Suffer the little Children Page 4

  'The blow?' Brunetti asked.

  Damasco shrugged. It could be.' He looked at the two men one by one, as if judging how much he should tell them. 'The brain's a strange thing, and the mind's even stranger. I've been working with the one for thirty years, and I've learned something about the way it works, but the other is still a mystery to me’

  'Is that the case here, Dottore?' Brunetti asked, sensing that the doctor wanted to be asked.

  Again, the shrug, and then Damasco said. Tor all I know, the blow isn't the cause of the silence. It could be shock, or it could be that he's decided not to speak until he has a clearer idea of what’s going on’ Damasco reached up and rubbed at his face with open palms.

  When he lowered his hands, he said, ‘I don't know. As I say, I work with the physical brain, the neurons and synapses, and the things that can be tested and measured. All the rest - the non-physical stuff, the mind, if you will -I leave that to other people’

  'But you mention it, Dottore,' Brunetti said, keeping his voice as low as the doctor's.

  ‘Yes, I mention it. I've known Gustavo for a long time, so I know a little about the way he thinks and reacts to things. So I mention it’

  'Would you be willing to expand on that, Dottore?' Brunetti asked.

  'About what?'

  'About the way your patient thinks and reacts?'

  Damasco turned his full attention to Brunetti, and his consideration of the question was as clear as it was serious. 'No, I don't think I can, Commissario, except to say that he is rigorously honest, a quality which, at least professionally, has sometimes worked to his disadvantage,' he said, then paused, as though listening to his own words. Then he added, 'He's my friend, but he's also my patient, and my responsibility is to protect him as best I can.'

  'Protect him from what?' Brunetti asked, choosing to ignore for the moment Dottor Damasco's observations about the consequences of his friend's honesty.

  Damasco's smile was both natural and good-natured as he said, 'If from nothing else, Commissario, then from the police.' He turned away and walked over to the figure on the bed. Glancing back, he said, 'I'd like to be left alone with my patient, gentlemen, if you don't mind.'

  5

  As Brunetti and Vianello left the room, they saw that Marvilli was still there, propped against the wall, his arms and legs crossed, as he had been when Brunetti first saw him.

  'What did the doctor have to say?' Marvilli asked.

  That his patient can't talk and that if s caused by a blow to his head,' Brunetti said, opting to provide only one of the possibilities the doctor had offered. He allowed the Captain to consider this before asking, 'Do you want to tell me what happened?'

  Marvilli's eyes shot up and down the corridor, as if checking for unsympathetic listeners, but there was no one in sight. He uncrossed his legs and unfolded his arms, then pushed up his sleeve and looked at his watch. 'The bar's still not open, is it?' he asked, suddenly sounding more tired than wary. Then he added, 'The machine's broken. And I'd really like a coffee.'

  'Sometimes the bar downstairs opens early,' Vianello said.

  Nodding by way of thanks, Marvilli started to walk away, not waiting to see if the policemen would follow. He passed through the door into the Department of Dermatology, and Brunetti was too surprised and too slow to call him back. 'Come on,' said Vianello, turning in the opposite direction. 'He’ll find it eventually.'

  Downstairs, as they approached the open door of the bar, they heard the rasping noise of the coffee grinder and the hiss of the espresso machine. As they walked in, the barman started to object, but when Brunetti identified them as police, he agreed to serve them. The two men stood at the bar, stirring sugar into their coffees, waiting for Marvilli. Two attendants in blue smocks entered and ordered caffe coretto, one with a stiff shot of grappa and the other with Fernet-Branca. They drank quickly and left without paying, though Brunetti watched the barman take a notebook wedged beside the cash register, thumb through it, and write in it briefly.

  'Good morning, Commissario’ a soft voice said from behind him, and he turned to see Dottor Cardinale.

  'Ah, Dottoressa,' Brunetti said, making room for her at the bar. 'May I offer you a coffee?' he asked, making his voice loud enough for the barman to hear.

  'And save my life’ she said, smiling. She set her doctor's bag on the floor. 'The last hour is the worst. Usually no one comes in, and by then I've started to think about coffee. I suppose that's what it's like if you're stranded in die desert’ she said. 'All you can think of is that first sip, the first taste of it saving your life.'

  Her coffee came and she poured three sugars into it. Seeing the looks on the policemen's faces, she said, If I saw my patients doing this, I'd scream at them.' She swirled the cup around a few times, and Brunetti had the feeling she knew exactly how many times to swirl it before it would be cool enough to drink.

  With one gulp, she downed the coffee, set the cup back in the saucer, looked at Brunetti and said, ‘I am saved. I am human again.'

  'Dare you risk another?' Brunetti asked.

  'Not if I want to sleep when I get home’ she said, 'but thank you for the offer.'

  She bent to pick up her bag and Brunetti said, 'How badly was that policeman hurt, Dottoressa?'

  'Aside from his pride, not very much at all, I'd say.' She hefted the bag, adding. If he'd been hit really hard, the bone would have been broken or the cartilage knocked entirely out of place. This was nothing more than if he'd walked into a door. That is, if he was standing very near.'

  'And Dottor Pedrolli?' Brunetti asked.

  She shook her head. 'I told you: neurologia is not something I know much about. That's why I called Dottor Damasco.'

  Over her shoulder, Brunetti saw Marvilli. The Captain, not bothering to conceal his irritation at having got lost, came up to the bar and ordered a coffee.

  Dottoressa Cardinale shifted her bag to her left hand, shook hands with Brunetti and then leaned forward to shake Vianello's. 'Thanks again for the coffee, Commissario’ she said. She smiled at Marvilli and extended her hand. After only a moment's hesitation, he relented and took it.

  The doctor went out into the corridor and looked back into the bar. She waited for Marvilli to turn and look at her. With an enormous smile, she said, 'Great boots, Captain,' turned, and was gone.

  Brunetti kept his eyes on his coffee, finished it, and set down the cup quietly in its saucer. Seeing that they were the only customers in the bar, he turned to Marvilli. 'Do you think you could tell me a bit more about this operation. Captain?'

  Marvilli took a sip and set down his cup before saying, 'As I told you before, Commissario, the investigation has been going on for some time.'

  'Since when?' Brunetti asked.

  'As I told you: almost two years.'

  Vianello set down his cup perhaps a bit too loudly and asked the barman for three more coffees.

  ‘Yes, Captain, you told me that,' answered Brunetti. 'But what I meant was what event triggered the investigation, especially this part of it?'

  I'm not sure I can tell you that, Commissario. But I can say that the action here was only part of a series of actions in other cities that took place last night.' He pushed his cup away and added, 'Beyond that, I'm not sure what I can tell you.'

  Brunetti resisted the impulse to point out that one of the 'actions' had put a man in hospital. 'Captain,' he said softly, ‘I, however, am sure that I'm at liberty to arrest you - or whichever of your men struck Dottor Pedrolli - for assault’ Brunetti smiled and added, 'I'm not going to, of course, but I mention it as an example of how we need not feel ourselves bound by what we are or are not at liberty to do’ He flirted with the idea of suggesting that the Captain's boots were enough to cause him to charge him with impersonating a cavalry officer, but good sense prevailed.

  He tore open a packet of sugar and poured it in. Stirring gently and keeping his eyes on his spoon, he continued in an entirely conversational tone. In the absence
of any information about this operation of yours and thus entirely unsure if your men had any right to carry it out in this city. Captain, I'm left with no choice but to protect the safety of the people of Venice. Which is my duty’ He looked up. 'That's why I would like more information.'

  Wearily, Marvilli reached for his second coffee and pushed his empty cup and saucer across the bar. He pushed so hard that they slid off the other side and clattered, without breaking, into the sink below. 'Sorry,' he said automatically. The barman retrieved the cup and saucer.

  Marvilli shifted his attention to Brunetti and asked, 'And if all this is only a bluff, Commissario?'

  'If that's your response. Captain,' Brunetti said, 'I'm afraid I'll have to lodge an official complaint about the excessive violence used by your men and request an official investigation.' He put down his cup. 'In the absence of a warrant from a judge authorizing your entry into Doctor Pedrolli's home, your men remain guilty of assault.'

  'There's a warrant,' Marvilli said.

  'Issued by a judge in this city?'

  After a long pause, Marvilli said, ‘I don't know that the judge is from this city, Commissario. But I know there is a warrant. We would never have done something like this without one - not here and not in the other cities’

  That was certainly likely enough, Brunetti agreed. The times when the police could break in anywhere without a warrant were not upon them, not yet. After all, this was not the United States.

  In a voice into which he put all the tiredness of a man woken long before his usual time and out of patience with what had happened since then, Brunetti said, 'If we can both stop being tough guys. Captain, perhaps we could walk back to the Questura together, and you could tell me along the way just what's going on’ He dug out a ten-Euro note and placed it on the bar then turned towards the door.

  'Your change, Signore’ the barman called after him.

  Brunetti smiled at him. 'You saved the Dottoressa's life, remember? That's beyond price, I'd say’ The barman laughed and thanked him, and Brunetti and Vianello headed down the corridor towards the entrance hall. A thoughtful Marvilli followed.

  Outside, Brunetti felt the growing warmth of the day and observed that the pavement was damp in places: he could not remember if it had been raining when he had arrived at the hospital; while inside he had not been aware of rain. There was no sign of it now, and the air had been washed clean, presenting them with one of those pellucid days that early autumn gives the city, perhaps as consolation for having stolen the summer. Brunetti was tempted to walk down to the end of the canal to see if the mountains were visible beyond the laguna, but he knew that would most likely provoke Marvilli, so he abandoned the idea. If he waited until the afternoon, smog and gathering humidity would have obscured the mountains again, but perhaps tomorrow they would be visible.

  As they crossed the campo, Brunetti noticed that the statue of Colleoni was finally free of the scaffolding that had covered it for years: it was wonderful to see the old villain again. He cut right beyond Rosa Salva, still not open, and started down Calle Bressana. At the top of the bridge he waited for Vianello and Marvilli to join him, but Vianello opted to remain at the bottom of the steps, leaning back against the low wall, establishing a distance between Brunetti and himself. Brunetti turned and leaned against the low wall of the bridge. Marvilli, standing beside him but looking in the other direction, started to speak. 'About two years ago, we were informed that a Polish woman, in the country legally, employed as a domestic, unmarried, was about to give birth in a hospital in Vicenza. Some days later, a married couple from Milano, in their late thirties, childless, came out of the same hospital with the baby and a birth certificate with the man's name on it. He claimed that the Polish woman was his lover and that the child was his, and the Polish woman testified that this was true.'

  Marvilli rested his forearms on the flat surface of the bridge, gazing off at the buildings at the end of the canal. As if there had been no break in the conversation, he continued, 'What made no sense was that the man, the supposed father, had been working in England at the time the child would have been conceived. She must have been pregnant when she arrived in Italy: her work permit says she entered the country six months before the baby was born. The man claiming to be the father has never been to Poland, and she never left there before she came here’ Before Brunetti could ask, Marvilli said, 'We're sure. Believe me’ He paused and studied Brunetti's face. 'He's not the father’

  'How did you find out about all of this?' Brunetti asked.

  His eyes still on the water, Marvilli replied, his voice suddenly grown nervous, as if he were divulging information he was not authorized to provide. 'One of the women in the room with the Polish woman. She had a baby at the same time. She said that all the Polish woman could talk about was her boyfriend and how much she wanted to make him happy. It seemed that the way she was going to make him happy was by taking a lot of money back to Poland, which is what she told him every time she phoned him’

  'I see,' said Brunetti. 'And this other woman in the room with her called you?'

  'No, she told her husband, who works for the social services, and he called the command in Vicenza’

  Brunetti turned and started off in the same direction as Marvilli, his attention drawn by an approaching taxi, and said, 'How wonderfully convenient, Captain. How very lucky indeed are the forces of order to be graced by such fortunate coincidences. The other woman just happened to speak enough Polish to understand what she told her boyfriend.' Brunetti glanced sideways at the Captain. 'Not to mention the convenient fact that her husband just happened to work for the social services and that he was conscientious enough to think of alerting the

  Carabinieri’ His look was long, and he made no attempt to disguise his anger.

  Marvilli hesitated for a long time before he said, 'All right, Commissario’ He raised his hands in surrender. 'We knew about it before, from another source, and she was already planted in the room when the Polish woman got there’

  'And the concerned call you received from the man from social services?'

  'These operations are secret,' said an irritated Marvilli.

  'Go on, Captain’ Brunetti said, slipping open the buttons on his jacket as the morning light advanced and the temperature rose.

  Marvilli turned to him abruptly. 'May I speak honestly, Commissario?' As the light increased, Brunetti noticed that Marvilli looked younger.

  ‘I shouldn't bother to point this out, Captain, but your question suggests that you haven't been so far; but, yes, you may speak honestly’ Brunetti said in a voice grown suddenly gentle.

  Marvilli blinked, not sure whether to respond to Brunetti's words or to his tone. He rose up on his toes and stretched backwards, saying, 'God, I hate these early morning things. We didn't even bother to sleep.'

  'Another coffee?' Brunetti suggested.

  For the first time, Marvilli smiled, and it made him look still younger. ‘You told the barman the coffee saved that doctor's life. It'll probably save mine, too.' -

  "Vianello,' Brunetti called to the Inspector, who was still at the bottom of the steps, pretending to admire the facade of the building to his left. 'What’s open around here?'

  Vianello looked at his watch. Tonte dei Greci’ he said and started up the steps towards them.

  When they reached the bar, the metal grille that protected the door and front windows was raised a few centimetres, enough to suggest that coffee was available inside. Brunetti tapped on the grille, calling out, 'Sergio, you in there?' He tapped again, and after a moment four hirsute fingers appeared at the bottom of the grille, and it slowly began to rise. Marvilli surprised them by squatting down and helping to lift the grille until it slid into place above the door and Sergio stood before them: thick, dark, hairy and as welcome a sight as Brunetti could imagine.

  'Don't you guys ever sleep?' Sergio asked, more bark than bite. He retreated into the bar and went behind the counter.

  'Three?' h
e asked, not bothering to specify: the sight of them was enough.

  Brunetti nodded and led me others to a booth by the front window.

  He heard the hiss of the coffee machine, and a banging at the door; he looked up to see a tall African in a light blue jellaba and woollen jacket carrying a paper-covered tray of fresh pastries. Sergio called out, 'Take it over to the men at the table, Bambola, would you?'

  The African turned towards them, and when he saw Marvilli's uniform jacket gave an instinctive jerk of recognition and fear. He stopped and pulled the tray defensively closer to his chest.

  Vianello made a casual gesture. It's before work’ he called. Bambola looked from Vianello to the other two, and they nodded in agreement. His face relaxed and he walked over to their table and set the tray down; then, like a magician, he whipped back the paper, filling the space between them, with the aromas of cream, eggs, sugar, raisins, and fresh baked dough.

  'Just leave it,' Marvilli said, then added, 'please.'

  The African went over to the counter and said something to Sergio, then left the bar.

  Each of them chose a pastry, and then Sergio was there with three coffees on a tray and a plate on to which he placed several of the pastries. He picked up the remainder and carried them behind the counter, where he began to place them on a Plexiglas tray.

  As if in silent acknowledgement that it is difficult to discuss police business while eating cream-filled brioche, the three men remained silent until the coffees and the pastries were gone. Brunetti felt the rush of caffeine and sugar, and saw that the others were looking more alert.

  Then, after this couple from Milano took the Polish woman's baby home, what happened?' Brunetti asked. In the hospital, the Captain had said that the Pedrolli operation was 'separate,' but Brunetti was certain that he could, sooner or later, be led to explain this.

  Tossing his paper napkin on to the plate.

  Marvilli said, 'A judge issued an order allowing them to be kept under surveillance’