly Things

Opening the door to his office, Papetti stepped back and said, ‘Commissario, please have a seat and tell me how I can help you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here during your visit.’

Brunetti passed in front of him, saying, ‘I’m very glad you could find time to see me now, Dottor Papetti.’ Once both were seated, Brunetti added, in a voice from which he could not banish his gratitude, ‘I’m sure a man with your position has many responsibilities.’ Papetti smiled modestly in response to this: his smile made Brunetti remember a line he had read, he thought, in Kafka, about a man who had seen people laugh, ‘and thought he knew how to do it’.

‘Luckily,’ Papetti began, ‘well, luckily for you, two people cancelled meetings this afternoon, so I found myself with an opening in my schedule.’ He tried another smile. ‘It doesn’t often happen.’

His words at first created only a wild surmise, and then memory brought it to him: it was Patta’s voice the man was using. But was it Patta at his most cordial or his most devious?

‘As my secretary must have told you, I’d like to speak to you about Dottor Nava,’ Brunetti said, as one overburdened bureaucrat to another.

Papetti nodded, and Brunetti continued, ‘Since he worked for you, I thought you might be able to tell me something about him.’ Then, in a display of openness and candour, Brunetti said, ‘I’ve spoken to his widow, but there was very little she could tell me. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but they’ve been legally separated for some months.’ He waited to see what Papetti would say to this.

After a hesitation so brief as barely to have existed, he said, ‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t know that,’ rubbing the fingers of his left hand across the back of the right. ‘I knew him only because of his work at the macello , so I was not familiar with his private life.’

‘You knew that he was married, though, didn’t you, Dottore?’ Brunetti asked in his mildest voice.

‘Oh,’ Papetti said with an attempt at an airy wave of the hand, ‘I suppose I must have known, or at least assumed; most men his age are, after all. Or perhaps he mentioned his children. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember.’ Then, after the briefest pause, with what was meant to be a look of concern, ‘I’d like you to extend my condolences to his widow, Commissario.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Brunetti said with a nod that acknowledged Papetti’s feelings.

Brunetti let some time pass and then asked, ‘Could you tell me exactly what Dottor Nava’s duties at the macello were?’

Papetti’s answer came so fast it seemed he had been prepared for this question. ‘His job was really that of an inspector. He had to see that the animals that come to us were fit for slaughter, and then he had to inspect samples of the meat that came from them.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Brunetti said, then with the eagerness of a novice, he went on, ‘Your position must afford you some knowledge of the way all slaughterhouses work, Dottore. In general, that is. The animals arrive, are unloaded…’ Brunetti paused with another friendly smile and said, ‘We didn’t get much of an idea.’ Trying not to look embarrassed, he said, ‘My Inspector, he…’ He stopped and shrugged and then went on, ‘So please understand that I’m speaking out of ignorance here, Dottore. I’m merely trying to imagine how it might be; I’m sure you know far better than I.’ Trying his best to look uncertain, Brunetti asked, ‘Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the animals are unloaded or led in or however it is they’re brought there. And then, presumably, Dottor Nava would examine them to see that they are healthy, and then they would be taken into the slaughterhouse and killed.’ Dull people are repetitive, Brunetti knew, hoping that Papetti also believed this.

Papetti seemed to relax at this chance to remain far away from the particular. ‘That’s more or less what happens. Yes.’

‘Are there problems that you might encounter, or that Dottor Nava might have?’

Papetti pursed his lips in a gesture of thought and then said, ‘Well, as far as the slaughterhouse is concerned, if there should be a difference between our records of the number of animals brought in and what the farmers claim: that might be one. Or if there are delays in processing that force the farmers to keep their animals here longer than planned, with the resulting costs: that’s another.’ He uncrossed and recrossed his legs and said, ‘As for Dottor Nava, his concern would be any violation of EU regulations.’

‘Could you give me an example, Signore?’ Brunetti asked.

‘If the animals suffer unnecessarily or if the proper standards of cleanliness aren’t maintained.’

‘Ah, of course. Now it makes sense to me. Thank you, Dottore.’ Brunetti was pleased at how he must look, finally understanding all of this.

As if in response to Brunetti’s willingness to understand, Papetti said, ‘We like to think of ourselves as working with the farmers to help them receive a just price for the animals they’ve raised and brought to us.’

Brunetti, enjoining himself to avoid the danger of overreaching, stopped himself from saying that he could not have put it more accurately. Instead, he muttered, ‘Indeed,’ and then said, ‘But if I might take us back to Dottor Nava, did you ever hear anyone at the macello say a word against him?’

‘Not that I can recall,’ Papetti answered instantly.

‘And you were pleased with his work?’

‘Absolutely,’ Papetti said with another swipe at the back of his hand. ‘But you have to understand that my function is primarily administrative. My direct contact with the people who work here is somewhat limited.’

‘Would any of the workers have informed you if there had been anything irregular in Dottor Nava’s activities?’ Brunetti asked.

After some consideration, Papetti said, ‘I don’t know, Commissario.’ Then, with a modest smile, he added, ‘I doubt that’s the kind of information that would be passed on to me.’ Could mere gossip percolate to so high a point?

Keeping his voice as casual as it had been since he began speaking to Papetti, Brunetti asked, ‘Do you think they’d tell you about Nava’s affair with your assistant, Signorina Borelli?’

‘How do you…?’ Papetti said, then did something Brunetti had never seen an adult do: he clapped both hands across his mouth. Roundness is an absolute. So Papetti’s eyes could not grow rounder, but they could grow larger. They did, and his face grew whiter as the blood drained from it.

He tried. Brunetti had to give him credit for that. Papetti laced his voice with indignation and demanded, ‘How do you dare say that?’ but it was a feeble attempt: both men knew it was too late in the game to try to change either his reaction or his words.

‘So they did tell you, Dottore?’ Brunetti said, finally permitting himself the smile of the wolf. ‘Or was it perhaps Signorina Borelli herself who told you?’

At first, from the noise Papetti was making, Brunetti thought the man was choking, but then he realized it was the sound of a man fighting off tears. Papetti sat with one hand over his eyes, the other draped across his bald forehead and skull in what seemed to be an attempt to hide. The noise persisted, gradually subsiding into deep heaves as Papetti caught his breath, then heavy breathing as he sat, his head and face still protected from Brunetti.

After some moments, Papetti took his hands away. The round eyes were encircled by red patches, and two more had appeared in the middle of his cheeks.

He looked at Brunetti and said, voice shaking, ‘You have to leave.’

Brunetti sat immobile.

‘You have to leave,’ Papetti repeated.