been even prettier. Instead, she looked at him directly, mouth pulled into
a tense straight line, and asked, ‘Are you the police inspector?’
‘Commissario Brunetti. I
have a boat here. It will take us out to San Michele.’ Seeing her confusion, he
explained, ‘The cemetery island. The body’s been taken there.’
Without waiting for her
reply, he pointed in the direction of the mooring and led the way across the
road. She paused long enough to say something to the driver and then followed
him. At the water’s edge, he pointed to the blue and white police boat moored
to the embankment. ‘If you’ll come this way, Doctor,’ he said, stepping from
the pavement and onto the deck of the boat. She came up close behind him and
accepted his hand. The skirt of her uniform fell just a few inches below her
knees. Her legs were good, tanned and muscular, the ankles slim. With no
hesitation, she gripped his hand and allowed herself to be helped on board the
boat. As soon as they were down in the cabin and seated, Monetti backed out of
the mooring and turned the boat up the Grand Canal. He took them quickly past
the railway station, blue light turning, and turned left into the Canale della
Misericordia, beyond the outlet of which lay the cemetery island.
Usually, when he had to
take people foreign to Venice on a police launch, Brunetti busied himself by
pointing out sights and points of interest along the way. This time, however,
he contented himself with the most formal of openings. ‘I hope you had no
trouble in getting here, Doctor.’
She looked down at the
strip of green carpeting on the floor between them and muttered something he
took to be a ‘no’ but said nothing further. He noticed that she occasionally
took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself, a strange response in someone
who was, after all, a doctor.
As It’she had read his
thoughts, she glanced up at him, smiled a very pretty smile, and said, ‘It’s
different, when you know the person. In medical school, they’re strangers, so
it’s easy to keep a professional distance.’ She paused for a long time. ‘And
people my age don’t usually die.’
That was certainly true
enough. ‘Did you work together for a long time?’ Brunetti asked.
She nodded and began to
answer, but before she could say anything, the boat gave a sudden lurch. She
grabbed the front of her seat with both hands and shot him a frightened glance.
‘We’ve moved out into the laguna, into open water. Don’t worry, it’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I’m not a good sailor. I
was born in North Dakota, and there’s not a lot of water there. I never even
learned how to swim.’ Her smile was weak, but it was back in place.
‘Did you and Mr Foster
work together for a long time?’
‘Sergeant,’ she corrected
him automatically. ‘Yes,ever since I got to Vicenza, about seven months
ago. He really runs everything. They just need an officer to be in charge. And
to sign papers.’
‘To take the blame?’ he
asked with a smile.
‘Yes, yes, I suppose you
could say that. But nothing’s ever gone wrong. Not with Mike. He’s very good at
his job.’ Her voice was warm. Praise? Affection?
Below them, the engine
slowed to an even purr, and then there came the heavy thump as they slid into
the dock at the cemetery. He stood and went up the narrow stairway to the open
deck, pausing at the top to hold one side of the swinging door open to allow
the doctor to pass through it. Monetti was busy wrapping the mooring lines
around one of the wooden pilings that stuck up at a crazy angle from the waters
of the laguna ,
Brunetti stepped ashore
and held out his arm. She placed her hand on it, then leaned heavily on it as
she leaped to the shore beside him. He noticed that she carried neither handbag
nor briefcase, perhaps having left it in the car or in the boat.
The cemetery closed
a tense straight line, and asked, ‘Are you the police inspector?’
‘Commissario Brunetti. I
have a boat here. It will take us out to San Michele.’ Seeing her confusion, he
explained, ‘The cemetery island. The body’s been taken there.’
Without waiting for her
reply, he pointed in the direction of the mooring and led the way across the
road. She paused long enough to say something to the driver and then followed
him. At the water’s edge, he pointed to the blue and white police boat moored
to the embankment. ‘If you’ll come this way, Doctor,’ he said, stepping from
the pavement and onto the deck of the boat. She came up close behind him and
accepted his hand. The skirt of her uniform fell just a few inches below her
knees. Her legs were good, tanned and muscular, the ankles slim. With no
hesitation, she gripped his hand and allowed herself to be helped on board the
boat. As soon as they were down in the cabin and seated, Monetti backed out of
the mooring and turned the boat up the Grand Canal. He took them quickly past
the railway station, blue light turning, and turned left into the Canale della
Misericordia, beyond the outlet of which lay the cemetery island.
Usually, when he had to
take people foreign to Venice on a police launch, Brunetti busied himself by
pointing out sights and points of interest along the way. This time, however,
he contented himself with the most formal of openings. ‘I hope you had no
trouble in getting here, Doctor.’
She looked down at the
strip of green carpeting on the floor between them and muttered something he
took to be a ‘no’ but said nothing further. He noticed that she occasionally
took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself, a strange response in someone
who was, after all, a doctor.
As It’she had read his
thoughts, she glanced up at him, smiled a very pretty smile, and said, ‘It’s
different, when you know the person. In medical school, they’re strangers, so
it’s easy to keep a professional distance.’ She paused for a long time. ‘And
people my age don’t usually die.’
That was certainly true
enough. ‘Did you work together for a long time?’ Brunetti asked.
She nodded and began to
answer, but before she could say anything, the boat gave a sudden lurch. She
grabbed the front of her seat with both hands and shot him a frightened glance.
‘We’ve moved out into the laguna, into open water. Don’t worry, it’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I’m not a good sailor. I
was born in North Dakota, and there’s not a lot of water there. I never even
learned how to swim.’ Her smile was weak, but it was back in place.
‘Did you and Mr Foster
work together for a long time?’
‘Sergeant,’ she corrected
him automatically. ‘Yes,ever since I got to Vicenza, about seven months
ago. He really runs everything. They just need an officer to be in charge. And
to sign papers.’
‘To take the blame?’ he
asked with a smile.
‘Yes, yes, I suppose you
could say that. But nothing’s ever gone wrong. Not with Mike. He’s very good at
his job.’ Her voice was warm. Praise? Affection?
Below them, the engine
slowed to an even purr, and then there came the heavy thump as they slid into
the dock at the cemetery. He stood and went up the narrow stairway to the open
deck, pausing at the top to hold one side of the swinging door open to allow
the doctor to pass through it. Monetti was busy wrapping the mooring lines
around one of the wooden pilings that stuck up at a crazy angle from the waters
of the laguna ,
Brunetti stepped ashore
and held out his arm. She placed her hand on it, then leaned heavily on it as
she leaped to the shore beside him. He noticed that she carried neither handbag
nor briefcase, perhaps having left it in the car or in the boat.
The cemetery closed
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