Donna Leon - About Face

‘I’m back, sir,’ Alvise said as he sat down.

‘Yes,’ Brunetti said. ‘I know.’ Lambent thought and concise explanation were not attributes usually associated with Alvise’s name; thus, his declaration could refer to his return from his temporary assignment or, for all Brunetti knew, from the bar on the corner.

Alvise sat and looked around the room, as though seeing it for the first time. Brunetti wondered if the officer thought it necessary to reintroduce himself to his superior. The silence lengthened, but Brunetti decided to wait it out and see what Alvise had to say. The officer turned to look at the open door, then at Brunetti, then at the door again. After another minute’s silence, he leaned forward and asked, ‘Do you mind if I close the door, Commissario?’

‘Of course not, Alvise,’ Brunetti said, wondering if half a year spent closeted in a tiny office with the Lieutenant had perhaps rendered Alvise subject to draughts?

Alvise went to the door, stuck his head out and glanced both ways, closed the door quietly, and came back to his chair. The silence renewed itself, but Brunetti resisted the impulse to speak.

Finally Alvise said, ‘As I said, sir, I’m back.’

‘And as I said, Alvise, I know.’

Alvise stared at him, as if suddenly realizing that it fell to him to break free of the non-communication circle. He glanced at the door, turned to Brunetti, and said, ‘But it’s like I’m not, sir.’

Brunetti failed to prod at this, so the officer was forced to continue. ‘The other men, sir, it’s not like they’re glad I’m back.’ Perplexity was evident in his unlined face.

‘Why do you say that, Alvise?’

‘Well, no one said anything. About my being back.’ He managed to sound both surprised and pained.

‘What did you expect them to say, Alvise?’

Alvise tried on a smile, but it didn’t work. ‘You know, sir, something like, “Welcome back”, or “Good to have you here again.” Something like that.’

Where did Alvise think he had been, Patagonia? ‘It’s not as if you haven’t been here, Alvise. Had you thought of that?’

‘I know, sir. But I wasn’t part of the squad. I wasn’t a regular officer.’

‘For a time.’

‘Yes, I know sir, only for a time. But it was sort of a promotion, wasn’t it?’

Brunetti folded his hands and pressed his teeth against his knuckles. When he could, he took his mouth away and said, ‘I suppose you could see it that way, Alvise. But, as you say, you’re back now.’

‘Yes. But it would be good if they’d say hello or act like they’re glad to see me.’

‘Maybe they’re waiting to see how easy it is for you to adjust to the working rhythms of the squad again,’ Brunetti suggested, though he had no idea what that meant.

‘I’d thought of that, sir,’ Alvise said, and smiled.

‘Good. Then I’m sure that’s it,’ Brunetti said with gruff forcefulness. ‘Give them a little time to let them get used to you again. They’re probably curious to see what new ideas you’ve brought back with you.’ Ah, what the stage lost when I opted for the police, Brunetti thought.

Alvise’s smile widened and, for the first time since he came in, seemed real. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that to them, sir. After all, this is sleepy old Venice, isn’t it?’

Again, Brunetti’s lips consulted with his knuckles. ‘Yes. Good of you to keep that in mind, Alvise. Easy does it. Just try to go back to the old ways of doing things for now. It might take them a while to adjust, but I’m sure they’ll come round. Maybe if you were to invite Riverre out for a drink this afternoon, ask him what’s been going on, you could sort of reintroduce yourself. You were always good friends, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, sir. But that was before I was pro. . before I was given the assignment.’

‘Well, ask him out, anyway. Take him down to Sergio’s and have a real talk. Take your time. Maybe if you went on patrol for a few days together, things would be easier for him,’ Brunetti said, making a mental note to ask Vianello to see that the two were united again, and to hell with the idea of efficient policing of the city.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Alvise said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll go down and ask him now.’

‘Good,’ Brunetti said, smiling broadly and happy to see that Alvise was already beginning to look more like his old self.

Alvise pulled his feet under the chair prior to standing, and Brunetti gave in to the impulse to say, ‘Welcome back, Alvise.’

The officer stood to attention and snapped out a salute. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s good to be back.’

The Questura and the thought of the murdered man he had never met went home to dinner with Brunetti. Paola noticed their presence during the meal, when her husband failed to praise, and then to finish, the coda di rospo with scampi and tomatoes, and left a third of a bottle of Graminé undrunk when he went into the living room to read.

The dishes took a long time to wash, and when Paola joined him, he was standing at the windows, looking off towards the angel atop the campanile di San Marco, visible to the south-east. She set their coffee on the table in front of the sofa. ‘Would you like grappa with this, Guido?’ she asked.

He shook his head but said nothing. She went and stood beside him, and when he failed to put his arm around her, she nudged him gently with her hip. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘It doesn’t feel right to bring you into this,’ he finally said.

She turned away from him and went to sit on the sofa. She sipped at her coffee. ‘I could have refused, you know.’

‘But you didn’t,’ he said before coming to sit beside her.

‘What’s it all about?’

‘This man in Tessera who was murdered.’

‘The newspapers told me that much, Guido.’

Brunetti picked up his coffee. ‘You know,’ he said after the first sip. ‘Maybe I would like a grappa. There any of that Gaja left? The Barolo?’

‘Yes,’ she said, settling herself more comfortably on the sofa. ‘Get me a glass, too, would you?’

He was quickly back, with the bottle and two glasses, and as they drank it, Brunetti repeated most of what Guarino had told him, ending up with the reason for the arrival of the photo in her email the next day. He also tried to explain his own contradictory feelings about having been drawn into Guarino’s investigation. It was none of his business: the investigation belonged to the Carabinieri. Perhaps he was flattered by being asked to help, his vanity no different from Patta’s at being considered ‘the man in charge’. Or perhaps it was the desire to show that he could do something the Carabinieri could not.

‘A photo’s not going to make it any easier for Signorina Elettra to find him,’ Brunetti admitted. ‘But I wanted to make Guarino do something, even if it was only to make him admit that he’d been lying to me.’

‘Well, withholding information, at any rate,’ Paola corrected him.

‘All right, if you insist,’ Brunetti admitted with a smile.

‘And he wants you to help him learn if anyone who lives near San Marcuola is capable of. . of what?’

‘I suppose he’s interested in violent crime. After all, it’s likely Guarino thinks the man in the photo is the killer. Or at any rate is mixed up in it.’

‘Do you?’

‘I don’t know enough about it to think anything. All I know is that this man had Ranzato do some illegal shipping for him and that he dresses well and arranged to meet someone at the San Marcuola stop.’

‘I thought you said that’s where he lives.’

‘Well, not exactly.’

Paola closed her eyes with a great display of much-put-upon patience and said, ‘I never know whether that means yes or no.’