A Venetian Reckoning (37 page)

'That's nonsense,' della Corte
exclaimed. 'She should be held in the place she's arrested until she's formally
charged. Anyone knows that.' Then, after a pause, he asked, 'Has she been
charged?'

‘I don't know,' Brunetti said, ‘I
don't think so; there's been so little time.'

'Let me see what I can find out,' della
Corte said. ‘I'D call you back as soon as I know anything; What's her name?'

'Ceroli, Regina Ceroli.' Before
Brunetti could say anything eke, della Corte was gone.

'What's wrong?' Signorina Elettra
asked, voice deep with alarm.

‘I don't know,' Brunetti said.
Without another word, he turned and knocked at Patta's door.
‘Avanti’

Brunetti pushed open the door and
walked quickly into the room. He forced himself to remain silent, hoping to get
an idea of Patta's mood before he had to explain anything to the Vice-Questore.

'What's this I hear about that woman
being transferred to Padua?' Patta demanded.

‘I don't know anything about it. I
brought her in last night. She confessed to killing all three of them:
Trevisan, Favero and Lotto.'

'Where did she confess?' Patta asked,
confusing Brunetti with the question.

'In her car.'

'Her car’

‘I followed her to Piazzzle Roma. I
spent a lot of tune with her, and then I brought her back here, to Venice. She
told me how she did it. And why.’

Patta seemed uninterested in either.
‘Did you get a confession from her?

‘
Was it witnessed?’

Brunetd shook his bead.
‘
I
got back here
at four, and I asked her if she wanted to call her lawyer. She didn't I asked
if she wanted to make a statement, but she refused, so I had her taken to a
cefl. Officer Di Censo took her down to the women's section.'

'Without making a confession or a
statement?’ Patta demanded.

There was no sense in delaying.
"No. I thought I'd get one this morning.’

‘You thought you'd get one this
morning’ Patta repeated in a nasty singsong.

‘Yes;

‘Well, that’s not going to happen, is
it?’ Patta asked, making no attempt to disguise his anger. 'She's been taken to
Padua.’

'Did she get there?" Brunetti
interrupted.

Patta cast ms eyes tiredly to one
side. 'If you'd let me finish speakmg, commissario
..
.’

Brunetti nodded but didn’t bother to
speak.

'As I was saying," Pitta began
and paused long enough to make the point that he had been interrupted, 'she was
taken to Padua this morning. Before you bothered to get here and without her
having made a confession, practice which, as I think you know, commissario, is
essential to the most routine police procedure. But she was taken to Padua, and
I hope you know what that means.' Patta paused here, archly dramatic, waiting
for Brunetti to admit to the full extent of his incompetence.

Then you think she's in danger?'
Brunetti asked.

Patta squinted in confusion and
pulled his head back. 'Danger? I don't know what you're talking about, commissario.
The only danger is that Padua is going to get the credit for this arrest and
for her confession. She's killed three men, two of them men of great standing
in this community, and credit for her capture is now going to be given to
Padua.’

"Then she's there?' Brunetti
asked, voice sharp with hope.

‘I have no idea where she is,' Patta
began, 'and, quite frankly, I don't much care. As soon as she was taken out of
our jurisdiction, she ceased to be of any interest to me. Well be able to halt
our investigation of the murders - there is at least that - but all of the
credit for her arrest is going to be given to Padua.’ Patta's anger was raw. He
reached across his desk and pulled a file towards him. ‘I have nothing else to
say to you, Commissario Brunetti. I'm sure you can find something with which
to busy yourself? He opened the file, bent his head, and began to read.

Back in his office, Brunetti gave in
to his impulse and dialled della Cortes number. No one answered. He sat He got
up and walked to the window. Then he came back and sat at his desk again. Time
passed. The phone rang and he picked it up.

'Guido, did you know anything
about this?' della Corte asked, voice wary.

Brunetti's hand was sfippery
with sweat. He switched the phone to his other hand and wiped his palm on the
leg of his trousers "What happened?’

'She hanged herself in her cell.
They brought her back here about an hour ago and put her in a holding cefl
while they tried to locate a tape-recorder for her confession. They didn't
bother to take her things from her, and when they got hack to the cell, they
found she'd used her panty-hose to hang herself from the heating vent."
DeOa Corte stopped speaking, but Bru-netti said nothing.

'Guido? Are you there?"

‘Yes, I’m here,' Bnmctfi
finally said. 'Where are the men from Special Branch?’

They're filling out forms. She
told them on the way out that she killed the three men.’

‘Why?"

‘Why did she tell them or why
did she kill them?' della Corte asked.

‘Why did she tell them?’

‘She told them she'd had
affairs with all of them in the past and had been
blackmailing
them for years. Then all three of them told her they wouldn't pay any more, so
she decided to kill them.’

‘I see,' Bnmetti said.
"All three?’

That's what they say"

'How many of them are
there?" Brunetti asked.

The men from Special Branch?’

‘Yes.'

Three’

'And they all say the same thing?
That she killed them because she couldn't blackmail them any more?' ‘Yes.'

'Did you talk to them?'

'No. I got all this from the guard
who found her.'

‘When did they start to talk about
her confession?' Brunetti asked. 'Before or after she was dead?'

‘I don't know,' della Corte said.
'Does it matter?'

No, Brunetti realized, it didn't
matter, for all three of the men from Special Branch, he was sure, would tell
the same story. Adultery, blackmail, greed, and revenge: these were vices that
would adequately explain what she had done. In fact, they were probably more
believable than rage and horror, and the icy lust for retribution. The word of
three officers of the Special Branch was hardly to be questioned.

Brunetti said, "Thank you', and
put the phone down softly. He sat and searched for scraps, for any thread of
evidence that would pull another person to the truth. In the face of Ceroni's
confession and suicide, the only tangible evidence was the phone records for
the offices of the dead men. And what of that? Calls to various legitimate
businesses in a number of countries, to a seedy bar in Mestre. It was little
more than nothing and certainly not enough to merit investigation. Mara, he was
sure, was back on the streets now, probably moved to some other city. And
Silvestri would tell whatever story he was ordered to tell by the people who
gave him drugs. Or he could just as easily be found dead of an overdose.
Brunetti still had the videotape, but to trace it back to the Trevisans would
mean asking Chiara to talk about it, to remember it, and he would not do that,
no matter the consequences of his refusal.

She had warned him, but he had
refused to listen. She had even named the man who would send her killers. Or
perhaps there was someone even more powerful than him involved in this, another
respectable man who, like the centurion in the Bible, had but to say, 'Go' and
someone went. Or three such servants went to do his bidding.

From memory, he dialled a number of a
friend who was a colonel at the Guardia di Finanza and briefly explained about
Trevisan, Favero and Lotto and the money they must have been receiving, and
hiding, for years. The colonel said they'd look into Signora Trevisan's
finances as soon as they had time and personnel available. When Brunetti put
the phone down, he felt no better. He put his elbows on his desk, lowered his
head into his cupped hands, and sat that way for a long time. He had brought
her in before dawn, but by eight o'clock the men from Special Branch had
already come to get her.

He pushed himself up from his desk
and went down to the officers’ room two floors below, seeking Preside, the man
who had been on guard duty when he brought Signora Ceroni in. He had gone off
duty at eight but in his logbook he had noted, '6:18 a.m. Lt Scarpa takes over
day shift. Comm. Brunetti's report to Lt Scarpa.'

He left the room and stood for a
moment in the hall, surprised that it took a few moments to feel entirely
steady. He turned and walked towards the stairway that would take him from the
Questura, forcing his mind away from the knowledge that remained behind him
there. He started down the stairs, thinking of Signora Ceroni and of their
strange journey through the night He realized that he would never understand
why she had done it Perhaps you had to be a woman. He'd ask Paola. She usually
understood things. At that thought Brunetti's heart came back to him, and he
left the Questura, going home.