Death in a Strange Country (45 page)

‘He was. And his uncle,’
the Count named a cabinet minister, ‘remains even more so. Do you understand?’

He understood more than
he wanted to. ‘I have another favour.’

‘I’ve done a lot for you
this week, Guido. Much of it has been against my own best interests.’

‘It’s not for me.’

‘Guido, favours are
always for ourselves. Especially when we ask for things for other people.’

Brunetti said nothing for
so long that the Count finally asked, ‘What is it?’

‘There’s a Carabiniere
officer, Ambrogiani. He’s just been reassigned to Sicily. Can you see that
nothing happens to him while he’s there?’

‘Ambrogiani?’ the Count
asked, as if interested in knowing no more than the name.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,
Guido.’

‘I’d be very grateful.’

‘So, I imagine, will Maggiore
Ambrogiani.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, Guido.
We’ll be home next week.’

‘Good. Have a nice
holiday.’

‘Yes, I shall. Good
night, Guido.’

‘Goodnight.’

As he replaced the phone,
a detail of the conversation came flashing into Brunetti’s mind, and he stood
frozen in place, staring down at his hand, unable to pry it loose from the
receiver. The Count had known Ambrogiani’s rank. He had called him an officer,
but the Count had called him ‘Maggiore Ambrogiani’. The Count knew about
Gamberetto. He had business dealings with Viscardi. And now he knew Ambrogiani’s
rank. What else did the Count know? And in what else was he involved?

Paola had replaced him on
the terrace. He opened the door and went out to stand beside her, putting his
arm over her shoulder. ‘The sky in the West gave off the last glimmerings of
light; it would soon be dark.’

‘The days are getting
shorter, aren’t they?’ she asked.

He tightened his hold on
her and nodded.

They stood together like
that. The bells started to ring, first the light bells of San Polo and then,
from across the city, the canals, the centuries, they heard the magisterial
boom of San Marco.

‘Guido, I think Raffi’s
in love,’ she said, hoping this was the right moment.

Brunetti stood beside the
mother of his only son, thinking of parents and the way they love their
children. He said nothing for so long that she turned and looked up at him. ‘Guido,
why are you crying?’