Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(42)

‘You were knocked against something,’ Brunetti went on, ‘hard enough to break your rib; one of the girls broke her arm in two places, and the other one’s still in intensive care.’ He waited three long beats and added, ‘She’s very badly injured.’

Vio said something, but with his head bent down and speaking to his hands; it was impossible to understand what it was. ‘Excuse me?’ Brunetti asked.

‘I didn’t want to do that,’ Vio said.

‘No one wants those things, Marcello. That’s why they’re accidents. It was dark, you were going too fast, and you ran into something you had every reason to know might be in the water.’ Then, making his voice sound cool and dispassionate, he went on. ‘As the person in charge, you were responsible for the se--curity of everyone on the boat.’

Vio remained silent, shaking his head a few times, as if this would somehow counter Brunetti’s remarks and erase the collision with the thick wooden pole floating loose in the water.

‘I took them to the hospital,’ Vio said petulantly.

Suddenly fed up with Vio’s justifications, Brunetti said, ‘She hit her face, the other one broke her arm, but you took a long time to get them to the Pronto Soccorso.’

‘I . . . I . . . didn’t want . . . to . . .’ Vio began.

‘You didn’t want to be stopped by the police and tested for alcohol, Marcello. Let’s be honest about this, all right? So you took a long time, the girl bleeding all over the boat.’ Brunetti allowed himself to exaggerate to worsen Vio’s position.

Vio looked up, suddenly angry. ‘Did Berto tell you that?’

‘It doesn’t matter who told me, Marcello. What matters is that you did it.’

Brunetti stopped, and was surprised to feel himself shaking with emotion. Strangely, he found it impossible to define what emotion it was: some mix of rage and pity and profound sadness that youth could be so rash and so vulnerable and so easily -damaged. He waited for the tremors to stop, keeping his eyes on the floor and then the wall: anything but the face of the man in the bed.

Vio made a sudden move, and Brunetti looked up to see him drag the elbow of his pyjama sleeve across his face. Brunetti forced himself to relax the muscles of his stomach and unlocked his jaw.

Forgetting he was a father, remembering only that he was a policeman, Brunetti returned his attention to Vio and said, ‘You’ve broken a number of laws, Signor Vio; the most serious one is that you failed to offer help to an injured person.’ When Vio remained silent, Brunetti added, but in a calmer voice, ‘You’re a boatman: you know that’s your duty.’

Vio’s voice was very soft when he said, ‘But we did. Berto rang the alarm. He hit it a couple of times.’ Vio looked at Brunetti, his eyes eager that he should be believed. When Brunetti did not respond, he said, ‘Berto did it. I saw him. He’ll tell you.’ His voice had risen as he spoke. ‘Then we got back in the boat. We didn’t want them to see us when they came to get them.’ He reached his hand towards Brunetti, winced at the sudden pain, and pulled it back.

‘I see,’ Brunetti said. He had no doubt that Vio believed Duso had activated the alarm and that help was coming. But it wasn’t coming, and it didn’t arrive until fate or chance sent a smoker out into the night to have a cigarette.





16


Both men remained silent for some time. Vio kept his head bent and shifted his phone from side to side on his lap. Brunetti tried to sort through the tangle of his own thoughts and feelings. He had no idea of what judges – should it ever come to a trial – would decide. How measure, how prove, a person’s intent? Only actions mattered, and surely they had taken them to the hospital with the clear purpose of getting them medical help.

‘Had you been drinking?’ Brunetti asked.

Vio’s surprise could not be masked. ‘No, Signore. I don’t drink if I’m going to be in the boat.’

‘Unlike most of your colleagues,’ Brunetti said neutrally.

Vio actually smiled, as though he’d not thought of this.

‘Drugs?’ Brunetti asked in the same dispassionate tone.

‘I don’t like them.’

As if talking to a friend about some trivial matter, Brunetti asked, ‘Did you ever try them?’

‘Once. When I was about fourteen. I don’t know what it was, but it made me sick, really sick. So I never did it again.’

‘Were you in charge of the boat when the accident happened?’

‘Of course,’ Vio answered, unable to hide his surprise at such a question. He must have read Brunetti’s expression, for he said, ‘Aside from two other men who work for my uncle, I’m the only one who can pilot that boat.’ Vio could have been reciting the Pythagorean Theorem, although Brunetti doubted he was familiar with it.

‘I see,’ Brunetti responded. And then, curious, he asked, ‘Doesn’t Duso know how?’

‘Yes, sir. I taught him, so he’s good.’

‘But not good enough for your uncle’s boat?’

Vio was a long time in answering the question. ‘It’s against the rules. He doesn’t have a licence, so he can’t drive anything over 40 horsepower.’ After a moment’s reflections, Vio added, ‘Besides, he could never handle that boat.’