CB18 About Face (2009) by Donna Leon Read Free Book Online Page A

was never told, and the drivers never said anything. He’d get a call, and then he’d send his trucks where he was told to send them. Everything in order: bills of lading. He said very often things seemed legitimate to him, shipping from a factory to a train or from a warehouse to Trieste or Genova. And he said at the beginning it was a lifesaver’ – Brunetti heard him stumble over that word – ‘for him because it was all off the books.’ Brunetti had the feeling that Guarino would be perfectly content to sit there for ever, talking about the dead man’s business.
    ‘None of this explains why you’re here, though, does it?’ Brunetti interrupted to ask. Instead of answering, Guarino said, ‘I think it’s a wild goose chase.’ ‘Try to be a little more specific, and then perhaps we’ll see about that,’ Brunetti suggested.
    Guarino, looking suddenly tired, said, ‘I work for Patta.’ Then he added, by way of explanation, ‘Sometimes I think everyone works for Patta. I didn’t know his name until today, when I met him, but I recognized him immediately. He’s my boss, and he’s most of the bosses I’ve ever had. Yours just happens to be called Patta.’
    ‘I’ve had a few who don’t have the same name,’ Brunetti said, but added, ‘just the same nature.’ Guarino’s answering smile helped both of them relax again.
    Relieved to see that Brunetti understood, Guarino went on, ‘Mine – my Patta, that is – sent me here to find the man who got the phone call at Ranzato’s office.’
    ‘So he expects you to go to San Marcuola and stand there and shout Ranzato’s name and see who looks guilty?’
    ‘No,’ Guarino answered without a smile. He scratched at his ear, and said, ‘None of the men in my squad is Venetian.’ In response to Brunetti’s startled look, he said, ‘Some of us have been working here for years, but it’s not the same as having been born here. You know that. We’ve checked the arrest records for anyone who lives near San Marcuola with a history of violence, but the only two men we’ve found are both in jail. So we need local help, the sort of information you have, or can get, and we can’t.’
    ‘You don’t know where to look for what you want to know,’ Brunetti said, stretching out a palm in front of him. ‘And I don’t know what was in those trucks,’ he continued, putting out the other. He moved them up and down in a balancing gesture.
    Guarino gave him a level glance and then said, ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss that.’
    Encouraged by this frankness, Brunetti changed course. ‘Did you speak to his family?’
    ‘No. His wife’s destroyed by this. The man who did speak to her said he was sure she wasn’t pretending. She had no idea what he was doing, neither did the son, and the daughter goes home only two or three times a year.’ He gave Brunetti a moment to assess this and then added, ‘Ranzato told me they didn’t know, and I believed him. I still do.’
    ‘When did you speak to him?’ Brunetti asked. ‘The last time, I mean.’
    Guarino looked at him directly. ‘The day before he died. Was murdered, that is.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And he said he wanted to stop, that he’d already given us enough information and didn’t want to do it any more.’
    Dispassionately, Brunetti observed, ‘From what you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound as if he gave you much information at all.’ Guarino pretended not to have heard this, so Brunetti decided to give him a poke and said, ‘Just as you’re not giving me much.’
    Once more, his words bounced off Guarino. Brunetti asked, ‘Did he seem nervous?’
    ‘No more than he had ever been,’ Guarino answered calmly, adding, almost reluctantly, ‘He wasn’t a brave man.’
    ‘Few of us are.’
    Guarino glanced at him sharply and appeared to shrug the idea away. ‘I don’t know about that,’ the Maggiore said, ‘but Ranzato wasn’t.’
    ‘He had no reason to be, did he?’ Brunetti asked, defending