Death and Judgement by Donna Leon Read Free Book Online

Brunetti could see the dome and tower of San Giorgio - yesterday they hadn't been there - looking as though they had somehow crept into the city during the night. How straight and fine the tower looked, unencumbered by the scaffolding that had imprisoned the tower of San Marco for the last few years, turning it into a pagoda and making Brunetti suspect that the city administration had gone and sold the city outright to the Japanese, who had begun this way to make them -selves feel more at home.
    He turned right and walked up towards the Piazza, and Brunetti found himself, to his own vast surprise, looking kindly upon the tourists who strolled past him, mouths agape and steps slowed by wonder. She could still knock them down, this old whore of a city, and Brunetti, her true son, protective of her in her age, felt a surge of mingled pride and delight and hoped that those people who walked by would see him and somehow know him for a Venetian and, in that, part heir to and part owner of all of this.
    The pigeons, usually stupid and hateful, appeared almost charming to him as they bobbed up and down at the feet of their many admirers. Suddenly, for no reason, hundreds of them floc ked up, swirled around, and settl ed back right where they had been, to continue with their bobbing and pecking. A stout woman stood with three of them on her shoulder, her face turned away in delight or horror, while her husband photographed her with a video recorder the size of a machine gun. A few metres away, someone opened a small bag of corn and threw it out in a wide circle, and again the pigeons swirled up and around, then settled to feed in the centre of the corn.
    He went up the three low steps and through the etched-gla ss double doors of Florian's. Though he was ten minutes early, Brunetti looked through the small rooms on the right and then through those on the left, but he saw no sign of Dottoressa Zorzi.
    When a white-jacketed waiter approached him, Brunetti asked for a table near one of the front win dows. Part of him, this splendid day, wanted to sit with an attractive young woman by a window at Florians, and another part of him wanted to be seen sitting with an attractive young woman by a window at Florian's. He pulled out one of the delicate, curve-backed chairs and took a seat, then turned it to allow himself a better sight of the Piazza.
    As it had been for as long as Brunetti could remember, the facade of the Basilica was partially cover ed by wooden scaffolding. Had h e once, as a child, had a clear view of the whole thing? Probably not.
    'Good morning, commissario,' he heard from behind him, and he stood to shake hands with Dottoressa Barbara Zorzi. He recognized her instantly. Slender and straight, she greeted him with a warm handshake that was surprisingly strong. Her hair, he thought, was shorter than it had been last time, cut in a cap of tight dark curls that fitted close to her head. Her eyes were as dark as eyes could be: there was almost no difference between pupil and iris. The resemblance to Elettra was there, the same straight nose, full mouth, and round chin, but the element of ripeness that filled her sister had been toned down to a more sombre, tranquil beauty.
    'Dottoressa, I'm glad you could spare the time, ’ he said, reaching out to help her off with her coat. She smiled in response to this and placed a squat brown learner bag on a chair near the window. He folded her coat and placed it on the back of the same chair and, looking at the bag, said, 'The doctor who used to come to see us when we were boys carried a bag just like that ’
    'I suppose I should be more modern and carry a leather briefcase ’ she said, 'but my mother gave me that as a present when I took my degree, and I've carried it ever since. ’
    The waiter came to the table, and they both ordered coffee. When he was gone, the doctor asked, 'How is it I can help you?'
    Brunetti decided there was nothing to be gained in disguising how he came by